MEMOIRS
OF THE LATE

THOMAS HOLCROFT,
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF;

AND CONTINUED TO THE TIME OE HIS DEATH,
FROM

HIS DIARY, NOTES, AND OTHER PAPERS.

2OT T W O P A R T S .
P A R T I.

LONDON:
LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS.
1852.

LONDON:
SPOTTISWOODES and

SHAW,

New-street-Square.

PREFACE.

T H E difficulties with which genius has frequently to contend
in the varied trials of life have rarely been so strikingly
exemplified as in the life of Thomas Holcroft.
Cradled
in poverty, with no education save what he could pick up
for himself, amid incessant struggles for bare existence,—by
turns a pedlar, a stable boy, a shoemaker, and a strolling
player,—he yet contrived to surmount the most untoward
circumstances, and at last took his place, among the most
distinguished writers of his age, as a novelist, a dramatist,
and a translator.
The " Memoirs of Thomas Holcroft" has long been a scarce
book; and it has been thought that this most entertaining
biography of a remarkable man cannot fail to be acceptable
to the readers of the " Traveller's Library."

ADVEKTISEMENT.

had intended, for several years before his
death, to write an account of his own life. It is now only to
be regretted that he did not begin to execute this design
sooner. Few lives have been marked with more striking
changes; and no one possessed the qualities necessary for
describing them with characteristic liveliness in a greater
degree than he did. It often happens that what we most
wish done we fail to do, either through fear lest the execution
should not answer our expectations, or because the pleasure
with which we contemplate a favourite object at a distance,
makes us neglect the ordinary means of attaining it. This
seems to have been the case with Mr. Holcroft, who did not
begin the work he had so long projected, till within a short
time of his death. How much he had it at heart may, however, be inferred from the extraordinary pains he then took to
make some progress in it. He, told his physicians that he did
not care what severity of treatment he was subjected to, provided he could live six months longer to complete what he
had begun. By dictating a word at a time, he succeeded in
bringing it down to his fifteenth year. When the clearness,
minuteness, and vividness of what he thus wrote, are compared with the feeble, half-convulsed state in which it was
written, it will be difficult to bring a stronger instance of the
exertion of resolution and firmness of mind, under such circumstances. The whole of this account is given literally to
M R . HOLCROET

A 3

6

ADVERTISEMENT.

the public. This part comprises the first seventeen chapters,
or Book I. The remainder of the Life has been compiled
from Mr. Holcroft's Letters; from Journals and other papers
to which I had access; from conversations with some of his
early and most intimate friends; and from passages in his
printed works, relating to his own history and adventures,
pointed out to me by them. Some of the anecdotes I have
also heard mentioned by himself; but these are comparatively
few. I first became acquainted with Mr. Holcroft about ten
years ago; my chief intercourse with him was within the last
three or four years of his life.
W M . HAZLITT.

January, 1810,

MEMOIKS
OF THE LATE

THOMAS

HOLCROFT.

BOOK I.
CHAPTER I.
[This and the remaining Chapters of the first Book are in Mr. Holcroffs
own words.~]

I WAS born in London, in. Orange Court, Leicester Fields, on the
10th day of December, 1745, old style; and was baptized and
registered in St. Martin's church, where my name is erroneously
written Howlcroft. In a will of one of my uncle's, which may be
seen in Doctors' Commons, the name is spelt Houldecroft. From
this it appears that our family did not pay much attention to subjects of orthography, or think the manner in which their name was
spelt, a matter of importance.
Most persons, I believe, retain through life a few strong impressions of very early childhood. I have a recollection of being
played with by my parents, when very young, and of the extreme
pleasure it gave me. On another occasion, as I and one or two of
my brothers or sisters were playing in the court, and kneeling and
peeping down a cellar window, where there were some fowls, a
shutter that belonged to the window, and.was fastened up, by some
means or other got loose, and entirely cut off one side of my sister
Anne's thumb;—a disaster never afterwards to be forgotten. My
father one day whipped me very severely for crying to go to a
school in the neighbourhood, where children were sent rather to
keep them out of the way, than to learn any thing. He afterwards
ordered an apprentice he had to take me to school. This apprenA4

8

MEMOIRS OF

tice was an exceedingly hard-featured youth, with thick lips, wide
mouth, broad nose, and his face very much marked with the smallpox, but very kind and good-tempered. I perfectly remember his
carrying me in my petticoats, consoling me as we went, and giving
me something nice to eat. Perhaps I bear his features in mind
the more accurately, because I occasionally saw him afterwards,
till I was seven or eight years old, when he used to visit my father,
who was then under misfortunes. He seldom came without something kind to say, or good to give: but his last and capital gift,
too precious to be ever forgotten, consisted of two small books.
One was the History of Parismus and Parismenes, and the other,
of the Seven Champions of Christendom. These were to me an
inestimable treasure, that often brought the rugged, good-natured
Dick to my remembrance, with no slight sense of obligation.
Till I was about six years old, my father kept a shoemaker's shop
in Orange Court; and I have a faint recollection that my mother
dealt in greens and oysters. After I became a man, my father
more than once pointed out the house to me : the back of it looks
into the King's Mews, and it is now No. 13. My father was fond
of speculation, and very adventurous. I believe he had been set
up in trade by my uncle John, who lived several years, first as a
helper, and afterwards as a groom in the King's stables; where,
being an excellent economist, he saved money. For a time, my
father, through John's influence, was admitted a helper in the
stables; but he did not continue there long, not having his
brother's perseverance. How or when he procured the little knowledge of shoe-making which he had, I do not recollect; though I
have heard him mention the fact. He was not bred to the trade.
He and a numerous family of his brothers and sisters all spent
their infancy in the field country; or, as I have heard him describe it, the most desolate part of Lancashire, called Martin's
Muir, where my grandfather was a cooper ; a man, according to
my father's account, possessed of good qualities, but passionate, and
a dear lover of Sir John Barleycorn. My grandmother was always mentioned by my father with very great respect.
At the period of which I speak, the west end of London swarmed
with chairmen; who, that they might tread more safely, had their
shoes made differently from those of other people; to which particular branch of the trade my father applied himself with some
success. But he was not satisfied with the profits he acquired by

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

9

shoe-making : he was very fond of horses, and having some knowledge of them, he became a dealer in them. Few persons but the
great, at this time kept any sort of carriage. It was common for
those who wished to ride out, to hire a horse for the day; and my
father kept several horses for this purpose. If his word was to be
taken, they were such as were not very easily to be matched,
The praise he bestowed on them for their performances, and his
admiration of their make and beauty, were strong and continued.
Young as I was, he earnestly wished to see me able to ride. He
had a beautiful pony (at least, so he called, and so I thought, it) :
but it was not more remarkable for its beauty, than its animation.
To hold it, required all my father's strength and skill; yet he was
determined I should mount this pony, and accompany him, whenever
he took a ride. For this purpose my petticoats were discarded;
and, as he was fonder of me than even of his horses, nay, or of his
pony, he had straps made, and I was buckled to the saddle, with a
leading rein fastened to the muzzle of the pony, which he carefully
held. These rides, with the oddity of our equipage and appearance, sometimes exposed us to the ridicule of bantering acquaintance ; but I remember no harm that happened.
About the same time my father indulged another whim ; whether he was led to it by any particular accident, I cannot tell.
I must have been about five years old, when he put me under the
tuition of a player on the violin, who was a public performer of
some repute. Either parental fondness led my father to believe,
or he was flattered into the supposition, that I had an uncommon
aptitude for the art I had been put to learn. I shall never forget
the high praises I received, the affirmation that I was a prodigy,
and the assurances my teachers gave that I should soon be heard
in public. These dreams were never realized.
My father was under great obligations to my uncle John, and
was afraid, especially just at that time, of disobliging him. My
uncle's pride took the alarm ; and after marking his disapprobation, he asked with contempt, " Do you mean to make a fiddler of
the boy?" My practice on the violin therefore ceased; and it is
perhaps worth remarking, that, though I could play so well before
I was six years old, I had wholly forgotten the art at the age of
seven ; for, after my master left me, I never touched the instrument. In the days of my youthful distress, I have sometimes
thought, with bitter regret, of the absurd pride of my uncle.

10

MEMOIRS OF

CHAP. II.
THUS far my infantine life had passed under much more favourable circumstances than are common to the children of the poor.
But, when I was about six years old, the scene suddenly changed,
a long train of increasing hardships began, and I have no doubt
my sufferings were rendered more severe from a consciousness of
the little I had suffered till then. This may therefore be properly
considered as the first remarkable era in my life.
How far the state of my father's affairs might contribute to the
steps he took, is more than I now can tell: but on a sudden the
house-keeping broke up, the horses were sold, and we went into
Berkshire, somewhat beyond Ascot Heath, about thirty miles
from London, where my father had taken a house. What became
of his effects, in what manner they were sold, and of every circumstance of that kind, I am totally ignorant.
I suppose the time of our residence in Berkshire to have been
about twelve months. The house where we lived, was situated at
the corner of the road, the last of a small green, or common, down
which the road had a descent. For I remember my father at first
had a tall, high-boned hack, on the bare back of which I used, by
his order, to gallop down the hill, though I felt great difficulty in
keeping my seat. It was in this retired spot that my father himself began to teach me to read. The task at first I found difficult,
till the idea one day suddenly seized me of catching all the sounds
I had been taught from the arrangement of the letters; and my
joy at this amazing discovery was so great, that the recollection of
it has never been effaced. After that, my progress was so rapid,
that it astonished my father. He boasted of me to every body;
and that I might lose no time, the task he set me was eleven
chapters a day in the Old Testament. I might indeed have de> ceived my father by skipping some of the chapters, but a dawning
regard for truth, aided by the love I had of reading, and the wonderful histories I sometimes found in the Sacred Writings, generally induced me to go through the whole of my task. One day
as I was sitting at the gate with my Bible in my hand, a neighbouring farmer, coming to see my father, asked me if I could read
the Bible already? I answered, yes; and he desired me to let him
hear me. I began at the place where the book was open, read

THOMAS KOLCKOFT.

11

fluently, and afterwards told him, that if he pleased, he should hear
the tenth chapter of Nehemiah. At this he seemed still more
amazed, and, wishing to be convinced, bade me read. After listening till he found I could really pronounce the uncouth Hebrew
names so much better and more easily than he supposed to be
within the power of so young a child, he patted my head, gave me
a penny, and said I was an uncommon boy. It would be hard to
say whether his praise or his gift was most flattering to me.
Soon after, my father's apprentice, the kind-hearted Dick, who
came backward and forward to my father on his affairs, brought
me the two delightful histories I have above-mentioned, which
were among those then called Chapman's Books. It was scarcely
possible for any thing to have been more grateful to me than this
present. Parismus and Parismenes, with all the adventures detailed in the Seven Champions of Christendom, were soon as
familiar to me as my catechism, or the daily prayers I repeated
kneeling before my father. Oh, how I loved poor Dick!
My father was an excellent pedestrian, and would often walk to
London and back again, more than sixty miles, in the same day.
Sometimes he dined at home, and went to London in the afternoon,
and even then, I rather think, though I cannot be certain, that he
made a point of sleeping in his own house. In height he was
about five feet four, perfectly free from corpulency, sober, and
satisfied with plain, wholesome diet. He used to speak with great
self-complacency of the manner in which he overcame competitors
in walking, with whom he sometimes chanced to meet. " I have
been overtaken by tall men," he would say, " with whom I could
not keep pace, and they have bid me good-bye, and told me they
should be in London at such a time before m e : but they were
every one of them mistaken. They could not proceed without
stopping to rest, and taking their pint of beer, their bread and
cheese, or whatever they could get to eat and drink. I was never
far behind them, I wanted nothing to eat or drink, I was not
weary, I passed the houses in which they were sitting, and got
forward sometimes more than a mile before them; while they
would make another call, perhaps, and another, so that I always
arrived before them."
One afternoon, however, he was desirous of going to town at a
later hour than usual, and therefore, for expedition's sake, he borrowed a light grey horse of a neighbour, on condition that it

12

MEMOIRS OF

should be returned that evening. He then mounted, and placed
me behind him, trusting to my courage and good sense for finding
my way home with the horse. I know not how far he took me,
except that we passed over some part of Ascot Heath, if not all of
i t ; and about an hour before it was dark, he alighted, left me on
horseback, and carefully gave me such directions as he supposed
I could not mistake. In this he conjectured rightly ; I began to
trot away, anxious to get home before it was too dark ; but unluckily for me, some time after we had parted, with no human
being in sight, nor any likelihood of meeting one, the horse stumbled among some ruts, and threw my hat off. To have lost my hat
would have been a terrible misfortune; I therefore ventured to
alight and pick it up. Then it was that I perceived my distress.
I found every attempt I made to remount wholly ineffectual, and
all I could do was to endeavour to drag the sluggish animal along,
and cry bitterly. Twilight was fast approaching, and I alone on
the heath (I knew not how far from home), and never expecting
to reach that desired place that evening. At length, however, the
white railing of the race course on Ascot Heath came in sight, and
I conceived hopes of remounting. Accordingly, I with great difficulty prevailed on my grey nag to stand tolerably nigh the railing,
on which I clambered, and with almost unspeakable joy I found
myself once more seated on his back. I had another piece of good
fortune; for, before I had gone far, a neighbour happened to be
passing, who, seeing a child so circumstanced, came up, asked me
some questions, heard the story I had to tell, and not only conveyed
me safe to the village, but to his own house, where he gave me
something comfortable to eat and drink, sent the horse to its right
owner, and put me into the charge of some one, who took me
home.*
I know nothing that tends so much as the anecdotes of childhood,
when faithfully recorded, to guide the philosopher through that
very abstruse but important labyrinth, the gradations that lead to
the full stature, peculiar form, temperament, character, and qualities of the man. I am therefore anxious to recount all those concerning myself, which I suppose may conduce to this purpose.
My father was very fond, and not a little vain, of me. He delighted to show how much I was superior to other children, and
* Mr. Holcroft has made use of this incident in thefirstvolume of Hugh
Trevor.

THOMAS HOLCKOFT.

13

this propensity had sometimes a gopd effect. One evening when
it was quite dark, day-light having entirely disappeared, and the
night being cloudy, he was boasting to a neighbour of my courage;.
and his companion seeming rather to doubt, my father replied, he
would put it immediately to the proof. " Tom," said he, " you
must go to the house of Farmer such-a-one," (I well remember the
walk, but not the name of the person,) " and ask whether he goes
to London to-morrow." I was startled, but durst not dispute his
authority, it was too great over me, besides that my vanity to
prove my valour was not a little excited : accordingly, I took my
hat and immediately obeyed.
The house I was sent to, as far as I can remember, must have
been between a quarter and half a mile distant; and the road that
led to it, was by the side of the hedge on the left hand of the
common. However, I knew the way well enough, and proceeded;
but it was with many stops, starts, and fears. It may be proper
to observe here, that although I could not have been without
courage, yet I was really, when a child, exceedingly apprehensive,
and full of superstition. When I saw magpies, it denoted good or
ill luck, according as they did or did not cross me. When walking,
I pored for pins, or rusty nails; which, if they lay in certain directions, foreboded some misfortune. Many such whims possessed
my brain; I was therefore not at all free from notions of this
kind, on the present occasion. However, I went forward on my
errand, humming, whistling, and looking as carefully as I could;
now and then making a false step, which helped to relieve me, for
it obliged me to attend to the road. When I came to the farmhouse, I delivered my message. " Bless me, child," cried the people
within, " have you come this dark night all alone ? " " Oh yes,"
I said, assuming an air of self-consequence. " And who sent you?"
" My father wanted to know" I replied equivocally. One of them
then offered to take me home, but of this I would by no means
admit, My whole little stock of vanity was roused^ and I hastily
scampered out of the house, and was hidden in the dark. My
return was something, but not much less alarming than my journey
thither. At last I got safely home, glad to be rid of my fears, and
inwardly not a little elated with my success, " Did you hear or
see anybody, Tom/' said my father, "as you went or came back?"
" No," said I, " it was quite dark ; not but I thought once or
twice, I did hear something behind me." In fact, it was my father

14

MEMOIRS OF

and his companion, who had followed me at a little distance. This,
my father, in fondly praising me for my courage, some time after
told me.

CHAP. III.
ALL that I now recollect more of this residence in Berkshire is,
that my father, after having been from home longer than usual,
put a sudden, and to me unexpected, end to it—took me with him,
and for some time travelled round the country.
The first place I distinctly remember myself, was London, where
I have a faint notion of having been among boys with their school
books. Whether I was sent to school for a week or two, while my
father and mother were adjusting their affairs, and preparing for
their new career, is more than I can affirm or deny: though I have
no recollection of acquiring any knowledge, a thing which, before
this, had begun to make a strong impression on me. If I were
really sent to school, it must have been for a very short time, nor
could I have been provided with books or other means of improvement. And, indeed, my father was so straitened in his circumstances, that my mother very soon after agreed to turn pedlar,
hung a basket with pins, needles, tape, garters, and other small
haberdashery, on her arm, and hawked them through the outskirts
and neighbourhood of London, while I trotted after her. I might
at first perhaps feel some disgust at this employment: but use soon
reconciled me to it, as the following anecdote will show.
I cannot say what my father's employment was, while I and my
mother were, what they emphatically called tramping the villages,
to hawk our pedlary. It may be presumed, however, that it was
not very lucrative, for he soon after left it, and he and my mother
went into the country, hawking their small wares, and dragging me
after them. They went first to Cambridge, and afterwards, as their
hopes of success led them, traversed the neighbouring villages.
Among these, we came to one which I thought most remarkably
clean, well built, and unlike villages in general: my father said it
was the handsomest in the kingdom. We must have been very
poor, however, and hard driven on this occasion : for here it was
that I was either encouraged, or commanded, one day to go by myself from House to house, and beg. Young as I was, I had con-

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

15

siderable readiness in making out a story, and on this day, my little
inventive faculties shone forth with much brilliancy. I told one
story at one house, another at another, and continued to vary my
tale just as the suggestions arose : the consequence of which was,
that I moved the good country people exceedingly. One called me
a poor fatherless child: another exclaimed, " what a pity ! I had so
much sense !" a third patted my head, and prayed God to preserve
me, that I might make a good man. And most of them contributed
either by scraps of meat, farthings, bread and cheese, or other
homely offers, to enrich me, and send me away with my pockets
loaded. I joyfully brought as much of my stores as I could carry,
to the place of rendezvous my parents had appointed, where I astonished them by again reciting the false tales I had so readily
invented. My father, whose passions were easily moved, felt no
little conflict of mind as I proceeded. I can now, in imagination,
see the working of his features. " God bless the boy! 1 never
heard the like !" Then turning to my mother, he exclaimed with
great earnestness — " This must not be! the poor child will become a common-place liar ! A hedge-side rogue ! — He will learn
to pilfer! — Turn a confirmed vagrant! — Go on the highway
when he is older, and get hanged. He shall never go on such
errands again." How fortunate for me in this respect that I had
such a father ! He was driven by extreme poverty, restless anxiety,
and a brain too prone to sanguine expectation, into many absurdities, which were but the harbingers of fresh misfortunes: but he
had as much integrity and honesty of heart as perhaps any man in
the kingdom, who had had no greater advantages. It pleases me
now to recollect, that, though I had a consciousness that my talents
could keep my parents from want, I had a still stronger sense of
the justice of my father's remarks. As it happened, I had not only
read and remembered the consequences of good and evil, as they
are pointed out in the Scriptures, but I had also become acquainted
with some of the renowned heroes of fable; and to be a liar, a
rogue, and get hanged, did not square well with the confused ideas
I had either of goodness or greatness, or with my notions of a
hero.
From the vicinity of Cambridge, we passed on to the Isle of
Ely, hawking our different wares, pins, laces, tempting ribbons,
and garters, in every village we came to; arriving first at Peterborough, and afterwards taking care to be present at Wisbeach

16

MEMOIRS OF

fair. Markets, fairs, and wakes, were indeed the great objects
which regulated all our motions.
Tiie Isle of Ely, from its marshy nature, is much infested by the
reptile tribes. One day, as we were pushing forward through the
grass by the road side, I saw what I imagined to be a beautiful
ribbon, striped and spotted with various colours, but chiefly blue
and white; and with great surprise, catching hold of my mother's
arm, I cried, " Look, mammy, look ! " No less admiring what she
saw than myself, and equally mistaken, — " Bless me," said she,
" how pretty! " Then stooping to take it up, she touched it; but
our surprise now greatly increased, when a large snake uncoiled
itself, darted forward, and in a moment was out of sight. My
father was much amused at the terror we felt. He had lived for
some time with a farmer, and knew the difference between the
adder and common snake tribes, with the harmless nature of the
latter. For in summer and autumn, whenever he could come upon
a sleeping snake, he made it his diversion to catch it by the
tail, shake it when it attempted to rise, and bring it with him
wherever he was going. A country woman, with whom we met
shortly after, told us that the breed of snakes was so common in
those parts, that they could not be kept out of their cottages,
where they frequently took shelter, especially in the night.
The things of which I have the most distinct recollection as
connected with the Isle of Ely, are its marshy lands, multiplied
ditches, long broad grass, low and numerous draining mills, with
the cathedral of Peterborough, which I thought beautiful; but
above all, those then dear and delightful creatures, a quack doctor,
peeping from behind his curtain, and that droll devil, his merry
Andrew, apparitions first beheld by me at Wisbeach fair. It was
a pleasure so unexpected, so exquisite, so rich and rare, that I
followed the merry Andrew and his drummer through the streets,
gliding under arms and between legs, never long together three
yards apart from him; almost bursting with laughter at his extreme comicality; tracing the gridirons, punchinellos, and pantomime figures on his jacket; wondering at the manner in which he
twirled his hat in the air, and again caught it so dexterously on
his head. My curiosity did not abate, when he examined to see if
there was not some little devil hid within it, with a grotesque
squint of his eyes, twist of his nose, and the exclamation, " Oh,
ho ! have I caught you, Mr. Imp ? " — making a snatch at the in-

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

17

side of his hat, grasping at something, opening his hand, finding
nothing in it, and then crying, with a stupid stare,—" No, you see,
good folks, the devil of any devil is here! " Then again, when he
returned to the stage, followed by an eager crowd, and in an imperious tone was ordered by his master to mount, — to see the
comical jump he gave, alighting half upright, roaring with pretended pain, pressing his hip, declaring he had put out his collar bone,
crying to his master to come and cure it, receiving a kick, springing
up and making a somerset; thanking his master kindly for making
him well; yet the moment his back was turned, mocking him with
wry faces; answering the doctor, whom I should have thought
extremely witty, if Andrew had not been there, with jokes so apposite and whimsical as never failed to produce roars of laughter.
All this was to me assuredly, " the feast of reason and the flow of
soul! " As it was the first scene of the kind I had ever witnessed,
so it was the most ecstatic. I think it by no means improbable,
that an ardent love of the dramatic art took root in my mind from
the incidents of that day.

CHAP. IV.
THERE are short periods of my life, during which, when endeavouring to retrace them, I am surprised to find I can scarcely
recollect anything of what happened, and this was one of them.
How we got from the Isle of Ely,—where we went,—what we
did,—the reasons that induced my father and mother to forsake
the business of pedlars,—whether he returned to London for a
short time, and again sat down to what he called his trade, namely,
that of making, or rather mending shoes,—are questions which I
cannot answer. This interval, though not very long, must have
been of some duration; for the first remarkable fact that presents
itself to my mind, is the strong recollection I have of being at
Coventry, walking with my little sister in my arms in a large
desolate back yard, at the "outskirts of the city. Through this
yard, a deep, open common sewrer ran, into which my sister either
sprang or fell by accident, where she must almost instantly have
been suffocated, had not I, instead of being terrified, and running to
call for help, immediately threw myself on the ground, and dragged
E

18

MEMOIRS OF

her safely out. I ran, at once terrified and rejoiced, to tell my
father and mother what had happened, and was rewarded by the
praises I received from them for the good sense and intrepidity I
had shown. It has been my good fortune to have saved more lives
than one, but this was the first.
In and of Coventry itself, I remember several little traits and
incidents. I was much taken with the virtue, beauty, and magnanimity of Lady Godiva: — the misfortune that befel Peeping
Tom, was a fine mark of Divine justice; and I was equally delighted to think that all the people had bread enough, as I supposed, when the oppressive toll was taken off. Coventry Cross
was then standing, and though greatly dilapidated, made no little
impression on my imagination, as I walked round and round it,
and gazed at its spiral forms, commensurate proportions, numerous little recesses and figures, though half destroyed, that
suggested ideas of beauty, sanctity, and the events of past times.
Not that I would have it supposed that these ideas passed individually and distinctly through the mind of an uninstructed boy,
little more than eight years old, but the effect of them altogether
was such as I have here described.
My father, though active and of a strong constitution, was short,
slight-built, and wholly unable to contend with men in general.
But he was passionate, and free-spoken if he thought himself illused, and had thus given offence to a powerful, brutal rival in
the market, by whom he was treated with great contempt, and
threatened with personal chastisement. I well remember the grief
and indignation I then felt that my father should be thus degraded;
and that he, I, and all belonging to him, should be unable to redress his wrongs.
This happened on a market-day; and I believe it was on the
same day that my father, thinking me almost perished with the
cold, gave me a pint of ale to drink, which so far inebriated me,
that I was quite ashamed. My father himself was a man of such
sobriety, that I had heard him often declare that he had never in
his life been overcome with liquor. Besides, I loved religious
books, and they all informed me drunkenness was a great sin. I
therefore took it very much to heart, that I should so early have
been guilty of a crime of which he was entirely innocent. However, he consoled me by taking the blame upon himself for giving
me more to drink than I could be supposed able to bear.

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

19

It was here that I saw a person of a very odd and almost unaccountable appearance. I could not discover whether he was young
or old ; for he seemed to be both. The size of his limbs, the form
of his body, the colour of his hair and face, were feuch as might
have belonged to a boy of eighteen ; and to correspond writh these
he had something of sprightliness in his manner ; but his gait and
deportment were those of old age; he stooped in the shoulders,
and he had the greatest number of small wrinkles in his face that
I have ever seen. The reason why I mention many of these (in
themselves perhaps insignificant) circumstances, is, that the inquiring reader may be able to trace the bent and progress of my
mind, and how far I was prone to observation.

CHAP. V.
HAVING been bred to an employment for which he was very illfitted, both from his physical and mental powers and propensities,
the habit that became most rooted in, and most fatal to my father,
was a fickleness of disposition, a thorough persuasion, after he
had tried one means of pro\iding for himself and family for a
certain time, that he had discovered another far more profitable
and secure. Steadiness of pursuit was a virtue at which he could
never arrive; and I believe few men in the kingdom had in the
course pf their lives been the hucksters of so many small wares;
or more enterprising dealers in articles of a halfpenny value.
Different circumstances have fixed in my mind the recollection
of many of the towns to which we went, and a variety of the
articles of my father's traffic, but in all probability not a tenth
part of either. I at this moment remember in particular, a market-day at Macclesfield in Cheshire; not so much from what we
sold, though I believe it was some sort of wooden ware, of which
trenchers and spoons were in those days staple articles, as from a
person that caught my attention there. This was a most robust
and boisterous woman, more than middle aged, with a very visible
beard, and a deep bass voice. I was never weary of listening to,
looking at, her, and watching all she said or did. I could scarcely
think it possible there was such a woman.
I should mention, that to carry on these itinerant trades/my
B 2

20

MEMOIRS OF

father had begun with purchasing an ass, and bought more as he
could; now and then increasing his store by the addition of a ragged
poney, or a worn-out, weather-beaten Rozinante. In autumn he
turned his attention to fruit, and conveyed apples and pears in
hampers from villages to market-towns ; among the latter of which
I remember, were Tamworth, Newark-upon-Trent, and 'Hinckley.
The bad nourishment I met with, the cold and wretched manner
in which I was clothed, and the excessive weariness I endured in
following these animals day after day, and being obliged to drive
creatures perhaps still more weary than myself, were miseries
much too great, and loaded my little heart with sorrows far too
pungent ever to be forgotten. Bye roads and high roads were
alike to be traversed, but the former far the oftenest, for they
were then almost innumerable, and the state of them in winter
would scarcely at present be believed.—Speaking of scantiness of
diet, an incident happened to me which shows the great power of
taste, or rather of imagination, over the appetite, and which ought
to be treasured in the memory of those who endeavour to force the
appetites of children. I was travelling after my father in Staffordshire near Wosely bridge, where a country-gentleman had a seat.
I went into the house, whether alone or for what purpose I totally
forget; but I well remember the fragrant steams of the kitchen,
and the longing wishes they excited. As I was going away, a
good-natured servant said, i( Perhaps you are hungry, little boy?"
To which bashfully hanging my head, I answered, " Yes." " Well,
then, stop a minute, I'll give you something very nice:" and accordingly, a large basin of rich pease-soup was brought me, and a
spoon. I had never eaten, nor perhaps heard of such a thing
before; but the moment I smelt it, and applied it to my palate, I
conceived such an excessive dislike to it, that though I felt
ashamed, and made every effort I could, I found it impossible to
swallow a spoonful. Some servants were by my side, and one of
them asked, " W h a t ! don't you like it? Can't you eat i t ? " To
which, perfectly abashed, and again hanging my head, I replied,
" No." " H a ! " said one of them, "you are a dainty chap, however,
I wonder who keeps you, or what it is you do like!" I made no
reply, but, hungry as I was, and wretchedly disappointed, hurried
away as fast as I could, to overtake my father. I should remark,
that since I have grown up, pease-soup has always been a favourite
dish with me; perhaps, accustomed as I had been from childhood

THOMAS HOLCROET.

21

to the plainest food, and empty as my stomach then was, this high
flavoured composition would unavoidably excite disgust.
My father became by turns, a collector and vender of rags, a
hardwareman, a dealer in buckles, buttons, and pewter-spoons; in
short, a trafficker in whatever could bring gain. But there was
one thing which fixed his attention longer than any other, and
which therefore, I suppose he found the most lucrative ; which
was, to fetch pottery from the neighbourhood of Stone, in Staffordshire, and to hawk it through all the North of England. Of all
other travelling, this was the most continual, the most severe, and
the most intolerable. Derbyshire, Cheshire, Leicestershire, Nottinghamshire, Warwickshire, the towns and cities of Birmingham,
Walsall, Wolverhampton, Coventry, Derby, Burton-upon-Trent,
Litchfield, Tamworth, Atherstone, Nuneaton, Lutterworth, Ashbyde-la-Zouch, nay, aa far up as Warwick, Stratford-upon-Avon,
Daventiy, Northampton, Newport-Pagnell, Banbury, (I well remember its delicious cakes); and on the east, Stamford in Lincolnshire, Grantham, and in short every place within possible reach,
or where pottery might be sold, received visits from my father, the
asses, and poor me.
What became of my mother, during these excursions, I do not
accurately recollect, except that she was with us occasionally, as at
Macclesfield for instance, where the woman with the beard and
bass voice so fixed my attention. She was also with us at Litchfield
and Coventry. Most probably she was in general left at home,
with her child or children.
By home, I mean an old house half in ruins, about two miles on
the north-east side of Rugeley, with a kitchen-garden, paddock,
and croft, which afforded some scanty supplies to man and beast,
when my father found it convenient, or thought proper, to rest a
little from his labours ; but to me this house often became a den of
misery. I was not yet nine years old, but I had a variety of employments. First, I was the messenger of the family to Rugeley,
whither I took money, and brought back delicious white bread,
for which it was then famous, with such minor articles as were
wanted. But when trusted by myself, I could not help loitering
on the road, diverting myself with whatever caught my attention,
and examining every new object with an idle, boyish curiosity,
from which I derived little profit. So that a journey, which ought
to have been performed in less than two hours, generally took me
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22

MEMOIRS OF

more than half a day. I knew the consequences, and had a kind
of horror of them, yet could not resist, could not prevail upon
myself to go straight forward ; such was the united force of habit
and curiosity.
My father was alike extreme in his anger, and in his compassion.
He used to beat me, pull my hair up by the roots, and drag me
by the ears along the ground, till they ran with blood. Indeed my
repeated faults were so' unpardonable, that he could scarcely blame
himself. Yet probably within an hour after he had exercised his
severity upon me, he would break out into passionate exclamations
of fondness, alarming himself lest he should some time or other do
me a serious mischief, and declaring that rather than so, he would
a thousand times prefer instant death.
Chastisements like these were grievous, but they were by no
means the whole of what I had to encounter. I know not how it
happened, but at this early age I was intrusted with business rather
like an adult than a child.
Towards Litchfield, on the right, lay Cannock heath and town;
and adjoining to this heath, on the left, there were coal-pits
situated in a remarkably heavy clay country: (I speak from childish
recollection, and may therefore expect to be pardoned, should I in
description commit any local errors ; as 1 have never been at Cannock, the coal-pits, or the heath, since that period). Desirous of
employing his asses, yet averse to go himself (I know not for what
reason), my father frequently sent me to these coal-pits to get a
single ass loaded, and to drive him over the heath to B-ugeley,
there to find a customer for my coals. The article was so cheap,
and so near, that the profits could be but very small, yet they were
something. Had the weather been fine when I was sent on these
errands, the task would not have been so difficult, nor the wonder
so great; but at the time I was unfortunately sent there, I have a
perfect recollection of deep ruts, of cattle, both asses and horses,
unable to drag their legs through the clay, and of carts and waggons that were set fast in it. I do not mean that these accidents
happened every day, but they were common to the place: and to
poor helpless me, with a creature that could scarcely stand under its
burden, they were not less frequent than to others. When any
body that could assist me happened to be near, I thought myself
in luck; but if I was obliged to run from coal-pit to coal-pit, to request the man who turned the wheel to come and help me, the
chance of compliance was little. I often got nothing but a surly

THOMAS HOL.CROFT.

;23

curse and a denial ; so till some unlooked-for accident brought me
relief, there my loaded ass, sometimes heaving a groan at what he
suffered, was obliged to stay.
The most remarkable instance of this kind of distress may perhaps deserve recounting. One day, my ass had passed safely
through the clay ruts and deep roads, and under my guidance had
begun to ascend a hill we had to cross on Cannock heath on our
way to Rugeley. The wind was very high ; though while we were
on low ground, I had never suspected its real force. But my apprehensions began to increase with our ascent; and when on the
summit of the hill, nearly opposite to two clumps of trees, which
are pictured to my imagination as they stood there at that time, it
blew gust after gust, too powerful for the loaded animal to resist,
and down it came. Through life I have always had a strong sense
of the grief and utter despair I then felt. But what a little surprises me is that I have no recollection whatever of the means by
which I found relief, but rather of the naked and desolate place in
which I was, and my inability to help myself. Could I have unloaded the ass, it would not have been much matter; but the coals
were brought from the pit in such masses, that three of them wer^e
generally an ass load; any one of which was usually beyond my
strength. I have no doubt, however, but I got them by some
means or other to Rugeley, and brought the money for them safe
to my father, whom I could not help secretly accusing of insensibility, though that was the very reverse of his character.
The coal-pits were situated on the extremity of an old forest,
inhabited by large quantities of red deer. At these I always
stopped to look: but what surprised and delighted me most was
the noble stag; for to him the deer appeared insignificant. Him I
often saw bounding along, eyeing objects without fear, and making
prodigious leaps over obstacles that opposed his passage. In this
free state, indeed, he cannot but excite our admiration.
One little anecdote I must not omit. The reader will naturally
suppose that from the time I began to travel the country with my
father and mother, I had little leisure or opportunity to acquire
any knowledge by reading. I was too much pressed by fatigue,
hunger, cold, and nakedness. Still however I cannot but suppose,
as well from my own propensity to obey the will of God, as from
my father's wish to encourage my inclinations of this kind, that I
continued to repeat my prayers and catechism morning and evenis 4

24

MEMOIRS OF

ing, and on Sundays to read the prayer-book and Bible. At any
rate, I had not forgotten to read; for while we were at the house
near Rugeley, by some means or other, the song of Chevy Chace
came into my possession, which I read over with great delight at our
lire-side. My father, who knew that my memory was tolerably retentive, and saw the great number of stanzas the ballad contained,
said to me, "Well, Tom, can you get that song by heart?" To
this question I very readily answered, " Yes." " In how long a
time ?"-— "Why, you know, father, I have got such work for tomorrow, and what work you will set me for the following days, I
can't tell; however, I can get it in three days." " What, perfectly?" "Yes." "Well, if you do that, I'll give you a halfpenny." Eejoiced at my father's generosity, " Oh then, never
fear," said I. I scarcely need add, that my task was easily
accomplished, and that I then had the valuable sum of a halfpenny
at my own disposal.

CHAP. VI.
THERE was a single instance in which I travelled on foot thirty
miles in one day. Whether the miles were measured or computed,
is a circumstance which I now forget: but the roads were so heavy,
owing to a strong clay soil, that the last quarter of a mile I had to
go, I was obliged to confess I could walk no farther, and I was carried on a countryman's shoulders. All those who heard of this, and
knew how young, how slight of limb, and stunted in my growth I
was, expressed their astonishment, and some their doubts, I think
this happened before I was ten years of age.
My father broke up his little establishment near Rugeley, and
took me with him into Cheshire, but left me at a village two or
three miles from Haslem, where I was entrusted to the care of an
old woman, who kept a lodging-house, and whom, from the whole
of her appearance, as well as her kindness to me, I always remembered with respect. On the evening of my arrival, but later, two
travelling Irishmen came in, and were admitted as lodgers. My
father had bargained with the old woman, that she was to provide
for me: travellers, of course, who come in at sunset, and depart at
day-break, provide for themselves, or are obliged to be satisfied
with what such barren abodes can supply. The Irishmen had,*

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

25

provided a halfpenny roll between them; what they might have
more I do not know. But my good old dame they noticed to be
mashing up a plentiful supper of new milk and potatoes for me, a
dish in which their hearts delighted. Whether it was contrivance,
accident, or according to rule, I cannot say; we did not, however,
sup in the presence of the old woman, but in the room in which we
all three slept. No sooner were we here, and I had begun in
imagination to devour my delicate mashed potatoes, than the Irishmen came up to me, patted my cheeks, told me what a pretty little
boy I was, asked me my name, inquired who took care of me, and
to what country I was going; and swore by the holy father they
never in all their lives saw so sweet a looking boy, and so compliant
and good-tempered. " Do now," said one of them, " let me taste
of your mashed potatoes." " Aye, and me too," said the other —
" I warrand you don't much care about them! We, now, are a
dale more, used to them in Ireland : Fm sure you'll be very glad to
make an exchange. Here now, here is a very fine half-penny roll,
which is very nice ating, and which, to be sure, we bought for our
own supper. To be sure, we should be fond enough of it, but we
don't care about trifles; and as we have been used to ate potatoes
all the days of our lives, and you English all like bread, why if you
plase, my sweet compilable fillow^ we will just make a little bit of
a swap, and so we shall all ate our suppers heartily." The action
followed the word ; they took my potatoes, and gave me the dry
roll: while I, totally disconcerted, and not a little overawed by the
wildness of my fellow-lodgers' looks, the strangeness of their
brogue, their red whiskers, dark beards, carroty wigs, and sparkling
black eyes, said not a word, but quietly submitted, though I thoroughly regretted the dainty supper I had lost, and saw them
devour it with an aching heart.
Whenever I write dialogues like these, it is not to be supposed
that I pretend to repeat word for word what was said: after the
lapse of so many years, such a pretension would on the face of ,it
be absurd. But I do on all such occasions pretend to give a true
picture of the impressions that still remain on my mind, to express
the tone and spirit in which the words were spoken, and in general
to repeat a part of the words themselves. — I cannot too seriously
declare that I write these memoirs with a conscious desire to say
nothing but the pure truth ; the chief intention of them being to
excite an ardent emulation in the breasts of youthful readers, by

26

MEMOIRS OF

showing them how difficulties may be endured, how they may be
overcome, and how they may at last contribute, as a school of instruction, to bring forth hidden talent.

C H A R VII.
NEXT morning early the Irishmen pursued their journey ; and
when my father returned, I told him in the hearing of our wellmeaning old hostess how I had been tricked Out of my supper.
They immediately joined in reviling the whole Irish nation, concluding, as " the great vulgar and the small" generally do on such
occasions, that these two fellows> with the cunning kind of robbery
they had committed, exhibited a faithful picture of Ireland and
Ix'ishmen. Till corrected either by great experience, or conscientious inquiry, the human mind has an almost invincible propensity, when any vice which most excites disgust or contempt is
remarked in an individual of a particular country, to affirm that
it could belong to no one else, and to ascribe it as a general
characteristic to the nation at large.
I believe that my father's intentions, when we left Cheshire,
were to seclude himself for a time, by working at the shoe-making
business; and that for this purpose he took a circuitous route,
with a determination to settle at whatever market town he should
find there was a probability of getting employment. This pursuit
led us to Northwich, Knutsford, Congleton, Macclesfield, Sheffield,
Chappel-in-le-Frith, in which country the scenery astonished me,
and where I was particularly struck with three conic barren rocks,
which, I remarked to my father, were like three sugar loaves.
We also went to Buxton, Bakewell, Chesterfield, and Mansfield,
where sickness detained us for a time. This sickness was a
mutual and dangerous fever, which we caught, either by our
being unable to reach a lodging-house, or to pay for a lodging,
and by our sleeping, in consequence, under a damp hedge, an imprudence that had nearly proved fatal to us; nor have I ever
ceased at intervals to feel its effects. Some time after our recovery from the fever, I was seized by an asthma, which became
so violent, that it was only occasionally I dared venture from the
house. I can give no account how we were maintained, while we

THOMAS HOLCEOFT.

27

were at Mansfield, nor of the means by which we recovered; but
I have a perfect picture before me, of a decent, cleanly house,
good attendance, and countenances that were kind and cheerful.
At the same time, I have no recollection of conceiving ourselves
indebted to charity, or of being under any apprehensions of future
want; so that I can hardly suppose that the circumstance which
first occasioned our illness, arose from pecuniary distress.
After we had recovered sufficient strength, our next remove
was to Nottingham, where we lodged in a house not far from the
park, with the castle in view, and the brook that winds along the
low grounds beneath the height on which it is built. A game
which I do not remember to have seen played any where else, and
which afforded me no little pleasure, was that of two men having
each a round bright ball of iron or steel, to which they had the art
of giving an elastic right-line direction along the pathway through
the Park; and which, if I am not mistaken, they called playing at
long bowls, he who could first attain the goal being the winner.
Spell and null, bandy, prison-bars, and other field games, in the address or the activity of which my little heart delighted, long before
I was permitted to be a partaker in them, were here among the
diversions of the summer evening.
In many parts, Nottingham is, as I then thought it, a very fine
town. To me, who had seen so many, its market-place seemed to
claim an undoubted and high superiority. Situated on a gently
rising ground, that soon becomes dry after showers, surrounded
by inns, shops, and other buildings, and well supplied with almost
every article, it is among the largest, most convenient, and handsomest in England. A little beyond it were two remarkable inns,
the White Lion, and the Blackamoor's Head; each possessed of
vast cellerage, wines of I know not what age, with viands, beds,
and other conveniences, such as it gave me the greatest satisfaction
to hear described.
One of our four principal rivers, the noble Trent, flows through
the meadows below the town, at no very great distance. The
scenery round it, to my boyish apprehension, was grand. When
the day and the stream were clear, I have often taken a particular
pleasure in watching the shoals of fish of the smaller kind in
which it abounded, or in now and then catching a glimpse of
some of greater magnitude, or in seeing them brought on shore
by the dexterous angler. A village, called the Hermitage, lay on

28

HEMOIBS OF

its banks, and thither I delighted to walk, because it was connected
with circumstances which interested my imagination. Here, as
well as in other places in the outskirts of the town, there were
houses cut in the rock ; and I could not but fancy them to have
been formerly inhabited by a venerable and holy brotherhood of
Hermits. These houses were indeed to me objects of the greatest
curiosity. I could never cease admiring that men should persevere
in hewing themselves out such habitations, and that they should
turn a thing so barren to so much use and profit; for these rocks
were in fact high banks of sand-stone, and on the top of them,
that is, on the roofs of their houses, each man had his garden.
I walked much about at Nottingham in company with my father,
to whom I was very eager to communicate all my juvenile pleasures, and of whom I also made constant inquiries with respect to
the objects we saw. He, however, could oftener make conjectures
than give information. I imagine his reason for taking me thus
into the air, was, as he hoped, to arrest the progress of the asthma,
which daily increased, and became alarming ; for there were times
when I could not walk above a few yards without standing still to
recover breath. Such medical people as my father could obtain
access to, were consulted; but the general opinion was, that unless
youth and growth should relieve me, the disease was for life. An
intelligent surgeon happened to think otherwise: he entertained
hopes, he said, provided an issue was made, and carefully kept
open on the inside of each leg below the knee. My father accepted
his offer to perforate the skin, and direct me in dressing the issues;
for to my known prudence this care was readily committed. The
success of the remedy equalled the expectations of the surgeon.
The cure, aided no doubt by my youth and cheerful temperament,
was progressively visible from week to week, and my joy and
thankfulness to my medical guide were great. Whoever he was,
I certainly owe him much ; but I have forgotten his name. This
must have happened in the year 1756 or 1757, but I believe the
latter.

CHAP. VIII.
PUBLIC sights, even though cruel, have been, through all ages, the
delight of the herd of mankind. The sessions were just over, and

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

29.

a malefactor, who had been sentenced to death, was left by the
judge for execution. My father proposed that we should accompany the crowd, and see what was to be seen. To this I consented ; we followed the cart to the gallows, which stood at some
distance from the town ; and by talking with each other, listening
to remarks that were made, some of them charitable, others tainted
with a revengeful spirit, and by frequently stopping to observe the
agitation of the poor wretch whose life was so soon to cease, 1
was thrown into a very pensive state of mind. However, taking
my father by the hand, I patiently waited the awful moment when
the cap was drawn over the culprit's eyes, and he was suddenly
lifted into the air. Here his convulsive struggles, to my young
and apprehensive imagination, were intolerable : I soon turned
my eyes away, unable to look any longer ; and my father, seeing
the pain I was in, said, " Come, Tom, let us go." " Oh yes, yes,
father, as fast as we can," was ray reply. The effect on my mind
was such, that I made, as I suppose, the first fixed resolution of
my life, and declared it in a tone that denoted how determined I
was, — " Never again, while I live," said I, " will I go and see a
malefactor put to death." Five or six and twenty years afterwards, I thought it an act of duty to change this determination
when I was first at Paris in the year 1783. Through life, however, when hanging, and the various ways in which men exterminate each other, have been talked of, I have rarely, if ever, forgotten the poor dying culprit of Nottingham.
It should seem that men have at all times had the good sense to
contrast their melancholy and often disgusting institutions with
others of an opposite tendency ; and that seldom fail in the very
nature of them to revive the sickening heart, and give it animation
and delight.
The time of Nottingham races drew near. My father was a
great lover of horses, as I have said; and from his discourse, as
well as the little I had seen of these noble animals, I was eager to
become better acquainted with them. My father recapitulated the
different places at which he had seen horses run, recounted the
names of the famous winners he had known, and filled up the picture with the accidents common on such occasions, the amazing
cunning of sharpers, the punishments inflicted on some of their
detected rogueries; the cries of the betting chair, the tumult of
the crowd when the horses were running, t]je danger of being too

30

MEMOIRS OF

near the course, with the difficulty of keeping it clear, the multitude of gaming and drinking booths, and all that variety of delightful commotion which was calculated to gratify my boyish
fancy. The whole scene was like enchantment; and all my wishes
were now centered in its being realised.
Ten days or a fortnight before the time, straggling horses for
the different plates began to drop in; and of course to take their
morning and evening exercise on the course, where they might be
seen. This was a pleasure not to be neglected either by me or rny
father. I was delighted with the fineness of their limbs, their glossy
coats; and not a little amused, when following them from exercise
to the stable, if I were but allowed to take a peep, and see how
their body-clothes were managed, how the currying and brushing
of them was performed, their high straw beds prepared, their long
hay carefully chosen, and their oats sifted and re-sifted. Every
thing about a race-horse is precious : but I pitied them for bqing
so much stinted in their food, and especially when my father told
me it must daily decrease, and that the night before they started
they must fast.
But the great and glorious part which Nottingham held in the
annals of racing this year, arose from the prize of the King's Plate,
which was to be contended for by the two horses which every
body I heard speak considered as undoubtedly the best in England,
and perhaps equal to any that had ever been known, Childers alone
excepted. Their names were, Careless and Atlas. Careless, who
had been bred by a worthy and popular Baronet of the county
(I forget his name), was the decided favourite of every man in
Nottingham, gentle or simple. The prowess and equal, if not
superior, merit of Atlas, were very boldly asserted by strangers,
and particularly by jockeys, betters, and men of the turf. If I do
not mistake, Atlas was the property of, and bred by, the Duke of
Devonshire. However, he had received a previous defeat in
running against Careless ; and this defeat the men of Nottingham
considered as little less than a certainty of future victory. The
opposite party affirmed that Atlas, being a remarkably powerful
horse (I think, seventeen hands high), had not then attained his
full force. There was a story in circulation concerning him, which
if true deserved to be remembered. He was a full bred horse out
of the Duke's own stud, and consequently was intended for training : but being unwieldy when foaled, and as he grew up becoming

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

31

still more so, he was rejected on account of his size and clumsiness,
and banished to the cart breed. Among these inferiors he remained, till, by some accident, either of playfulness or fright,
several of them started together, and the vast advantage of Atlas
in speed happening to be noticed, it was then thought proper by
the grooms to restore him to his blood companions.
Of those who in the least amused or busied themselves with
such affairs, Careless and Atlas occupied the whole discourse.
Many people who seemed to reason plausibly enough on the subject, affirmed that if any thing lost the race to Careless, it would be
the inferior skill of his rider, by whom neither the ground nor the
powers of the horse would be well economised; he was merely the
groom of a country gentleman. When the race was over, these
accusations were vociferated with wearisome reiteration.
On the appointed day, however, they both started for the King's
Plate ; and I believe there was scarcely a heart on the race-course
that did not swell with hope and fear. As for my own little one,
it was all in rapture for Careless. He was so finely made, his coat
was so bright, his eye so beaming, his limbs so animated, and every
motion seemed so evidently to declare, <( I can Hy, if I please,"
that I could not endure the thought of his being conquered. Alas,
for the men of Nottingham, conquered lie was ! I forget whether
it was at two or three heats, but there was many an empty purse
on that night, and many a sorrowful heart.

CHAP. IX.
THESE different incidents had raised a strong desire in my mind
to be better acquainted with a subject that had given to me, and
as I thought to every body, so much emotion, and I began to consider what might be done. At that time I was rather a burden
to my father than a help. I believe I assisted him a little in the
mending of shoes, but my asthma, till very lately, as well as my
youth, had prevented my making much progress. At dhe time
indeed I had been persuaded, though much against my will, to
become apprentice to a stocking-weaver; but this, 1 forget how,
broke off, at which I was very glad: I did not like stockingweaving. The question now occurred to me, whether it would

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MEMOIRS OF

not be possible to procure the place of a stable-boy, at Newmarket*
I was at this time in point of clothing in a very mean, not to say
ragged condition, and in other respects, was not much better off.
The stable-boys I saw at Nottingham, were healthy, clean, well
fed, well clothed, and remarkable rather for their impudence, than
seeming to live under any kind of fear or hardship. Except their
impudence, I liked every thing else I saw about them; and concluded that if I could obtain so high a situation as this, I should
be very fortunate.
These reflections preyed so much upon my mind, that 1 was at
last induced to mention them to my father; and he having a predilection for every thing belonging to a horse, and therefore a high
respect for this, the noblest state of that animal's existence, readily
fell into my views, and only feared they could not be accomplished.
He resolved however that trial should be made; and after inquiring among the jockeys, thought it advisable to apply to a Mr.
Woodcock, who kept stables four or five miles from Newmarket,
where he trained horses entrusted to his care. Mr. Woodcock examined me, asked my age, found I was light of weight, and, as I
suppose, liking the answers I gave to his questions, to our very
great joy, agreed to take me upon trial. In the course of my life,
there have been several changes, that each in their turn greatly
affected my spirits, and gave me advantages far beyond what I had
ever before enjoyed: of these gradual elevations, this was the first.
I should now be somebody. I should be entrusted with the management of one of that race of creatures that were the most admired and beloved by me: I should be well clothed, wear a livery,
which would show I belonged to one of the great: I should not only
have food enough, but of that kind which was highly relishing to
the appetite of youth; and, in addition to all this, should receive an
annual stipend. I jumped, as it were, from a precarious and mean
existence, where I could not tell what worse might happen, into a
permanent and agreeable employment. I had only to learn to ride,
and perform the duties of a stable boy, of which I had no fear, for
I supposed them far less difficult than I afterwards found they
were.
The grooms that reside at, and in the vicinity of, this famed
town, are all more or less acquainted with each other; and
on Mr. Woodcock's recommendation, I was put under the care of
Jack Clarke, who lived with Captain Vernon, he having luckily &

THOMAS HOLCKOFT.

33

led horse, which I was to mount. The day of parting with my
father, and of beginning our journey, was an anxious one. He
could not too emphatically repeat the tfew well-meant precepts he
had so often given me, nor I too earnestly assure him, I would love
and obey him all my life. Notwithstanding his severity, he was
passionately fond of me, my heart entered into the same feelings,
and there was great and unfeigned affection between us.

CHAP. X.
As is the custom in travelling with trained horses, we set off early,
and walked without hurry. When we stopped to breakfast, the
plenty of excellent cold beef, bread and cheese, with the best tablebeer, and as much as we pleased, gave me a foretaste of the fortunate change I had made. This indeed exceeded my utmost
expectations,—I was entering upon a new existence,—was delighted, full of hope, and cheerful alacrity, yet too timid to be
presumptuous. Clarke being a good-tempered lad, and seeing me
happy, attempted to play me no tricks whatever. On the contrary,
he gave me all the caution and advice he could, to guard me against
being drawn into the common-place deceptions, most of them
nasty, many of them unhealthy, and all of them tending to make
the poor tyro a common laughing-stock, uniformly practised by
the resident boys upon every new comer. I do not recollect onehalf these tricks: but that with which they begin, if I do not
mistake, is to persuade their victim that the first thing necessary
for a well-trained stable-boy, is to borrow as many waistcoats as he
can, and in the morning after he has dressed and fed his horse, to
put them all on, take a race of perhaps two or three miles, return
home, strip himself stark naked, and immediately be covered up in
the hot dung-hill; which they assure him is the method the grooms
take when they sweat themselves down to ride a race. Should the
poor fellow follow their directions, they conclude the joke with
pailfuls of cold water, which stand ready to throw over him.
Another of their diversions used to be that of hunting the owl,
which is already very whimsically described in a book of much humour, and tolerably well-known, called " Tim Bobbin's Lancashire
Dialect." To catch the owl, is to persuade a booby that there is an
C

34

MEMOIRS OF

owl found at roost in the corner of a barn; that a ladder must be^
placed against a hole, through which, when the persons within shall
be pleased to hoot and hunt him, he must necessarily fly, as the
barn door is shut, and every other outlet closed: that the boy
chosen to catch-the owl must mount this ladder on the outside, and
the purblind animal, they say, will fly directly into his hat. When
the owl-catcher is persuaded to all this, and mounts to his post, the
game begins: hallooing and absurd noises are made ; the fellows
within divert themselves with laughing at what is to come, and
pretending to call to one another to drive the owl from this place
to that; while two or three of them approach nearer and nearer to
the hole, when they discharge the contents of their full tubs and
pails on the head of the expecting owl-catcher, who is generally
precipitated from his ladder to some soft, but not very agreeable,
preparation below.
Clarke warned me against several other of the games at which
I should be invited to play ; in most of which there was some
whim, but a great deal more of that dirty wit in which ill-bred
boys are known to delight. Clarke, however, did me this essential
service, that he not only taught me to avoid all the snares he mentioned, but rendered me so wary, that all the time I was among this
mischievous crew, I was never once entrapped by them. At this
they occasionally expressed great wonder; perhaps, had they
known the secret, they would have taken their revenge on Clarke.
The weather through the whole of our journey was fine, the ride
highly agreeable, and the instruction and information I received
from Clarke, made it still more pleasant to me. The only place I
can distinctly remember having passed through and made a short
stay at, was Huntingdon.

CHAP. XL
As I have said, Mr. Woodcock resided in the vicinity of Newmarket, at the distance of three or four miles; and to the house
where he lived Clarke immediately took me, gave up his charge,
and we parted, I believe with mutual good-will; at least, my feelings towards him were grateful and friendly. As a thing of
course, there must have been stables belonging to the house of Mr.
Woodcock, but I cannot recollect what train he had under him;

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

m

and, to say the truth, I cannot fix upon any one figure, man, boy,
or animal, except a grey filly, on the back of which I was put, and
which I was entrusted with the care of.
I doubt if Mr. Woodcock was at home on my arrival. His
family was small, and had the air of being genteel. It consisted of
himself, his wife, and their daughter, who was about eleven years
old. All that I can now recollect of Mrs. and Miss Woodcock, is,
having seen them, very neatly dressed in white, that the mother
assumed a very superior but obliging manner, and that I stood
much in awe of her. Trees were thinly scattered to some distance
round the house ; the parlour was very neat, and rather spacious.
In this I received one of those early lessons in moral honesty,
which produce a greater effect on the mind of a child, or even of a
youthj than is generally supposed. One afternoon, the tea-things
and sugar-bason being set out in the parlour before Mrs. and Miss
Woodcock had come down, I was passing the door, and that delicious bait of boyhood, a fine lump of sugar, caught my eye. I
looked, considered, looked again, saw nobody, found it irresistible,
and venturing, step by step, on tiptoe, seized the tempting prize,
thinking myself secure ; but as I turned back to hasten away with
it, the first object that struck me was a young gentleman, stretched
either on a chair or sofa behind the door, with a book in his
hand, a look directed to me, and a smile on his countenance. I
cannot express the shame I felt; but I immediately returned the
sugar to its place, cast down my eyes, and slunk away, most
heartily mortified, especially when the young gentleman's smile
broke out into a laugh.
I forgot to mention, though it will easily be supposed, that when
I entered on my new profession, my dress was changed, and I
was made to look something like a stable-boy.
Miss Woodcock was a very neat little girl, and it somehow happened, though I know not by what means, that I soon got rather
in favour with her. She would whisper with me when we met
near the house, chide me, if she saw what she thought an impropriety, and once or twice condescended to be half or quite angry
with me, while I did all in my power to please her. These trifling
advances, however, which spoke rather the innocence of the age,
than the intention of the mind, were soon put an end to by an accident that had nearly proved fatal to me.
Perfectly a novice as I was, though I could sit with seeming
c2

36

MEMOIRS OF

safety on a quiet horse, I neither knew how to keep a firm seat,
nor suddenly to seize one; and I was almost certain of being thrown
if any thing that was but a little violent or uncommon happened.
I was walking the dark grey filly quite a foot-pace in the forest,
when in an instant something startled her, and made her spring
aside; by which I was not only unseated and thrown, but, unfortunately for me, my foot hung in the stirrup ; her fright was increased, she began to kick and plunge violently, and I received a
blow in the stomach, which, though it freed me from the stirrup,
left me, as was supposed, for no inconsiderable time, dead. Somebody, I imagine, was riding with me, for the alarm was soon given:
I was taken up, carried home, treated with great humanity, and,
by bleeding and other medical means, signs of life at length became
visible. All that I myself recollect of a circumstance so very
serious, and so very near being mortal, was, that I was thrown,
kicked, and dreadfully frightened; that some time afterwards I
found myself very ill in bed, in a very neat chamber, and that I
was spoken to and attended with great kindness till my recovery.
This accident, however, put an end to my jockeyship in the service of Mr. Woodcock: he discovered, a little too late, that the
dark grey filly and I could not be trusted safely together. But
though he turned me away, he did not desert me. He recommended me to the service of a little deformed groom, remarkably
long in the fork, I think of the name of Johnstone, who was
esteemed an excellent rider, and had a string of no less than
thirteen famous horses, the property of the Duke of Grafton,
under his care. This was acknowledged to be a service of great
repute ; but the shrewd little groom soon discovered that I had all
my trade to learn, and I was again dismissed.
After this new disappointment, I felt perhaps a more serious
alarm than is usual with boys at such an age. For, independently
of natural sensibility, I had seen so much of the world, had so often
been entrusted with its petty affairs, depended so much upon my
ability to act for myself, and had been so confident in my assurances to my father that I ran no risk in venturing alone into the
world, that my fears were not trifling when I found myself so far
from him, thrown out of place, and convicted of being unable to
perform the task I had so inconsiderately undertaken. Mr. Johnstone told me I must endeavour to get a place, but that for his part
he could say little in my favour; however, he would suffer me to

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

37

remain a few days among the boys. My despondency was the
greater, because, the morning before, when a horse that I was
riding shook himself in his saddle, as horses are sometimes observed to do, I fell from his back as much terrified as if he had
been rearing, plunging, and kicking. To hardy grooms, and boys
that delight in playing the braggart, this was a truly ridiculous
instance of cowardice, and was repeated with no little malignity and laughter.

CHAP. XII.
T H E unforeseen relief that has been given to misfortune under circumstances apparently quite hopeless, has frequently been remarked, and not seldom affirmed to be an incontestible proof of a
particular providence.
I know not where I got the information, nor how, but in the very
height of my distress, I heard that Mr. John "Watson, training and
riding groom to Captain Vernon, a gentleman of acute notoriety
on the turf, and in partnership with the then Lord March, afterwards Duke of Queensberry, was in want of, but just then found
it difficult to procure, a stable-boy. To make this pleasing intelligence still more welcome, the general character of John Watson
was that, though he was one of the first grooms in Newmarket, he
was remarkable for being good-tempered; yet the manner in which
he disciplined his boys, though mild, was effectual, and few were
in better repute. One consequence of this, however, was, that if
any lad was dismissed by John Wratson, it was not easy for him to
find a place.
With him Jack Clarke lived, the lad with whom I came from
Nottingham: this was another fortunate circumstance, and contributed to inspire m& with confidence. My present hopes were so
strongly contrasted with my late fears, that they were indeed enviable. To speak for once in metaphor, I had been as one of those
who walk in the shadow of the valley of death: an accidental
beam of the sun broke forth, and I had a beatific view of heaven.
It was no difficult matter to meet with John Watson; he was
so attentive to stable-hours, that, except on extraordinary occasions, he was always to be found. Being first careful to make myc 3

38

MEMOIRS 1 OF

self look as much like a stable-boy as I could, I came at the hour
of four (the summer hour for opening the afternoon stables, giving
a slight feed of 'oats, and going out to evening exercise), and ventured to ask if I could see John Watson. The immediate answer
was in the affirmative. John Watson came, looked at me with a
serious, but goodrnatured, countenance, and accosted me first with,
" Well, my lad, what is your business ? I suppose I can guess ;
you want a place ? " " Yes, sir." " Who have you lived with ? "
1
'Mr. Woodcock, on the forest; one of your boys, Jack Clarke,,
brought me with him from Nottingham." ic How came you to
leave Mr. Woodcock ?" " I had a sad fall from an iron-grey filly,
that almost killed me." " That is bad indeed ! and so you left
him ?" " He turned me away, sir." " That is honest; I like your
speaking the truth. So you are come from him to me?" At this
question I cast my eyes down, and hesitated, then fearfully answered, " No, sir." " No! what, change masters twice in so short
a time ? " " I can't help it, sir, if I am turned away." This last
answer made him smile. "Where are you now, then ?" " M r .
Johnstone gave me leave to stay with the boys a few days." "That
is a good sign. I suppose you mean little Mr. Johnstone at the
other end of the town ?" " Yes, sir." " Well, as you have been so
short a time in the stables, I am not surprised he should turn you
away; he would have every body about him as clever as himself;
they must all know their business thoroughly. However, they must
learn it somewhere. I will venture to give you a trial, but I "must
jfirst inquire your character of my good friends, Woodcock and
Johnstone. Come to-morrow morning at nine, and you shall have
an answer."
It may well be supposed I did not forget the appointment; and a
fortunate one I found it, for I was accepted on trial at four pounds
or guineas a year, with the usual livery clothing. My station
was immediately assigned me. Here was a remarkably quiet
three-years old colt, lately from the discipline of the breaker;
and of him I was ordered to take charge, instructed by one of the
upper boys in every thing that was to be done, and directed to
back him and keep pace with the rest, when they went to exercise,
only taking care to keep a strait line, and to walk, canter, and
gallop the last. Fortunately for me his temper appeared to be so
quiet (for he had been put into full training at an early age), that
I found not the least difficulty in managing him. My reputation,

THOMAS HOLGROFT

W

therefore, among the boys, which is ail essential circumstance,
suffered no stain.
I ought to mention, that though I have spoken of Mr. Johnstone, and may do of more Misters among the grooms, it is only
because I have forgotten their christian names ; for, to the best of
my recollection, when I was at Newmarket, it was the invariable
practice to denominate each groom by his christian and surname,
unless any one happened to possess some peculiarity that marked
him. For instance, I remember a little man in years, grown timid
from age, but otherwise supposed to be the best rider in England,
and remarkable for his knowledge of almost every race-course*
whose name, I think, was William Cheevers ; and of whom it was
the custom to speak, by calling him Old Will, The Old One, and
the like. I mention this, as it may be now, or hereafter, a distinctive mark of the changes of manners. I know not what appellar
tions are given to grooms at Newmarket at the present day, but at
the time I speak of, if any grooms had been called Misters, my
master would certainly have been among the number; and his
constant appellation by every body, except his own boys, who
called him John, was simply John Watson.
With respect to me, his conduct seems to show that he understood my character better than the grooms who had judged of it
before : as I did not long ride a quiet colt at the tail of the string
(on whose back he soon put a new-comer), but had a dun horse, by
no means a tame or safe one, committed to my care. Instead of
timidity, he must have remarked various traits of courage in me,
before he would have ventured on this step. In corroboration of
this, I may cite the following proof. I continued to ride the dun
horse through the winter. It was John Watson's general practice
to exercise his horses over the flat, and up Cambridge hill, on the
west side of Newmarket: but the rule was not, invariable. One
wintry day he ordered us up to the Bury hills. It mizzled a very
sharp sleet, the wind became uncommonly cutting, and Dun (the
horse I rode), being remarkable for a tender skin, found the wind
and the sleet, which blew directly up his nostrils, so very painful*
that it suddenly made him outrageous. He started from the rank
in which he was walking, tried to unseat me, endeavoured to set
off full speed; and when he found he could not master me so as to
get head, began to rear, snorted most violently, threw out behind,
plunged, and used every mischievous exertion of which the mus?
c4

40

MEMOIKS OF

cular powers of a blood-horse are capable. I, who felt the uneasiness he suffered before his violence began, being luckily prepared, sat firm, as steady and upright as if* this had been his
usual exercise. John Watson was riding beside his horses, and
a groom, I believe it was old Cheevers, broke out into an exclamation — " By G—d, John, that is a fine lad!"
"Aye, aye," replied Watson, highly satisfied, "you will find some
time or other there are few in Newmarket that will match him."
To have behaved with true courage, and to meet with applause
like this, especially from John Watson, was a triumph, such as I
could at this time have felt in no other way with the same sweet
satisfaction. My horsemanship had been seen by all the boys, —
my praises had been heard by them all.
It will not be amiss here to remark that boys with straight legs,
small calves, and knees that project but little, seldom become excellent riders. I, on the contrary, was somewhat bow-legged, I
had then the custom of turning in my toes, and my knees were
protuberant. I soon learned that the safe hold for sitting steady
was to keep the knee and the calf of the leg strongly pressed
against the side of the animal that endeavours to unhorse you ;
and as little accidents afford frequent occasions to remind the boys
of this rule, it becomes so rooted in the memory of the intelligent,
that their danger is comparatively trifling.
Of the temperaments and habits of blood-horses there are great
varieties, and those very strongly contrasted. The majority of
them are playful, but their gambols are dangerous to the timid or
unskilful. They are all easily and suddenly alarmed, when any
thing they do not understand forcibly catches their attention, and
they are then to be feared by the bad horseman, and carefully
guarded against by the good. Very serious accidents have happened to the best. But, besides their general disposition to playfulness, there is a great propensity in them to become what the
jockeys call vicious. High bred, hot in blood, exercised, fed, and
dressed so as to bring that heat to perfection, their tender skins at
all times subject to a sharp curry-comb, hard brushing, and when
they take sweats, to scraping with wooden instruments, it cannot
be but that they are frequently and exceedingly irritated. Intending to make themselves felt and feared, they will watch their opportunity to bite, stamp, or kick; I mean those among them that
are vicious. Tom, the brother of Jack Clarke, after sweating a grey

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

41

horse that belonged to Lord March, with whom he lived, while he
was either scraping or dressing him, was seized by the animal by the
shoulder, lifted from the ground, and carried two or three hundred
yards before the horse loosened his hold. Old Forester, a horse
that belonged to Captain Vernon, all the while I remained at Newmarket, was obliged to be kept apart, and being foundered, to live
at grass, where he was confined to a close paddock. Except Tom
Watson, a younger brother of John, he would suffer no lad to
come near him: if in his paddock, he would run furiously at the
first person that approached, and if in the stable, would kick and
assault every one within his reach. Horses of this kind seem
always to select their favourite boy. Tom Watson, indeed, had
attained to man's estate, and in his brother's absence, which was
rare, acted as superintendent. Horses, commonly speaking, are of
a friendly and generous nature; but there are anecdotes of the
malignant and savage ferocity of some, that are scarcely to be
credited: at least many such are traditional at Newmarket.
Of their friendly disposition towards their keepers, there is a
trait known to every boy that has the care of any one of them,
which ought not to be omitted. The custom is to rise very early,
even between two and three in the morning, when the days
lengthen. In the course of the day, horses and boys have much
to do. About half after eight, perhaps, in the evening, the horse
has his last feed of oats, which he generally stands to enjoy in the
centre of his smooth, carefully made bed of clean long straw, and
hy the side of him the weary boy will often lie down: it being
held as a maxim, a rule without exception, that were he to lie even
till morning, the horse would never lie down himself, but stand
still, careful to do his keeper no harm. I should add, however,
that the boy must keep awake, not for fear of the horse, but of the
mischievous disposition of his comrades. Should sleep happen to
overcome him, some lad will take one of those tough ashen plants
with which they ride, and, measuring his aim, strike him with all
his force, and endeavour to make the longest weal he possibly can,
on the leg of the sleeper. I remember to have been so punished
once, when the blow, I concluded, was given by Tom Watson, as
I thought no other boy in the stable could have made so large a
weal; it reached from the knee to the instep, and was of a finger's
breadth.

42

MEMOIRS OF

CHAP. XIIL
THERE are few trades or professions, each of which has not a
uniform mode of life peculiar to it, subject only to such slight
variations as are incidental and temporary. This observation is
particularly applicable to the life of a stable-boy.
All the boys in the stable rise at the same hour, from half-past
two in spring, to between four and five in the depth of winter.
The horses hear them when they awaken each other, and neigh,
to denote their eagerness to be fed. Being dressed, the boy begins
with carefully clearing out the manger, and giving a feed of oatsr
which he is obliged no less carefully to sift. He then proceeds to
dress the litter; that is, to shake the bed on which the horse has
been lying, remove whatever is wet or unclean, and keep the remaining straw in the stable for another time. The whole stables
are then thoroughly swept, the few places for fresh air are kept
open, the great heat of the stable gradually cooled, and the horse,
having ended his first feed, is roughly cleaned and dressed. In
about half an hour after they begin, or a little better, the horses
have been rubbed down, and reclothed, saddled, each turned in
his stall, then bridled, mounted, and the whole string goes out to
morning exercise; he that leads being the first, for each boy
knows his place.
Except by accident, the race-horse never trots. He must either
walk or gallop; and in exercise, even when it is the hardest, the
gallop begins slowly and gradually, and increases till the horse is
nearly at full speed. When he has galloped half-a-mile, the boy
begins to push him forward, without relaxation, for another halfmile. This is at the period when the horses are in full exercise,
to which they come by degrees. The boy that can best regulate
these degrees among those of light weight, is generally chosen to
lead the gallop ; that is, he goes first out of the stable, and first
returns.
In the time of long exercise, this is the first brushing gallop.
A brushing gallop signifies that the horses are nearly at full speed
before it is over, and it is commonly made at last rather up hill.
Having all pulled up, the horses stand some two or three minutes
and recover their wind; they then leisurely descend the bill and
take a long walk ; after which they are brought to water. But in

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

45

this, as in every thing else (at least as soon as long exercise begins),
every thing to them is measured. The boy counts the number of
times the horse swallows when he drinks, and allows him to take
no more gulps than the groom orders, the fewest in the hardest
exercise, and one horse more or less than another, according to the
judgment of the groom. After watering, a gentle gallop is taken,
and after that, another walk of considerable length; to which succeeds the second and last brushing gallop, which is by far the most
severe. When it is over, another pause,.thoroughly to recover their
wind, is allowed them, their last walk is begun, the limits of which
are prescribed, and it ends in directing their ride homewards.
The morning's exercise often extends to four hours, and the
evening's to much about the same time. Being once in the stable,
each lad begins his labour. He leads the horse into his stall, ties
him up, rubs down his legs with straw, takes off his saddle and
body clothes; curries him carefully; then, with both curry-comb
and brush, never leaves him till he has thoroughly cleaned his skin,
so that neither spot nor wet, nor any appearance of neglect, may be
seen about him. The horse is then reclothed, and suffered to repose for some time, which is first employed in gratifying his hunger,
and recovering from his weariness. All this is performed, and the
stables are once more shut up, about nine o'clock.
Accustomed to this life, the boys are very little overcome by
fatigue, except that early in the morning they may be drowsy. I
have sometimes fallen slightly asleep at the beginning of the first
brushing gallop. But if they are not weary, they are hungry, and
they make themselves ample amends for all they have done.
Nothing perhaps can exceed the enjoyment of a stable-boy's breakfast : what, then, may not be said of mine, who had so long been
used to suffer hunger, and so seldom found the means of satisfying
it ? Our breakfast consisted of new milk, or milk porridge, then
the cold meat of the preceding day, most exquisite Gloucester
cheese, fine white bread, and concluded with plentiful draughts of
table-beer. All this did not overload the stomach, or in the least
deprive me of my youthful activity, except that, like others, I might
sometimes take a nap for an hour, after so small a portion of sleep.
For my own part, so total and striking was the change which
had taken place in my situation, that I could not but feel it very
sensibly. I was more conscious of it than most boys would have
been, and therefore not a little satisfied. The former part of my

44

MEMOIRS OF

life had most of it been spent in turmoil, and often in singular
wretchedness. I had been exposed to every want, every weariness,
and every occasion of despondency, except that such poor sufferers
become reconciled to, and almost insensible of, suffering, and boyhood and beggary are, fortunately, not prone to despond. Happy
had been the meal where I had enough; rich to me was the rag
that kept me warm ; and heavenly the pillow, no matter what, or
how hard, on which I could lay my head to sleep. Now I was
warmly clothed, nay gorgeously, for I was proud of my new livery,
and never suspected that there was disgrace in it; I fed voluptuously,
not a prince on earth, perhaps, with half the appetite, and never
failing relish; and instead of being obliged to drag through the
dirt after the most sluggish, obstinate, and despised among our
animals, I was mounted on the noblest that the earth contains, had
him under my care, and was borne by him over hill and dale, far
outstripping the wings of the wind. Was not this a change, such
as might excite reflection even in the mind of a boy!
Boys, when at full liberty, and thus kept in health and exercise,
are eager at play. The games most common at Newmarket, were
fives, spell and null, marbles, chuck-farthing, and spinning tops, at
which, as well as marbles and fives, I excelled. Another game
called holes, was occasionally played by a £ew of the boys. This
was a game of some little study, and was much delighted in by the
shepherd boys and men, who tended their flocks on that vast plain
(as then it was) on which Newmarket stood. Three squares were
cut in the earth, one within the other, in each side of which were
three holes. Each antagonist had nine warriors or bits of stick to
combat the opposing nine. What the rules of the game were, I
have forgotten ; but I believe the most essential of them was, that
he was the victor who could imprison his adversary's men, or leave
them no further space to move in. If the choice of the move were
given, I and other good players knew how to win at this game
with certainty. Till I discovered the secret, I was greatly devoted
to the game.
In order to have fair play allowed me at these different games,
I had my little infant labours of Hercules to perform ; or, to speak
more properly and plainly, to fight my-way, and convince all the
boys of my own age I was not to be cowed by them. All boys
are wranglers; and out of this propensity the elder boys at Newmarket take pleasure in creating themselves diversion. Jack

THOMAS HOLCBOFT.

45

Clarke, who was about seventeen^ was a very good-natured, peaceable lad: but all the others in our stable were very assiduous in
exciting the little ones to quarrel, and persuading him, who would
have wished to remain at peace, to believe he must, certainly, be a
coward. This stigma I was not willing to be loaded with: the
consequence was, that battle after battle was fought, first between
me and Jack, and then between me and Tom, for two of us were
so named. Jack had been a shepherd boy, was older by some
months than myself, preceded me as a jockey, was a most inveterate, obstinate, and unfair antagonist, for he would bite, kick,
or do anything to gain the victory, was quite as strong as myself
and excessively hardy. However, he entirely wanted method and
presence of mind; and after three or four desperate contests, he
was obliged fairly to own he was not my equal. Tom, who came
into the service after me, was likewise older, larger-limbed, and
had more strength; but my conquest of him was much more
easy. He had bones, sinews, and thews, as Shakspeare says, but
little heart; he was prevailed on to venture a second combat, but
not a third. I had the good fortune also to face and outface those
among Lord March's boys, who lived opposite to us, and with whom
we had continual intercourse; so that, though I was but thirteen,
I became the acknowledged hero among the boys of both stables
under fifteen years of age. Thus much for the footing on which I
stood with my rivals within the first half-year after I came to live
with John Watson. It must be remembered, that all the tricks of
which Jack Clarke had warned me, had been tried upon me in
vain. These things, together with my aptitude at play, soon placed
me as the leading boy of the young fry.
From nine o'clock in the morning till four, the whole time is at the
boy's own disposal, except that of breakfasting and dining, which
he is seldom apt to think ill employed. But in summer, spring,
and autumn, the stables are again opened at four, and woe to him
who is absent! I never was but once, when, unfortunately, Captain Vernon himself happened to arrive at Newmarket. I never
saw John Watson so angry with me before or afterwards ; though
even then, after giving me four or five strokes across the shoulders
with an ashen plant, he threw it away in disgust, and exclaimed^
as he turned from me, — " D—n the boy! On such a day!"
The business to be done in the afternoon is but a repetition,
with little or no variety, of that which I have described for the

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MEMOIRS OF

morning, except that they return to stables at seven, or rather
earlier, again dress their horses, give them a first feed, go
to supper themselves, give a second feed, prepare the horses' beds,
pick and prepare the hay with which they sup, and by nine o'clock
the stables are once more shut up, containing both horses and
boys.

CHAP. XIV.
T H E time I remained at Newmarket was upwards of two years
and a half; during which many things occurred worthy of remembrance ; and though in their nature dissimilar, yet all tending to
have that influence on character, by which, if my poor philosophy
holds good, character is progressively formed. Instead of relating
these different accidents as they occurred, I shall rather endeavour
to collect them into classes, beginning with those that immediately
belong to the business of a jockey.
I have already remarked, how necessary it is for the best horseman never to be off his guard. At the time the little accident I
am going to relate happened, and which I could not but then consider as rather disgraceful, I was so persuaded of being always on
the alert, and of my power of instantaneously recovering my seat,
that I supposed what followed to be nearly an impossibility. The
horse that I then rode happened to be unwell ; and did not take
his morning and evening exercise with the others. I was, therefore, ordered to walk him out a couple of hours in the middle of
the day, to canter him gently, give him a certain quantity of water,
and canter and walk him home again. The horse was by no
means apt to start or play tricks of an uncommon kind: he was,
besides, unwell, and dull in spirits, and I was more than usually
unsuspicious of accident. After a walk and a very gentle gallop,
I brought him to water. Our watering troughs stood by a pump
under the Devil's Ditch, on the side next to Newmarket. Not foreseeing any possible danger, I held the reins quite slack, and did not
sit upright in my seat, but rested on one thigh; when suddenly,
without any warning, a grey rook, of the species common to that
plain, ascended, on the wing, up the ditch within half a yard of
the ground, and in a direction that would scarcely have missed the
horse's head. At this sudden apparition, an arrow from a bow

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

47

could hardly exceed the velocity with which he darted round to
avoid his enemy; and the impulse was so unforeseen, and so
irresistible, that I, and my whole stock of self-confidence and selfconceit, lay humbled in the dust. I was greatly afraid, lest my
disgrace should be witnessed by any one, and particularly that the
horse should make for home : however, his fright ceasing, and his
health not disposing him to be wanton, he easily suffered himself to
be caught, and mounted, and my honour received no stain.
I felt this accident the more, because I was at this very time
receiving new marks of confidence in my talents. A horse bred
in Ireland had been brought into our train : John Watson did not
think proper to let a boy of heavy weight back him, and among
those of light weight, I was the only one in whom he durst confide.
It was for this horse that I quitted the Dun horse, on whose back
I had obtained such praise, and upon him the other boy of the
name of Tom was mounted; but only for two or three mornings.
Dun immediately discovered he was Tom's master, and would not
keep up in the gallop, but would go what pace he pleased: if
struck, he began to plunge, kick, and rear ; threw his rider, and
made all the boys laugh and hoot at him, and thoroughly exposed
him to mortification.—I was frequently obliged to change my liorse,
but it was always for one more difficult to manage; and not only
so, but I generally preserved an honour that had been early conferred on me, that of leading the gallop, let me ride what horse I
would. At one of these changes, I was transferred to the back of
a little mare, which had long been ridden by Jack Clarke, who
was wanted for a horse of more power, but of less spirit. On
her, too, I led the gallop. She was not so much vicious as full of
play. Whenever I pleased, when the gallop was begun, by a turn
of the arm, and a pretended flourish, I could make her start out of
the line, clap her head between her legs, fling her hind heels in
the air, and begin to cut capers. This excitement was generally
sufficient for the whole string, who would start off one after
another, each playing his gambols, and perhaps one or two of
them throwing their riders. Under such a temptation for triumph,
I was perhaps as prudent as could be expected from a boy of my
age; but when John Watson did not happen to be with us, I could
not always resist the vanity of showing that I was equal to the
best of them, and quite before the majority. When John was
absent, the bad riders would sometimes, before I began the gallop,

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MEMOIRS OF

very humbly intreat me not to play them any tricks; and when
they did, I was good-natured enough to comply.
In every stud of horses, there are frequent changes; and as
their qualities are discovered, one horse is rejected, and a colt, or
perhaps a stranger, bought and admitted. It happened, on such an
occasion, that a little horse was brought us from another stud,
whence he had been rejected for being unmanageable. He had
shown himself restive, and, besides the snaffle, was ridden in a
check-rein. I was immediately placed on his back, and, what
seemed rather more extraordinary, ordered to lead the gallop, as
usual. I do not know how it happened, but under me he showed
very little disposition to be refractory, and whenever the humour
occurred, it was soon overcome: that he was, however, watchful
for an opportunity to do mischief, the following incident will discover. Our time for hard exercise had begun perhaps a fortnight
or three weeks. As that proceeds, the boys are less cautious,
each having less suspicion of his horse. I was leading the gallop
one morning, and had gone more than half the way towards the
foot of Cambridge hill, when something induced me to call and
speak to a boy behind me ; for which purpose I rather unseated
myself, and, as I looked back, rested on my left thigh. The arch
traitor no sooner felt the precarious seat I had taken, than he suddenly plunged from the path, had his head between his legs, his
heels in the air, and exerting all his power of bodily contortion,
flung me from the saddle with only one foot in the stirrup, and
both my legs on the off side. I immediately heard the whole set
of boys behind shouting triumphantly, " A calf, a calf! " a phrase
of contempt for a boy that is thrown. Though the horse was then
in the midst of his wild antics, and increasing his pace to full speed,
as far as the tricks he was playing would permit, still finding I had
a foot in the stirrup, I replied to their shouts by a whisper to myself, " It is no calf yet." The horse took the usual course, turned
up Cambridge hill, and now rather increased his speed than his
mischievous tricks. This opportunity I took with that rashness
of spirit which is peculiar to boys; and, notwithstanding the prodigious speed and irregular motion of the horse, threw my left leg
over the saddle. It was with the utmost difficulty I could preserve
my balance, but I did: though by this effort I lost hold of the
reins, both my feet were out of the stirrups, and the horse for a
moment was entirely his own master. But my grand object was

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

49

gained: I was once more firmly seated, the reins and the stirrups
were recovered. In a twinkling, the horse, instead of being pulled
up, was urged to his utmost speed ; and when he came to the end
of the gallop, he stopped of himself with a very good will, as he
was heartily breathed. The short exclamations of the boys at
having witnessed what they thought an impossibility, were the
gratification I received, and the greatest, perhaps,' that could be
bestowed.
I once saw an instance of what may be called the grandeur of
alarm in a horse. In winter, during short exercise, I was returning one evening on the back of a hunter, that was put in training
for the hunter's plate. There had been some little rain, and the
channel, always dry in summer, was then a small brook. As I
must have rubbed his legs dry if wetted, I gave him the rein, and
made him leap the brook, which he understood as a challenge for
play, and beginning to gambol, after a few antics he reared very
high, and, plunging forward with great force, alighted with his fore
feet on the edge of a deep gravel-pit half filled with water, so near
that a very few inches further he must have gone headlong down.
His first astonishment and fear were so great, that he stood for some
time breathless and motionless: then, gradually recollecting himself,
his back became curved, his ears erect, his hind and fore leg in a
position for sudden retreat; his nostrils from an inward snort burst
into one loud expression of horror ; and rearing on his hind legs,
he turned short round, expressing all the terrors he had felt by the
utmost violence of plunging, kicking, and other bodily exertions.
I was not quite so much frightened as he had been, but I was
heartily glad, when he became quiet again, that the accident had
been no worse. The only little misfortune I had was the loss of
my cap, and being obliged to ride back some way in order to
recover it.
Among the disagreeable, and in some degree dangerous, accidents that happened to me, was the following. We had an old
grey blood gelding touched in his wind, called Puff, on which John
Watson generally used to ride. He had some vicious tricks, and
the thing that made him dangerous was, that, in the jockey's
phrase, he had lost his mouth, that is, the bit could make no impression on him, and he could run away with the strongest rider ;
but the whim did not often take him. The watering troughs
were filled once a day, and as they were about a mile and a
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half distant, each lad performed that duty in turns, being obliged
to walk for that purpose to the Devil's Ditch and back. One
day, when it was my turn, old Puff being in the stable, John
Watson allowed me to shorten my task by a ride, of which I
was very glad, and Puff was soon brought out. For the office
of filling the troughs, it was necessary to take a pail, and accordingly I flung one with the rim over my right shoulder, and
under my left arm, as was the way with us when we walked. I
then mounted, but had not gone far, before I found Mr. Puff was
determined on one of his frolics. He set off at a good round gallop.
This I should not have regarded in the least, had it not been for
the pail at my back. But he was a tall horse, the ruts before the
race-course began were numerous, rough, and often narrow, and
he amused himself with crossing them; so that the rim of the pail
was very disagreeable, and now and then hurt my back severely.
I foresaw, however, that my only remedy was to tire him out at
his own diversion. As soon, therefore, as I had an opportunity, I
turned him upon the turf, by which I avoided the worst jolts of
the pail; and, instead of struggling with him, I gave him head,
hurried him forward as fast as he could go, passed along the side
called the flat, turned in beside the Devil's Ditch, forbore to push
him when we came to the watering trough, but found the obstinate
old devil was resolved not to stop. I then took him full gallop up
Cambridge hill, and into Newmarket, supposing his own home
would satisfy him. But no ! away he went into the town, while
some boys belonging to other stables exclaimed, " Here is old Puff
running away with Watson's Tom." At a certain distance down
the main street, was a street on the left, by which, making a little
circle, I might again bring his head homewards, and that road I
prevailed on him to take; but as he was not easily guided, he
thought proper to gallop on the causeway, till he came to a post
which bent inwards towards the wall, so much that it was doubtful
whether his body would pass. He stopped short at a single step,
but luckily I had foreseen this, or I should certainly have been
pitched over his neck, and probably my back would have been
broken, had I not employed both hands with all my force to counteract the shock. Having measured the distance with his eye, he
saw he could pass, which to me was a new danger ; my legs would
one or both of them have wanted room, but with the same juvenile
activity I raised them on the withers, and away again we went,

THOMAS HOLCEOFT.

51

mutually escaping unhurt. By this time, however, my gentleman
was wearied; in two minutes we were at home, and there he
thought proper once more to stop. The worst of it, however, was,
that I had still to water my troughs. I shall conclude this chapter with a fact which may deserve the attention of the philosopher, as an instance of deep feeling, great sagacity, and almost unconquerable ambition among horses; and which goes nearly to
prove, that they themselves understand why they contend with
each other. I have mentioned a vicious horse, of the name of
Forester, that would obey no boy but Tom Watson: he was about
ten or eleven years old, and had been a horse of some repute, but
unfortunately his feet foundered, for the cure of which he was suffered to remain a great part of his time at grass. However, when
I had been about a year and a half at Newmarket, Captain Vernon
thought proper to match him against Elephant, a horse belonging
to Sir Jennison Shaftoe, whom, by the bye, I saw ride this famous
match. Forester, therefore, had been taken up, and kept in training a sufficient time to qualify him to run this match-; but it
was evident that his legs and feet were far from being in that
sound state which such an exertion required, so that we concluded
he must be beaten, for the reputation of Elephant arose out of his
power rather than his speed. Either I mistake, or the match was a
four mile heat over the straight course; and the abilities of Forester were such, that he passed the flat, and ascended the hill as far
as the distance post, nose to nose with Elephant; so that John
"Watson who rode him began to conceive hopes. Between this and
the chair, Elephant, in consequence of hard whipping, got some
little way before him, while Forester exerted every possible power
to recover at least his lost equality; till finding all his efforts ineffectual, he made one sudden spring, and caught Elephant by the
under-jaw, which he griped so violently as to hold him back; nor
was it without the utmost difficulty that he could be forced to quit
his hold. Poor Forester, he lost; but he lost most honourably!
Every experienced groom, we were told, thought it a most extraordinary circumstance. John Watson declared he had never in his
life been more surprised by the behaviour of a horse.

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CHAP. XY.
T H E feature in my character which was to distinguish it at a later
period of life, namely, some few pretensions to literary acquirement, has appeared for a time to have lain dormant. After I left
Berkshire, circumstances had been so little favourable to me, that,
except the mighty volume of Sacred Writ (which I always continued more or less to peruse, wherever I found a Bible) and the
two small remnants of romance I have mentioned, letters seemed to
have lost sight of me, and I of letters. Books were not then, as
they fortunately are now, great or small, on this subject or on
that, to be found in almost every house : a book, except of prayers.,
or of daily religious use, was scarcely to be seen but among the opulent, or in the possession of the studious; and by the opulent they
were often disregarded with a degree of neglect which would now be
almost disgraceful. Yet in the course of six or seven years, it can
hardly be imagined that not a single book fell in my way; or that
if it did, I should not eagerly employ such opportunity as I had to
know its contents. Even the walls of cottages and little alehouses
would do something ; for many of them had old English ballads,
such as " Death and the Lady," and "Margaret's Ghost," with lamentable tragedies, or King Charles's golden rules, occasionally pasted
on them. These were at that time the learning, and often, no
doubt, the delight of the vulgar. However, I may venture to
affirm, that during the period we have passed, I neither had in
my possession, nor met with any book of any kind which I had
leisure and permission to read through. During my residence at
[Newmarket, I was not quite so much in the desert, though, as far
as my limits extended, I was little removed; a tolerable estimate
of the boundary may be formed from the remaining chapters of
this book.
Whether I had or had not begun to scrawl and imitate writing, or
whether I was able to convey written intelligence concerning myself
to my father for some months after I left him, T cannot say, but w©
were very careful not to lose sight of each other; and following his*
affection, as well as his love of change, in about half a year, he
came to Newmarket himself, where he at first procured work of
the most ordinary kind at his trade. There was one among his

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

53

shopmates whom I well remember, for he was struck with me, and I
with him ; he not only made shoes, but was a cock-feeder of some
estimation; and what was to me much more interesting, he had
read so much as to have made himself acquainted with the most
popular English authors of that day. He even lent me books to
read; among which were " Gulliver's Travels/' and the " Spectator,"
both of which could not but be to me of the highest importance.
I remember after I had read them, he asked me to consider and
tell him which I liked best: I immediately replied, "There was no
need of consideration; I liked ' Gulliver's Travels' ten times the
best." u Aye," said he, " I would have laid my life on i t ; boys and
young people always prefer the marvellous to the true." I acquiesced in his judgment, which, however, only proved that neither
he nor I understood Gulliver, though it afforded me infinite
delight. The behaviour of my father, who, being at work, was
present at this, and two or three other dialogues in which there
was a kind of literary pretension, denoted the pride and exultation
of his heart. He remarked, " that many such boys as Tom were
not to be found! It was odd enough! He knew not where Tom
had picked it up, he had never had a brain for such things; but
God gave some gifts to some, and others to others, seeing He was
very bountiful; but, if he guessed rightly, He had given Tom his
share!" My father was not a little flattered to find that the
eock-feeder was inclined to concur with him in opinion. I remember little else of my literary cock-feeder; yet the advantages I
had gained from him in letting me know there were books like
these, and introducing me, though but to a momentary view of
Swift and Addison, were perhaps incalculable.
That love of the marvellous wThich is natural to ill-informed
man, is still more lively in childhood. I used to listen with the
greatest pleasure to a tale of providential interference; my blood
thrilled through my frame at a story of an angel alighting in a
field, walking up to a worthy clergyman, telling him a secret
known only to himself, and then persuading him to change his
road, by which he avoided the murderers that were lying in wait
for him. Yet I know not how it happened, but even at this time
I refused to believe in witches; and'when stories of hobgoblins,
of houses that were haunted, or of nightly apparitions were repeated, I remained incredulous. I had either invented or heard
some of the plain arguments which showed the absurdity of such,
» 3

54

MEMOIRS OP

opinions. It will be seen in the following chapter, that my incredulity in this respect was of use to me, though I cannot account
for the manner in which I came by it at so early an age.
Books of piety, if the author were but inspired with zeal, fixed
my attention whenever I met with them: " The Whole Duty of
Man" was my favourite study, and still more Horneck's "Crucified
Jesus." I had not yet arrived at Baxter's " Saints' Everlasting
Rest," or " The Life of Francis Spira ;" but John Bunyan I
ranked among the most divine authors I had ever read. In fact I
was truly well-intentioned, but my zeal was too ardent, and liable
to become dangerous.
One day as I happened to be passing the church, I heard voices
singing, which exercise I admired; and having, as I thought, a
tuneful voice, I was desirous of becoming acquainted with so
pleasing an art. I approached the church door, found it open, and
went in, when I found my ear charmed with some heavenly addition to the sweet melody of music; and on inquiry was told,
they were singing in four parts. At the head of them was a Mr.
Langham, who could sing in a feigned soprano's voice, and who
was their instructor in music; for they were all acknowledged
learners except himself, and each of them paid him five shillings
a quarter for his trouble in teaching them. Having stood with
delight to listen some time, a conversation at length began; I was
invited to try my voice, and after a ready compliance, both my
voice and ear were pronounced to be good. Thus encouraged, I
ventured to ask if I might come among them; and was answered,
yes; they should be very glad to have me, for they much wanted
a treble voice, and all they required was that I should conform to
the rules of the society. I inquired what those rules were, and
was told, they each paid five shillings entrance, and five shillings
a quarter to Mr. Langham, another five shillings for Arnold's
" Psalmody"; and that they paid forfeits of pennies and twopences,
if they were absent on certain days, at certain hours, or infringed
other necessary bye-laws. An expense so great alarmed m e : I
would willingly have complied with their forfeits, because I depended on my own punctuality; but fifteen shillings was a vast
sum, and I told them what it was that made me hesitate. As they
were desirous to have me, they agreed that I should sing out of
their books; and Langham, who had great good-nature, said, since
I was but a boy, and my wages could not be great, he would give

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

f

55

up the entrance money. It was therefore agreed, that with the
payment of five shillings a quarter to Mr. Langham, I should be
instructed by him in the art of psalmody.
From the little I that day learned, and from another lesson or
two, I obtained a tolerable conception of striking intervals upwards or downwards; such as the third, the fourth, and the remainder of the octave, the chief feature in which I soon understood, but of course I found most difficulty in the third, sixth, and
seventh. Previously however to any great progress, I was obliged
to purchase Arnold's " Psalmody "; and studious over this divine
treasure, I passed many a forenoon extended in the hay-loft. My
chief, and almost my only, difficulty, lay in the impenetrable obscurity of such technical words as were not explained either by
their own nature, or by the author in other language. I was
illiterate; I knew the language of the vulgar well, but little more.
Perhaps no words ever puzzled poor mortal more than I was
puzzled by the words, vnajor and minor keys. I think it a duty,
which no one who writes an elementary book ought to neglect, to
give a vocabulary of all the words which are not in common use,
in the language in which he writes; and to explain them by the
simplest terms in that language; or if that cannot be done, by a
clear and easy paraphrase. The hours I spent by myself in mastering whatever belonged to notation, and in learning the intervals,
occasioned my progress to be so very different from that of the
others, that it excited the admiration of them all; and Mr. Langham, the great man whom I then looked up to, declared it was
surprising. If any part was out, I heard it immediately, and often
struck the note for them, getting the start of Mr. Langham. If he
should happen to be absent, he said that I could set them all right;
so that by this, and the clearness of my voice, I obtained the nickname of the sweet singer of Israel.
My quickness at whatever related to reading became so far
known, that a man about fifty, who had many years kept a school
in Newmarket, made me the offer, if I would become his scholar,
to teach me gratis. Thoroughly glad of the opportunity, I thanked
him kindly, and instantly complied. The next morning I went to
his school, where I saw a number of boys, to whom I was introduced by the master, as one whom they ought to respect. " I'll set
him a word of six syllables," said he, " and I'll engage for him that
he shall spell it instantly without the least mistake, or without
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ME3IOISS OF

ever perhaps having seen it before. Pray, my boy," said he, "how
do you spell Mahershalalashbas?" The boys first stared at a word
of so foreign a sound, and next at the immediate readiness with
which I spelled it, though it would be difficult to find a word that
could puzzle less: however, since they all wondered at me, it was
very natural I should wonder at myself, and that I did most assuredly. The master showed me the first seat as an honour to his
school, where he assured me I might remain as long as he could
teach [ me any thing,' and he had by no means the character of
ignorance. But, poor gentleman, he had another failing, which I
could still less pardon ; for every afternoon he was to be seen,
drunk in the streets, and that to such an offensive and shameful
degree, that though I was very desirous to gain some little addition
to my stock of knowledge, I felt myself so disgraced by my master
that I went but three times to his school.
This plan, however, suggested another. By trade, Mr. Langham
was a maker of leather breeches, which were worn through all
Newmarket: but he had by some means acquired rather a greater
love of knowledge, and more of it than at that period belonged to
his station; for I believe he was only a journeyman. Hearing me
bewail the opportunity I had lost, and especially that of acquiring'
the first rudiments of arithmetic, he joined in my regret, saying
it was a pity he could not afford to teach me himself for nothing,
and that I could not spare another five shillings a quarter out of
my wages; otherwise he would have given me one lesson daily
between stable-hours. To this j proposal, after turning it in my
mind, I however agreed. I continued with him three months,
and in that time mastered rule after rule so well, as to understand Practice and the Rule of Three. Except what I have
already related, these three months, as far as others were concerned, may be truly called my course of education. At the
age of two and three and thirty, indeed,, wrhen I was endeavouring to acquire the French language, I paid a Monsieur Raymond
twenty shillings for a few lessons, but the good he did me was so
little that it was money thrown away. At Newmarket I was so
intent on studying arithmetic, that, for want of better apparatus, I
have often got an old nail, and cast up sums on the paling of the
stable-yard. The boys prophesied I should go mad; in which
sagacious conjecture our old maid and housekeeper, for she was
both, joined them.

THOMAS

fiOLCROFT.

57

CHAP. XVI.
WHILE my music and my arithmetic were thus in some sort
confusing my brain, I became not only ashamed of, but alarmed at
myself; for being occasionally sent on errands, I found my memory
absent, and made several blunders, a thing to which I had been
wholly unaccustomed. One day, when John Watson was at home,
I was sent only for two things, and forgot one of them, at which I
heard him exclaim, without any reproach, — " God bless me, what
is come to the boy ! " This startled me a little. As, however, I
remember nothing more of the paroxysm, it could not have lasted
very long.
My father did not continue long at his trade, and was obliged to
seek some other mode of subsistence. For some months, during
the middle part of the time that I remained as a stable-boy, he
had the office at an inn of fetching and carrying the Royston mail;
and being afterwards tired of this, he quitted Newmarket for
London, leaving me once more with much good advice, and no
small degree of regret. I loved my father, and knew his intentions
were honest; but almost from infancy, I was aware they were not
wise.
I suppose that that property of the mind, which creates certain
indistinct forms and imaginary lines in the clear and visible appearances of things, is common to every person of a lively and
active fancy, for I have it still; and now that I am old, much more
in sickness than in health. I recollect an instance of this, which
occurred about the time I am speaking of. The cowardly boys
made bargains with each other to go in pairs, when their business
called them to different parts of the yard and out-houses after it
was dark: I determined always to go by myself. One evening,
intending to fetch some hay from a hay-loft, as I was mounting
the ladder, an object presented itself, that instantly stopped me.
It was a clear moon-light night, and I beheld the perfect face of a
man extended on the hay. He must be a stranger, and might be
a robber, or person of evil intentions. I had no idea of a ghost;
and though alarmed, I reasoned on probabilities. The more I
looked, the more -thoroughly I was convinced I saw a real face.
Still I continued to reason. I was half way up the ladder. If I
returned, I must either fabricate a falsehood, or openly declare

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why, and this would have been cause of triumph to those whose
actions betrayed their fears, and of the greater disgrace to me for
having assumed a superiority. The man might be a beggar, who
had only obtained entrance by some means, that he might rest
comfortably: and, even if his designs were wicked, they could not
be against me, for I had little to lose : so that at last I determined
to proceed. As I have said, the light of the moon was bright: it
shone into the loft through the holes and crevices of a side hangingdoor; and I had mounted three steps higher, before the vision
totally disappeared, and was replaced by the rude and unmeaning
lines of reality. No man was there, consequently no man's face
could be seen. This incident was a wholesome lesson : it taught
me to think much on the facility with which the senses are deceived, and the folly with which they entertain fear.
The boys who had paired off as mutual protectors to each other,
had left my namesake Tom, being the odd one, without a mate:
and, as he was much more remarkable for his cowardice than his
valour, the best expedient he could think of, was to offer me a
halfpenny a night if I would go with him in the dark to get his hay.
I believe nothing could have made him stir from the fireside on a
winter night, but the fear of neglecting his stable duties; which
fear to all of us had something in it that was almost sacred. We
had at this time in the stables a very beautiful male tabby cat,
as remarkable for his familiarity with the horses and boys, as for
his fine colours, symmetry, and strength. He would go through
the stable night by night, and place himself on the withers, first of
this horse, then of the next, and there familiarly take his sleep, till
he had made the whole round. The boys had taught him several
tricks, which he very willingly repeated as often as they gave the
signal, without taking offence at the rogueries they occasionally
practised upon him ; so that he was a general favourite with every
one, from John Watson, even to old Betty. One evening, as I was
going with Tom to get his hay, and we approached the stable in
which it happened then to be kept, Tom leading the road (for
cowards are always desirous to convince themselves they are really
valiant), a very sudden, vehement, and discordant noise was heard;
to listen to which, Tom's valour was wholly unequal. Flying from
the stable, he was at the back-door of the house in a twinkling. I
was paid for my courage : pride and curiosity concurred to make
me show it, and I remained firm at my post. I stood still, while

THOMAS HOLCBOFT.

59

the noise at intervals was several times repeated. It was the beginning of winter, and at one end of the stable a certain quantity
of autumn wheat was stowed. I recollected this circumstance;
and after considering some time, at length the truth struck me, and
I called, " Come along, Tom, it is the cat and the rats fighting ;
but they will leave off when they hear us come into the stable."
We had neither candle nor lanthorn. It was a maxim with John
Watson to trust no such things with boys, whose nightly duty it
was to fetch trusses of straw and armfuls of hay; but I entered
the stable, gave Tom his hay, loaded myself with my own, and
confident in the valour of our favourite cat, said to him — " We
shall find a rare number of dead rats to-morrow, Tom." I knew
not the power of numbers, nor the imbecility of an individual so
exposed. The next morning we found our hero lying dead in
the stable, with only three dead rats beside him. What the
number of the wounded was, must remain a secret to posterity:
though of the value of this and other secrets of the same kind, I
have often entertained my doubts.
John Watson remained a bachelor, and old Betty was the only
female, at least that I can recollect, in the family: she was very
ignorant, and very angry when boys durst contend with her age
and experience ; but we did not greatly respect her anger. She
was so strenuous an advocate for goblins, apparitions, and especially witchcraft, that she did not in the least scruple to affirm things
the most extravagant. One of her positions was, that unthinking
old women with less courage and sagacity than herself, were taken
by surprise, and made witches against their will. Imps of the
devil came slily upon them, ran up their clothes, caught some part
of the breast in their mouths, and made a teat for themselves. She
provoked me very much, yet I could not help laughing; while she,
to prove the truth of what she said, affirmed she had seen them
peeping out more than once; and that on a certain night two
of them made a desperate attempt on her, which she could no
otherwise defeat, than by taking up first one, and then the other,
with the tongs, and throwing them both into the red hot part of
the kitchen fire.
Stories like these are almost too ludicrous to be mentioned, but
the one I am going to relate was at that time to me as tragical as
anything that could happen to an individual.
Jack Clarke, now about eighteen, was spending his evening

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before nine o'clock in his good-natured way among the boys of
Lord March, who lived opposite. One of them (I forget his name)
took down a fowling-piece that was hanging over the kitchen
chimney, and playing that trick which has been so repeatedly, and
in my opinion so strangely played, said, " 'Now, Jack, I'll shoot
you." As he spoke, he pulled the trigger, and the distance between them being short, Clarke was shot on the left side of his
face, the middle half of which immediately became as frightful a
wound as perhaps was ever beheld. The lads of both stables were
there instantly: the grooms came the moment they could be found,
and the terror and distress of the scene were very great, for every
body felt kindness for Jack Clarke. Tom Watson was despatched
on horseback to Cambridge in search of all the surgical and medical aid that could be obtained; and such was his speed, that the
surgeon, the doctor, and himself, were back by midnight, and the
medical men busy in probing, inquiring, and consulting, while
poor Clarke lay groaning, extended on the bed of John Watson.
The left cheek-bone, eye, and other parts, were shattered past
hope : the case was thought precarious, there was a bare possibility
that the patient, miserable as he was, and shocking to look at,
might survive. When the physician and surgeon had done all
that they could by dressing and giving orders, John Watson took
them under his care for the night. Whether he found beds and
entertainment for them at an inn, or at the house of a friend, I
know not; but as I saw him no more, I suppose he remained with
them to keep them company, for such scenes do not immediately
dispose the mind to sleep. Among ourselves at home, however, a
very serious question arose, no less than that of who should sit
np and watch with him all night ? His sufferings were so incessant, his groans so terrifying, and the wounds (by which the inside of the head was made visible) had been so bloody, raw, and
torn, being at the same time most frightfully spread all round with
gunpowder, and black and red spots, that every person present
frankly owned they durst not stay alone all night with him in the
same chamber. When it was proposed to old Betty, she was in
an agony. All the older boys expressed the terror it would give
them:—some sleep must be had, and it being winter, the stables
were to open before four. What, therefore, could be done ? I own
I was almost like the rest, but 1 most truly pitied poor Jack
Clarke. I had always felt a kindness for him, and to see him
forsaken at so distressing a moment, left by himself in such a

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

61

wretched state, no one able to foresee what he might want, overcame me, and I said, "Well, since nobody else will, I must!"
Besides, by an action so bold, performed by a boy at my age, I
gained an undeniable superiority, of which any one of the elder
boys would have been proud. The medical men remained at
Newmarket, or went and came as their business required, while
Jack Clarke continued under their hands. I was truly anxious
for his cure, though from what I had seen on the first night, and
from mj ignorance in surgery, I had supposed such a thing impossible. I was therefore surprised that he should seem at first
to linger on, that afterwards the wounds should fill up, and assume a less frightful appearance, and that at length a perfect cure
should be effected. It was certainly thought to do great honour
to Cambridge. The left eye was lost, the appearance of the bones
was disfigured, and the deep stain of the gunpowder remained.
But before I came away appearances varied, the marks of the
gunpowder became less; and when I left Newmarket, Jack Clarke
had been long restored to the stables, where he continued to live,
apparently in good health.

CHAP. XVII.
DURING- these events and accidents, the trifling studies I might
be said to have, were, as far as I had the means, pursued. That
is, whenever I could procure a book, I did not fail to read i t ; I
took pains to repeat, that I might well understand my rules in
arithmetic; and as for music, Arnold was studied with increasing
ardour. But the instructions of Arnold were only vocal: nay,
they had a stricter limitation, they were confined to psalmody,
Had I possessed any instrument, had I begun to practise, and had
the means of obtaining a livelihood suggested themselves in this
way, music would, most probably, have been my profession.
Moral remarks do not escape the notice of boys whose minds
are active, nor the moral consequences of things, so much, perhaps, as is supposed. They now and then discover how much
they are themselves affected by them ; and therefore are not only
led to re-consider their own, but begin to ruminate on some of the
practices of mankind. For myself, I looked up with delight to
angelic purity, and with awful reverence to the sublime attributes

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of the Godhead. The first I considered as scarcely beyond the
attainment of man ; the second I considered it as the grand reward of saints and angels to be allowed to comprehend. Towards
the future attainment of any such angelic perfection, I could not
discover the least tendency in the manners of Newmarket, or the
practices of the people around me. When left to themselves, petty
vulgar vices, such as their means could afford, were common
among them; and at the grand periodical meetings of the place,
I heard of nothing but cards, dice, cock-fighting, and gambling to
an enormous amount.
One anecdote which John Watson, who was no babbler, told his
brother Tom, and which Tom was eager enough to repeat, struck
me for its singularity and grandeur, as it appeared to me, who
then knew nothing of vast money speculations, and who know but
little at present. In addition to matches, plates, and other modes
of adventure, that of a sweepstakes had come into vogue; and the
opportunity it gave to deep calculators to secure themselves from
Joss by hedging their bets, greatly multiplied the bettors, and gave
uncommon animation to the sweepstakes mode. In one of these,
Captain Vernon had entered a colt or filly, and as the prize to be
obtained was great, the whole stable was on the alert. It was
prophesied that the race would be a severe one; for, though the
horses had none of them run before, they were all of the highest
breed, that is, their sires and dams were in the first lists of fame.
As was foreseen, the contest was indeed a severe one, for it could
not be decided, — it was a dead heat: but our colt was by no
means among the first. Yet so adroit was Captain Vernon in
hedging his bets, that if one of the two colts that made it a dead
heat had beaten, our master would, on that occasion, have won
ten thousand pounds; as it was, he lost nothing, nor would in
any case have lost any thing. In the language of the turf, he
stood ten thousand pounds to nothing.
A fact, so extraordinary to ignorance, and so splendid to poverty,
could not pass through a mind like mine without making a strong
impression, which the tales told by the boys of the sudden rise of
gamblers, their reverses, desperate fortunes, empty pockets at night,
and hats full of guineas in the morning, only tended to increase.
With my companions I repeated, Never venture^ never win : and
in this state of puerile avarice, I made bets to the amount of more
than half my year's wages, the very next day, on the race ground,
all to be decided within the week. Concerning the event, however,

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

63

when it was too late, my mind began to misgive me. By each
match, on which I had a venture, my fears were increased; for I
generally found myself on the wrong side. My crowns and halfcrowns were dwindling away; yet in the midst of my despair, I
looked with some degree of surprise at myself, and said, " How can
these boys, with whom I betted, who are so very ignorant, and over
whom, even on the turf or in the stable, I feel my own superiority,
have so much more cunning in laying bets than I have ? "
Like many of the tragical farces of life, this hastily-formed scheme
of mine was without a basis, formed on confused suppositions, and
ending in total disappointment ; for at the end of the week, the
loss I had sustained was somewhat either over or under a guinea
and a half. To me, who never before had ventured to bet sixpence,
who now well remembered that all the good books I had read held
gambling in abhorrence; and who recollected, with unspeakable
anguish, that the sin and folly must be told to my father ; that, face
to face, I must avow what I had done (for how else could I account
for the expenditure of money, for which I could find no equivalent ?)
to me, I say, these were excruciating thoughts, as will be proved
by the desperate remedy I attempted. Well was it for me that the
races were over, or my little purse would have been wholly emptied.
As it was not therefore possible for me to recover my loss in this
way, I began to consider whether there was no other, and despair
at length suggested another; a wild one, it is true, but no one could
deny its possibility. The race week was just over ; thousands of
pounds had been betted ; guineas and purses had passed in multitudes from hand to hand, and pocket to pocket, over a vast area,
extending from the chair to the Devil's Ditch, and spreading to I
know not what width: might not some stray guinea, nay, perhaps
some weighty purse, be now lying there for the first fortunate
comer ? Or rather, was it not a thing exceedingly likely ? I could
not suppose the seeds of this golden fruit to be sown exceedingly
thick, or that it would not require a long search; but I must not
spare my labour : such good luck might befal me, and so eager was
my mind to rid itself of its present anguish, that I was willing to
believe I should be successful.
The next morning the horses were no sooner dressed and fed, and
the stables cleaned, than I hurried to execute my design. I began
it by a most careful examination of the betting chair, round which
I slowly walked a number of times, and finding nothing below,
mounted, examined its crevices, and after often attempting to go,

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and as often lingering by some faint endeavour to renew hope,
could not quit it at last, but with painful reluctance. "Where
should I seek next ? The whole heath was before me; but which
was the lucky spot ? Groups of horsemen had assembled here and
there: but to find each individual place ? Oh that I had marks by
which to discover! — Thus with my eyes fixed on the ground,
wandering eagerly in every direction, I slowly paced the ground,
wholly intent on the perplexing thoughts and fruitless pursuits,,
till increasing disappointment, and inquiry into the time of day,
sent me back. This experiment of money-finding on Newmarket
heath might be thought sufficient, but, no! I had an hour in the
evening: it was a fine moonlight night, and dejected as I was, I
resolved again to try, and forth I went, but it was indeed on the
forlorn hope. The incident however forcibly paints the nature of
my feelings. I could not endure to confess to my father both my
guilt, and evident inferiority in cunning to other boys; and to
fabricate a lie was perhaps equally painful. All that remained
was to put off the evil day, and come to my account as late as
might be. What I mean will be better understood, when it is
known I had determined to leave Newmarket, and return to my
father, not however without having first consulted him, and gained
his approbation. My mind having its own somewhat peculiar bias,
circumstances had rather occurred to disgust me, than to invite my
stay. I despised my companions for the grossness of their ideas,
and the total absence of every pursuit in which the mind appeared
to have any share. It was even with sneers of contempt that they
saw me intent on acquiring some small portion of knowledge: so
that I was far from having any prompter, either as a friend or a
rival. As far as I was concerned with horses, I was pleased; but
I saw scarcely a biped, John "Watson excepted, in whom I could
find any thing to admire.
Having taken my resolution, I had to summon up my courage
to give John Watson warning ; not that I in the least suspected he
would say any thing more than, very well: but he had been a kind
master, had relieved me in the day of my distress, had never imputed faults to me of which I was not guilty, had fairly waited to
give my faculties time to show themselves, and had rewarded them
with no common degree of praise when accident brought them to
light. It was therefore painful to leave such a master. With my
cap off, and unusual awkwardness in my manner, I went up to
him, and he perceiving I was embarrassed, yet had something to

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

65

say, began thus: " Well, Tom, what is the matter now ? " " Oh,
sir, nothing much is the matter ; only I had just a word to say."
"Well, well, don't stand about i t ; let me hear." "Nay, sir,
it is a trifle; I only came to tell you, I think of going to
London." " To London ? " " Yes, sir, if you please." " When
do you mean to go to London ? " " When my year is up, sir."
" To London! What the plague has put that whim into your
head ? " " I believe you know my father is in London." " Well,
what of that." " We have written together, so it is resolved on."
"Have you got a place? " " I don't want one, sir, I could not
have a better than I have." "And what are you to do? " " I can't
tell that yet, but I think of being a shoemaker." "Pshaw, you
are a blockhead, and your father is a foolish man." " He loves
me very dearly, sir; and I love and honour him." " Yes, yes, I
believe you are a good boy; but I tell you, you are both doing
a very foolish thing. Stay at Newmarket, and I will be bound for
it you will make your fortune." " I would rather go back to my
father, sir, if you please." " Nay, then, pray take your own way."
So saying, he turned from me with very visible chagrin, at which
I felt some surprise ; for I did not imagine it would give him the
least concern should any one lad in the stables quit his service.
Spring and summer kept passing away: Arnold continued to
afford me difficulties which I continued to overcome: my goodtempered, pleasant friend (for so he was), the breeches maker, and
I, used often to consult together; and his surprise that I should so
soon have gone beyond him with respect to the theory of music,
not a little flattered me. The honest psalm singers were told I
was about to leave them, and owned they were sorry to hear it, I
gave them so much assistance. In short, such friends as a poor
boy of fifteen, wholly unrelated in the town, could have, all expressed a degree of regret at parting : my stable companions were
the only persons who expressed no emotion one way or the other.
I must here, however, except poor Jack Clarke, who, as he was
the first that introduced me to Newmarket, so he was the last of
whom I took leave.
END OF MR. HOLCROFT'S NARRATIVE.

E

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BOOK II.
CHAPTER I.
A T the expiration of his year, Mr. Holcroft left John Watson and
his associates at Newmarket; and returned, as he had intended, to
his father, who then kept a cobbler's stall in South Audley Street.
He was at this time near sixteen. He continued to work in the
stall with his father, till the latter could afford to pay a journeyman shoemaker to instruct him in the business of making shoes,
which in time he learned so well, as to obtain the best wages.
From his early childhood, however, he had eagerly read whatever books came in his way, and this habit did not now leave him:
so that, though an exceedingly quick workman, it was rarely that
he had a shilling to spare, except for absolute necessaries; and
when he had, it was spent at an old book-stall, and his time was
again idled away in reading.—Such was the complaint continually
made against him. At nineteen, he travelled to Liverpool with
his father, who seems still to have retained his love of wandering,
and who was most probably determined in this excursion by a
desire to revisit his native country. This happened in the year
1764 ; and in the year following, Mr. Holcroft married. While he
continued at Liverpool, he procured the humble office of teaching
children to read, at a small school in the town. But in less than a
year, he left the country, and came to London. Here he continued
to work at his trade as a shoemaker, yet gleaning knowledge with
all the industry in his power. He had advanced as far as fractions
in arithmetic, knew something of geometry, could write a legible
hand, and had made himself a complete master of vocal music.
But the stooping position required in making shoes brought on a
return of his old disorder, the asthma; and as he hated the trade,
he made every effort to find out some other employment.
Mr. Holcroft had, through life, except during the time he was
at Newmarket, felt the effects of poverty very severely ; but they
now preyed more upon his mind than his body. He continually
ruminated on the advantages that would have resulted from a
good education; and the consciousness that he had neither received one, nor could now pay for instruction, gave him the utmost

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

67

uneasiness. He was not aware that the desultory materials which
he had been at so much pains to collect, would at last form themselves into a consistent mass.
It seems, however, that at this period he could not resist the
inclination he occasionally felt to commit his thoughts to paper: he
even found an editor of a newspaper (^the " Whitehall Evening
Post"), who so far approved of his essays, as to pay him five
shillings a column for them. One of them was transcribed into
the " Annual Register : " but, according to his own account, it was
much too jejune a performance to deserve any such honour*
About this time, Mr. Holcroft attempted to set up a day-school
somewhere in the country, where for three months he lived upon
potatoes and buttermilk, and had but one scholar. At the expiration
of the first quarter, he gave up his school, and returned to London.
After this he obtained admission into the family of Mr. Granville
Sharpe, with whom he went to reside, partly in the character of a
servant, and partly, I believe, as a secretary. It is not certain
whether he was introduced to the notice of this amiable but eccentric man by his literary efforts, or by accident. Both before and
after he went to live with Mr. S. he had been accustomed to attend
a reading-room, or spouting-club, the members of which, in turn,
rehearsed scenes and passages out of plays. His master did not
think this the best mode of spending his time, and made some
attempts to cure him of what he considered as an idle habit.
These, however, proved ineffectual, and he was at length dismissed
from the house of his patron.
He now found himself once more in the streets of London,
without money, without a friend that shame or pride would suffer
him to disclose his wants to, or a habitation of any kind to hide
his head in. At last, as he was wandering along wherever his feet
led him, his eye accidentally glanced on a printed paper pasted
against the wall. This was an invitation to all those spirited
young fellows who chose to make their fortunes as common
soldiers in the service of the East India Company. He read it
with the greatest satisfaction, and was posting away with all haste
to enrol his name in that honourable corps, when he was met by
one of the persons whom he had known at the spouting-club.
His companion, seeing his bundle and rueful face, asked him where
he was going; to which Holcroft replied, that, had he inquired five
minutes sooner, he could not have told him ; but that, at present*
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he was for the wars. At this his spouting friend appeared greatly
surprised, and told him he thought he could put him upon a better
scheme. He said, one Macklin, a famous London actor, was going
over to play in Dublin ; that he had been inquiring of him for a
young fellow who had a turn for the stage; and that, if Holcroffc
pleased, he would introduce him, observing that it would be time
enough to carry the knapsack if the sock did not succeed. This
proposal was too agreeable to our adventurer to be heard with inattention. Accordingly, having thanked his acquaintance, and
accepted his offer, the next day was fixed upon for his introduction
to Macklin. The friend, on whom Holcroffc had thus unexpectedly
lighted, was, in fact, a kind of scout, employed by Macklin to
pick up young adventurers of promising talents: it being one of
this actor's passions to make actors of others, though he was, in
some respects, the worst qualified for the office of any man in the
world.
The next morning they proceeded to the place of appointment,
when they found the great man seated on his couch, which, stood
by the fire, and on which, whenever he felt himself tired or
drowsy, he went to rest, both day and night, so that he sometimes
was not in bed for a fortnight together. As they went in, they
were followed by his wife, who brought him a bason of tea and
some toast, with each of which he found fifty faults in the rudest
manner. He afterwards called to her several times, upon the most
frivolous occasions, when she was dignified with the style and title
of Bess. His countenance, as it appeared to Mr. Holcroft at this
interview, was the most forbidding he had ever beheld ; and age,
which had deprived him of his teeth, had not added to its softness.
After desiring the young candidate to sit down, he eyed him very
narrowly for some time, and then asked him, What had put it into
his head to turn actor ? The abruptness cf the question disconcerted him,and it was some time before he could answer, in rather
a confused manner, that he had taken it into his head to suppose
it was genius, but that it was very possible he might be mistaken.
" Yes," said he, " that's possible enough; and, by G—d, sir, you
are not the first that I have known so mistaken." Holcroft smiled
at his satire, and the other grinned ghastly with his leathern lips,
for our tyro had not added to the beauty of his visage by repeating
his words. While Macklin was drinking his tea, they talked
on indifferent subjects; and as Holcroft did not happen to differ

THOMAS HOLCKOFT.

69

with him, but, on the contrary, had opportunities of saying several
things which confirmed his opinions, he was pleased to allow that
he had the appearance of an ingenious young man. When his
beverage was finished, he desired him to speak a speech out of
some play, which being done, he remarked that he had never in
his life heard a young spouter speak naturally, and therefore he
was not surprised that Holcroft did not; but, as he seemed tractable, and willing to learn, if he would call again on the morrow,
he would hear and answer him further.
When they had descended into the street, Holcroft's companion
assured him it would do, for that he had met with a very favourable reception, — which was indeed the case, considering the character of the person to whom their visit had been paid.
According to the account Mr. Holcroft has left of this extraordinary man, the author of the comedy of " The Man of the World,"
he was born in the century before the last; yet at the time of Mr.
Holcroft's application to him (which was in the year 1770), his
faculties did not seem in the least impaired. He was said to have
been bred in the interior parts of Ireland, and in such utter ignorance, as not to be able to read at the age of forty. The progress, therefore, which he made afterwards was an astonishing
proof of his genius and industry. His body, like his mind, was
cast in a mould as rough as it was durable. His aspect and address confounded his inferiors, and the delight he took in making
others fear and admire him, gave him an aversion to the society
of those whose knowledge exceeded his own ; nor was he ever
heard to acknowledge superiority in any man. He had no respect for the modesty of youth or sex, but would say the most
discouraging, as well as grossest things, and felt pleasure in proportion to the pain he gave. It was common with him to ask his
pupils why they did not rather think of becoming bricklayers than
players. He was impatient of contradiction to an extreme, and
when he found fault, if the person attempted to answer, he stopped
him without hearing, by saying, " Ha, you have always a reason
for being in the wrong! " This impatience carried hirn still farther, — it often rendered him exceedingly abusive. He could
pronounce the words, scoundrel, fool, blockhead, familiarly, without the least annoyance to his nervous system. He, indeed, pretended to the strictest impartiality, and, while his passions were
unconcerned, often preserved it; but these were so extremely
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irritable, that the least opposition was construed into an unpardonable insult, and the want of immediate apprehension in his pupils
subjected them to the most galling contempt, which excited despair
instead of emulation. His authority was too severe a climate for
the tender plant of genius ever to thrive in. His judgment was,
however, in general, sound, and his instructions those of a master.
" In short," says Mr. H., " if I may estimate the sensations of
others by my own, those despots who, as we are told, shoot their
attendants for their diversion, are not regarded with more awe
than Macklin was by his pupils and domestics." Such is the conclusion of his severe, but apparently faithful portrait of this singular character, and it will be seen in the sequel that he had
sufficient opportunity for rendering it accurate.
Having finished their visit, Holcroft and his friend adjourned to
the Black Lion, in Russell Street, which was at that time a place
of resort for theatrical people. He here learnt that Mr. Foote was
going to take a company to Edinburgh, after the close of the
summer season. Being now anxious to secure himself an engagement, and the manner of Macklin having neither prejudiced him
much in his favour nor given him any certain hopes of success,
he resolved to apply to Mr. Foote. Accordingly, making some
slight excuse to his companion, he hastened into Suffolk Street.
He had the good fortune to find the manager at breakfast with
a young man, whom he employed partly on the stage, and partly
as an amanuensis. a Well," said he, " young gentleman, I guess
your business by the sheepishness of your manner; you have got
the theatrical cacoethes, you have rubbed your shoulder against
the scene: hey, is it not so?" Holcroft answered that it was.
"Well, and what great hero should you wish to personate?
Hamlet, or Richard, or Othello, or who?" Holcroft replied that
he distrusted his capacity for performing any that he had mentioned. " Indeed," said he, " that's a wonderful sign of grace. I
have been teazed for these many years by all the spouters in London, of which honourable fraternity I dare say you are a member:
for I can perceive no stage varnish, none of your true strolling
brass lacker on your face." " N o indeed, sir." " I thought so.
Well, sir, I never saw a spouter before, that did not want to surprise the town in Pierre, or Lothario, or some character that demands all the address and every requisite of a master in the art.
But, come, give us a touch of your quality; a speech: here's a

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

71

youngster," pointing to his secretary, " will roar Jaffier against
Pierre, let the loudest take both." Accordingly, he held the book,
and at it they fell: the scene they chose, was that of the before
mentioned characters in " Venice Preserved." For a little while
after they began, it seems that Holcroft took the hint Foote had
thrown out and restrained his wrath ; but this appeared so insipid,
and the ideas of rant and excellence were so strongly connected in
his mind, than when Jaffier began to exalt his voice, he could no
longer contain himself; but, as Nic. Bottom says, they both
roared so, that it would have done your heart good to hear them,
Foote smiled, and after enduring this vigorous attack upon his
organs of hearing as long as he was able, interrupted them.
Far from discouraging our new beginner, he told him that, with
respect to giving the meaning of the words, he spoke much more
correctly than he had expected. " But," said he, " like other
novices, you seem to imagine that all excellence lies in the lungs:
whereas, such violent exertions should be used but very sparingly,
and upon extraordinary occasions; for (besides that these two gentlemen, instead of straining their throats, are supposed to be in
common conversation) if an actor make no reserve of his powers,
how is he to rise according to the tone of the passion ? " He then
read the scene they had rehearsed, and with so much propriety and
ease, as well as force, that Holcroft was surprised, having hitherto
supposed the risible faculties to be the only ones over which he
had any great power.
Mr. Holcroft afterwards displayed his musical talents, which also
met with the approbation of Foote ; who, however, told him, that
as he was entirely inexperienced with respect to the stage, if he
engaged him, his salary, at first, would be very low. He said it was
impossible to judge with certainty of stage requisites till they had
been proved ; and'that if, upon consideration, he thought it expedient to accept of one pound per week, he might come to him
again a day or two before the theatre in the Haymarket shut u p ;
but that if he could meet with a more flattering offer in the mean
time, he begged he might be no obstacle.
Mr. Holcroft came away from this celebrated wit, delighted with
the ease and frankness of his behaviour, and elated with his prospect of success. But as he had promised Macklin to call again, he
did not think it right to fail in his engagement. Accordingly, on
his second visit> he gave him a part to read in a piece of which he
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himself was the author, and which had met with great success.
Having finished this task, apparently to the satisfaction of the
author, the latter paid his visitor so high a compliment, as to read
to him some scenes of a comedy which he was then writing.
They were characteristic and satirical, and met with Holcroft's
sincere and hearty approbation, which, it may be supposed, did not
a little contribute to prejudice Macklin in his favour. He, however, thought himself bound not to act with duplicity; and he
therefore told Macklin of the offer he had had from Foote, excusing this second application from the necessity he was under of
getting immediate employment. Macklin allowed the force of his
excuse, but thought he might do better in Ireland. He inquired
if Holcroft had any objection to become a prompter, adding that
the office was profitable, and one for which, from the good hand
he wrote, and other circumstances, he might easily qualify himself,
Holcroft answered, that Macklin was the best judge of his fitness
for the office, and that he had no objection to the situation, except
that it would be more agreeable to his inclination to become an
actor. This inclination the other said might be indulged at the
same time, which would render him so much the more useful.
Little parts would frequently be wanting; the going on for these
would accustom him to face the audience, and tread the stage, which
would be an advantage. Holcroft then demanded what salary
would be annexed to this office; and received for answer, that, as
there was a good deal of trouble in it, he could not have less tham
thirty shillings a week, especially if he undertook to perform small
parts occasionally. Macklin also informed him, that he was not
manager himself, he only went as a performer ; but that one of th©
managers was in town, to whom he would speak, and in two or
three days return him a positive answer. In the interim he desired his protege to call in the morning, and he would give him
instructions in the part he had read to him, for he had some
thoughts of letting him play it. After making proper acknowledgments for these favours, our young adventurer took his leave,
much better pleased than at his first visit.

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

n

CHAP. II.
I T was not long before every thing was settled in the manner
proposed by Macklin, and Mr. Holcroft was informed that it was
necessary for him to set off for Dublin, it being the intention of the
proprietors to open the theatre about the beginning of October.
In consequence of the desire he had expressed to appear in some
character, Macklin had promised not only to procure him such an
opportunity, but likewise to instruct and become his patron : and
on Holcroft's representing to him his want of cash for the journey,
he lent him six guineas on the part of the managers, and gave him
a letter to one of them, who would, he said, provide him with a,
lodging, and do him other trifling services, which would be agreeable to a person in his situation.
Holcroft now rewarded his spouting friend with a guinea, redeemed his clothes, which he had been forced to pawn, and left
London, elated with the most flattering hopes. He arrived in
Dublin about the latter end of September, 1770. The novelty of
the scene, and the vast difference in the economy and manners of
the people, made a strong impression on his imagination. The
bar at the mouth of the Liffy renders the entrance up that river
passable only to ships of small burthen, and to them only when
the tide serves. It was low water when the packet arrived at the
mouth of the river, and a boat came alongside of the vessel, into
which most of the passengers went, rather than wait another tide,
and our adventurer among the rest. The river divides the city,
and the other passengers were set on shore on the quay: but Holcroft, as directed by his letter, inquired for Capel Street, which was
on the opposite side. Thither, accordingly, he was carried; and
his trunk and himself landed in a beer -house. He was rather
astonished when the watermen demanded Sive and fivepence,
together with a quart of threepenny, for his conveyance from the
packet; and the more so, as he had seen the other passengers give
but a shilling each, and one or two of the meaner among them
only sixpence. He remonstrated against the imposition, and
quoted the'precedent of the shilling; but in vain.
The disorder of their looks, the smoothness of their tongues, and
the possession they had taken of his trunk, on which one of them

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seated himself, while the other argued the case, induced our novice
to comply with their demands: but what gave him the greatest
astonishment was, that the landlord of the beer-house, who had
sworn stoutly to their honesty while he was paying them, no
sooner saw their backs turned, than, according to his own phraseology, " he pitched them to the divel, for a couple of cut-throat,
chating rascals,-that desarved hanging worse than a murderer."
The reflections to which this and similar scenes gave rise in Mr.
Holcroft's mind, though trite, are not the less worthy of attention.
He says, " During my short stay in Ireland, I had but too many
occasions to observe a shocking depravity of manners, which I
attribute either to the laws, or the want of a due enforcement of
them. The Irish are habitually, not naturally, licentious. They
have all that warmth and generosity which are the characteristics
of the best dispositions; and when properly educated, are an
honour to mankind.
Ireland has produced many first-rate
geniuses; and in my opinion, nothing but the foregoing circumstance has prevented her from producing many more. It is
4;he legislature which forms the manners of a nation."
When our traveller set out from London, he was assured that
the house would open in the beginning of October, but it was
November before the season commenced; so that his finances were
once more exhausted, and he was obliged to apply to the friend to
whom Macklin had recommended him, for a further supply. The
acting manager was a busy, bustling fellow, void of all civility,
who pretended to carry the world before him.
Mr. Holcroft soon discovered that there was an insurmountable
antipathy between this man's disposition and his own. But the
means of his subsistence were at stake ; he endeavoured, therefore,
to accommodate himself to the other's temper as much as possible,
and waited for the arrival of Macklin with the utmost impatience.
He understood that his engagement had been permanently fixed at
thirty shillings a week: but, when he went to the treasury, he
found it reduced to a guinea; and, whenever he pleaded his
engagement, received the most mortifying and insulting answers.
He discovered the entire improbability of his becoming a favourite.
None were such but those who could administer the grossest
flattery, and who industriously listened to whatever was said in
the theatre concerning this petty despot and his management, in
order to repeat it in the ear of their employer.

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

75

Holcroft had vainly imagined that the presence of Macklin would
put an end to all his grievances: he looked up to him as his patron,
as one who had been the occasion of his leaving England, who had
pledged himself to be his friend, and was bound to protect him.
Whether D
had prejudiced him against Holcroft, or whether
Macklin himself was aware of his deficiency in the honied arts of
adulation, he could not determine ; but he found him very cold in
his interest, and far more disposed to browbeat than countenance
him. He had, as we have seen, promised to teach him a part, and
bring him out in i t ; but when he ventured to remind him of it, he
received only sarcastic remarks on his incapacity. Holcroft, however, persisted in asserting the positiveness of his agreement with
respect to his salary, concerning which Macklin had the meanness
to equivocate; but he succeeded in obtaining an addition of four
shillings a week.
Unable to extricate himself, he endured the insults of malice
and ignorance for five months, till the money which he had borrowed had been deducted from his stipend, and then D
— immediately discharged him. It would be no easy task to describe
what he must have felt at this moment: he was not possessed
of five shillings in the world, was in a strange country, and had no
means, now that he was shut out from the theatre, of obtaining a
livelihood. He saw nothing but misery and famine before him, and
he uttered the bitterest exclamations against Macklin for the perfidiousness of his conduct. This he felt so strongly, that though
Macklin by the severity of his manner had gained an almost entire
ascendancy over him, he went to his house, and with the utmost
firmness, after observing that he would rather starve than incur
any further obligations to him, displayed the impropriety and injustice of his conduct in such animated terms, that all his wonted
sternness fled, and the cynic stood abashed before the boy.
There was another theatre open in Smock Alley, under the direction of Mossop ; but he was insolvent, and none of his people
were paid. Here, however, as a last resource, Holcroft applied,
and was engaged at the same nominal salary that he had in Capel
Street.
It soon appeared that there was no probability of his being paid
for his performance at Mossop's theatre: he was therefore forced
to quit Dublin, and went on board the packet for Parkgate, in
March, 1771.

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The wind was fair till they had lost sight of the hill of Howth ;
out soon after sunset a hurricane came on, which in this narrow and
rocky sea put their lives in imminent danger. Of this, however,
from the violent effects of the sea-sickness, Holcroft was insensible,
They were driven during the storm considerably to the north;
and such was the ignorance of the master, and his two or three
superannuated mariners, that he still continued sailing to the
northward, having no knowledge of navigation but what he had
gained by coasting between the two kingdoms. He was, therefore,
on the present occasion quite at a loss ; so that, in all probability,
they might have made a voyage to Greenland, had not an intelligent Scotchman among the passengers known some of the headlands in his own country. The master would have contested the
point, but that the passengers perceived his want of skill, and
joined the North Briton, who, with a degree of warmth expressive
of his attachment to his bleak hills, exclaimed, " What the de'el,
mon, d'ye think I dinna ken the craig o' Ailsa ? "
They were eight days without putting into any port, except
sending the boat on shore on the evening of the seventh at the Isle
of Man, to procure some provisions for the passengers, who were
almost starving, having consumed the stock, which is usually provided for voyages of this kind, in a day or two after the storm had
abated. The reason of their being kept so long from port was the
dead calm which had succeeded; and which the mariners, who are
the most superstitious of all beings, attributed to there being some
Jonas on board. This opinion they inculcated among the poor
Irish, who had paid half-a-crown for their passage in the hold;
who were as ignorant as themselves, and much more mischievous.
Unluckily, Holcroft was the person on whom their suspicions
lighted. They had discovered him to be a player, a profession
which was at one time regarded by the universal consent of mankind as altogether profane. The common Irish in the hold were
chiefly catholics, and the sixth day from their departure happened
to be Easter-Sunday. Hokroft had sauntered off the quarterdeck, with a volume of " Hudibras " in his hand, and had walked to
the other end of the vessel, when he found himself encircled by
two or three fellows with most ferocious countenances, who were
gazing earnestly at him, with looks expressive of loathing and revenge. Most of the passengers were at breakfast, and there was
no one on deck but these men, and a couple of the sailors, who

THOMAS HOLCROET.

77

joined them. The peculiarity of their manner excited his notice ;
and one of them asked him, his lips quivering with rage, " If he had
not better be getting a prayer-book, than be reading plays upon
that blessed day ? " Holcroft now perceived that the fellows were
inebriated, and very imprudently, instead of soothing them, asked
them if they imagined there was as much harm in reading a play
as in getting drunk on that day, and so early in the morning.
" By the holy father," replied the spokesman, " I know you. You
are the Jonas, and by Jasus the ship will never see land till you
are tossed overboard, you and your plays along with you: and sure
it will be a great deal better that such a wicked wretch as you
should go to the bottom, than that all the poor innocent souls in
the ship should be lost." This speech entirely disconcerted him.
The fellow's resolute tone, and the approbation which his companions discovered, were alarming. He, however, preserved
presence of mind enough to assure them it was not a play-book
that he was reading, and opened it to convince them, while he
slunk away to the quarter-deck, which he gained not without the
greatest difficulty. Mr. Holcroft arrived at Chester without any
further accident.

CHAP. III.
MR. HOLCROFT had now the world once more before him ; and he
resolved to write to such travelling companies as he could obtain any
intelligence of. His knowledge of music, his talents as a singer, and
his recent arrival from the Dublin theatre, were recommendations
which procured him the offer of several engagements. He closed
with one, in a company that was then at Leeds, in Yorkshire. In
this, his evil fortune was again predominant. He found the affairs
of the company in a state of the greatest disorder; the players
were despised in the town, and quarrelling with one another and
the manager. Here, however, he discovered how necessary practice is to the profession of a player; and perceived that, though
/Borne of his new associates could scarcely read, they could all, from
the mere force of habit, speak better on the stage than he could.
In a few weeks, in consequence of continual bickerings and
jealousies, most of the players deserted the manager; and no
others coming to supply their places, the company dissolved of

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itself. A letter had followed our luckless hero from Chester, inviting him to join another set of actors then at Hereford: but
this had been written nearly a month ; it was a hundred and sixty
miles across the country, and he did not know, if he set out,
whether he should find them there ; or if he did, whether they
might now stand in need of his assistance. But his money was by
this time reduced so low, that it was necessary to come to an immediate determination. With a heavy heart, then, and a light
purse, did he begin another journey : and on the fifth day, entered
an inn by the road side, which was eight-and-twenty miles from
Hereford, with the sum of nine-pence in his pocket; and in the
morning made his exit penniless. The fatigue he had already
undergone, and the scanty fare he had allowed himself, had so
reduced his spirits, that he found considerable difficulty in performing this last day's journey on an empty stomach : but there
was no remedy. About four o'clock he ascended the hill that
looks down upon that ancient city, at the sight of which a thousand
anxieties took possession of his bosom. He inquired of the first
person he met, with an emotion not easily to be expressed, if the
comedians had Jeft Hereford; and, to his great joy, was answered
that they had not. Faint, weary, and ready to drop with hunger,
he traversed the town to inquire for the manager : but it was one
of the nights on which they did not perform, and the manager was
not to be found. He was then directed to his brother, who was a
barber in the place ; and upon the family's observing his weakness,
and desiring to know if he was not well, he collected courage
enough to tell them that he was greatly fatigued, having come a
long journey, and for the last day not having broken his fast, except at the brook. Notwithstanding this confession, in making
which he had evidently done great violence to his feelings, they
heard it without offering him the least refreshment, or so much as
testifying either surprise or pity ; and he left the house with tears
in his eyes. When the players understood that a fresh member
was come to join them, they, from sympathy, very soon discovered
his situation; and were not a little incensed at the story of the
barber.
The company into which Mr. Holcroft was now introduced was
that of the Kembles : the father of Mrs. Siddons was the manager.
Mr. H. continued with this company some time; and in the course
of their peregrinations he visited Ludlow, Worcester, Leominster,

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

79

Bewdly, Bromsgrove, and Droitwich; in all which places he acted
inferior parts. One of the actors in this company, of the name of
Downing or Dunning, seems to have made a pretty strong impression on Mr. H.'s fancy, for he has left a very particular description
of him. This stage-hero had a large, red, bottle-nose, with little
intellect; but he was tall, looked passably when made up for the
stage, and had a tolerable voice, though monotonous. To hide the
redness of his nose, it was his custom to powder i t : but, unluckily,
he drank brandy; the humour that flowed to his nose made it
irritable, and in the course of a scene the powder was usually
rubbed off. His wife stood behind the scenes with the powderpuff ready, and exclaimed, when he came off, — " Curse it,
George! how you rub your poor nose! Come here, and let me
powder it. Do you think Alexander the Great had such a nose ?
I am sure Juliet would never have married Romeo with such a
bottle-nose. Upon my word, if your nose had been so red and
large when you ran away with me from the boarding-school, I
should never have stepped into the same chaise with you and your
journeyman captain, I assure you." George seldom made any
reply to these harangues, except "Pshaw, woman!" or by beginning
to repeat his part.
In the year 1798, when Mr. Holcroft spent an evening with old
Mrs. Kemble, and talked over past times with her, she gave a
whimsical picture of this wife of Downing. Mrs. D. was addicted
to drinking, exceedingly nervous, and snuffled when she spoke.
She used to tell her own story as follows: " He calls himself
Downing, ma'am, but his name is Dunning. I was a Quaker,
ma'am, when he first knew me, and put to a boarding-school. He
and one Chalmers (I suppose you have heard of that Chalmers, he
gave himself the title of Captain) —Well, ma'am, while I was at
the boarding-school, they came a courting to me. Dunning, my
husband, that you see there, was a tall, handsome fellow enough;
he had not such a bottle-nose then, ma'am, nor such spindle legs;
so he put on a coat edged with gold lace, I don't know where he
got it, and gave himself the airs of a gentleman. He thought I
was a great fortune ; but, God help me, I had not a shilling; and
I believed him to be what he pretended, when all the while he was
no better than a barber; and this Captain Chalmers was his journeyman. So they persuaded me, innocent fool, to run away with
them, thinking they had got a prize, and I thought the same ; so

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the biter was bit on both sides. So that is the history, ma'am, of
me and Mr. Dunning."
This maudlin lady was often employed to receive the money at
the play-house door, and was suspected of petty embezzlements to
supply herself with liquor. Mr. Holcroft used sometimes to rally
her a little unmercifully on her love of the bottle, and the adventure of the Captain. The dialogue is somewhat coarse, but it may
serve as a sample of the tone of conversation which prevailed in
provincial companies at that time. " It is very cold to night, Mrs.
Downing." "Yes, sir." " I hope you take care to keep yourself
warm." " What do you mean, sir ? " " Flannel, and a little comfort." "What comfort, s i r ? " "You know what I mean." " I
know nothing about you, sir!" " A drop of cordial; lamb's wool
is a good lining." " Hang your linings, sir; I know nothing about
linings." " Nay, don't be angry; I have not said you are tipsy."
" Hang your sayings, sir; I don't care for your sayings. Mr.
Downing shall never set foot, after this night, on the same boards
with such an impertinent puppy." " Nay, my dear Mrs. Downing."
" Yes, sir, you are no better; and if George Downing was a man,
he would soon teach you good manners." " He is well qualified,
my dear Mrs. D., for he practised upon many a block-head before
he came to mine." " And what of that, sir ? I understand you ;
but a barber is as good as a cobbler at any time."
Now it must be allowed, that though there is not much wit or
humour in all this, it is very easy and free spoken. Mr. Holcroft
was young at the time, and probably ready enough to give into any
joke which he found the common practice of the place. It may be
remarked, by the way, that there is a peculiar tone of banter and
irony, bordering on ribaldry, which seems almost inseparable from
the profession of strolling players. For this many reasons might
be given: 1. The contempt (often most undeserved, no doubt) in
which they are held by the world, and which they naturally reflect
back on one another; for they must soon learn to despise a profession which they see despised by every one else, at least with that
single exception which self-love -contrives to reserve for us all.
2. The circumstance that they live by repeating the wit of others,
and that they must naturally ape what they live by. In nine instances out of ten, however, this habitual temptation must produce
impertinence instead of wit. 3. The custom of repeating things
without meaning or consequence on the stage, must lead to the

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

81

same freedom of speech when they are off. It is only acting a
part. 4. They have not much else to do, and they assume a certain levity of manner as a resource against ennui, as well as to
hide a sense of the mortifications and hardships they so often meet
with. Lastly, their mode of life, which is always in companies,
and in situations where they have an opportunity of becoming acquainted every moment with one another's weak sides, gives rise to
a propensity to quizzing, as it does in all other open societies ; such
as of boys at school, of collegians, among lawyers, &c.—But to return to our narrative.
The company of which old Mr. Kemble was the manager, was
more respectable than many other companies of strolling players;
but it was not in so flourishing a condition as to place the manager
beyond the reach of the immediate smiles or frowns of fortune.
Of this the following anecdote may be cited as an instance. A
benefit had been fixed for some of the family, in which Miss Kemble, then a little girl, was to come forward in some part, as a juvenile prodigy. The taste of the audience was not, it seems, so
accommodating as in the present day, and the extreme youth of the
performer disposed the gallery to noise and uproar, instead of
admiration. Their turbulent dissatisfaction quite disconcerted the
child, and she was retiring bashfully from the stage, when her
mother, who was a woman of a high spirit, and alarmed for the
success of her little actress, came forward, and, leading the child
to the front of the house, made her repeat the fable of the Boys
and the Frogs, which entirely turned the tide of popular opinion in
her favour. What must the feelings of the same mother have been,
when this child (afterwards Mrs. Siddons) became the admiration
of the whole kingdom, the first seeing of whom was an event in
every person's life never to be forgotten!
It may not be improper to remark in this place, that Mrs. Siddons first appeared in London about the year 1778, without exciting any great notice or expectation. She had acquired her fame
in the country, before she was received in 1783 with such unbounded applause on the London theatres. There is a playful and
lively letter from Mr. Holcroft to Miss Kemble (most probably
Mrs. Siddons), dated 12th Feb., 1779, returning her thanks for
the favour of her late visit to him while in town, and desiring
his remembrances to theatrical friends in the country, and, among
others, his Baises Mains to a Mr. Davis.
p.

82

MEMOIRS OF

A difference with the manager (old Mr. Kemble) occasioned
Mr. Holcroft to leave this company, from which he went to that
of Stanton, which performed at Birmingham and in the neighbourhood,, and sometimes made excursions to the north of England.
A memorandum of Mr. Holcroft, dated 1799, gives some account
of himself, and of one of his fellow-actors, while in this company*
" A person called on me of the name of F
, who began by
asking if 1 knew him. I answered, no. He replied that it was
likely enough, but that we had been acquainted when I was an
actor in Walsal, where he played the second fiddle, and doubted
not but I should remember that we had often played at billiards
together. I answered that I recollected nothing of his person*
though I played at billiards with several people, and probably
with him. I then asked, which was the best player of the two ?
He replied that, because he squinted, people thought he could not
play, but that, to the best of his recollection, he had won six or
seven pounds of me, which greatly distressed me* Yes, said I,
the loss of such a sum at that time (in 1773) would have so distressed me, that though I do forget multitudes of things and
persons, I think I should not have forgotten such an incident. I
was therefore persuaded he was much mistaken in the sum. . In
answer to this, he said, he had remarked to me at the time we
were both upon the same lay, and finding I took offence at the
expression, he had softened it by saying, we neither of us wished
to lose our money. He therefore proposed that I should pay him
by going halves with him when he played and betted again.
What degree of truth there was in all this, I cannot now exactly
tell; only I know that I had a high spirit, and a detestation of all
gambling conspiracies, though at that time I played for money,
and wished to win. I was poor, neither did I then conceive it to
be wrong. The man said, he should not have taken the liberty to
come to a gentleman so high in the ivorld (at this I could not but
smile) as I now was, had not Mr. Clementi told him I was without pride, and entirely free of access. He is a stout man, nearly
six feet high, and lives at Birmingham, where he teaches the
violin, has daughters, whom he has taught to fiddle, play the harpsichord, &e., and sells music among his scholars. His business iti
London, he tells me, is to bring up his wife and daughters, and
leave them here, the latter for instruction ; and that one great
motive for visiting me was to hear Fanny (Miss Holcroft) play.

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

83

In addition to ungain size, awkwardness, and squinting, he has
a clownish gesticulation, and makes such strange contortions of
face, as, were it not to avoid giving offence, would excite continual laughter. In talking of billiards, he spoke of a gentleman at
Walsal, with whom he used to play, who came with his pockets
full of guineas, and that the chinking of these excited in him the
most extraordinary desire to win. Here he got up, and gave a
picture, by gesticulating, squinting, and drawing his muscles awry,
of the agitation he used to be in when going to strike the balls.
Nothing could exceed the effect of his naivete. The conclusion of
his history of Walsal was, that, playing at billiards with Stanton,
the manager, the latter complained of the largeness of the pockets,
to which F
replied, yes, they were very large, large indeed,
as unconscionably large as his four dead shares, added to the five
shares he received for the acting of his wife and children; which
so affronted Stanton, that he discharged him the next week. He
said he left Walsal with thirty pounds in his pocket, which he had
won at billiards, promising his wife never to play more, and that
he had kept his word. As he appeared to have been the industrious father of a family, I invited him to bring his daughters and
hear Fanny, who did not then happen to be at home ; but his
left-handed, country breeding, or some other motive, made him
decline fixing any time." *
To enable the reader to understand the satirical allusion to the
manager's shares, which cost poor F
his situation as second
fiddler in the company, it may be necessary to give a short account
of the economy of a provincial theatre. This I cannot do better
than by citing Mr. Holcroft's own words. " A company of travelling comedians, then, is a small kingdom, of which the manageris the monarch. Their code of laws seems to have existed, with
few material variations, since the days of Shakespeare, who is,
with great reason, the god of their idolatry. The person who is
rich enough to furnish a wardrobe and scenes, commences manager,
and has his privileges accordingly: if there are twenty persons in
the company, for instance, the manager included, the receipts of
the house, after all incidental expenses are deducted, are divided
into four-and-twenty shares, four of which are called dead shares,
* One Keys, who was also a contemporary of Mr. H. in Stanton's company, and'
has since been a dancing-master, was the father of Mrs. Mills, who played the
Spoiled Child, Sophia, in " The Road to Ruin," &c.
F2

84

MEMOIRS OF

and taken by the manager as payment for the use of his dresses
and scenes; to these is added the share to which he is entitled as
a performer. Our manager (Stanton) has five sons and daughters,
all ranked as performers, so that he sweeps eleven shares, that is,
near half the profits of the theatre, into his pocket every night.
This is a continual subject of discontent to the rest of the actors,
who are all, to a man, disaffected to the higher powers. They are,
however, most of them in debt to the manager, and of course
chained to his galley, — a circumstance which he does not fail to
remind them of whenever they are refractory.
6i
They appear to be a set of merry, thoughtless beings, who
laugh in the midst of poverty, and who never want a quotation or
a story to recruit their spirits. When they get any money, they
seem in haste to spend it, lest some tyrant, in the shape*of a dun,
should snatch it from them. They have a circuit, or set of towns,
to which they resort when the time comes round; so that there are
but three or four in our company who are not well known in
**-*#-*# j observe that the townspeople are continually railing at
them, yet are exceedingly unhappy if they fail to return at the
appointed time. It is a saying among us, that a player's sixpence
does not go as far as a townsman's groat; therefore, though the
latter are continually abusing them for running in debt, they take
good care to indemnify themselves, and are no great losers if they
get ten shillings in the pound."
This patriarchal manager, with his wife, sons, and daughters,
seems to have been not only an object of envy, but, from his
blunders and stupidity, the butt of the whole company. Among
other instances which are related of his talent for absurdity, he
wished to have Shylock, in the " Merchant of Venice," played in
the dialect of Duke's Place, and was positive Shakspeare intended
it so. He once told the duke in " Othello," a messenger was arrived
from the galloios, instead of the galleys; and in playing the part of
Bardolph, where that worthy person, descanting on the fieriness of
his nose, says, " Behold these meteors, these exhalations," he used
to lift his hands to heaven with a solemn flourish, as if he had
really seen " the heavens on fire."

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

85

CHAP. IV.
WHILE Mr. Holcroft was in this company, or a short time before
he entered it, he married again. His second wife was the sister
of a Mr. Tipler, of Nottingham; by her he had two children, —
r
William, born in 1773, and Sophy, born at Cockermouth, in 1775.
Her mother either died in child-bed of her, or shortly after. This
marriage would have been a very happy one, had it not been embittered by scenes of continual distress and disappointment, which
Mrs. II. bore with a resignation and sweetness of temper, which
could not but endear her to a husband of Mr. Holcroft's character.
There is a sort of Shandean manuscript of his, written at this
time, and in which he gives an account of his own situation,
crosses, poverty, &c. In this there are several passages expressive
of the tenderest attachment to his wife, and which, from the
amiable character he has drawn of her, she seems to have deserved. One of these will, I think, strongly paint the amiableness
of his own heart. After describing a series of misfortunes, he
breaks out into the following beautiful address to his wife : ~-•
" Oh, Matilda! shall I ever forget thy tenderness and resignation ? Or when in the bitterness of despair, beholding thee wan
with watching thy sick infant, and sitting assiduously at thy
needle to earn a morsel of bread,—when thou hast beheld the
salt rheum of biting anguish scald my agonising cheek, with what
tender love, what mild, what sweet persuasive, patience, thou
hast comforted my soul, and made even misery smile in hope, and
fond forget fulness! Richer than all the monarchs of the east,
Matilda, has thy kindness made me: the world affords not thy
' equal!"
Mr. Holcroft afterwards removed with his wife into Booth's
company. She had a good figure, and her husband had taught
her to sing, and instructed her sufficiently in the business of the
stage to render her serviceable to the theatre. When at Cockermouth in 1775, Mr. Holcroft addressed a letter and a poem to
David Garrick, which I shall here insert; both as they are curious
in themselves, and are characteristic of the state of his feelings at
the time. For the romantic extravagance of his appeal to Garrick's
generosity, no other apology seems necessary, than the old adage,
that drowning men catch at straws.
j? 3

86

MEMOIRS OF

To David Garrick, Esq.
" I know of no excuse that I can make for the impertinence
of this address, but my feelings. They press hard upon me, they
are not to be withstood. They have told me your sympathetic
heart sighs for the distressed, and weeps with the child of sorrow.
I believe they told me truth.
" l a m a strolling comedian, have a wife and family, for whom
I would fain provide, but have sometimes, notwithstanding the
strictest economy, found the task a very difficult one. I am now
near three hundred miles from London, in a company that must,
in all human probability, soon be dispersed; my wife lying in at
an inn, and in circumstances that I cannot describe. I do not
wish to eat the bread of idleness; I neither know, nor wish to
know, any thing of luxury; and a trifling salary would make me
affluent. I have played in the country with applause, and my
friends, I am afraid, have flattered me: some of them have ranked
me among the sons of genius, and I have, at times, been silly
enough to believe them. I have succeeded best in low comedy and
old men. I understand music very well, something of French and
fencing, and have a very quick memory, as I can repeat any part
under four lengths at six hours' notice. I have studied character,
situation, dress, deliberation, enunciation, but above all, the eye, and
the manner; and have so far succeeded, as to be entirely at the head
of my profession here in all those characters which nature has any
way qualified me for. I am afraid, sir, you think by this time
that I have undertaken to write my own panegyric. That, however, is far from my intention ; neither do I wish for employment
in any but a very subordinate situation. My wife is a good figure,
but her timidity would always place her behind a Queen at your
theatre. If you were to find me capable of anything better than
an attendant, to your judgment would I cheerfully accede. If you
do not chuse to employ my wife, but would only engage me, I
think we should both remember it with that enthusiasm of gratitude with which good minds are oppressed when they receive
favours which they have no possible means of returning.
" I am, sir,
" Your very humble servant, &c.
* Cockerinouth, in Cumberland, June 1st, 1775,
*
at the house of George Bowes, hatter.

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

87

^ P . S . With respect to the trifling poem inclosed, I meant only
to ease my own heart by i t : should it reach yours, it will be more
than I can expect.
" H O P E ; OR, THE DELUSION.
" ADVANCE, soft soother of the mind,
Oh ! hither bend, a welcome guest:
Sweet Hope! stray hither, here thou'lt find
Those sanguine thoughts, that please thee best.
Pair fancy bring, thy darling child,
Deck'd in loose robes of Alpine white:
With thee, her happy parent, wild
She wings her bold, romantic flight.
Blest pah! I'll sing, inspir'd by you,
Of wealth bestow'd to noble ends,
Of sweet enchanting scenes in view,
Of future times and faithful friends.
Tho' my sweet William, prattling youth,
For bread oft begs in accents meek ;
Matilda, fairest flower of truth,
Droops on my breast her dew-dipt cheek.
Tho' the big tears run down my face
To see her aspect wan and mild,
And hear her lov'd affection trace
My care-mark'd features in our child.
Tho' fortune lowly bows my neck,
And cares not for the wretch's groan, —
Yet smile but Hope, or Fancy beck,
And I'll ascend her star-built throne.
Now, now I mount! Behold me rise !
Hope lends me strength, and Fancy wings,
Oh! listen to the magic lies,
Which fleeting, faithless Fancy sings I
With Independence truly blest,
Of some neat cot she styles me lord,
Where Age and Labour love to rest,
Where healthy viands press the board.
Now lay me down, kind nymph, at ease
Beneath yon verdant mountain's brow,
Where wanton zephyrs fan the trees,
Where violets spring, and waters flow.
What joys — delusive charmer, hold!
Despair has seiz'd my thick'ning blood;
Her lips how pale! her cheek how cold 1
Matilda faints for want of food!"
r 4

88

MEMOIKS OF

The foregoing stanzas have been given less for the poe,try than
the history they contain. The distress which they paint did not,
it seems, reach Garrick's heart: at least Mr. Holcroft left Cocker^
mouth some time after without having received an answer to his
letter. Whether his wife died before or after he left Cockermouth,
I do not know; but there is an epitaph on Mrs. Holcroft, written
about this period, in which he feelingly laments her loss.
" Beauty, Love, and Truth lie here:
Passenger, a moment stay!
Breathe a sigh, and drop a tear,
O'er her much-lamented clay.
Death! thy dart is harmless now,
Widow'd griefs thy stroke defy:
Weak the terrors of thy brow
To the wretch who longs to die."
At the time that Mr. Holcroft was at Cockermouth, he was in
Booth's company, which he had joined at Carlisle in the autumn
of 1774. He had just then left Stanton's company, who were
performing at Kendal. He was recommended to Booth by a friend
of the name of Hatton, who was an excellent comedian, and the
hero of the company. He had spoken in high terms of Holcroft's
talents, who himself sent off a letter as his avant-coiirier, in which
he undertook to do a great deal for very little. He engaged to
perform all the old men, and principal low-comedy characters; he
was to be the ?nusic, that is, literally the sole accompaniment to
all songs, &c. on his fiddle in the orchestra; he undertook to
instruct the younger performers in singing and music, and to write
out the different casts or parts in every new comedy; and, lastly,
he was to furnish the theatre with several new pieces, never
published, but which he brought with him in manuscript; among
the rest "Dr. Last in his Chariot," which character he himself performed. Here was certainly enough for one man to do; and for
all these services, various and important as they were, he stipulated
that he should be entitled to a share and a half of the profits of the
theatre, which generally amounted to between four and five pounds
a night whenever it opened, that is, three times a week. This
proposed salary could not, therefore, amount to more than seventeen or eighteen shillings weekly.
In the above list of employments, which Mr. Holcroft undertook

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

89

to fulfil, the capital attraction, and that which he believed no
country manager could resist, was the character of Dr. Last, which
he did in imitation of the London performers. The scene in which
he produced the most effect was that of the doctor's examination.
This, as I have heard it described, was a very laughable, if not a
very pleasing, performance. Mr. Holcroft was naturally rather
long-backed; and in order to give a ridiculous appearance to the
doctor, he used to lean forwards, with his chin raised as high as
possible into the air, and his body projecting proportionably behind;
and in this frog-like attitude, with his eyes staring wide open, and
his teeth chattering, he answered the questions that were put to
him, in a harsh, tremulous voice, sometimes growling, and sometimes squeaking, and with such odd starts and twitches of countenance, that the effect produced upon the generality of spectators
was altogether convulsive. The person who gave me this description said he thought the part a good deal overdone, but that it was
a very entertaining caricature. Mr. Holcroft himself went through
this part to gratify a friend, a very short time before his death;
He said it always produced a very great effect whenever he acted
i t ; but that the chief or only merit it had was that of being a
close imitation of Weston's manner of doing it. *
* Weston is celebrated for his unrivalled power of face, for looking the fool
more naturally than any one else. Mr. Holcroft speaks of him in the following
manner in the " Theatrical Recorder."—"As an actor, I remember him well: to
think of a few unrivalled performers, and to forget Weston, is impossible. The
range of characters that he personated was confined. The parts in which he
excited such uncommon emotion, were those of low humour. He was the most
irresistible in those of perfect simplicity : his peculiar talent was the pure personification of nature. I do not think it possible for an actor to be less conscious than Weston appeared to be, that he was acting. While the audience
was convulsed with laughter, he was perfectly unmoved: no look, no motion of
the body, ever gave the least intimation that he knew himself to be Thomas
Weston. Never for a moment was Thomas Weston present : it was always
either Jerry Sneak, Doctor Last, Abel Drugger, Scrub, Sharp, or the very character, whatever it was, he stood there to perform ; and it was performed with
such a consistent and peculiar humour, it was so entirely distinct from any
thing we call acting, and so perfect a resemblance of the person whom the pencil
of the poet had depicted, that not only was the laughter excessive, nay, sometimes almost painful, but the most critical mind was entirely satisfied. I doubt
if Garrick, or any other actor, had so complete a power of disguising himself,
and of assuming a character with so little deviation from the conception he had;
previously formed. It was not only a perfect whole, but it was also unique.
" He first appeared in tragedy, which he always considered as his forte, though
he was utterly unqualified for it. It was much against his will that he was

90

MEMOIRS OF

The history of the company in which Mr. Holcroft was now
engaged, deserves notice from its singularity. The name of the
original founder of the company was Mills, a Scotchman. He and
his family had formerly travelled the country, playing nothing but
Allan Eamsay's " Gentle Shepherd." This they continued to do for
several years without either scenery or music. As the younger
branches of the family grew up, one of them became a scene-painter,
and some of the others learned to fiddle. They now, therefore,
added scenes and music to the representation of their favourite
accidentally forced to play Scrub, in the * Beaux' Stratagem/ when he threw every
one into raptures, except himself. Even the very boys followed him in the
streets, exclaiming, ' There •— that's he that played Scrub!' His first appearance in London was at a booth in Bartholomew Fair. He was afterwards engaged by Eoote, who was the first person who introduced him to public notice,
and who wrote the part of Jerry Sneak expressly for him. Several stories are
told of the readiness of his wit, and presence of mind.
" Shuter had long been the favourite of the galleries ; and Weston, before he
was well known, appeared as a substitute for Shuter, in the part of Sharp.
Shuter's name was in the play-bills ; and when Weston appeared, the galleries
vociferated, «Shuter, Shuter!' Mrs. Clive played the part of Kitty Pry, and
was no less a favourite than the other. The uproar continued, and nothing
could be heard but ' Shuter, Shuter!' As soon as it was possible to be heard,
Weston, in his own inimitable and humorous manner, asked aloud, in a seriously stupid amazement, and pointing to Mrs. Clive, — ' Shoot her ! Shoot
her ! Why should I shoot her ? I am sure she plays her part very well!' The
apparent earnestness and simplicity with which he asked this question, were so
inimitable, and it so truly applied to the excellent acting of Mrs. Clive, that the
burst of laughter was universal, and the applause which Weston deserved,
attended him through the part.
" Weston was no less remarkable for his dissipation and poverty, than for his
comic excellence. It happened, on a day that his name was in the play-bills,
that he was arrested for a small sum, which he applied to the managers to discharge, which request they refused. Being known to the bailiff, Weston prevailed on him and his follower to go with him to the play, where he placed
himself and them in the front of the two-shilling gallery. Before the curtain
drew up, an apology was made, that Mr. Weston, being ill, could not possibly
attend ; and it was therefore hoped another performer might supply his place.
Weston rose, as he intended, and declared aloud, the apology was entirely false ;
he was there, well, and ready to do his part, but that he was in custody for a
small debt, for which, though entreated, the managers had refused to give security. Weston had well foreseen the consequences : the managers were obliged
to set him free. Another actor would have immediately been expelled the
theatre ; but for Weston no substitute could be found." Vol. ii. p. 112.
The reason has often been asked, why actors are imprudent and extravagant
An answer may be found in the very nature of their profession. They live in
a world of fancy, of artificial life and gaiety, and necessarily become careless of
the real consequences of their actions. They make realities of imaginary things,
and very naturally turn realities into a jest. Besides, all persons are so who have
no settled prospects in life before them.

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

91

pastoral. They afterwards enlarged their circuit, and made
excursions into the north of England: and though the loves of
Patie and Teggy were a never-failing source of delight on the
other side of the Tweed, their English auditors grew tired of this
constant sameness. They therefore, after the performance of the
"Gentle Shepherd/' which was still the business of the evening,
introduced a farce occasionally, as a great treat to the audience.
Mills's daughters married players. This brought an accession of
strength into the family, so that they were now able to act regular
plays; and by degrees, Allan Ramsay, with his shepherds and
shepherdesses, and flocks of bleating sheep, was entirely discarded.
Still, however, during the lifetime of Mills, the whole business of
the theatre, even to the shifting of the scenes, or making up of the
dresses, was carried on in the circle of his own family. At his
death, the property of the theatre was purchased by a Mr. Buck
(formerly of Covent Garden theatre), who kept an inn at Penrith,
and it was by him let out to Booth.
Mrs. Sparks, of Drury Lane theatre, was an actress in this
company at the time Mr. Holcroft belonged to it, and the youngest daughter of Mills, the late manager. Mrs. Inchbald was playing in the same company, at Inverness, in Scotland, in 1773, or
the winter of 1774. The company afterwards went to Glasgow,
where, not being permitted to play, they were all in the utmost
distress. The whole stock was detained for rent and board, &c,
at an inn. From this awkward situation they were liberated by a
young Scotchman, who had just joined the company in a kind of
frolic, and who paid their score, and set them off to Kilmarnock,
and from thence to Ayr, where they had a very brilliant run of
good fortune.
Booth, the manager, was the same person who has since been
well known as the inventor of the polygraphic art, and of the art
of making cloth without spinning or weaving. He appears to
have been always a man of much versatility of enterprise; and at
this time added to his employments of manager and actor the profession of a portrait-painter. The first thing he did when he
came to any town, was to wait on the magistrate, to ask leave
for his company to play; or if this was refused, that he might
have the honour of painting his picture. If his scenes and dresses
were lying idle, he was the more busy with his pencil: and that
tempting bait hung out at the shop windows, likenesses taken in

92

MEMOIRS OF

this manner for half-a-guinea, seldom failed to fill his pockets,
while his company were starving.

CHAR V.
MR. HOLCROFT continued in Booth's company about a year and a
half. He next joined Bates's company, which made the circuit of
the principal towns on the east side of the north of England, including Durham, Sunderland, Darlington, Scarborough, Stoektonupon-Tees, &c.
It was some time in the year 1777, that Mr. Holcroft walked
with Mr. Shield (the celebrated composer, who was then one of
the band in the same company) from Durham to Stockton-uponTees. Mr. Holcroft employed himself on the road in studying
Lowth's Grammar, and reading Pope's Homer. The writers that
we read in our youth are those for whom we generally retain the
greatest fondness. Pope always continued a favourite with Mr.
Holcroft, and held the highest place in his esteem after Milton,
Shakspeare, and Dryden. He used often, in particular, to repeat
the character of Atticus, which he considered as the finest piece
of satire in the language. Moral description, good sense, keen
observation, and strong passion, are the qualities which he seems
chiefly to have sought in poetry. He had therefore little relish
even for the best of our descriptive poets, and often spoke with
indifference, approaching to contempt, of Thomson, Akenside, and
others. He was, however, at this time, exceedingly eager to
make himself acquainted with all our English poets of any note;
and he was seldom without a volume of poetry in his pocket.
At the time that Bates's company were at Scarborough, Fisher,
the late celebrated oboe player, gave concerts there, which were
led by Dance, and in which a Miss Harrop (afterwards Mrs. Bates)
was the principal vocal performer. Holcroft used to sing in the
choruses. He at this time practised a good deal on the fiddle,
which he continued ever after to do occasionally; but he never
became a good performer. It was Bates who conducted the commemoration of Handel at Westminster Abbey.
Among the parts which Mr. Holcroft played most frequently,
were—Polonius, which he did respectably; Scrub, in the " Beaux'
Stratagem"; Bundle, in the "Waterman"; and Abel Drugger. He

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

93

acted this last character after he came to London, one night when
Garrick happened to be present.
At Stockton-upon-Tees, Mr. Holcroft first became acquainted
with Ritson, the antiquarian, and author of the "Treatise on
Animal Food," who was afterwards one of his most intimate
friends. He was at that time articled to an attorney in the town;
but was, like most other young men of taste or talents, fonder of
poetry than the law. The poet Cunningham was an actor in the
same company. He was the intimate friend of Shield. He was,
it seems, a man of a delicate constitution, of retired habits, and
extreme sensibility, but an amiable and worthy man. The parts
in which he acted with most success were mincing fops and pert
coxcombs,—characters the most opposite to his own. He played
Garrick's character of Fribble, in " Miss in her Teens." He also
excelled in Comus. He was often subject to fits of absence; as a
proof of which, he once forgot that he had played the Duke of
Albany in " King Lear," and had returned to the door of the theatre
for the second time before he recollected himself. Besides his descriptive poems, Be wrote several prologues; and an opera called
" The Lass with Speech," which was offered to the theatres, but
never acted, and from which " The Lying Valet" was taken. He
dedicated his poems to Garrick, who sent him two guineas on the
occasion, which he returned, begging that they might be added to
the theatrical fund. It seems he either did not want pecuniary
remuneration for the compliment he had paid to Garrick, or he
thought this a very inadequate one. When he was writing any
thing, his room was strewed with little scraps of paper, on which
he wrote down any thought as it occurred; and afterwards he had
some difficulty in connecting these scattered, half-forgotten fragments together, before he could make out a fair copy.
At the time that Mr. Shield was most with him, he had been
long in ill health, apparently in a decline; and this had given a
deeper tinge of melancholy to the natural thoughtfulness of his
disposition. A little before his death, he wrote the following lines,
which seem to convey a presentiment of his fate.
" Sweet object of the zephyr's kiss,
Come rose, come courted by the hours,
Queen of the banks, the garden's bliss,
Come, and abash yon tawdry flow'rs.

94

MEMOIRS OF
* Why call us to revokeless doom?'
With grief the op'ning buds reply,
* Scarce suffer'd to expand our bloom,
Scarce bom, alas! before we die.'
" Man having pass'd appointed years,
(Years are but days) the scene must close;
And when fate's messenger appears,
What is he but a withering rose ? "

These lines can hardly fail of being acceptable to the reader,
when he is told they were the last ever written by a man to
whom we are indebted for some of the most pleasing and elegant
pastoral descriptions in the language. It must abate something
of the contempt with which we are too apt to mention the name
of a strolling player, when we recollect that Cunningham was one.
Mr. Holcroft had never been satisfied with his employment as
a strolling actor in the country. He sighed for the literary advantages and literary intercourse which London afforded. He
was indeed the whole time labouring hard to cultivate his mind,
and acquire whatever information was within his reach. But his
opportunities were very confined. He had studied Shakspeare
with the greatest ardour, and with some advantage to himself in
his profession. Polonius was the character in which he was most
successful: he also played Hamlet, and other parts, of which he
was but an indifferent representative. I have been told, that Mr.
Holcroft's acting, both in its excellences and defects, more resembled Bensley's than any other person's. The excellent sense
and judgment of that able actor were almost entirely deprived of
their effect by his disadvantages of voice and manner. Mr. Holcroft, in the performance of grave parts, had the same distinct, but
harsh articulation, and the same unbending stiffness of deportment.
After wandering for seven years as an itinerant actor, with no
very brilliant success, he resolved upon trying his fortune in
London, and arrived there early in the latter end of 1777. His
stay with the last company which he joined must therefore have
been short. His separation from this company was I believe in
some measure hastened by little disagreeable circumstances, but it
was no doubt chiefly owing to the general bias of his inclination,
to the desire and expectation of fame of some sort or other, either
theatrical or literary, on which his mind had for some years been
brooding. It is not likely that his success on the stage, though it

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

M

might in time have ensured him a livelihood in inferior parts,
would ever have been such as to satisfy the ambition of an aspiring
and vigorous mind. It was however on his talents as an actor that
he first rested his hopes of pushing his fortune in London, and of
recommending himself to the favour of the public. But before
we follow him up to town, it may not be improper to take a retrospect of the path we have already trod. There are some persons
of nice tastes, who may perhaps be disgusted with the meanness
of his adventures; and who may think the situation in which he embarked in life, and the society into whose characters and manners
he seems to have entered with so much relish, unworthy of a man
of genius.
But it should be recollected, first, that men of genius do not
always choose their own profession or pursuit. In Mr. Holcroft's
case, the question was, whether he should turn strolling player,
or starve.
Secondly, there are in this very profession, which is held in such
contempt, circumstances which must make a man of genius not
very averse to enter into it. In spite of the real misery, meanness,
ignorance, and folly often to be found among its followers, the
player as well as the poet lives in an ideal world.
The scenes of petty vexation, poverty, and disappointment,
which he has to encounter, are endless; so are the scenes of
grandeur, pomp, and pleasure, in which he is as constantly an
actor. If his waking thoughts are sometimes disagreeable, his
dreams are delightful, and the business of his life is to dream.
This may be a reason why every one else should shun this profession as a pest, but it is for this very reason that the man of
genius may pass his time pleasantly and profitably in it. But let
us hear Mr. Holcroft's apology for his former way of life, which
seems to have been dictated with a view to his own feelings.
" Know then," he says *, " there is a certain set or society of men,
frequently to be met in straggling parties about this kingdom, who,
by a peculiar kind of magic, will metamorphose an old barn, stable,
or out-house, in such a wonderful maimer, that the said barn,
stable, or out-house shall appear, according as it suits the will or
purpose of the said magicians, at one time a prince's palace; at
another, a peasant's cottage; now the noisy receptacle of drunken
* Hugh Trevor, vol. iii.

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clubs, and wearied travellers, called an inn; anon the magnificent
dome of a Grecian temple. Nay, so vast is their art, that, by
pronouncing audibly certain sentences, which are penned" down
for them by the head or master magician, they transport the said
barn, stable, or out-house, thus metamorphosed, over sea, or land,
rocks, mountains, or deserts, into whatsoever hot, cold, or temperate
region the director wills, with as much facility as my lady's squirrel
can crack a nut-shell. "What is still more wonderful, they carry
all their spectators along with them, without the witchery of
broom-sticks. These necromancers, although whenever they please
they become princes, kings, and heroes, and reign over all the empires of the vast and peopled earth; though they bestow governments, vice-royalties, and principalities upon their adherents, divide
the spoils of nations among their pimps, pages, and parasites, and
give a kingdom for a kiss, for they are exceedingly amorous; jet,
no sooner do their sorceries cease, though but the moment before
they were revelling and banqueting with Mark Antony, or quaffing nectar with Jupiter himself, it is a safe wager of a pound to
a penny that half of them go supperless to bed. A set of poor^
but pleasant rogues ! miserable, but merry wags ! that weep without sorrow, stab without anger, die without dread, and laugh, sing,
and dance, to inspire mirth in others, while surrounded themselves
with wretchedness. A thing still more remarkable in these enchanters is, that they completely effect their purpose, and make,
those, who delight in observing the wonderful effects of their art,
laugh or cry, condemn or admire, love or hate, just as they please;
subjugating the heart with every various passion: more especially
when they pronounce the charms and incantations of a certain
sorcerer, called Shakspeare, whose science was so powerful, that
he himself thus describes i t : —
t

J have oft be-dimm'd
The noon-tide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds/ &c."

CHAP. VI.
M R . HOLCROFT arrived in London just at the time that Mr. Sheridan
came into the management of Drury Lane. He endeavoured to
procure an engagement at this and at the other house; but in

THOMAS HOL0KOFT.

97"

vain. As a last desperate resource, when his money was nearly
exhausted, he sat down and wrote a farce, called " The Crisis, or
Love and Famine," which Mrs. Sheridan was prevailed on to read;
and this, with his musical knowledge (as he was able to sing in all
choruses), procured him an engagement at twenty shillings a week.
On his being engaged, Mr. Holcroft was desired by Mr. Sheridan
to give* in his cast of parts to Mr. Hopkins, the prompter; and
they were as follow : —
Don Manuel Hardcastle
Justice Woodcock
Hodge
Giles
Ralph
Sir Harry Sycamore
Scrub Sir Anthony Absolute
General Savage
Colin Macleod
Mortimer
Sir Benjamin Dove
Major O'Flaherty Fulmer
Varland
Colonel Oldboy
-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

Kind Impostor.
She Stoops to Conquer.
Love in a Village.
Ditto.
Maid of the Mill
Ditto. '
Ditto.
Beaux' Stratagem.
Rivals.
School for Wives.
Faithless Lover.
Ditto.
Brothers.
West Indian.
Ditto.
Ditto.
Lionel and Clarissa.

It was in this last part that Mr. Holcroft particularly wished to
have made his first appearance. The manner in which he procured a recommendation to Mrs. Sheridan, was through her cousin,
Mrs. Greville. In consequence of this connection, he also obtained
introductions to Mrs. Crewe, and several other persons of fashion,,
who interested themselves in his behalf; and an epistolary intercourse commenced between him and Mr. Greville on subjects of
taste and the theatre, which continued for some years.
His farce of " The Crisis " was, I believe, played but once, for the
benefit of Hopkins, the prompter, when it was favourably received.
This Mr. Hopkins, who had the regulation of the inferior parts
in the theatre, entertained a very low opinion of Mr. Holcroft's
powers as an actor ; and he remained unnoticed, till Mr. Sheridan
hy chance saw him in the part of Mungo, with which he was so
much pleased as to order his weekly salary to be raised to five and
twenty shillings. Both his salary and his reputation in the theatre
seem now to have remained stationary during this and the following;
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season, though he constantly attended the theatre to perform the
most menial parts. The following extract from a letter addressed
to Mr. Sheridan, will sufficiently explain both his situation and
feelings at this time :—
"Depressed, dejected, chained by Misfortune to the rock of
Despair, while the vultures Poverty and Disappointment are
feasting with increase of appetite upon me, I have no chance of
deliverance but from you. You, sir, I hope, will be my Alcides !
Mr. Evans says, he must increase the deductions he already makes
from my salary (9s. per week), unless I can obtain your order to
the contrary. It is scarcely possible I should maintain my family,
which will shortly be increased, upon my present income. Were
I not under deductions at the office, my receipts would very little
exceed sixty pounds a year; and this I enjoy more through your
favour than any consequence I am of to the theatre, though continually employed. But then it is either to sit in a senate or at a
card table, or to walk in a procession, or to sing in a chorus,
which is all that the prompter, who has the direction of this kind
of business, thinks me capable of. Nay, in so little esteem am I
held by Mr. Hopkins, that he took the part of a dumb steward in
" Love for Love " from another person, and made me do i t ; and
when by your permission I played Mawworm, he said, had he been
well and up, it should not ha\^e been so. I do not mention this as a
subject of accusation against Mr. Hopkins, but merely to show that
if I am consigned to his penetration, I am doomed to everlasting
oblivion.
" Unhappily for me, when I performed Mawworm, you were not
at the theatre. Interest rather than vanity makes me say, I was
more successful than I had any reason to expect. The audience
were in a continual laugh. I played Jerry Sneak for my own
benefit last year, and with the same success; and if I could only be
introduced to the town in old men and burletta singing, I know
from former experience how soon I should be held in a very
different estimation from what I am at present. You do not know,
sir, how useful I could be upon a thousand emergencies in the
theatre, if I were but thought of; but this I shall never be till
your express mandate is issued for that purpose.
"You have frequently been pleased to express a partiality
towards me, as well as a favourable opinion of my abilities. But,
sir, if you do not immediately interest yourself in my behalf, I

THOMAS HOLCKOFT.

99

may grow grey, while I enjoy your favour without a possibility of
confirming or increasing it. ' Who's the Dupe' prevented ' The
Crisis' from being played last year: now you tell me you will talk
to me after Christmas ; in the mean time * The Flitch of Bacon'
and a new pantomime are preparing. I told those to whom I am
indebted, I should have a chance of paying them soon, for that < The
Crisis' would come out before the holidays. When I said so, I
believed that it would; but they will think I meant to deceive
them/'
The concluding sentence of this letter is remarkable, when
we recollect the character of the celebrated man to whom it is
addressed.
" I n short, I am arrived at the labyrinth of delays, where
suspense and all his busy imps are tormenting me -— You alone,
sir, hold the clue that can guide me out of it"
Mr. Sheridan, in spite of Mr. Holcroft's entreaties, was not
inclined on this occasion to perform the part of Theseus; for he
was still left to the mercy of the remorseless prompter, and had no
opportunity of exerting his talents till " T h e Camp" came out (in
1780), when he endeavoured, as he expresses himself, to make a
<part of a foolish recruit, and succeeded ; in consequence of which
his salary was raised to thirty shillings weekly.
During the summer recesses of the years 1778 and 1779, Mr.
Holcroft had not been idle, but had made excursions to the Canterbury, Portsmouth, and Nottingham theatres, where he moved
in a higher range of parts, and escaped from the drudgery of
ohoruses and processions. The state of his health appears to
have been one inducement for his leaving town in 1779; for he
says in a letter, dated from Nottingham, in June, that but for
this consideration, he believes it would have been more profitable
for him to have remained in London. In these excursions he
seems to have established a pretty intimate correspondence with a
Mr. Hughes, the Portsmouth or Plymouth manager ; for we find
the latter writing to him for a supply of performers, and Mr.
Holcroft in answer complaining of his being able only to meet
with a Mrs. Hervey, of whom he gives a very satirical portrait,
and a Mr. Cubit, a singer, who, he observes, had already been
with Mr. Hughes, and who never visited a company twice.
Mr. Holcroft's business at the theatre did not hinder him from pursuing his literary avocations. Besides " The Crisis," he had already
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written two other after-pieces, "The Shepherdess of the Alps," and
" The Maid of the Vale."
The following letter to Mrs. Sheridan gives an account of the
first of these :—
" MADAM,

" It is withfa peculiar pleasure that I have, by Mr. Sheridan's
desire, an opportunity of addressing you. I am indebted to your
benevolence and interposition, for my first obtaining admission in
the theatre, and shall ever remember it with respect and gratitude.
Give me leave, madam, to intrude upon your patience for a moment, while I explain the motive of this address.—Mrs. Greville,
Mrs. Crewe, and some other ladies of fashion and consequence,
have kindly undertaken to patronise and recommend ' The Shepherdess of the Alps.' Mrs. Crewe has spoken to Mr. Sheridan
concerning it, as he informed me last night, desiring me, at the
same time, to send it to you, who he said would not only read
it yourself, but put him in mind of it. I believe myself almost
certain of your good wishes, when you read the beginning, and
recollect that your late dear and worthy brother pointed out the
subject to me, encouraged me to pursue it, and had not only undertaken to set it, but had actually composed two songs. Pardon me,
madam, for introducing so melancholy a reflection. His esteem
for me, I might almost say his friendship, shall never be forgotten,,
let my condition in life hereafter be what it may ; it does me toomuch honour. You likewise, madam, have some share in the
work : it Was in consequence of your advice and observations,
that the comic part was introduced : it was at first intended only
to affect the nobler passions, and to have been entirely serious.—I
would not willingly appear too urgent; yet cannot forbear expressing some anxiety about the fate of my poor Shepherdess. I
spent all the summer about it, certain (as I thought then) of its
coming out immediately.
" I am, madam," &c.
" The Maid of the Yale" was a translation from the Italian
comic opera of " La Buona Figliola," which Mr. Arne, the son of
Dr. Arne, employed him to alter and adapt to the English stage.
A good deal of altercation seems to have taken place between
the author and musician, respecting the division of the future

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101

profits of the piece; Mr. Holcroft claiming one half, to which his
employer did not think him by any means entitled. In consequence, I believe, of these disagreements, the piece was not
brought forward.
Mr. Holcroft afterwards offered his translation of this opera to
Mr. King, the late actor, at that time manager of Sadler's "Wells,
by whom it was rejected. Mr. Holcroft, however, wrote several
little pieces for Mr. King, which were brought out at this theatre.
"• The Noble Peasant" (which afterwards came out at the Haymarket) was originally intended to have been acted here. Mr,
Holcroft always experienced from this gentleman the most liberal
and friendly treatment; and was under considerable pecuniary
obligations to him. Mr. Foote died in October, 1777, a few
weeks before Mr. Holcroft came to town. In the spring of the
following year, he published an Elegy on his Death, which was
the first composition of his that had appeared in print (since his
essays in the " Whitehall Evening Post"). It met with a favourable
reception. He had always respected the character of Foote, had
been personally known to him, and lamented his death in terms
dictated by real feeling, as much as by the inspiration of the
muse. At the same time, he published ^ short poem on Old Age,
which was bound up with the elegy. In April, 1779, I find him
desiring his father, who lived at Bath, to make inquiries respecting
the prizes given at the Bath Eastern Yase, the subjects proposed,
and the length of the poems. " I have an inclination," he says,
4i
to become a candidate for fame at that temple of Apollo, not so
much from a supposition that I shall gain the laurel, as because I
think the plan deserves encouragement" The little deceptions of
self-love cannot but sometimes excite a smile. — It may be proper
to notice here, that Mr. Holcroft kept up at this period a constant
correspondence with his father, whose wife rented a small house
and garden either at or in the neighbourhood of Bath. The letters
that passed between them do honour to the feelings of both parties.
Mr. Holcroft was always eager to communicate the news of any
good fortune that had befallen him, and ready to lend every assistance in his power to his father, who was still frequently in pecuniary difficulties. From one of these letters, it appears that Mr,
Holcroft, among other employments, had engaged to write a paper,
called the Actor, for the "Westminster Magazine "; and that he was
secretary to a society, (the theatrical fund,) for which he received
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ten pounds a year. He also found time to write songs for Vauxhall, several of which became very popular. Among these, the
greatest favourite was the ballad, beginning, " Down the Bourne,
and through the Mead," which was set to music by Shield. This
song, which is written in the Scottish dialect, has often been taken
for an old Scotch ballad, and has been actually printed in a collection of Scotch songs. Mr. Holcroft was one evening drinking
tea with some friends at White Conduit House, when the organ
was playing the tune of "Johnny and Mary." After they had listened some time, a person in the next box began to descant rather
learnedly on the beauty of the Scotch airs, and the tenderness and
simplicity of their popular poetry, bringing this very ballad as an
illustration of his argument, neither the words nor music of which,
he said, any one now living was capable of imitating. Mr. Holcroft, on this, took occasion to remark the strange force of prejudice, and turning to the gentleman, interrupted his argument by
informing him, that he himself wits the author of the song in
question: and that the tune was composed by his friend, Mr.
Shield, who, 1 believe, was also there present.
This song had
been composed for, and was originally sung at Yauxhall by, the
celebrated Nan Catley. An Irish music-seller, at the St. Paul's
Head in the Strand, had procured the words and music, and had
advertised them in his window to be sold. Mr. Shield was accidentally passing, saw the music in the window, and went in to demand by what right the advertiser meant to publish his property.
To this he-received for answer, " By a very good right, for that
the music was composed by him (the vender), and that the words
had been written by a friend for Miss Catley, whom he very well
knew." It was with difficulty that Mr. Shield, by informing him
that he was the author of the music, prevailed on the pretended
composer to relinquish his claim.
Mr. Holcroft, almost on his coming to town, married his third
wife; and soon after, she and Mr. Holcroft determined upon
taking a small house, and furnishing it. They were, however,
diverted from this plan by a Mr. Turner, an upholsterer in Oxford
Road, who persuaded them that it would be much more advantageous to take a large house, which he would furnish, and give
them credit for any length of time they demanded. He said, that
many persons by letting the upper part of their houses, not only
cleared the rent, but were often gainers. These arguments, an#

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

103

the additional motive of making a more creditable appearance,
induced Mr. Holcroft to take a house in Southampton Buildings,
which Mr. Turner furnished, as he had promised, to the value of
24.01. But scarcely were the goods lodged in the house, before the
upholsterer became a bankrupt, and his effects and bills were consigned over to, his creditors, who immediately came on Mr. Holcroft
for 16QZ., 80/. having been at first advanced to Mr. Turner for the
furniture. This unexpected stroke completely ruined the prospects of our young housekeepers, and they were obliged to apply
to several persons to prevent an execution, which was threatened.
Mr. Holcroft might indeed have sold his goods for nearly the
amount of the debt against him: but it seems that he was unwilling
to see his property melt away under the hands of an auctioneer,
and to have to begin the world again, after having, in a manner,
realised all his hopes, by attaining a permanent and respectable
establishment in life. He wrote to several persons to assist him
in this emergency, with a degree of importunity which can only
be excused by the severity of his disappointment, and a sense that
it was undeserved on his part. He wrote to Mr. Greville, to a Mr.
Laurel, to Mr. Sheridan, to the proprietors of Drury Lane theatre,
to persons whom he had never seen or known, with a kind of wild
desperation. These applications, indeed, showed no great knowledge of the world; but the abrupt appeals which he thus made to
the humanity and generosity of others, at least proved that Mr.
Holcroft was not without a strong sense of these qualities in his
own breast, which made him believe they might be found to a
romantic degree in others. His friend, Mr. King, at length relieved him from his immediate embarrassments by a loan of 80?.
or 100?. This, however, was to be repaid ; and, at no great distance of time, the same difficulties, and the same struggles to
extricate himself from them, returned. At one time, great hopes
were entertained from the expected arrival of a Mr. Marsac, a
near relation of his wife, who had a handsome appointment in
India; and who, in their present situation, it was thought, would
be willing to assist them. But he did not arrive within the time
which had been fixed. Mr. Holcroft then wrote to a lady, high in
rank and literary pretension, but a stranger to him, stating the
circumstances of his case, and inclosing a comedy, which he had
written, as a voucher for the justice of his claims: she had been
the laborious patroness of departed genius, and he thought might
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be the friend of living merit. But it seems the inference was
not justified by the event. The comedy was returned unread:
and, indeed, if she had read it, a very favourable verdict could
scarcely have been expected, under the annexed penalty of a
hundred pounds. Mr. Holcroft has recorded this extravagance
and its result among the adventures of Wilmot, the usher, in
" Hugh Trevor." Mr. Holcroft now looked forward, as a last resource, to the success of the comedy itself ("Duplicity"), which was
afterwards acted with applause; but such was the author's untoward fate, that even his success was attended with little 'advantage,
and relieved his necessities but in part.
Mr. Holcroft had, at this time, few friends or acquaintance in
London, and those few were very little able to afford him any
material assistance. The oldest were Shield and Perry, both of
whom he had known in strolling companies in the North: they
had separated, had come to London about the same time, and met
by chance. Shield first discovered Holcroft poring over an old
book-stall in Goodge Street; they immediately recognised each
other with a good deal of pleasure, and a friendly intercourse
commenced, which was uninterrupted to the last. When the place
of composer of the birth-day minuets at court became vacant by
the death of Mr. Weideman, Mr. Holcroft applied to Mr. Greville
to procure the place for Mr. Shield; with what success I do not
know.
Mr. Shield, at the period we are speaking of, had an engagement
at the Opera House. It was winter, and in consequence of some
new piece, they had very long rehearsals every morning. One
day he was detained longer than usual; his dinner hour was pver,
Jie felt himself very cold when he came out, and his attendance
for so many hours had sharpened his appetite. He therefore proceeded up the Haymarket with a determination to get some refreshment at the first place that offered. He had strolled into
St. Martin's Lane without meeting with anything that he liked,
till he came to a little bye-court, called Porridge Island; at the
corner of which, in a dark, dirty-looking window, he discovered a
large round of beef smoking, which strongly seconded the disposition he already felt in himself to satisfy his hunger. He did not,
however, much like the appearance of the place; he looked again,
the temptation grew stronger, and at last he ventured in. Having
asked for dinner, he was shown into a room up one pair of stairs,

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

105

not very large, but convenient and clean, where he found several
persons already set down to dinner. He was invited to join them,
and to his great joy found both the fare and the accommodation
excellent. But his attention was shortly much more powerfully
arrested by the conversation which took place at the table. Philosophy, religion, politics, poetry, the belles lettres, were talked of,
and in such a manner as to show that every person there was familiar with such subjects, and that they formed the ordinary topics
of conversation. Mr. Shield listened in a manner which denoted
his surprise and pleasure. The conversation at one time began to
take rather a free turn, when a grave, elderly-looking man, who
sat at the head of the table, addressed the new guest, telling him
that he seemed a young man, and by his countenance showed
some signs of grace ; that he would not have him mind what was
said by persons who scarcely believed their own sophisms; that
he himself when young had been attached and staggered by the
same objections; that he had examined them all, and found them
all false and hollow. This diverted the discourse to other subjects
which were more agreeable. The name of the person who had
thus addressed Mr. Shield, and who thus assumed the office of a
censor, was Cannon; he was the son of an Irish bishop. He was
advanced in years, and presided in the company with an air of
authority that was partly submitted to in earnest, and partly humoured for the joke's sake. He regularly dined here every day.
On entering the room, he first pulled off his great coat, and fastened it with two long pins to the back of a tall cane-worked old
chair with knobs behind; and after disposing of his umbrella,
which in those days was a great singularity, he used to pay his
respects to the company with much formality, and then sit down.
He had one place, which was always kept for him; and for this
privilege it seems he paid double price. If any stranger came in
by chance, and took possession of his seat, he would never sit
down in any other, but walked up and down the room in a restless
way, till the person was gone. I t was his constant custom to
carry with him a small pocket volume of Milton, or Young's
Night Thoughts, in which he had made a great number of marginal iiotes ; and as soon as dinner was over, he regularly took out
one of his favourite authors, and, opening the book at random, requested the person who sat next him, whether a stranger or one
pf t h e usual company, to read aloud a .certain passage which he

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thought very beautiful. This offer was of course declined by
those who knew him, who in return begged that he would favour
the company with it himself; which he did, at the same time repeating the remarks which he had made in the margin. He then
very deliberately closed the book, and put it into his pocket again.
Cannon was a man of letters, and had travelled. He spoke a very
florid language, full of epithets and compound words, and professed
to be engaged in an edition of Tibullus. Mr. Shield was so much
amused with this old gentleman, and interested in the general conversation (not to say that the commons were excellent), that he
was determined he would in future dine nowhere else; he was
also eager to inform Holcroft of the discovery he had made, whom
he invited to go along with him the next day, and who also became a very constant visitor. The persons who were generally
present were Messieurs Shield, Nicholson, Holcroft, Cannon, &c.,
who formed themselves into a little society, which in compliment
to the last-mentioned person, was called " the Cannonian." The
president was rather tenacious of his opinions, and impatient of
contradiction; and frequently some very warm altercations took
place in consequence between him and Mr. Holcroft.
The other friend of Mr. Holcroft, mentioned above, was a young
Scotchman, who had been in Booth's company with him, but soon
quitted it, and came up to London two or three years before him.
They had had a violent quarrel while they were in this company •
but meeting again in London, with new objects before them, and
where they were both to a considerable degree strangers, former
disagreements were forgotten, and a friendly intercourse commenced. He strenuously advised Holcroft to turn his thoughts to
writing, or reporting for the newspapers, which he himself had
found a lucrative employment; but Holcroft declined the proposal,
being more, bent on pushing his way at the theatre.
The manner in which this friend of our author began his career
in life, deserves a place in a work which is little else than a history
of the difficulties and successes which attend the efforts of men of
talents and literature.
Mr. Perry, whose connections were respectable, came to town with
recommendations to a banking-house in the city, and with an intention of getting a place as clerk in some counting-house or public
office. He delivered his letters, and his friends promised they would
be on the look-out for him. He called once or twice to no purpose y
and, as his time hung rather idly on his hands, he had employed him-

THOMAS HOLCROPT.

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self in writing one or two anonymous letters on the politics of the
day, which were inserted in the " General Advertiser/' It so happened that one of the partners in the house to which he had been
recommended, had a principal share in this very paper: and when
he called, he told him that he had heard of nothing in the way that
he wished ; but taking out the " Advertiser," and showing him his
own letter in it, " I f now," said he, "you could do something of
this kind, I might possibly be of service to you." Mr. Perry
replied, with some eagerness, that he was the author of the letter.
"Aye, indeed," says the other, " then come with me; we must
have some further talk together." So saying, he took our young
politician with him into another room; and after being closeted
some time, it was arranged that Perry should be immediately employed as a writer and reporter for this paper, at a guinea and a
half a week. The very next night there was to be an important
debate in the House, and our young gentleman was to make his
coup d'essai. As, however, he was entirely ignorant of the forms
and rules of reporting, it was thought necessary to give him some
previous instructions; and he was told, that he should place himself so as to be able to hear the speakers distinctly; that he should
provide himself with a pencil and pocket-book, in which he must
note down the speeches as privately as he could ; but that as he
was a stranger, and might be noticed the more on that account, if
any one came to interrupt him, he was to say nothing, but put half
a guinea into his hand. Thus equipped arid instructed, Mr. Perry
went early to his post, and planted himself in the middle of the
gallery, directly in front of the speaker. He had his pencil and
pocket-book ready in his hand> and the instant the debate opened,
began to take notes with so much eagerness, and so little precaution, that a messenger came to him, and said, " Sir, you must give
over writing." As he had been prepared for this event, he took
the half guinea out of his pocket, and bending his hand behind
him, offered the half guinea, which was lodged in the palm of it,
to the door-keeper, who took it without saying a word, and the
other went on with his writing as before. But no sooner had he
begun, than the man very quietly tapped him on the shoulder
again, and said, " Sir, you must give over writing." This second
rebuff was quite unexpected, and completely disconcerted our
zealous reporter. He put his pencil and paper in his pocket, and
sat during the remainder of the debate in a state of the utmost confusion, not expecting to remember a single sentence. He went

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home and related his ill-success; professing his inability to give
any account of what he had heard. " But," said his employer,
" y o u may at least try : you must surely recollect something of
what passed." He said, " N o : he had been in such a state of
agitation the whole time, that it would be in vain to attempt it."
As no one else had gone from the same office, and it was absolutely
necessary to give some account of the debate the next morning, he
was again urged to make the attempt, and at length complied. He'
was left in the room by himself, and scarcely knowing what he did,
began an account of the speech of Lord Nugent, who had opened
the question. He was surprised to find that he could recollect the
few first sentences. Still he despaired of being able to proceed :
-but by degrees, one thing recalled another; he still kept writing
on without knowing what was to follow, and when he had finished
one page, sent it down to the press. His hopes now began to revive, he returned to the charge, and writing under an apprehension that the words might every minute escape from his memory,
he despatched sheet after sheet so vigorously, that the press could
hardly keep pace with him. They had now printed two columns
and a half, and Lord Nugent was still speaking'. At last, the proprietor, who had at first dreaded a dearth of information, and whose
fears were now alarmed the contrary way, came up to him, and
said, "When will this Lord Nugent's speech be done ? Was there
no other speaker the whole evening ? " " O h yes ; there are seven
or eight more to come." The other laughed, and told Perry that
he had quite mistaken the business ; that in his way of going on,
lie would fill a volume instead of a newspaper, and that he must
begin" again entirely, and instead of giving every word and sentence, merely repeat the heads of each speech, and a few of the
most striking arguments. " Oh, is that all you want ? " exclaimed
Perry, at once relieved from his terrors; " then I'm your man."
Accordingly he set to work afresh, cut down Lord Nugent into
iialf a column; the other speakers had a proportionable space
allotted them: and the report, thus curtailed, was the next day
noticed as the ablest and fullest that had been given of the debate.
The person to whom this anecdote relates, has been long known to
the public as the editor and proprietor of the only constitutional
paper that remains.*
* This, it will be recollected, was written in 1810. Mr. Perry, the able
editor and proprietor of the " Morning Chronicle," the paper referred to in the
text, died in 1821.

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

109

BOOK III.
CHAPTER I.
M E . HOLCROFT, as he had intended, let part of his house, in Southampton Buildings, to lodgers. Among other inmates, were Miss
Kemble (afterwards Mrs. Whitelocke) and his friend N
a
Holcroft used to take frequent opportunities of urging this gentleman to devote his talents to works of taste and imagination, and
his mind teemed with the plots of comedies and subjects of novels,
which he wished his friend to write. But as Mr. N——'s pursuits
were of a totally different kind, it generally happened that Holcroft
himself, in the end, executed the works which he had planned for
another. Of this kind was his first novel, entitled " Alwyn, or the
Gentleman Comedian," which it was originally intended that Mr.
!N
should compile from materials to be furnished by Holcroft,
but of which he, in fact, only wrote a few short letters, evidently
very much against the grain.
This novel came out in the year 1780, in two small volumes,
and was printed for Fielding and Walker. What terms he procured for it with the bookseller, I do not know : its success was
very moderate; and it was to his own novel that Mr. Holcroft
alludes, when he complains, in " Hugh Trevor," that Wilmot's
novel had been characterised in the "Monthly Review," as " a
vulgar narrative of uninteresting occurrences."
The most curious part of it is the account which Mr. Holcroft
has inserted of some of his own adventures as a strolling actor;
for he himself is not the Gentleman Comedian, He has disguised
his own name under that of Hilkirk, and Alwyn is the hero of the
piece. The story is as follows: Alwyn, a young man, who is
patronised by a Mr. Stamford, in consequence of the friendship
which had subsisted between him and Alwyn's father, who had
saved his life, falls in love with Maria, the daughter of his guardian
or master. His passion preys upon his health; and, in order to
conceal it from the family, and to try what absence may do towards
effecting a cure, he determines to leave his patron's house, and
commence comedian. Young Stamford, Maria's brother, is alone
in the secret, and is the person to whom Alwyn addresses the

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MEMOIRS OF

account of his subsequent adventures. Mr. Hilkirk, on whose
story our author has chosen to engraft his own, in like manner
falls in love with his master's niece, is on this account, and for his
frequenting spouting clubs and billiard rooms, discarded from his
service as a clerk, and betakes himself to the stage. These two
romantic youths correspond together, and endeavour to console one
another, by comparing their mutual mishaps,— the pains of absence, poverty, and hopeless love. Alwyn proceeds to Kendal,
where he is received by the inhabitants with extraordinary marks
of attention ; is supposed to be a gentleman in disguise ; is envied
by the players; and being invited to the assembly (a distinction
never before allowed to any comedian), dances with a young, rich,
lively widow, a West Indian, who falls in love with him, and makes
him an offer of her hand and fortune. This the youth politely declines, his affections being irrevocably engaged to another ; and,
in consequence of this, the lady, being piqued by his refusal, enters
into a plot against him in concert with one of the players (a veteran
in the corps, who was offended that the part of Eomeo, which he
had played for fifty years, should be taken from him, and given to
Alwyn). His pocket-book is searched; the name of the lady's
rival is discovered; and a letter is despatched to old Stamford, informing him of the liberties which Mr. Alwyn is said to have taken
with his daughter's name, and the equal presumption he had shown
in paying his addresses to the anonymous writer of the epistle.
This letter, which is believed, gives a death-blow to his hopes.
Maria Stamford, who had secretly returned his passion, is ashamed
of her folly; the father is shocked; and the brother is incensed at
the baseness and ingratitude of his friend. Another lover is now
provided for Alwyn's mistress, the son of a Mr. Maitland, a
rattling, thoughtless young fellow, who is not half sentimental
enough for the young lady; and is accordingly rejected by her.
The father of young Maitland is represented as an odd character,
a half-crazy humourist, who, like the people of Laputa, makes every
thing a subject of mathematical demonstration. He calculates the
height and size of meteors, and is made to follow every ignis fatuus
that he sees, through bog and briar. His graceless son ties a
lantern to the house-dog's tail, and sends his father on a bootless
chase after i t : the dog escapes from his keeper, gets in at the
library window with his meteorological apparatus about him, and
sets fire to the house. Maitland Hall is converted into a heap of

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

Ill

ruins; and what is worse, Mr. Maitland's strong box, containing
nearly all his property, is lost. Mr. Stamford, his son, and
daughter, are on a visit there at the time; and Maria Stamford
must have perished in the flames, but that Alwyn — the ungrateful,
the supposed worthless Alwyn — who had left the Kendal company and was travelling homeward, happens at that instant to be
passing by, and comes in time to rescue his lovely mistress from
the flames. He however remains unknown, and pursues his
journey. Tom Maitland's fortune being thus dissipated by his
frolic, it becomes a point of honour that Maria should give up her
scruples, and join her hand to his ; when this, now almost inevitable event, is put a stop to by a discovery,— that it was not the
dog Pompey that had set fire to the house, but a gang of thieves,
who had committed this flagrant act in order to carry off old Maitland's strong box: that they had been detected, and their prize
secured by the vigilance and activity of Alwyn's friend, Hilkirk,
who now appears to be the son of his former master, Seldon, and
who is rewarded with the hand of his old sweetheart, Julia Gowland, for the difficulties he has had to encounter, and to which he
was purposely exposed by his father to enable him to bear adversity, and make a man of him. At the same time, Alwyn is
recognised by a rich uncle, who adopts him as his heir ; the story
of the anonymous letter, and of his pretended treachery, is cleared
up, and the whole ends happily in marriage.
There is in this story neither much probability nor much invention. The characters, such as they are, are tolerably supported:
but some of the attempts at humour which are inserted, shock all
common sense. Such are the accounts of the schoolmaster, the
methodist parson, the mathematical calculation of the reasons for
marrying, &c. These, however, were not written by Holcroft,
but by his friend. The reason why men of real and great abilities
do not succeed in different kinds of writing, is, perhaps, less for
want of power, than of industry and inclination. They naturally
set the highest value on that department of taste or genius to which
they have devoted themselves, and they have not respect enough
for any other to take the pains necessary to excel in it. Thus the
philosopher and man of science is apt to think he pays a sufficient
compliment to the efforts of humour or fancy, if he only unbends
his mind to engage in them; that any thing is good enough for a
novel, or poem; and that the absence of wisdom is wit.

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The character of Handford, Alwyn's uncle, is the most amusing
and original in the work: let it speak for itself.
This gentleman had conceived the idea of establishing a humane
asylum for animals, the consequences of which he describes thus :«—
" I am pestered, plagued, teazed, tormented to death. I believe
all the cats in Christendom are assembled in Oxfordshire. I am
obliged to hire a clerk to pay the people; and the village where I
live is become a constant fair. A fellow has set up the sign of
the Three Blind Kittens, and has the impudence to tell the neighbours, that if my whims and my money only hold out for one
twelvemonth, he shall not care a fig for the king. I thought to
prevent this inundation, by buying up all the old cats, and secluding them in convents and monasteries of my own: but the
value of the breeders is increased to such a degree, that 1 do not
believe my whole fortune is capable of the purchase. Besides, I
am made an ass of. A rascal, who is a known sharper in these
parts, hearing of the aversion I had to cruelty, bought an old, oneeyed horse, that was going to the dogs, for five shillings; then,
taking a hammer in his hand, watched an opportunity of finding
me alone, and addressed me in the following manner: ' Look yon?
master, I know that you don't love to see any dumb creature
abused, and so, if you don't give me ten pounds, why I shall scoop
out this old rip's odd eye with the sharp end of this here hammer^
now, before your face.' Aye, and the villain would have done it
too, if I had not instantly complied: but what was worse, the
abominable scoundrel had the audacity to tell me, when I wanted
him to deliver the horse first, for fear he should extort a further
sum from me, that he had more honour than to break his word.
A whelp of a boy had yesterday caught a young hedgehog, and,
perceiving me, threw it into the water to make it extend its legs;
tlien with the rough side of a knotty stick sawed upon them till
the creature cried like a child; and when I ordered him to desist,
told me he would not, till I had given him sixpence. There is
something worse than all this. The avaricious rascals, when they
can find nothing that they think will excite my pity, disable the
first animal which is not dignified with the title of Christian, and
then bring it to me as an object worthy of commiseration; so that,
in fact, instead of protecting, I destroy. The women have entertained a notion that I hate two-legged animals: and one of them
called after me the other day, to tell me I was an old rogue, and

THOMAS HOLCKOFT.

113

that I had better give my money to the poor, than keep a parcel
of dogs and cats that eat up the village. I perceive it is in vain
to attempt carrying on the scheme much longer, and then my
poor invalids will be worse off than they were before."
This account was probably intended by the author as an indirect satire upon his friend Eitson's arguments on the inhumanity
of eating animal food.
Mr. Holcroft may now be considered as having commenced regular author; or in other words, he now began to write constantly
for the booksellers. He was employed by them to write a pamphlet, under the name of William Vincent, Esq., of Gray's Inn, containing an account of the riots in 1780. For this purpose he had
attended the trials at the Old Bailey, where he was the means of
saving the life of an innocent man, who was brought there as a
prisoner. I have heard Mr. Holcroft mention this circumstance,
with tears of pleasure at the recollection. One of his most
habitual feelings was a strong sense of the value of human life;
and his having been in more than one instance an instrument in
saving it, was a subject of the most grateful reflection to him.
A young man was brought to the bar, and tried as one of the
rioters. The witness against him swore, that as he was standing
in a shop, where he had taken refuge, at the bottom of Holborn,
he saw the prisoner coming down Holborn Hill, at the head of a
body of rioters, with a drawn sword in his hand, which he brandished furiously in the air. The witness swore positively to the
facts, and there is little doubt that the prisoner would have been
found guilty, if, by great good fortune, Mr. Holcroft, who was
taking notes of the evidence, had not recollected the prisoner's
face. He felt himself much agitated while the evidence was
giving; and when it was over, he addressed the judge, and begged
that he might be admitted as an evidence, for that he had something very material to depose to the prisoner's innocence. He
then declared that he had been present at the real transaction;
that he had been standing at the corner of one of the streets near
the bottom of Holborn when the rioters passed; that the prisoner
was not one of them, but that some time after they were gone by,
he had seen the prisoner,, who was walking quietly along the street,
pick up a sword, which had probably been dropped in some scuffle
fey one of the rioters, and carry it away with him. This he said
was the whole of the transaction, and that the circumstances of
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his marching at the head of the mob, and brandishing the sword
in a threatening manner, were utterly false. This evidence was
so clear and satisfactory, that the man was acquitted. Loughborough was the judge on this occasion. Mr. Holcroft used to
mention another anecdote which happened at the same time, when
the prisoners were tried and convicted in that wholesale way, and
upon such slender evidence, that it was not easy for them to escape, whether guilty or not. A man with a strong, stern, sensible countenance, after sentence of condemnation had been passed
upon him, muttered to himself, in a scarcely audible voice, and
evidently without intending to excite any one's notice; " Short
and sweet—innocent by G—d!"

CHAP. II.
MR. HOLCROFT'S first comedy, called " Duplicity," was acted in*
October, 1781. It had been offered to Mr. Harris, and came out
at Covent Garden. The prologue was written by Mr. Nicholson.
The applause it met with, both on the first night and afterwards,
was very great. Mr. Holcroft's feelings on this occasion he hasexpressed in a manner honourable to himself in a letter to Mr.
Greville, dated October 18., the day after it was acted.
" SIR,
" I received your very obliging letter last night, just as I
was going to the theatre, and had not time to answer it till to-day.
Indeed, sir, I do not find myself so much flattered by the very
favourable opinion which, as far as I am able to come at the truths
the town entertains of me, as I am by your friendship and kindness. It is true I have had great difficulties to encounter, and
the unhappy effects of a narrow education to surmount; but to be
thus distinguished is more than a compensation for the labour I
have taken, and the conflicts I have had with poverty, obscurity,
and their dismal attendants. I am successful—I am happy—I
shall acquire the means of making my father, my family, and some
of my friends happy. These are the purest sources of pleasure,
and which, as I have reason to know, both you and Mrs. Greville
most intimately feel. My greatest danger is the possibility of not
supporting the new character I have undertaken, with that equa-

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

115

nimity, moderation, and ease, which are so essential to real worth.
Vanity is continually spreading the net for pride, and those who
are never entrapped are either very strong or very cunning. To
be successful, I have now only to be industrious: having escaped
the Dog of Hell, the Elysian fields are before me, if I have but
taste and prudence to select the sweets. But this egotism is a
species of the folly I have been declaiming against."
Mr. Greville, it may be necessary to add here, had perused Mr.
Holcroft's piece before it came out, and had suggested some alterations both in the plot and language. Several were also made by
Mr. Holcroft in the course of the rehearsals, and more by Mr.
Harris ; some of them against the author's judgment.
Mr. Holcroft now considered his fame as established, and his
fortune as already made. The author of a successful and admired
comedy he thought had a passport which would carry him securely
through the world. In these flattering hopes he was unhappily
deceived.
He also wrote on the same day to his father, in terms which his
success and the warmth of his affection dictated.
" MY DEAR FATHER,

" I know that a short letter will be acceptable to you rather
than none, especially on this occasion. My piece is come out at
Covent Garden theatre, under the title of < Duplicity.' You may
perhaps have heard some account of its reception from the newspapers : its success has been very flattering, and no circumstance
relative to it gives me more satisfaction than that I shall now be
enabled to provide for my dear father."
Only three days after the date of the preceding letters, his
brilliant prospects wrere dissipated, and we And him addressing
the following letter to Mr. Harris : —
« SIR,
" It is wTith reluctance I begin to write to you on the present
subject; but my feelings are too powerful to be resisted. My
labours have been great; my cares, hopes, and fears innumerable,
and just at the moment when I was to be rewarded, to see my
golden dreams vanish, to have the blessings I had so hardly earned
snatched from me, is more than I can support in silence. It is
not now, sir, vanity in me to say the comedy is deserving of
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MEMCIKS OF

reward; every body says so, many say much more, at least to me.
Had it been brought out at a good time of the year, I should not
have gained less than five hundred pounds by it. But to be played
at the most barren of all seasons, and when the fineness of the
weather concurs to make it still worse, is certainly a severe fate; and
I appeal to you, sir, whether it is a misfortune the whole weight of
which should be borne by a man who has strained every faculty,
and endured every kind of mental torture, to give others pleasure.
Again, though I have no doubt but you thought it best, yet it is
the opinion of every body that the playing the piece at intervals,
so contrary to the established mode, has thrown a damp upon it of
the most stagnating kind. There is not a person I meet, who does
not ask the reason with a face of wonder. This you know was not
with my judgment; nay, I was exceedingly vexed when I first saw
another play advertised over its head. What added still more to
the surprise of the town, was to hear it given out for Tuesday, and
to see it put off till Wednesday, in order to give place to an old
piece, of which they therefore concluded you had greater expectations than of the new comedy. They could not know your real
motive. The concluding stroke thus far finishes this melancholy
tragedy. You told me my night should be on the Friday or
Saturday; I objected to the first, and you agreed to the other:
but circumstances alter — you allege the business of the theatre—•
I am obliged to take the Friday, and 'King Arthur,' with every
force of novelty, dress, decoration, &c, &c, is opposed to me at a
time when there is scarcely one full audience of play-going people
in town. The consequence is, the profits of my first and best
night are twenty pounds. I appeal to you, sir, whether I have
not a claim to some reparation. I wish you to allow me a certain
sum for my nights; what, I leave to your candour. My hopes are
so lowered that my views now are not very extravagant. If you
think 1 have reason, you will be kind enough to inform me what
you think proper to give; and then, sir, you will do with the piece
whatever you think fit."
The next night that the comedy was played for the author's
benefit, it did not clear the expenses of the house; and Mr. Harris
then said, that, unless it was commanded by the king, he should
not think of playing it any more; but, at the same time, desired
Mr. Holcroft to draw on the theatre for a hundred pounds. This
sum, with the price which he got for it from the booksellers, was

THOMAS ROLCUOFT.

117

all that he cleared by this his first comedy. It was shortly after
published with a very well written preface.
Mr. Harris appears to have behaved in a liberal and friendly
manner on this occasion. Mr. Holcroft afterwards called on him,
and he proposed that the play should be laid by for a time, till he
had a strong after-piece to play with it.. This set Mr. Holer oft's
imagination at work again, and he conceived the idea of writing a
pastoral, and laying the scene in Ireland, so as to have an opportunity of introducing all the good Irish music. I do not know
whether he ever executed this idea.
After the appearance of " Duplicity," Mr. Holcroft wrote to Mr.
Linley to decline singing in the choruses and oratorios. His salary
had been raised by Mr. Sheridan to two pounds a week, but still
Mr. Holcroft seems to have been dissatisfied with not being brought
forward in considerable parts ; and he entertained thoughts of going
to Ireland as an actor, unless a more respectable class of characters
was assigned him at the theatre. He seems to have thought it inconsistent, not only with his dignity, but with his interest, as an
author, to appear only in the lowest and most insignificant parts.
I ought to have mentioned above, that when his own play of
"Duplicity" was acted at the other house, Mr.Wewitzer being taken
ill, he had played the part of Vandervelt at an hour's notice, which
he continued to do afterwards. He also tried to procure an engagement with Mr. Colman, this year, at the Haymarket, but I
believe ineffectually.
A project, which about this time engaged a good deal of Mr.
Holcroft's attention,, and excited very sanguine hopes in him, was
the pretended discovery of the polygraphia art. The person who
set this plan on foot, as we have before noticed, was Booth, the
manager of one of the theatrical companies to which Mr. Holcroft
had belonged. He undertook, by some mechanical process, to
produce copies of the old masters, such as Titian and Rubens,
which, both in colour and execution, should not be distinguishable
from the originals, and which were to be sold as cheap, or cheaper,
than a common coloured print. This certainly was promising
great things, if the performance had been answerable. Mr. Holcroft was so full of this scheme, and of the golden advantages it
held out, that Booth having applied to him to assist him in it, and
become a partner in the profits, he wrote to Mr. Greville, informing him of his sudden good fortune; and indeed offering him a
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MEMOIRS OF

share in so lucrative an undertaking. Mr. Greville, however,
seems to have thought the success not so certain; and it was not
long before Mr. Hoi croft began to incline to his opinion. In his
next letter to this gentleman, he confesses that he entertained some
doubts on the subject, especially since he had heard that the same
scheme had been tried before, and had failed; and further, that
there were not half a dozen artists in the kingdom who could copy
the best pictures %vell enough to make it an object In fact, this last
observation betrayed the real secret: after an imperfect outline,
or rude sketch, had been struck off by a mechanical operation, any
bungling artist, who could be found to do it cheap enough, was
employed to finish the picture. So that, after all, this new mode
of superseding the necessity of copying the old masters, was
nothing more than an attempt to set up a cheap wholesale manufactory of bad copies of good pictures. Mr. Holcroft, however,
though his ardour very soon cooled, was willing to wait till he had
seen the specimens which Mr. Booth was busy in making of some
famous picture, but which he was very backward in producing.
The subsequent fate of this polygraphic scheme is well known to
the public. To excuse Mr. Holcroft's credulity on this occasion,
it may be remarked, that it was long before he had paid any particular attention to the subject of painting ; that he was really and
truly a novice in the art ,• and, probably, would not have been
much struck himself with the difference between one of these
polygraphic imitations and a real Titian or Eubens.

CHAP IIT.
IN the years 1781 and 1782, Mr. Holcroft published a poem called
" The Sceptic," and " T h e Family Picture*," a collection of tales,
partly compiled, and partly original. Neither of these works seems
to have held a very high place in his estimation. Of the former
* " The "Family Picture," I think, from memory, was published by Lockyer
Davis, in 1781, and " The Sceptic " a year or more afterwards. The latter work
has no plan, but in some parts it shows a more extensive power of imagination
and strength of general induction, than he had before exhibited in any of his
writings. The colloquial language of the connecting parts of his " Pamily Picture " is poor and inelegant; and has none of that easy, clear, and unaffected
spirit which characterises his " Tales of the Castle," and still more his " Hugh
Trevor."

THOMAS HOLCROFT,

119

lie says, in a letter to a friend, that it was written in haste, that
he believes it Ought to have been treated according to Horace's
•maxim, " Nonum prematur in annum ; " and that though he was
pleased with some parts in the writing, he is afraid he should not
be so in the reading of them. Of the " Tales," he says, that he did
not expect to increase his reputation by them, though he hoped he
should not lessen it.
About this time an offer was made him by Mr. Greville to reside
in his house, which he had the good sense respectfully to decline.
He observed, that it was difficult for people with the best tempers
and intentions, and who are upon a perfect equality, to live together without harbouring little disgusts, or fancying supposed
neglects ; and that, with respect to himself, he was conscious of
whims and peculiarities which it was his duty to keep behind the
curtain as much as possible. His sole reason, therefore, for declining Mr. GrevihVs offer, he declared, was the fear of declining
in his good opinion by accepting it.
His mind now teemed with dramatic projects, plots, characters,
and incidents ; his ambition was to write elegant comedy, and he
was sensible of the disadvantages under which he laboured in this
respect, both from education, and the sphere of life in which he
had hitherto chiefly moved. He wished to get a nearer and more
intimate view of the manners of high life, that he might be able to
describe its refinements, or ridicule its absurdities, with more
effect. He also wished, for the same reason, to acquaint himself,
"by actual observation, with foreign manners. Both these ends
would be answered by obtaining admission into the ambassador's
suite, which was then (1783) setting off for Paris; and he made
application to several persons of consequence for this purpose, but
without obtaining his immediate object. He, however, so far succeeded, as to obtain some respectable introductions abroad.
Lord Carmarthen was at first talked of as ambassador, and Mr.
Holer oft, by the interest of Mrs. Har court and Mrs. Greville, had
an interview with his lordship, in which he was informed that
another person had been fixed upon to go to Paris. This was the
Duke of Manchester; and he now applied to the Duchess of
Devonshire, I believe through Mrs. Siddons, for a recommendation
to the duke to go out with him as under-secretary, or in any other
situation in which he might be of service as a literary man. He
stated that a salary was not his object, and that his only motive
H

4

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MEMOIRS OF

was to gain some little knowledge of the manners of a court, and
of foreign countries. The only advantage he reaped from this
application was, that he obtained the honour of some commissions
to execute for her Grace at Paris, and the notice of one or t\v&
persons of consequence while he was there.*
* To dance attendance on the great seems, at this period of his life, to have
been very much Mr. Holcroft's fate ; hut it certainly was an office for which he
was by nature but indifferently fitted. In the present instance, his chief solicitude was to obtain an insight into the character and pursuits of the fashionable
world. The ordeal he went through for this purpose must frequently have
been a severe one to his feelings. But as far as his present object was concerned,
even the repulses he met with, or the distance at which he was kept, would still,
in some measure, advance him towards the end he had in view. He seems to
have profited by his experience, and has left several lively sketches of that part
of the manners of the great which relates to their intercourse with men of letters.
I do not know that the following picture is true in all its particulars, but the
general feelings it describes were suggested to him by the reception he met with
on his application to the Duchess of Devonshire.
" On another occasion, an actress, who, strange to tell, happened, very
deservedly, to be popular, and whom, before she arrived at the dignity of a
London theatre, I had known in the country, recommended me to a duchess.
To this duchess I went day after day ; and day after day was subjected for
hours to the prying, unmannered insolence of her countless lacqueys. This
time she was not yet stirring, though it was two o'clock in the afternoon ; the
next, she was engaged with an Italian vender of artificial flowers ; the day after,
the prince, and the devil does not know who beside, were with her ; and so on
till patience and spleen were at daggers drawn. At last, from the hall I was
introduced to the drawing-room, where I was half amazed to find myself. Could
it be real ? Should I, after all, see a creature so elevated ; so unlike the poor
compendium of flesh and blood with which I crawled about the earth ? Why,
it was to be hoped that I should ! Still she did not come ; and I stood fixed,
gazing at the objects around me, longer perhaps than I can now well guess. The
carpet was so rich, that I was afraid my shoes would disgrace it ! The chairs
were so superb, that I should insult them by sitting down ! The sofas swelled
in such luxurious state, that for an author to breathe upon them would be
contamination ! I made the daring experiment of pressing with a single finger
upon the proud cushion ; and the moment the pressure was removed, it rose
again with elastic arrogance ; an apt prototype of the dignity it was meant to
sustain. Though alone, I blushed at my own littleness ! Two or three times;
the familiars of the mansion skipped and glided by me ; in at this door, and
out at that; seeing, yet not noticing me. It was well they did not, or I should
have sunk with the dread of being mistaken for a thief, that had gained a furtiveentrance to load himself with some parcel of the magnificence that to poverty
appeared so tempting ! This time, however, I was not wholly disappointed: I
had a sight of the duchess, or rather a glimpse. * Her carriage was waiting.
She had been so infinitely delayed by my lord and my lady, and his highness,
and Signora!—Was exceedingly sorry!—Would speak to me another time, tomorrow at three o'clock, but had not a moment to spare at present, and so
vanished !' Shall I say she treated me proudly, and made me feel my insignificance ? No ; the little that she did say was affable j the tone was conciliating,

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

121

Mr. Holcroft, being still determined on a visit to the continent,
procured an engagement with the editor of a newspaper, the
" Morning Herald," to send over paragraphs relating to the events
of the day, public amusements, fashions, &c, for which he was to
have a guinea and a half a week, and a similar engagement with a
printer, Mr. John Rivington, to furnish him with notices of new
works, translations, &c. It was so arranged, that his salary from
the newspaper-office should be received by Mrs. Holcroft in his
absence, for the immediate use of the family, and Eivington was to
supply him with money for his expenses at Paris.
Mr. Holcroft's family consisted, at this time, of his wife and
four children, only one of whom, Fanny, was by his present wife.
Ann, the eldest, was by his first wife, and Sophy and William
were by his second wife, whom he lost just before he left the
country.
The two children, after her death, were for some time under the
care of their uncle and aunt, Mr. and Mrs. Tipler, at Nottingham.
When Mr. Holcroft became settled in Southampton Buildings*
they were sent for up to town. The boy William was his greatest
favourite; he was now (1783) between nine and ten years old ; he
was a very forward and intelligent child, could speak French with
tolerable fluency, and his father, in order to perfect him in the
language, determined to take him with him, and afterwards to
leave him at a boarding-school in France.
Matters being thus arranged, Mr. Holcroft set out for Paris in
the beginning of April, 1783, which place he reached a few days
after. The first appearance of this capital does not seem to have
answered his expectations. He complained of the narrowness and
dirtiness of the streets, of the meanness of the shops, and of the
unfinished state of the principal public buildings. His chief attention, however, was directed to the discovery of new publications, of several of which he proposed translations to Rivington*
the eye encouraging, and the countenance expressed the habitual desire of conferring kindness. But these were only aggravating circumstances, that showed
the desirableness of that intercourse which to me was unattainable. I say to me,
for those who had a less delicate sense of propriety, who were more importunate,
more intruding, and whose forehead was proof against repulse, were more successful. By such people she was besieged ; on such she lavished her favours,
till report said that she impoverished herself; for a tale of distress, whether
feigned or real, if obtruded upon her, she knew not how to resist."—Hugh
Trevor, vol. iii,

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MEMOIRS OF

and most of which he afterwards executed for another bookseller.
Among these were the " Tales of the Castle," by Madame Genlis,
"Caroline of Litchfield," " T h e Amours of Peter the Long,"
" Memoirs of De Tott," " Savary's Travels in Egypt," " An Account of the Manners and Treatment of Animals," by D'Obsonville, &c. This last publication he recommends as a curious work
in a letter to Mr. Greville, and observes that, from the account
there given, it is evident that the Newmarket jockeys had learned
the first principles of their art from the Arabs. His translation of
the " Tales of the Castle" went through several editions, and
introduced Mr. Holcroft to a correspondence, and afterwards to a
personal acquaintance, with the authoress. Most if not all of
these translations were done for the Eobinsons.
Mr, Holcroft made several friends at Paris, the chief of whom
were Mercier, and a Mr. Bonneville (the translator of the " Theatre
Allemand,") of whom he had a high opinion; but Bonneville
afterwards came to England, and they quarrelled. Of Mercier, the
celebrated author of the " Dramas," and " The Year 2500," there
will be occasion to speak hereafter. Either through these friends,
or through the letters he brought with him, he was introduced to
several persons of rank and literary pretension. Among them
were the Duke and Duchess of Chartres, the Count de Catuelan,
the Chevalier Macdonald, the Marquis de Dampiere, and others.
He was desired by the Duke and Duchess of Chartres to read some
scenes of Shakspeare to themselves and friends, with which, he
says, they seemed more than satisfied. He appears afterwards to
have entered into some discussion with the Count de Catuelan
with respect to the comparative merits of Shakspeare and the
French poets ; for, on the 24th of June, he addressed a short note
to the count, with a poem enclosed, on this subject. I shall here
insert both, as well to show the zeal with which Mr. Holcroft deFended his great countryman while abroad, as for the sake of the
manner in which it is done.
"SIR,

" The conversation we had on Sunday morning concerning
Kousseau, Voltaire, Shakspeare, &c, started an idea, as I was
returning home, which I immediately put into the form you see.
I would not have you suppose, sir, I mean to depreciate the talents
of Yoltaire^ that is far from my intention; I wrould only vindicate

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

123

the poet who, of all others within my sphere of knowledge, and
as far as my judgment extends, is infinitely the greatest. I should
have sent you t h e verses before, because I know your reverence
for my favourite bard *, but that I kept them to see if, after
sleeping two or three nights, I still thought them fit to be read. I
am yet in d o u b t ; for any thing middling on such a subject is contemptible. However, I have not yet shown them to any person,
except you, sir, and Mr. Bonneville, at whose lodgings they were
written.
" Clad in the wealthy robes his genius wrought,
In happy dreams was gentle Shakspeare laid ;
His pleas'd soul wand'ring through the realms of thought,
While all his elves and fairies round him play'd.
Yoltaire approach'd — strait fled the quaint-ey'd band,
For envy's breath such sprites may not endure:
He pilfer'd many a gem with trembling hand ;
Then stabb'd the bard to make the theft secure.
Ungrateful man! Vain was thy black design:
Th' attempt and not the deed thy hand defil'd.
Preserv'd by his own charms and spells divine,
Safely the gentle Shakspeare slept and smil'd."
T h e conception of this little allegorical fiction is certainly a
very happy one, and the execution is no less spirited and elegant.
"With respect, however, to the enthusiasm with which Englishmen
generally endeavour to persuade foreigners of the superlative e x cellence of our great dramatist, unless where it is taken up in selfdefence, it is undoubtedly a species of quixotism, and of the most
hopeless kind.
T h e remittances which Mr. Holcroft was to receive from his
employer, were not so regular as he had expected. Indeed, there
seems to have been some unaccountable neglect on the part of
Rivingtonf; and Mr. Holcroft would have been reduced to very
* The count was at the head of that party in France, who either did or affected to admire Shakspeare.
f It was not Eivington the bookseller, but John Eivington, the printer, of St.
John's Square, who died about the time of Mr. Holcroft's return, or (I believe)
before it. He was one of the sons of Mr. Eivington, then bookseller of St. Paulas
Church Yard, whose other sons still carry on the business of bookselling. Mr.
John Eivington engaged in an agreement or adventure with Mr. Holcroft, that
works were to be selected, and translated by him, and published for their joint
and equal account, he (Mr. Eivington) advancing money to Mr. Holcroft, as a
loan, for his expenses. The reason why he was not punctual in his remittances

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great distress, had it not been for the generous assistance afforded
him by his friend Bonneville, who was himself in no very affluent
circumstances. He was at last wearied out with the state of suspense and dependence in which he was kept; and in October he
took the resolution of again returning to England. He however
left his son behind him at a school in or near Paris.
Before Mr. Holcroft went from England, he had left an opera,
called " The Noble Peasant," in the hands of Mr. Colman, then
manager of the Haymarket theatre. This had been accepted; and
such was Mr. Colman's opinion of it, that, on his return, he advanced Mr. Holcroft a hundred pounds, in the expectation of its
future success. This piece was acted the ensuing season (in
1784). The evening it was acted, Mr. Holcroft had placed himself behind the scenes, as authors generally do, to watch the progress of the piece, or be of occasional assistance. At the end,
however, of the first act, the effect produced on the audience
seemed so discouraging, and disapprobation began to manifest itself so strongly, that Mr. Holcroft could no longer stand it. He left
the theatre, quite hopeless of success, and went and walked for an
hour in St. James's Park. He had by this time so far mastered the
agitation of his spirits, that he returned to the Haymarket, tolerably resigned to his fate. He got in just at the conclusion of the
third act, and was most agreeably surprised, when he heard the
house resounding with applause, and saw himself surrounded by
the actors and others, who came to congratulate him on the complete success of the piece. It, however, only ran eleven nights.
I t was then stopped by Mr. Colman, in consequence of a disagreement with the author, whom he had without reason suspected of
writing some paragraphs in the " Morning Herald" against " The
Connoisseurs." Mr. Holcroft soon after vindicated himself so fully
from this charge, that Mr. Colman was satisfied.*
was, that lie was much distressed for money to carry on his own extensive
business of printing. John Eivington was a good-natured, worthy man, much
esteemed by his friends. He died before the middle period of life, of a typhus
fever, some time about the year 1785, or 1786.
* I believe it is in " The Connoisseurs" that a yawning scene was introduced
by the author, who, being also the manager, found great difficulty in getting it
acted to his mind. He was met one morning by Macklin, coming out from a
rehearsal, and looking rather discontented, the other asked what was the matter? " I can't get these fellows to yawn" was the answer. " Oh, if that's all/'
said Macklin, " you have only to read to them the first act of * The Man of
Business } " ' a dull play of that name, by Colman.

THOMAS HOLCROET.

125

The success of this opera was not certainly equal to its merits,
which are considerable. It seems to have given rise to a succession of plays of the same kind, the scene of which is laid in the
ages of chivalry; and which represent the costume, characters, and
manners of remote times. Such particularly have been " The
Battle of Hexham," " The Mountaineers," « The Venetian Outlaw," &c. This opera is, in fact, a romance dramatised.
The story of this little piece is interesting and natural, as far as
a romantic story can be so. The dialogue is well supported
throughout, particularly in the comic parts ; and though there are
frequent imitations of Shakspeare, both in the incidents, characters, and speeches, yet they are very happily executed, with much
wit and fancy ; which show that the author had imbibed the spirit
of the poet in whose steps he treads. The songs, both the serious
and humorous ones, have great merit; and were most of them set
by Shield, to whom Mr. Holcroft, in his preface to the opera, pays
a very high and deserved compliment. I should add here, for the
sake of those who take an interest in dramatic retrospections, that
Parsons played Earl Egbert, and that the part of the Fool was
performed by Edwin.
Mr. Plolcroft's next piece came out at Covent Garden, and was
called " The Choleric Fathers." This opera is inferior to the last.
The scene is supposed to be in Spain, and the business of the
play turns upon the testy disposition of two fathers, who suddenly
break off a match between their children, just as they are going to
sign the marriage-settlement. The merit of the piece consists
chiefly in the easy impudence and vivacity of a valet, who forms a
number of schemes, and acts different characters, to outwit the
old gentlemen, and bring about a reconciliation. The plot is
formed after the manner of the Spanish school, full of intrigue and
difficulties : these are at last overcome with a good deal of ingenuity ; and the denouement is both natural and unexpected.
Mr. Holcroft had for some time been concerned in the " Wit's
Magazine," for which he wrote a number of amusing articles; but
he now declined his share in it, seeming determined to bend his
mind wholly to works of greater moment.

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MEMOIRS OP

CHAP. IY.
IN 1784, "The Marriage of Figaro" (Maviage de Figaro), by Beaumarchais, came out at Paris, where it was acted with astonishing
success. Mr. Holer oft no sooner received notice of this piece, than
he formed the instant resolution of going over to France to procure a copy of it, in order to translate and adapt it to the English
stage.
He arrived in Paris the latter end of September, 1784, and proceeded to the lodgings of his friend Bonneville, to whom he immediately communicated the object of his journey. They both set
about the accomplishment of it directly; but they found it attended
with greater difficulty than they had expected. The comedy had
not been printed: therefore, their first plan was to procure a
manuscript copy, either at the theatre, or through some friend of
the author. This attempt, however, they found fruitless, from the
jealousy with which the managers of the French theatre prevented
any copies from getting abroad. The only resource now remaining, was to commit it to memory; and, for this purpose, both
Holcroft and his friend went to the theatre every night for a week
or ten days successively, till they brought away the whole with
perfect exactness. At night, when they got home, each of them
set down as much as he could recollect of a scene, and they then
compared notes; if any difficulty occurred, it was determined the
following evening. Another scene was brought away from the
next representation in like manner: and the entire play was at
length transcribed. It was necessary to proceed in this deliberate
and cautious manner; as, if they had attempted to take notes, or had
continued to do so more than once, their design would probably
have been suspected and defeated by the interference of the police.
Mr. Holcroft was not, it seems, quite confident of his success,
till he had his manuscript safely deposited in his portmanteau,
with which he immediately set out on his return home. No time
was lost, and the acquisition Mr. Holcroft had made was, the
day after his arrival, communicated to Mr. Harris through the
Robinsons. A meeting was appointed, and it was agreed that
Figaro should, with all possible expedition, make his appearance
in an English dress. The necessary metamorphosis was com-

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

127

pleted in a few weeks, and Figaro was acted at Covent Garden
theatre, under the title of " The Follies of a Day," a little before
the Christmas holidays. The reception of the new piece was
equal to the sanguine expectations Mr. Holcroft had formed, and
the pains he had taken to bring it forward. It continued to be
acted without intermission for a considerable length of time, and
is still one of our most popular entertainments. It is needless
here to give any account, or to speak of the merits of a piece so
well known to the public, and for which we are indebted more to
Mr. Holcroft's industry and enterprise, than to his genius as an
author. I t would be unjust, however, to suppose that it is a mere
literal translation. Many alterations were necessary to adapt it
exactly to the taste of an English audience, and these were executed with much skill and felicity. Of all the pieces brought out
by the author, this and " The Road to Ruin" have been the most
successful. He received six hundred pounds for it at the theatre,
besides a considerable sum for the copyright, which was bought in
at the time.
Mr. Holcroft himself played the part of Figaro the first night,
in the absence of Mr. Bonner for whom it was designed, and who
afterwards took it. Mr. Holcroft had before this given up his engagement at Drury Lane, but at what precise period I cannot tell.
The music of the only song in this piece, " Ah! well-a-day, my
poor heart!" was by Shield. It became a great favourite ; and
Longman, coming to treat for the purchase of the music with
Shield, who hesitated what price to ask, the other, half laughing,
made him an offer of three and twenty dozen of wine for i t ; which
terms were readily acceded to by Shield, it being more than he had
at that time ever received for a song. Mr. Holcroft took the first
opportunity of acquainting his friend Bonneville with the success
of the undertaking in which he had been of such service to him.
His letter is dated Dec. 28. 1784.
" D E A R BONNEVILLE,

" I am sure you will pardon my apparent neglect, when
you remember how exceedingly hard I have been obliged to labour
since my arrival in England. Figaro has made his appearance,
and is likely to be as great a favourite in London as in Paris.
I wish most sincerely you were here to be a witness of his good
fortune. I enclose a letter of exchange for 480 livres, on Girard
and Co., bankers, Paris. The many obligations I have to your

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MEMOIRS OF

friendship, the pleasure I take in your company, and the fears
I entertain lest your very virtues should lead you into irretrievable difficulties., make me earnestly desire to see you in England.
Fortune seems at present disposed to smile upon my efforts; 1
only wish you were with me to participate her favours. I am sure
you would be happy. Why will you not come ? Billy has written
to you, as you will see; you know he loves you, he has reason to
do so ; and though a child, I hope he will not forget his obligation.*
Pray do not fail to tell M. and Madame Mercier, that though I do
not write, I remember them as they would wish to be remembered ; that is, 1 remember their virtue and their friendship, and
shall do while I live."
Mr. Holcroft had about this time considerable intimacy with
several French literary characters; among others, with M. Berquin,
the author of " The Children's Friend/' who came over here to
inspect the translation of his own work into English; and a Mr.
Floscel, an unfortunate but worthy man, whose works he recommended to the public in a circular proposal. Mr. Floscel came
over to England to procure some subscriptions to a considerable
literary undertaking, but was attacked by a disorder which proved
fatal to him soon after his arrival.
It may be proper to add here, that Mr. Ilolcroft had offered "The
Marriage of Figaro " to Drury Lane theatre before he left England ;
but he had clogged this proposal with other conditions, which
probably prevented its acceptance. This appears from a letter
either to Mr. Sheridan or Mr. Linley, which may be worth insertion ; both as it contains the first hints of a project of dramatic
authorship, which has, I believe, been since acted upon at the
other house, and as it is characteristic of Mr. Holcroft's unwearied
industry in his different undertakings, and of the sanguine temper
with which he encouraged the most distant prospects of success.
It is necessary to observe, in explanation of one part of the letter,
that he had, while in Paris (in 1783), written a tragedy, the heroine
of which he very anxiously wished to see personated by Mrs.
Siddons, who was now in the height of her reputation,
" SIR,
" Not having been able to see you on the subject of the tragedy
(" Ellen, or the Fatal Cave"), and being at present obliged to make a
* Mr. Holcroft, as it appears from this letter had brought his son "William
with him from France.

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

129

journey to Paris, I take the liberty of submitting the following
proposals to your consideration. Besides the tragedy already presented, I have a comedy begun, which will be ready in a month
after my return; that is, I will engage to give it in complete some
time in November.
" My proposals, then, sir, are, instead of author's nights, to
receive a salary, and that a very moderate one ; for which, exclusive of the tragedy and comedy already mentioned, I will engage
to write any recitatives, songs, or choruses, which may be wanted
for pantomimes, or other temporary occasions in the theatre.
The terms I require are ten pounds per week, under the following
provisos. If either the tragedy or comedy are condemned by the
public, I will furnish an after-piece ; should two out of the three
miscarry, my salary shall be reduced to seven pounds per week ;
and should all three be unfortunate, to five ; and to be in the
receipt of only five pounds per week till one has succeeded, the
arrears to be then paid. By this proposal Mrs. Siddons's nights
will not be encroached upon. I, as an author, shall have the
interest of the house at heart, and shall neglect no opportunity of
promoting that interest: — the terms are so moderate, the probabilities I presume are greatly that the proprietors should gain, not
lose. My own reputation will make me exert myself to the utmost;
and with respect to my fulfilling the conditions proposed, I will
enter into any forfeiture, not exceeding the receipt of my whole
salary, to fulfil them literally. Indeed, whatever my talents may
be, my industry and facility will not be disputed. I set off for
France to-morrow morning, where, sir, there is at present a most
popular piece, * The Marriage of Figaro,' which I shall endeavour
to procure ; it will be to the advantage of the theatre to get first
what I know is thought an object, and which, if these terms are
agreeable to you, sir, and the proprietors, I shall then be more
earnest and expeditious concerning. I must, however, add, I am
by no means certain of obtaining i t ; on the contrary, I understand
it will be attended with great difficulties. I must entreat, sir, that
this proposal remain totally a secret if not acceded to ; otherwise
it might injure me : and the fear lest it might by accident become
known, was the only motive that prevented me from making it
sooner. Should this meet your approbation, you will greatly
oblige me to signify as much as soon as possible, by sending a line
directed to me at Paris."
i

130

MEMOIRS OP

C H A R V.
T H E comedy of li Seduction" appeared in the year 1787, and was
received with very great applause. Some few hints for this play
were taken from " Les Liaisons Dangereux ;" but it was chiefly original, and possessed great merit. In 1789, appeared the translation
of the King of Prussia's works, in twelve or thirteen volumes, and
also the translation of the Essays of Lavater. For the former of
these Mr. Holcroft received 1200/. from Robinsons, the booksellers.
He had worked almost night and day to get it out soon, and to
prevent the possibility of anticipation. He had, I believe, very
early, and before the publication of the original work, procured a
copy through the interest of the Prussian Ambassador. He complains, in one of his letters about this time, of the difficulty he had
in translating the poetry of the great Frederic, for whom our
author, though he translated his works, seems to have had no
great predilection.* His translation of Lavater's smaller work has
certainly been the means of making the English public acquainted
with the system of that ingenious and lively writer: but it was
criticised with unusual severity by the authors of the " Analytical
Review," and this led to some disagreeable altercation between Mr.
Holcroft and the Reviewers.
In 1790, "The German Hotel" appeared at Co vent Garden, a play
which is little more than a translation from the German of Brandes.
The plot is very neat and lively, and sometimes interesting: but
there is very little besides plot and incident in the piece. Baron
Thorck seems the counterpart of Squire Thornhill, in the " Vicar of
Wakefield." The most striking circumstance in this drama is the
perfect preservation of the unities of time and place. In the
present instance, this peculiarity adds to the natural effect of the
scene by riveting the imagination to one spot, and thus giving a
sort of reality to it, and by making the incidents follow one another
in'such quick succession, that the mind has no time to question
* Mr. Holcroft long projected a work, of which Frederick II. was to have
been the hero, and the subject the effects of war and despotism. He made considerable preparations for this work ; for he had completely lined a large closet
with books, which were to furnish the materials, direct or collateral, for writing
his history of bad governments.

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

131

their probability. The events are some of them the most improbable that can be supposed ; yet such is the mechanical construction
of the plot, that they seem inseparably interwoven with each other,
and as if they could not happen otherwise. The whole play is like
a scene really passing in a hall of a large Hotel, in the course of a
few hours.
Mr. Holcroft brought out the comedy of the " The School for
Arrogance," in the beginning of 1791. In consequence of some
disagreement between Mr. Holcroft and Mr. Harris respecting
former pieces, it was imagined it would not be very graciously
received if the author were known; and a friend undertook for a
time to father the piece. After the comedy had been twice performed, the author wrote the following letter to the manager of
.the theatre. It is published in the preface.
" SIR,
" I have patiently waited the proper moment in which to
write to you. That moment I hope is now come. I should be guilty
of injustice, were I any longer to delay expressing my sense of the
propriety with which you have acted relative to " The School for
Arrogance," after you had every reason to suppose it mine. Such
conduct, sir, is highly honourable; and is not only productive of
the best effects, but must secure the best and most permanent
applause. That you had conceived disadvantageous ideas of me,
I knew; though I have no doubt, but I shall ultimately convince
you, that, even supposing me to be mistaken, my motives have
been laudable. With me you were irritated; but you had the
justice to forget' the man, and promote the interests of the piece.
This I hold it my duty to say to the world at large.
" I am, sir," &c.
" The School for Arrogance" is, in its plan, founded on " Le
Glorieux," of Destouches, but it is for the most part original. It
is Mr. Holcroft's best play, with the exception of " The Eoad to
Ruin," and perhaps even this exception is doubtful. The last of
these pieces is, no doubt, much more adapted for stage effect; but
I question whether the former would not be perused oftener, and
with greater delight, in the closet. It is less eventful, less interesting, less showy and dazzling; but it has beauties more refined in the conception and difficult in the execution. Such is the
whole of the character of Count Conolly Yillars, which is managed
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throughout with the nicest art. His pride of birth; the conflict
between the feelings of love and a sense of the honour of his
family; and the rapid and delicate alternations of passion, arising
from a constant fear of degrading himself, either by resisting, or
indulging the familiarity of others, are described without the violation of truth, perhaps, in a single instance. On the other hand,
the contrast between the pride of wealth and that of ancestry,
which the character of Lady Peckham gives the author an opportunity to display, has an effect equally forcible, whether we regard
the immediate impression on the audience, or the moral lesson it
conveys. The other characters are comparatively insignificant,
though necessary and well supported. To expose the weaknesses
of pride, as it is founded on the prejudice either of wealth or ancestry, may be said to form the whole business of the piece. This
however is not done by pompous, laboured declamation, or satirical
epigrams; but by showing the effects of these prejudices on real
characters, and in natural situations. As this play is less known
than some of Mr. Holcroft's other plays, we shall select the following scene for the entertainment of the reader: —
" Enter COUNT, bowing.

Lady Peckham. So, sir! They tells me, sir, that you and my
foolish husband are colloguing together, for to marry my daughter!!
Is this troo, sir ?
Count (with his usual polite haughtiness). If it were, ma'am ?
Lady P. Do you know who Miss Looey Beckham is, sir ?
Count. Not very well, ma'am.
Lady P. Sir?
Count. Except that she is your daughter.
J^ady P. And do you know who I am, sir ?
Count. I have been told, ma'am.
Lady P. Told, sir! Told! Vhat have you been told? Vhafc
have you been told, sir ?
Count. That your ladyship was an honest wax-chandler's
daughter.
Lady P. Yes, sir! The debbidy of his vard, sir! A common
councilman, and city sword-bearer! Had an alderman's gownd
von year, vus chosen sheriff the next, and died a lord-mayor
elect!
Count With all his honours blooming on his brow!

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

133

Lady P . And do you know, sir, that I designs Sir Samooel
Sheepy, sir, an English knight and barrow knight, for the spouse
of my daughter! A gentleman that is a gentleman! A person
of honour and purtensions, and not a papish Jesubite.
Count. Of his honours and pretensions I have yet to be informed, madam.
Lady P . Yhat, sir! do you mean for to say, sir, or to insinivate,
sir, that Sir Samooel Sheepy is not your betters ?
Count If Sir Samuel himself, madam, had put such a question
to me, I would have replied with my sword, or, more properly,
with my cane.
Lady P . Wery veil, sir! I'll let Sir Samooel know that you
threatens to cane him; I'll take care to report you! Cane quotha!
He shall talk to you.
Count Let him, madam.
Lady P . Madam! Madam! At every vord ; — pray, sir, do you
know that Sir Paul Peckham has had the honour to be knighted
by the king's own hand ?
Count I have heard as much, madam.
Lady P . Madam, indeed!—And for,you for to think for to look
up to my daughter!
Count Up, madam!
Lady P. Yes, sir—up, sir!—Pray, sir, vhat are your purtensions ?
Count {with great agitation?) Madam!
Lady P . Who are you, sir ? Vhere do you come from ? Who
knows you ? Vhat parish do you belong to ?
Count Madam, I am of a family known to history, known to
Europe, known to the whole universe!
Lady P. A h ! I believes you are better known than trusted.
Count The names of Conolly and Villars, madam, never before
were so degraded as they have been in my person.
Lady P . Oh! I makes no doubt but you are a person that vould
degurade any name!
Count. Insult like what I have received from you, madam, no
man should utter and escape death—but you are—
Lady P. Vhat, sir ? Vhat am I, sir ?
Count A woman.
Lady P . A voman, indeed! Sir, I vould have you to know as
Ihow I am a lady! A lady, sir, of his majesty's own making!
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And moreover, sir, don't you go for to flatter yourself that I shall
bestow the hand and fortin of Miss Looey Peckham upon any needy
outlandish Count somebody nobody ! My daughter, sir, is for your
betters !
Count Madam, though scurril
[Recollecting himself] I say,
madam, though such vul
, such accusations are beneath all
answer, yet I must tell you that by marrying your daughter, if
after this I should sink myself so low — I say, by marrying your
daughter, madam, I should confer an honour on your family, a&
much superior to its expectations, as the splendour of the glorious
sun is to the twinkling of the worthless glow-worm!
Lady P. Vhat! Vhat ! [Enter Edmund, son of Lady Peckham,'] Marry come up ! An Irish French foriner! Not so good
as von of our parish porpers I And you! You purtend to compare
yourself to the united houses of the Peckhams and the Pringles I
Your family indeed ! Yourn! Vhere's your settlement ? Yourn I
Vus'nt my great uncle, Mr. Peter Pringle, the cheesemonger of
Cateaton-street, a major in the train-bands before you vus born, or
thought of ?
Edmund, [Aside] So, so! I'm too late! [Aloud] Let me
entreat your ladyship
Lady P. Vhat! Has'nt I an ownd sister at this day married to
Mr. Poladore Spraggs, the tip-toppest hot-presser in all Crutched
Friars ! Isn't my maiden aunt, Miss Angelica Pringle, vorth
thirty thousand pounds, in the South Sea funds, every morningshe rises! And doesn't I myself get up and go to bed, the greatest
lady in this here city! And for to purtend for to talk to me of
his family ! His'n.
Edmund, The Count, madam, is a man of the first distinction
in his native country!
Lady P. Yhat country is that, sir ? Who ever heard of any
country but England ? A count among beggars ! How much i&
his countship worth ?
Count, I had determined to be silent, madam, but I find it impossible ! [ With vehement volubility.] And I must inform you, my
family is as ancient, as exalted, and as renowned, as you have
proved yours to be — what I shall not repeat! That I am the
heir to more rich acres than I believe your ladyship ever rode
over! That my father's vassals are more numerous than your
ladyship's vaunted guineas ! That the magnificence in which he

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

135

has lived, looked with contempt on the petty, paltry strainings of
a trader's pride! And that in his hall are daily fed — [Stops
short, and betrays a consciousness of inadvertent falsehood, but
suddenly continues with increasing vehemence'] Yes, madam, are
daily fed, now, at this moment, madam, more faithful adherents,
with their menials and followers, than all your boasted wealth
could for a single year supply !
Edmund. Are f At this moment, say you, count ?
Count Sir, I—I have said.
Edmund. I know you to be a man of honour, and that you cannot say what is not.
Count. I—I—I have said, sir! [ Walking with great pertur*
bation.]
Lady P. You have said more in a minute than you can prove
in a year!
Edmund. I will pledge my word for the count's veracity.
Count. [Aside] What have I done ! [ With agony] A lie !
Lady P. As for you, sir, I doesn't believe von vord you say ! I
knows the tricks of such sham chevaliers as you, too veil!
Count. [Walking aivay from her] Torture!
Lady P. But I'll take care to have you prognosticated.
Count. [Aside] I can support it no longer. [Going.]
Edmund. [ Catching him by the hand] My dear count • ^
Count. Sir, I am a dishonoured villain !
[Exit.
Lady P. There! There! he tells you himself he is a willin ?
his conscience flies in his face, and he owns it!
Edmund. [ With great ardour and feeling]
Madam, he is a
noble-hearted gentleman! His agonizing mind deems it villany
to suffer insults so gross.
[Exit
Re-enter the COUNT, deep in thought, and much agitated.
Lady P. [Seeing him] Marry my daughter, indeed! —
Faugh!
[Exit Lady Peckham.
Count Into what has my impetuous anger hurried me ? —
Guilty of falsehood! I ? To recede is impossible! What!
Stand detected before this city madam ! — whose tongue, itching
with the very scrofula of pride, would iterate liar in my ear! No !
Falsehood itself is not so foul." —- ACT HI.
This is truth and nature. If it should be thought that the
description of Lady Peckham borders too much on caricature, it
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MEMOIRS OF

should be remembered that grossness is the essence of the character, and it serves to set off more forcibly the refinement of the
Count. If, however, it should be insisted that the scene which
has been transcribed is a union of farce and sentimental comedy,
still it is farce worthy of Foote, and the serious part is worthy
of any one.
The sentiments which are inculcated in the scene which precedes the one just quoted, are such as have never been embodied
with the prejudices of any class of men, because it must be confessed they are much more adapted to convince the reason than to
flatter the passions or the imagination ! Lucy Peckham is a female
philosopher, and lectures the count on his pretensions in a manner
scarcely less grating to his feelings than the personalities of her
mother. The count says, " Mankind have agreed, madam, to
honour the descendants of the wise and the brave. " To this his
mistress replies, " They have so; but you have, doubtless, too
much native merit to arrogate to yourself the worth of others!
You are no jay, decked in the peacock's feathers ! You are not
idiot enough to imagine that a skin of parchment, on which are
emblazoned the arms and the acts of one wise man, with a long
list of succeeding fools, is any honour to you! Responsible to
mankind for the use and the abuse of such talents as you feel yourself endowed with, you ought to think only how you may deserve
greatly; and disdain to be that secondary thing, that insignificant
cypher, which is worthless, except from situation! "
Whatever may be thought of the political tendency of this
speech, the morality of it is unquestionable; and though it may
not be practicable for society at large to act upon the standard here
proposed, yet surely every individual would do well to apply it to
his own conduct, and to the value which he sets upon himself in
his own private esteem. However necessary it may be that the
vulgar should respect rank for its own sake, it is desirable that the
great themselves should respect virtue more, and endeavour to
make the theory, on which nobility is founded, correspond with
the practice — private worth with public esteem. The sentiments
of this kind, which Mr. Holcroft has interspersed through his
different works, may therefore remain as useful moral lessons:
their noxious political qualities, if ever they had such, have long
since evaporated; though I shall take an opportunity to show that
Mr. Holcroft's politics were never any thing more than an enlarged

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137

system of morality, growing out of just sentiments and general
improvement.
" The School for Arrogance" is the first of the author's pieces
in which there appeared a marked tendency to political or philosophical speculation. Sentiments of this kind, however, and at that
time, would rather have increased than diminished the popularity
of any piece. A proof of this is, that the very epilogue (which is
seldom designed to give offence) glances that way.
" Such is the modern man of high-flown fashion!
Such are the scions sprung from Runny-Mede!
The richest soil that bears the rankest weed!
Potato-like, the sprouts are worthless found;
And all that's good of them is under ground"
The wit and point of this satire will not be disputed.
Mr. Holcroft's next play was " The Road to Ruin," which
carried his fame as a dramatic writer into every corner of the kingdom where there was a play-house. Nothing could exceed the
effect produced by this play at its first appearance, nor its subsequent popularity. It not only became a universal favourite, but it
deserved to be so. Mr. Holcroft, in sending round one or two
copies of it to his friends before it was acted, had spoken of it as
his best performance. He had hitherto been generally dissatisfied
with what he had written, as not answering his own wishes, or
what he thought himself capable of producing: but in this instance
he seems to have thought his muse had been as favourable to him
as she was likely to be. Authors are perhaps seldom deceived
with respect to their works, when they judge of them from their
own immediate feelings, and not out of contradiction to the
opinions of others, or from a desire to. excel in something which
the world thinks them incapable of. Mr. Holcroft's predictions
were at least verified by the appearance of " The Eoad to Ruin."
It had a run greater than almost any other piece was ever known
to have, and there is scarcely a theatre in the kingdom, except
Drury Lane* and the Haymarket, in which it has not been acted
numberless times. The profits he received from it were 900/. from
Mr. Harris, and 300/. or 400/. for the copyright.
" The Road to Ruin " is so well known to the public, and its merits have been so fully established, that it seems almost impertinent
to make any remarks upon i t : yet, as it is Mr. Holcroft's greatest
* It has since been repeatedly acted in both of these theatres.

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dramatic effort, it might be thought wrong to pass it over without
attempting to point out its leading features, or ascertain its rank
among similar productions.
The character of Goldfinch, though not the principal character,
was undoubtedly that which contributed most to the popularity of
the piece. Nine persons out of ten who went to see " The Road
to Ruin," went for the sake of seeing Goldfinch, though the best
parts of the play are those in which he has no concern. The very
great effect it produced was, in some measure, owing to the inimitable acting of Lewis. But there are other circumstances which
would almost be sure to make it the favourite of the public. In
the first place, it is a most masterly delineation of the character it
pretends to describe, namely, that of a person of very little understanding, but with very great animal spirits, in the heigh-day of
youth and thoughtlessness, and who is hurried away by all the
vulgar dissipation of fashionable life. There is not the smallest
glimmering of wit or sense in all that Goldfinch says, yet nothing
can exceed the life, the spirit, the extreme volubility, the restless
animation, which Mr. Holcroft has thrown into this character.
He has none but the most mean and grovelling ideas ; his language
consists entirely of a few cant words; yet the rapidity with which
he glances from object to object, and the evident delight which he
takes in introducing his favourite phrases on all occasions, have
all the effect of the most brilliant wit. That's your sort comes in
at least fifty times, and is just as unexpected and lively the last
time as the first, for no other reason than because Goldfinch has
just the same pleasure in repeating it. This mechanical humour
was so much the more striking in its effect, because every person
could make it his own. It was a very transferable, and therefore
a very convenient, commodity. It was a compendious receipt for
being witty, to go and see Goldfinch, and repeat after him, That's
your sort. If the invention was not favourable to the increase, it
was at least calculated for the spread of wit. Mr. Holcroft may in
some sort be considered as the author of this species of dramatic
humour, of which succeeding writers have fully availed themselves, and on which the effect of many of our most popular
modern pieces depends. Cant terms have, it is true, always been
the subject of ridicule on the stage; but Mr. Holcroft was, I
believe, the first who made them interesting,'or who conceived the
project of giving spirit and animation to a character by the force

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

139

of a single phrase. The two most important characters in the
piece are those of old Dornton and his son ; the former, an eminent
banker in the city, the latter, a wild, but high-minded and noblespirited young man, something like Charles, in " The School for
Scandal." The serious interest of the piece arises chiefly from the
struggle between prudence and affection in the mind of the father,
and from the compunction and generous sacrifices of the youth to
save his father's house from the ruin which he believes he has
brought upon it. He is in love with Sophia, the daughter of the
widow Warren. This last lady is described with a person and
mind equally unprepossessing. She is, however, supposed to be
rich, and is violently in love with young Dornton, who determines,
rather than see his father ruined, to marry her, and forsake his
young and guileless Sophia. This match is prevented by the
timely interference of old Dornton.
Mr. Sulky and Mr. Silky are two very principal characters in
the play, whose names are happily adapted to their characters; the
one being as remarkable for a blunt kind of surly honesty, as the
other is for smooth, sleek, fawning knavery. It is, however, on
the confusion of these two names, that the contrivance of the plot
depends. For the late Mr. Warren, not being well pleased with
the conduct of his wife, and suspecting her violent professions of a
determination not to marry again, had made a will, in which, in
case such an event should happen, he had left his property to his
natural son, Milford, and to his wife's daughter, appointing Mr.
Sulky his executor. He died abroad, and the person who brought
over the will, being deceived by the name, leaves it in the possession of Mr. Silky, instead of Mr. Sulky. Mr. Silky, knowing the
widow's amorous propensities, and willing to profit by them, informs Goldfinch, who is besieging her for her money, that he has
a deed in his possession which puts the widow's fortune, should she
marry again, entirely in his power ; and exacts a promise from him
of fifty thousand pounds out of a hundred and fifty, as the price of
secrecy, with respect to himself. He then calls on the widow,
shows her the conditions of the will, and threatens to make it
public unless she marries Goldfinch, and assents to his proposal.
She, however, governed by her passion for young Dornton, and,
relying on the exhaustless wealth of his family, sets Mr. Silky and
his secret at defiance, and, on his next visit, treats Mr. Goldfinch
with very little ceremony. But after she finds herself disappointed

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of Dornton, and is in the height of her exclamations against the
whole sex, Goldfinch is announced. His name at this moment has
the effect of suddenly calming her spirits; he is admitted, received
with much affected modesty; he makes another offer; the bargain
is struck; Mr. Silky is sent for, and Goldfinch sets off post haste
for a licence. But just as he is going out, he meets Milford, and,
being more fool than knave, he tells the latter of his marriage, and
of the hush-money to Silky, on account of some deed, by which he
has the widow's fortune at his command, though he does not know
how. This excites suspicion in the mind of Milford, who, supposing it must be his father's will, goes immediately to Sulky to
inform him of the circumstance, and they conceal themselves in
the widow's apartment. Goldfinch, Silky, and the widow, soon
after come in ; every thing is settled, and the will is on the point
of being committed to the flames, when Milford and Sulky burst
upon them, and their whole scheme is unluckily defeated.
This sketch may be sufficient to give an idea of the bustle of
the scene, and the rapidity with which events follow one another.
The story never stagnates for a moment: the whole is full,
crowded, and the wonder seems to be how so many incidents, so
regularly connected, and so clearly explained, can be brought together in so small a compass. At the same time, the hurry of
events, and the intricacy of the plot, do not interfere with the unfolding of the characters, or the forcible expression of the passions.
Some of the scenes are replete with the truest pathos, which is
expressed without exaggeration, or the least appearance of art.
Though the feelings of paternal affection, of terror, generosity,
&c, are often wrought up to the highest pitch, and described with
their full force, so that the reader finds nothing wanting, yet it is
in language so easy and natural, that not only might it be uttered
by the persons themselves, but they could scarcely use any other.
Mrs. Holcroft died in the year 1790.
I t was in the preceding year that Mr. Holcroft met with the
severest blow that fortune had yet inflicted on him — the death of
his son. This unhappy event has been sometimes misrepresented
by persons unacquainted with the character and feelings of Mr.
Holcroft: the best answer to these misrepresentations will be to
state the circumstances as they happened, without any other
comment.
William Holcroft was his only son, and favourite child, and this

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

141

very circumstance perhaps led to the catastrophe which had nearly
proved fatal to his father as well as to himself. He had been
brought up, if any thing, with too much care and tenderness. The
greatest attention had been paid to his education from the very
first, not only by teaching him to read and write, French, English,
&c, but by daily instilling such moral principles into his mind, as
it was Mr. Holcroft's earnest wish and firm belief would in the
end make him a great and good man. Perhaps it was a mistake to
suppose that precept could anticipate the fruits of experience, or
that it was not a dangerous experiment to enable a child to think
and reason for himself on the propriety of his own actions, before
settled habits and a knowledge of consequences had provided a
sufficient counterpoise to the levity of youth, and the caprices of
fancy. Be this as it may, he was a boy of extraordinary capacity,
and Mr. Holcroft thought no pains should be spared for his instruction and improvement. From the first, however, he had shown an
unsettled disposition; and his propensity to ramble was such from
his childhood, that when he was only four years old, and under the
€are of an aunt at Nottingham, he wandered away to a place at
some distance, where there was a coffee-house^ into which he went,
and read the newspapers to the company, by whom he was taken
care of and sent home. This propensity was so strong in him,
that it became habitual, and he had run away six or seven times
before the last. Once, for instance, in 1786, when he was about
thirteen, he had taken a little mare which belonged to his father,
and went to Northampton, where he was discovered by some respectable persons in the place, and word being sent to Mr. Holcroft,
he went down, and brought him home with him. On Sunday,
November 8. 1789, he brought his father a short poem ; a watch,
which had been promised as a reward, was given him ; his father
conversed with him in the most affectionate manner, praised, encouraged, and told him, that notwithstanding his former errors and
wanderings, he was convinced he would become a good and excellent man. But he observed, when taking him by the hand to
express his kindness, that the hand of the youth, instead of returning the pressure as usual, remained cold and insensible. This,
however, at the moment was supposed to be accidental. He seemed
unembarrassed, cheerful, and asked leave, without any appearance
of design or hesitation, to dine with a friend in the city, which was
immediately granted. He thanked his father, went down stairs,

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and several times anxiously inquired whether his father were gone
to dress. As soon as he was told that he had left his room, he went
up stairs again, broke open a drawer, and took out forty pounds.
With this, the watch, a pocket-book, and a pair of pistols of his
father's, he hastened away to join one of his acquaintance, who
was going to the West Indies. The name of this young person was
Gr~—. He was immediately pursued to Gravesend, but ineffectually. It was not discovered till the following Wednesday
that he had taken the money. After several days of the most distressing inquietude, there appeared strong presumptive proofs that
he, with his acquaintance, was on board the " Fame," Captain
Carr, then lying in the Downs. The father and a friend immediately set off, and travelled post all Sunday night to Deal. Their
information proved true, for he was found to be on board the
"Fame," where he assumed a false name, though his true situation
was known to the captain. He had spent all the money, except
15/., in paying for his passage, and purchasing what he thought he
wanted. He had declared he would shoot any person who came to
take him, but that if his father came, he would shoot himself. His
youth, for he was but sixteen, made the threat appear incredible.
The pistols, pocket-book, and remaining money were locked up in
safety for him by his acquaintance. But he had another pair of
pistols concealed. Mr. Holcroft and his friend went on board,
made inquiries, and understood he was there. He had retired into
a dark part of the steerage. When he was called and did not
answer, a light was sent for, and as he heard the ship's steward,
some of the sailors, and his father approaching, conscious of what
he had done, and unable to bear the presence of his father, and the
open shame of detection, he suddenly put an end to his existence.
The shock which Mr. Holcroft received was almost mortal. For
three days he could not see his own family, and nothing but the
lore he bore that family could probably have prevented him from
sinking under his affliction. He seldom went out of his house for
a whole year afterwards : and the impression was never completely
effaced from his mind.

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

143

BOOK IV.
CHAPTER I.
MR. HOLCEOFT had been, for some years, imbibing principles, and
forming a system in his mind, relative to political and moral
questions, considerably different from those which are generally
received, or at least acted upon, by the world.
The interest which he felt in the success of these speculations,
will be best expressed by extracting some part of a letter to a
friend, written in February, 1790. He says, " The great object I
have in view is, not the obtaining of riches, but the power of employing my time according to the bent of my genius, in the performance of some works which shall remain when I am no more —•
works that will promote the general good. This is a purpose I
have so strongly at heart, that I would with pleasure sacrifice ease,
peace, health, and life for its accomplishment: nay, accomplish it
I will, unless cut off in the midst of my labours. It has been my
pursuit for years, and you are my witness, I have never relaxed,
never been discouraged by disappointment, to which indeed I hold
men of real strength of mind to be superior." A clearer picture
cannot be given of the motives from which the writer appears to
have engaged in and prosecuted his task — the regard of good
men hereafter, and a wish to promote the general welfare of mankind, by diffusing a system of more just and enlightened principles
of action.
These rational and worthy motives are those which actuated Mr.
HolcrofVs whole conduct in the part he took in such questions:
they are the only ones which he had at heart, and he never seems
in a single instance to have wavered in his pursuit, by flattering
the prejudices or soothing the vices of any set of men, by cajoling
or inflaming the multitude, or by adapting his views or language
to those of the ignorant, the rash, or profligate. He was a man of
too honest and of too independent a turn of mind to be a timeserver, to lend himself as a tool to the violence of any party; his
habits and studies rendered him equally averse to political intrigues
or popular tumults ; and he had no other desire than to speak the

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truth, such as he saw it, with a conviction that its effects must be
beneficial to society. Whether his opinions were right or wrong
is another question : I speak here of his intentions. But I am anticipating the subject; and also deviating from my plan, which
was not to write a panegyric, but a history.
"Anna St. Ives," a novel in seven volumes, appeared in 1792.
It was much read at the time, and excited considerable attention,
both from the force with which it is written, and from the singularity of the characters and sentiments. As a mere novel, it is
interesting, lively, and vigorous. The natural or real characters
it contains are exhibited with great truth of conception, with
strong and vivid colouring, and often with a great deal of whimsical
eccentricity. The characters both of the proud, daring, impetuous,
revengeful, capricious Coke Clifton, and of the sly, selfish/insinuating, cool, plodding, immoveable Abimelech Henley, are
master-pieces. The invention of either of these characters would
stamp the author a man of genius. With respect to the first, however spirited the execution, the invention is beyond all doubt due
to Richardson : Coke Clifton and Lovelace are the same being, and
in fact are often placed in situations so similar, that the resemblance must strike the most cursory reader. Notwithstanding
this, too much praise can hardly be given to Mr. Holcroft for the
life, the enthusiasm, and glowing fancy with which he has sustained
this character, and applied it to a different purpose. As to Abimelech, he is all his own; and he is a person of such quaint and
ill-sorted qualities, his humility and his insolence are so oddly
jumbled together, his knavery is so artfully disguised, and yet so
easily seen through, and he delivers all his purposes in such a
strange jargon of cant terms and phrases, every one of which has
some end, though their connection is scarcely intelligible; in short,
there is such a perfect consistence given to the most crude and
shapeless mass, and this in a manner so unlike any thing else, that
it seems almost equal to the invention of a new language. That
class of men who get introduced into gentlemen's families, and who,
by plodding, hoarding, fawning, and flattering the follies of their
masters, make fortunes themselves, ruin, and then trample upon
their employers, were never better represented than in the person
of Mr. Abimelech Henley. The steward in " Castle Rackrent" is
not so very a knave by half. The character of the Count de
Beaunoir, though short, is managed with a great deal of humour

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

145

and feeling. Mac Fane, the keeper of the mad-house, &c. are
strong and real portraits.
But the principal characters in the novel (at least, those which
were intended by the author to be the most prominent), are not
natural, but ideal beings. In fact, they are not so properly characters (that is, distinct individuals) as the vehicles of certain
general sentiments, or machines put into action, as an experiment
to show how these general principles would operate in particular
situations. Frank Henley, and Anna St. Ives, are the philosophical
hero and heroine of the work. They are the organs through
which the voice of truth and reason is to breathe, and whose every
action is to be inspired by the pure love of justice. Mr. Holcroft,
by embodying his general principles in individual characters, no
doubt gained some advantages which he could not otherwise have
done ; such as showing the possibility of his plan, by actually reducing it to practice, and also pointing out how persons convinced
of the truths he wishes to impress, both may and ought to act in
the present state of society. For instance, duelling is held to be
criminal; and to show that declining a duel is no proof of
cowardice, Frank Henley, who receives a blow from Coke Clifton,
will not fight with him, but the very next day leaps into the water
after him, and saves his life at the imminent hazard of his own:
thus by an act of true heroism rising superior to the prejudices of
false honour.
But though the author has gained in point of argument by
throwing his reasonings into a narrative form, perhaps he has lost
in point of the general impression produced upon the mind. It
was Mr. Holcroft's business to make his characters not only consistent, but interesting and amiable: and he has done nearly all
that was possible to accomplish this end. But it seems as if the
difficulty of the undertaking, from the very nature of it, was too
gre'at to be overcome. For, in spite of all the appeals that are
made to reason, and though we strive ever so much to suspend our
invidious prepossessions, yet the old adage of " A faultless
monster, which the world ne'er saw," continually obtrudes itself
upon us, and poisons our satisfaction. It is true, our dislike may
be irrational, but still it is dislike. That which, if left in generals,
we might believe and admire, if brought to a nearer view, and
exhibited in all its circumstances of improbability, we begin to
distrust, and for that reason to hate : quod sic mihi ostendis, incre^
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MEMOIRS OF

dulus odi. Perfect virtue; the pure disinterested love of justice;
an unshaken zeal for truth, regardless of all petty consequences;
a superiority to false modesty; a contempt for the opinion of the
world, when reason and conscience are on our side, — all these are
iine things, and easily conceived, while they,remain, what they
are, the pure creatures of the understanding, mere abstract
essences, which cannot kindle too warm a glow of enthusiasm in
the breast. But when these airy nothings are made' reluctantly to
assume a local habitation and a name, called Frank, or Anna;
when they are personified in the son of a knavish steward, or the
daughter of a foolish baronet; when they are petticoated, booted,
and spurred ; when they are mounted on horseback, or seat themselves in a post-chaise, or walk arm in arm through the streets of
London or Paris, — the naked form of truth vanishes under all
this pitiful drapery, and the mind is distracted with mean and
contradictory appearances, which it knows not how to reconcile.
When familiarised to us by being brought on the real stage of life,
and ascribed to any supposed characters, perfect virtue becomes
little better than a cheat, and the pretension to superior wisdom
looks like affectation, conceit, and pedantry. This effect must in
some measure take place, even though the most perfect consistency
and propriety were preserved: how much more then, when the
mind eagerly catches hold of every little flaw, to prove that the
whole is a piece of acting, and to revert to its habitual feelings of
nature and probability ? It is not difficult to personify the
passions, so as to render them natural: that is a language which
men readily understand. But of the difficulty of exhibiting the
^passions entirely under tb# control of reason, of virtue, religion, or
any other abstract principle, let those judge who have studied the
romances of Richardson* To have made Clarissa a natural character, with all her studied attention to prudence, propriety, &c, is
the greatest proof of his genius: yet even she is not free from
affectation. In Sir Charles Grandison, he has completely failed: he
has exhibited him either as an automaton, a puppet, or a self-complacent coxcomb, " ugly all over with affectation/' whose own perfection, propriety of conduct, and fine qualities, are never for a
moment out of his sight. Bousseau's Julia, again, is something of
a pedant, and cold, calculating, and insincere. I mention these
instances to show, that though I do not think Mr. Holcroft has
rendered his hero and heroine so attractive as he himself, probably,

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

147

thought they might be made, yet it was not for want of genius,
but from the impossibility of the undertaking. Frank Henley,
though a much nobler-minded being than Sir Charles Grandison,
yet stands in general in the same predicament. We admire his
actions, but we do not love the man : his motives we respect, but
with his feelings we have little sympathy. Indeed, he is a character who does not stand in need of our sympathy; " A reasoning,
self-sufficient thing; an intellectual all in all." He is himself a
being without passions ; and, in order to feel with him, we must
ourselves be divested of passion.
I have made these remarks to show the difficulty of embodying
a philosophic character in a dramatic form.
The dignity of truth is in some measure necessarily lowered
by coming to us " in so questionable a shape ; " and nothing but a
very powerful mind can prevent it from becoming quite ridiculous
and contemptible. Mr. Holcroft himself was perfectly aware of
the prejudices he had to encounter, in order to exhibit his characters so as not to be misunderstood. He has not, indeed, been
sparing of the most pointed raillery upon the philosophic pretensions of Frank Henley, in the letters of his rival, Coke Clifton.
And the best proof of the strength with which he has conceived
and portrayed his favourite character is, that, notwithstanding all
the other's wit and eloquence, Frank is never once degraded in our
esteem. He stands his ground firmly, and, upon the whole, has
the preference; though it is not exactly such a preference as
virtue ought to have over vice, wisdom over folly, or pure mind
over sensuality and selfishness. An extract from one of Clifton's
letters, in which he describes Frank Ifenley, will give a tolerable
idea of the characters of both.
" The youth has some parts, some ideas : at least, he has plenty
of words. But his arrogance is insufferable. He does not scruple
to interfere in the discourse, either with me, Sir Arthur, or the
angelic Anna! Nay, sets up for a reformer ; and pretends to an
insolent superiority of understanding and wisdom. Yet he was
never so long from home before in his life ; has seen nothing, but
has read a few books, and has been permitted to converse with this
all-intelligent deity.
" I cannot deny but that the pedagogue sometimes surprises me
with the novelty of his opinions; but they are extravagant. I
have condescended, oftener than became me, to show how full of
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MEMOIRS OF

hyperbole and paradox they were. Still he has constantly maintained them, with a kind of congruity that astonished me, and even
rendered many of them plausible.
" But, exclusive of his obstinacy, the rude pot-companion
loquacity of the fellow is highly offensive. He has no sense of
inferiority. He stands as erect, and speaks with as little embarrassment, and as loudly as the best of us ; nay, boldly asserts, that
neither riches, rank, nor birth have any claim. I have offered to
buy him a beard, if he would but turn heathen philosopher. I
have several times, indeed, bestowed no small portion of ridicule
upon him; but in vain. His retorts are always ready; and his
intrepidity, in this kind of impertinence, is unexampled.
" From some anecdotes which are told of him, I find he is not
without personal courage; but he has no claim to chastisement
from a gentleman. Petty insults he disregards; and has several
times put me almost beyond my forbearance by his cool and cutting replies. His oratory is always ready; cut, dry, and fit for
use ; and d
d insolent oratory it frequently is.
" The absurdity of his tenets can only be equalled by the
effrontery with which they are maintained. Among the most
ridiculous of what he calls first principles, is that of the equality
of mankind. He is one of your levellers! Marry! Hi3 superior!
Who is he ? On what proud eminence can he be found ? On
some Welsh mountain, or the peak of Teneriffe ? Certainly not
in any of the nether regions. Dispute his prerogative who dare !
He derives from Adam; what time the world was all " hail fellow,
well met!" The savage, the wild man of the woods, is his true
liberty-boy; and the ourang-outang, his first cousin. A lord is a
merry-andrew, a duke a jack-pudding, and a king a torn-fool: his
name is man!
" Then, as to property, 'tis a tragic farce; 'tis his sovereign
pleasure to eat nectarines, grow them who will. Another Alexander he; the world is all his own! Aye, and he will govern it as
he best knows how. He will legislate, dictate, dogmatise, for who
so infallible ? Cannot Goliah crack a walnut ?
" As for arguments, it is but ask and have : a peck at a, bidding,
and a good double handful over. I own I thought I knew something ; but no, I must to my horn book. Then, for a simile, it is
sacrilege; and must be kicked out of the high court of logic! Sarcasm, too, is an ignoramus, and cannot solve a problem; wit a pert

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

U9

puppy, who can only flash and bounce. The heavy walls of wisdom are not to be battered down with such popguns and pellets.
He will waste you wind enough to set up twenty millers, in.
proving an apple is not an egg-shell; and that homo is Greek for
a goose. Duns Scotus was a schoolboy to him. I confess he has
more than once dumb-founded me with his subtleties. But,
pshaw! it is a mortal waste of words and time to bestow them on
him." Vol. ii.
With respect to Mr. Holcroft's principles as they are delivered
in " Anna St. Ives," I shall here attempt to give a short sketch of
them, of the train of events in which they originated, and of the
seductiveness of the prospects which they held out to a mind not
perfectly callous to the interests of humanity. Even could it be
shown that they were disgraceful to his penetration, yet they were
certainly honourable to his heart, and they were highly honourable to human nature. It is indeed a little singular, that those
who have argued most highly of the powers of our nature, and
have entertained the most sanguine hopes of the future virtue and
happiness of man, should so often have been considered as the
worst enemies of society. But it seems that our self-love is not so
much flattered by the idea of the progress we might hereafter
make, as offended by that of the little we have already made. Reformers imprudently compliment mankind on what they might
become, at the expense of what they are.
Mr. Hoi croft was a purely speculative politician. He constantly
deprecated force, rashness, tumult, and popular violence. He was
a friend to political and moral improvement, but he wished it to
be gradual, calm, and rational, because he believed no other could
be effectual. All sanguinary measures, all party virulence, all
provocation and invective, he deplored; all that he wished was the
free and dispassionate discussion of the great principles relating to
human happiness, trusting to the power of reason to make itself
heardv and not doubting but that the result would be favourable
to freedom and virtue. He believed that truth had a natural superiority over error if it could only be heard ; that if once discovered, it must, being left to itself, soon spread and triumph;
and that the art of printing would not only accelerate this effect*
but would prevent those accidents which had rendered the moral
and intellectual progress of mankind hitherto so slow, irregular,
and uncertain.
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MEMOIRS OF

This opinion of the progress of truth and its power to crush
error, had been gaining ground in this country ever since the
Reformation; the immense improvements in natural and mechanical knowledge within the last century had made it appear nearly
impossible to limit the discoveries of art and science; as great a
revolution (and it was generally supposed as great improvements)
had taken place in the theory of the human mind in consequence
of the publication of Mr. Locke's Essay; and men's attention
having been lately forcibly called to many of the evils and abuses
existing in society, it seemed as if the present was the era of moral
and political improvement, and that as bold discoveries and as
large advances towards perfection would shortly be made in these
as had been already made in other subjects. That this inference
was profound or-just, I do not affirm; but it was natural, and
strengthened not only by the hopes of the good, but by the sentiments of the most thinking men.
As far as any practical experiment had been tried, the result
was not discouraging. Of two revolutions that had taken place,
one, that of America, had succeeded, and a more free and equal
government had been established without tumult, civil discord,
animosity, or bloodshed, except what had arisen from the interference of the mother country. The other revolution, that of
France, was but begun; but it had at this time displayed none of
those alarming features which it afterwards discovered. Whether
the difference of the result in the latter case was owing to the external situation of the country, which exposed it to the inroads of
a band of despots, or to the manners of the people, which had
been depraved by a long course of slavery, which, while it made
freedom the more desirable, rendered them the more incapable of
i t ; whether, I say, the French Revolution might not have succeeded, had not every means been employed to destroy and crush
the good that might have been expected from it, is a question not
to be discussed here ; but at the period of which I am speaking, I
believe I may say there were few real friends of liberty who did
not augur well of it. A tyranny which all our most esteemed
writers had been endeavouring for the last hundred years to render
odious and contemptible to the English people, had been overthrown ; and this was hailed by all those who had been taught to
value the principles of liberty, or the welfare of nations, as an
event auspicious to France and to the world. The emancipation

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

151

of thirty millions of people (so I remember it was considered at
the time) was a change for the better, as great as it was unexpected : the pillars of oppression and tyranny seemed to have been
overthrown: man was about to shake off the fetters which had
bound him in wretchedness and ignorance; and the blessings that
were yet in store for him were unforeseen and incalculable. Hope
smiled upon him, and pointed to futurity.
With these feelings, and with these encouragements from the
state >of the public mind, reasoning men began to inquire what
would be the ruling principles of action in a state of society as perfect as we can suppose, or the general diffusion of which would
soonest lead to such a state of improvement. And the answer was
found, not so much in any real novelties, or heretofore unheard-of
paradoxes, as in the most pure and simple principles of morality,
differing from the common and received ones no otherwise than in
the severity with which they are insisted on, and in their application to a state of things in which the same indulgences, precautions, and modifications of our higher and paramount obligations,
which are at present inseparable from the imperfection of our nature, would no longer be necessary. The whole of the modern
philosophy (as far as relates to moral conduct) is nothing more
than a literal, rigid, unaccommodating, and systematic interpretation of the text (which is itself pretty old and good authority),
'* Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself," without making
any allowances for the weaknesses of mankind, or the degree to
which this rule was practicable; and the answer to the question,
" W h o is our neighbour?" is the same, both in the sacred records,
and in the modern paraphrase, " H e who most wants our assistance." I have mentioned this coincidence (I hope without
offence),, to show that the shock occasioned by the extreme and
naked manner of representing the doctrine of universal benevolence, dM not, and could not, arise from the principle itself,
but from the supposition that this comprehensive and sublime principle was of itself sufficient to regulate the actions of men, without
the aid of those common affections and mixed motives which our
habits, passions, and vices, had taught us to regard as the highest
practicable point of virtue. If, however, it be granted, not only
that it is in itself right and best, but that a period might come in
which it would be possible for men to be actuated by the sole principles of truth and justice, then it would seem to follow that the

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MEMOIRS OF

subordinate and auxiliary rules of action might be dispensed with,
being superseded by the sense of higher and more important
duties.
Mr. Holcroft was among the foremost and most ardent of those
who indulged their imaginations in contemplating such an Utopian
or ideal state of society, and in reasoning on the manner in which
the great leading principle of morality would then be reduced to
practice. In such a state of things, he believed that wars, bloodshed, and national animosities, would cease ; that peace and goodwill would reign among men ; and that the feeling of patriotism,
necessary as it now is to preserve the independence of states, and
repel the ravages of unprincipled and ambitious invaders, would
die away of itself with national jealousies and antipathies, with
ambition, war, and foreign conquest. Family attachments would
also be weakened or lost in the general principle of benevolence,
when every man would be a brother. Exclusive friendships could
no longer be formed, because they would interfere with the true
claims of justice and humanity, and because it would be no longer
necessary to keep alive the stream of the affections by confining
them to a particular channel, when they would be continually
refreshed, invigorated, and would overflow with the diffusive soul
of mutual philanthropy, and generous, undivided sympathy with all
men. Another feeling, no less necessary at present, would then
be forgotten, namely, gratitude to benefactors; but not from a
selfish, hateful spirit, or hardened insensibility to kind offices; but
because all men would in fact be equally ready to promote one
another's welfare, that is, equally benefactors and friends to each
other, without the motives either of gratitude or self-interest.
Promises, in like manner, wrould no longer be binding or necessary; not in order that men might take advantage of this liberty
to consult their own whims or convenience, and trick one another,
but that, by being free from every inferior obligation, they might
be enabled more steadily and directly to pursue the simple dictates
of reason and conscience. False honour, false shame, vanity,
emulation, &c, would upon the same principle give way to other
and better motives. It is evident that laws and punishmentswould cease with the cause that produces them, the commission of
crime. Neither would the distinctions of property subsist in a
society where the interests and feelings of all would be more intimately blended than they are at present among members of the-

THOMAS HOLCKOFT.

153

same family, or among the dearest friends. Neither the allure*
ments of ease, or wealth, nor the dread of punishment, would be
required to excite to industry, or to prevent fraud and violence, in
a state (such as has been supposed) where all would cheerfully
labour for the good of all; and where the most refined reason and
inflexible justice, actuating a whole community, could scarcely fail
to ensure the same effects which at present result from the motives
of honesty and honour. The labour, therefore, requisite to produce the necessaries of life, would be equally divided among the
members of sucli a community, and the remainder of their time
would be spent in the pursuit of science, in the cultivation of the
noblest arts, and in the most refined social and intellectual enjoyments.
However wild and visionary this scheme may appear, it is certain that its greatest fault is in expecting higher things of human
nature than it seems at present capable of, and in exacting such
a divine or angelic degree of virtue and wisdom, before it can be
put in practice, as without a miracle in its favour must for ever
prevent its becoming anything more than a harmless dream, a
sport of the imagination, or " an exercise in the schools." But to
consider a man as an immoral character, or a political delinquent,
for having indulged in such speculations, is no less false or absurd
than to stigmatise any one as a bad member of the community for
having written a treatise on the Millennium. Yet with respect to
Mr. Holcroft, this appears to have been " the very head and front
of his offending."

C H A R II.
THE first part of " Hugh Trevor," a novel, appeared in 1794, and
the remainder in 1797. This novel is a work of less genius than
," Anna St. Ives," but it is characterised by much sound sense, by a
clear and vigorous style, by acute observation, and by many satirical but accurate portraits of modern manners. As a political
work, it may be considered as a sequel to "Anna St. Ives;" for as
that is intended to develop certain general principles by exhibiting
imaginary characters, so the latter has a tendency to enforce the
same conclusions by depicting the vices and distresses which are
generated by the existing institutions of society. A lord and a

154

MEMOIRS OF

bishop are among the most prominent figures. That such characters exist in fact, there cannot be a doubt; that the satire is
applied in too general and unqualified a manner, is an objection
which may also be readily admitted; but it certainly is not necessary in order to enforce the imperfection of existing institutions
and manners, that the profligacy which he has ascribed to these
characters should be universal. A very little of it is enough, and
too much, were there any real and substantial remedy for the
evil.
The story of " Hugh Trevor" is less connected and interesting
than that of " Anna St. Ives:" the excellence of the work is to be
judged of from detached scenes and passages rather than from
considering it as a whole. Among the most striking passages are
the description of Oxford; Wakefield's conversations with Hugh
Trevor; the disputes with Trotman on the study of the law ; the
character of Olivia's aunt, which is in the best style of the old
novels ; the scene in the stage coach between the aunt, Olivia, and
Hugh Trevor; the description given by Glibly of the characters
at the playhouse; and some of the scenes which occur in the history of Wilmot. The dialogues in " Hugh Trevor" are almost all
of them highly spirited, and full of character, and the language exactly that of animated conversation. Mr. Holcroft would (as it
might be expected) have an advantage in this respect over novel
writers in general from his habit of writing for the stage. Perhaps
the finest things in " Hugh Trevor" are the account of an author,
found in Wilmot's pocket, after he had attempted to drown himself, and the song of " Gaffar Gray." Both these I shall extract, as
they are short and detached, and in my opinion, at least, exquisite
pieces of writing.
The paper found in Wilmot's pocket, after the rash and almost
fatal act to which he has been driven by repeated disappointment
and extreme distress, is as follows : —
" This body, if ever it should be found, was once a thing which,
by way of reproach among men, was called an author. It moved
about the earth despised and unnoticed, and died indigent and
unlamented. It could hear, see, feel, smell, and taste, with as
much quickness, delicacy, and force, as other bodies. It had
desires and passions like other bodies, but was denied the use of
them by such as had the power and the will to engross the good
things of this world to themselves. The doors of the great were

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

155

shut upon i t ; not because it was infected with disease, or i contaminated with infamy, but on account of the fashion of the gar'ments with which it was clothed, and the name it derived from its
forefathers, and because it had not the habit of bending its knee
where its heart owed no respect, nor the power of moving its
tongue to gloze the crimes or flatter the follies of men. It was
excluded the fellowship of such as heap up gold and silver; not
because it did, but for fear it might, ask a small portion of their
beloved wealth. It shrunk with pain and pity from the haunts of
ignorance, which the knowledge it possessed could not enlighten,
and from guilt that its sensations were obliged to abhor. There
was but one class of men with whom it was permitted to associate,
and those were such as had feelings and misfortunes like its own,
among whom it was its hard fate frequently to suffer imposition,
from assumed worth and fictitious distress. Beings of supposed
benevolence, capable of perceiving, loving, and promoting merit
and virtue, have now and then seemed to flit and glide before it.
But the visions were deceitful: ere they were distinctly seen, the
phantoms vanished. Or, if such beings do exist, it has experienced the peculiar hardship of never having met with any, in
whom both the purpose and the power were fully united. Therefore, with hands wearied with labour, eyes dim with watchfulness,
veins but half nourished, and a mind at length subdued by intense
study, and a reiteration of unaccomplished hopes, it was driven by
irresistible impulse to end at once such a complication of evils.
The knowledge was imposed upon it that, amid all these calami*
ties, it had one consolation, —^ its miseries were not eternal — that
itself had the power to end them. ^||§,,p5iH?;er it lias employed,
because it found itself incapable of supporting any longer the
wretchedness of its own situation, and the blindness and injustice
of mankind; and as, while it lived, it lived scorned and neglected,
so it now commits itself to the waves, in expectation, after it is
dead, of being mangled, belied, and insulted."
The song of Gaffar Gray is written in a less sombrous style,
with a mixture of banter and irony. But it is distinguished by
the same fulness of feeling, and the same simple, forcible, and
perfect expression of it. There is nothing wanting, and nothing
superfluous. The author has produced exactly the impression he
intended.

MEMOIRS OF
" Ho ! Why dost thou shiver and shake,
Gaffar Gray!
And why doth thy nose look so blue ?
* 'Tis the weather that's eold,
'Tis I'm grown very old,
And my doublet is not very new,
Well-a-day!'
Then line thy worn doublet with ale,
Gaffar Gray;
And warm thy old heart with a glass.
4
Nay, but credit I've none ;
And my money's all gone ;
Then say how may that come to pass ?
Well-a-day!'
Hie away to the house on the brow,
Gaffar Gray;
And knock at the jolly priest's door.
4
The priest often preaches
Against worldly riches ;
But ne'er gives a mite to the poor,
Well-a-day! *
The lawyer lives under the hill,
Gaffar Gray;
Warmly fenc'd both in back and in front.
* He will fasten his locks,
And will threaten the stocks,
Should he ever more find me in want,
Well-a-day!'
The 'Squire has fat beeves and brown ale,
Gaffar Gray;
And the season will welcome you there.
4
His fat beeves and his beer,
And his merry new year,
Are all for the flush and the fair,
Well-a-day!'
My keg is but low, I confess,
Gaffar Gray;
AVhat then? While it lasts, man, we'll live.
' The poor man alone,
When he hears the poor moan,
Of his morsel a morsel will give,
Well-a-day!"*

MEMOIKS
OP THE I.ATE

THOMAS HOLCEOFT,
WEITTEN BY HIMSELF;
AND CONTINUED TO THE TIME OF HIS DEATH,
FKOM

HIS DIARY, NOTES, AND OTHER PAPERS.

Xtf

TWO

PARTS.

VA ,T II.

LONDON:
LONGMAN, BEOWN, GEEEN, AND LONGMANS.
1852.

LONDON:
SPOTTISWOODES and

SHAW,

New-street-Square.

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

157

CHAP. III.
W E have hitherto beheld Mr. Holcroft only in the light of an
author, or as a private man ; we have at present to consider him
in that part of his history which was the most interesting to the
public, and the most honourable to himself, of any of the circumstances of his life, — his behaviour under that most unaccountable,
unjust, and groundless prosecution, which was instituted against
him for high treason, in the year 1794. The account of this
transaction will be given, nearly literally, from Mr. Holcroft's own
" Narrative .of Facts," published soon after. I shall only observe
of this work, which is written in a style of manly and nervous
eloquence, that it not only contains the most undeniable proofs of
the author's innocence of the charge brought against him, and of
the knowledge which the prosecutors themselves had of his innocence, but that it further shows Mr. Holcroft's character in a
most amiable and respectable point of view. His regard to his
family and friends, the steady uprightness of his mind, his ardent
love of liberty, his utter abhorrence of all violent and sanguinary
measures, and the sincerity, and even enthusiasm, with which he
acted up to the principles he professed, are evident in every line of
his narrative.
It was in the month of November, ] 792, that he first became a
member of the Society for Constitutional Information. The multitude of extraordinary events which at that period happened in
France, excited people of all ranks to political inquiry; and men
were roused to a conviction, which, though obvious, yet seemed a
recent discovery, that the political institutions of all nations
essentially influence the morals and happiness of the people, and
that these institutions are capable of improvement. The good
was no sooner conceived, than an eagerness to enjoy it was begotten ; and this eagerness was frequently so impatient, as to
excite a dread, that even if it did not defeat, it might lamentably
retard, its own purpose.
At length, the apprehensions of those who thought it their in*
terest to prevent any kind of change were awakened. Their
numbers considerable, their wealth immense, their influence universal, their prejudices strong, and their appetites and passions
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almost their only means of enjoyment, they no sooner saw danger,
than they conceived disgust for the supposed authors of i t ; and
this disgust rapidly quickened into hatred. Animosity once conceived is generally mutual; and the passions of both parties
seemed every day to become more and more inflamed, and to be
pregnant with pernicious consequences.
;
Under such circumstances, it became (in Mr. Holcroft's opinion)
the duty of every man to think seriously, and act with vigour.
Passengers in a storm labour at the pump, and if they linger are upbraided, and in danger of being thrown overboard. Individual and
general safety are the same ; and the man who is not trusted with
the helm, may yet aid in heaving the lead or casting the anchor.
Mr. Holcroft, believing that all men and all actions contribute
more or less to the general good, 'had long been accustoming himself to keep that good in view. Stimulated by the considerations
just mentioned, and by the events that pressed with daily astonishment on the mind, he ardently applied himself to the study of
man, and the means of promoting his welfare, and lessening the
evils that result from his present vices and imperfections. The
chief of the principles, to which this inquiry led, were that man is
happy in proportion as he is truly informed ; that his ignorance,
which is the parent of his misery and vices, is not a fault, but a
misfortune, which can only be remedied by infusing juster principles and more enlightened notions into his mind ; that punishment, violence, and rancour, only tend to inflame the passions, and
perpetuate the mistakes they are meant to cure; and that, therefore,
the best and only effectual means of ameliorating the condition of
mankind, is by the gentleness of instruction, by steady inquiry,
and by a calm but dauntless reliance on the progressive power of
truth.
These principles being firmly rooted in his mind, Mr. Holcroft
naturally became the opponent of all violence, and a determined
friend to the publication of truth; since by that alone he thought
the well-being of mankind could be promoted. "With respect to
the Society for Constitutional Information, of which he had become
a member, he did not approve of many of their proceedings, nor
was he altogether satisfied with the authority they seemed to assume of peremptorily deciding questions by a majority of votes,
which he thought could only be decided by reason; but still he conceived that this was not a sufficient ground for absenting himself

THOMAS HOLC&OFT.

159

from their meetings, as such an over-scrupulousness would exclude
all those who were best calculated to prevent such societies, in
their too great ardour to do good, from doing ill; since if he
refused to act with men so long as they were guilty of mistake, he
must banish himself wholly from their intercourse.
He entered this society, then, with a firm determination to use
every endeavour to prevent violence and acrimony, to communicate
the truth he knew, or imagined he knew, and to stimulate others to
do the same. Accordingly, while he remained a member of it, he
never interfered with the framing of a single resolution: when
questions were put, he sometimes voted; and sometimes spoke to
declare his opinion, but was much oftener silent; either because
he thought them frivolous, or such a mixture of right and wrong
as to leave him undecided. He little imagined that it would be
possible to accuse their insignificant proceedings as treasonable;
much less that he should be selected as one of the most wicked of
the conspirators.
The apprehensions of ministers had been first publicly announced
in the proclamation of the 21st of May, 1792 ; and the coercive
measures on which they had determined immediately appeared m
parliamentary addresses, and the measures of the magistrates and
municipal officers throughout the kingdom. Associations were
formed; and the danger of the constitution, from the wicked
attempts of republicans and levellers, became the cry of what was
called the aristocratic party. So active were these self-declared
friends of government, and so loud in their asseverations of approaching ruin,—the destruction of property, insurrection, and
anarchy,—that quiet people began to partake of the fears of these
agitators; and ministers, by more proclamations, asserted that insurrections did actually exist, which the militia was called out to
quell, when not a hand or foot was stirring on any such pretences
within the confines of Great Britain. Men even of respectable
characters and honest intentions now thought it an heroical act of
duty to watch the conduct of their intimate friends, excite them
to utter violent or seditious expressions, and afterwards to turn
informers against the intemperance they had provoked. To avoid
giving any opinion was impossible. Language the most outrageous was employed to make those who were in the least suspected declare their creed ; and if it were not entirely accommodating, the peaceable citizen, after being entrapped, was insulted,
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and turned, or frequently kicked out of tap-rooms, coffee-houses,
and public places. The impotence of the obnoxious party was
everywhere demonstrated; yet the outcry of alarm increased*
Church-and-king mobs were proved, in courts of justice, to have
been encouraged by the very men whose office it was to keep the
peace; while no insurrection, or shade of insurrection, appeared
on the part of the people wishing for reform. In the same spirit,
printers and booksellers all over the kingdom were hunted out for
prosecution ; and the tempest of insurrection and anarchy was so
confidently affirmed to be rising and raging, that the House of
Commpns voted the suspension of the Habeas Corpus Bill, on the
ground that dangerous and treasonable conspiracies did actually
exist.
The society, of which Mr. Holeroft was a member, seemed with
the progress of these events to increase in amazement, and it
might almost be said, in stupefaction. This was visible in the
thinness of its meetings, its feeble resolutions, and long adjournments. Each man saw himself the butt of obloquy. Each man
knew that Mr. Reeves's association was sitting in a room of the
same tavern immediately over his head ; and that this association
was the focus of the opprobrium cast on them all. They supposed
themselves to be watched by the very waiters. Thus wantonly
and unjustly set up as a mark for public reproach, it is not much
to be wondered at, that some petulant ebullitions occasionally burst
forth. But was this guilt so enormous ? Was it high treason ?
When Mr. Holeroft first heard that a few of its members had
been taken into custody, he felt the greatest astonishment.
? Surely," he said, " either there have been practices of which I
am totally ignorant, or men are running mad! " The persons apprehended were severally, and some of them repeatedly, examined
before the Privy Council. The three estates of the kingdom had
declared the existence of treason and conspiracy; and the nation
'seemed generally to credit the assertion. Mr. Holeroft had been
told more than once that a warrant was issued against him. Incredible as the rumour would have been at any other time, he now
believed it to be true.
A warrant having according to report been issued against him?
made it probable that he should also be examined before the Privy
Council; and he therefore prepared for the event. The late John
Hunter, and other medical men, had prescribed sea-bathing for

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

161

him; and he intended to have gone out of town for this purpose.
But on the first report of the warrant, he determined not to go,
and took care to appear publicly, that he might not seem to evade
inquiry. Many surmises and rumours prevailed during the summer of 1794. One week the persons in custody were immediately
to be brought to trial ; the next it was said the Grown lawyers had
declared that a case of treason could not be made out, and that
they would be tried for seditious practices. At length, when the
affair seemed almost to have sunk into forgetfulness, it was suddenly revived; and a commission was appointed on the till then
supposed highly improbable charge of high-treason. The proceeding astonished Mr. Holcroft, as well as others ; but he had no idea
it was intended that he should be involved in it.
Soon, however, assertions to the contrary were spread ; and many
serious reflections suggested themselves to his mind. " Surely,"
said he, "this age has more general information, and therefore
more virtue, more wisdom, than the past. There cannot be
another Meal-tub Plot. No Titus Gates could now impose his
execrable fictions on mankind. Or is it possible that sophistry
may have convinced itself that it is better twelve men, the partisans of reform, should die, than that Government should seem to
have disgraced itself by asserting the existence of a treasonable
conspiracy without any proof ? " At one moment he could not
believe himself in danger; at the next, the facts that stared him
in the face destroyed every ground of rational calculation, and left
the mind bewildered in suspense. It was at this period that Mr.
Holcroft addressed the following letter to his daughter and her
husband, who were in Devonshire *:—
« M Y DEAR FRIENDS AND CHILDREN,

" The reason of my writing to you at this moment is to prevent any unnecessary alarm; to which, indeed, I hope you would
not have been very liable, even if I had not written, and if you
had previously heard the strange intelligence I am about to communicate, through any other channel.
" It is asserted in the ' Morning Post' of to-day, and I have before
received the same information from various people, that a bill is to
* Sophy, Mr. Holcroft's second daughter, had a little before been married
to Mr, Cole, a merchant at Exeter,
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be presented to the grand jury, containing a charge of high-treason
against thirteen persons, of whom I am one. As it is impossible
that either this or any other crime against the Government can be
proved on me (my principles and practice having been so totally
opposite to such supposed crimes), I hope, and most seriously
recommend, that you will feel the same tranquillity I do. The
charge is so false and so absurd, that it has not once made my
heart beat. For my own part, I feel no enmity against those who
endeavour thus to injure m e ; being persuaded, that in this, as in
all other instances, it is but the guilt of ignorance. They think
they are doing their duty: I will continue to do mine, to the very
utmost of my power; and on that will cheerfully rest my safety.
I must again conjure you to feel neither alarm nor uneasiness.
Uemember the most virtuous of men are liable to be misunderstood,
and falsely accused. But the virtuous man has no need to fear
accusation. If it be true that my name is in the indictment, it will
oblige me again to defer the happiness of seeing you, and the hope
of recruiting my health by the excursion. Of the latter it is true
I have need, and to be a witness of your happiness would give me
no small pleasure: but the man of fortitude knows how to submitto all necessities; and, if he be wiser frequently to turn events
which others consider as most disastrous, to some beneficent end.
Shall I own to you, that though I could not wish to be falsely
accused, yet being so accused, I now feel an anxious desire to be
heard ? Let my principles and actions be inquired into, and published : if they have been erroneous, let them become moral lessons
to others ; if the reverse, the instruction they will afford may more
effectually answer the same purpose. I hope, Sophy, you know
something of m e ; endeavour to communicate what you know to
Mr. Cole, and your mutual fears will then surely be very few.
Observe that, as I have yet received no notice whatever from
Government, I have the above intelligence only from report. If
it be false, I shall soon be with you; if the contrary, you of course
will hear from me the moment I have any thing to communicate. Be happy, act virtuously, and disdain to live the slaves of
fear.
"Newman Street, Sept. 30. 1794."
:
On the same day he sent the following letter to the " Morning
Post," which was published the next day.

163

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

To the Editor of the " Morning Post."
"SIR,

" In your paper of yesterday, my name is mentioned among
those said to be inserted in a bill to be presented to a grand jury
on Thursday next, containing charges of high-treason. If this be
the fact, I have no wish to influence the public opinion by a
previous affirmation of my own innocence: I desire only to appear
before my country. However, as I have not been a day absent
from home for more than twelve months, and never received from
any magistrate the least intimation of any suspicion against me,
till I have official notice, my own consciousness obliges me to consider your intelligence as unfounded.
" In either case, it is a duty I owe myself to declare that I am
now, and always shall be, ready to answer every accusation."
The see-saw of contradictory reports continued for some days.
A daily paper asserted, and it is professed with authority, that the
rumour of Mr. Holcroft's being included in the indictment was
absolutely false; and a friend, who had determined (should it
prove true) to give him every aid in his power, quitted town the
very day before the bill was returned. Mr. Holcroft was preparing
to do the same. Not only he, indeed, but all his friends had concluded that the report would prove false, it being so excessively
improbable. In this mistake he remained till Monday, October
6th, at three in the afternoon ; when another friend came running
to inform him that he had that moment come from Hicks's Hall,
where he had heard an indictment for high-treason read against
twelve persons, of whom he was one. Mr. Holcroft's sensations
were of a kind not easily to be described; but he neither felt excessive indignation, excessive alarm, nor any of those passions
which might perhaps have been excusable in his situation.
The friend who had brought the intelligence, felt less determined.
He was a man of an acute mind, but a lawyer ; and knowing the
equivocal spirit of law, and the hazard incurred from the ignorance
or prejudice even of the best-intentioned jurymen, he advised immediate flight. Mr. Holcroft had, however, no great difficulty in
convincing him that his resolution was taken. He had now to
communicate the event with as much caution as possible to his
family. And here he had a most painful scene to undergo. His
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MEMOIRS OF

father (who was now with him), in a passionate burst of tears?
entreaties, and exclamations, conjured him to fly. His age, and
the circumstances in which he had lived, rendered him a very unfit
counsellor for such an occasion; and the only means Mr. Holcroft
had of calming his agitated spirits, was by the firmness of his own
behaviour, his declared resolution to face his accusers, and, by
'appealing to his own knowledge of him, how far it was possible he
should be guilty*
The intrepidity of his behaviour inspired his parents and children
with courage. He thought it prudent, however, to leave them, that
he might consult with his own mind, and writh some friends, concerning the properest mode of surrendering himself; and learning
that the court was to meet the next day at Hicks's Hall, he went
to the house of his solicitor and friend, Mr. Foulkes, where, with
some other persons, he supped. He did not return home, but slept
here.
The next morning he appeared in court, accompanied by his
solicitor and another gentleman of the law ; where, as soon as the
business of the court would permit, he thus addressed himself to
Lord Chief Justice Eyre.
Mr. Holcroft. " My lord, being informed that a bill for hightreason has been preferred against me, Thomas Holcroft, by his
majesty's Attorney-General, and returned a true bill by a grand
jury of these realms, I come to surrender myself to this court, and
my country, to be put upon my trial, that, if I am a guilty man?
the whole extent of my guilt may become notorious ; and, if innocent, that the rectitude of my principles and conduct may be no
less public. And I hope, my lord, there is no appearance of
vaunting in assuring your lordship, this court, and my country,
that, after the misfortune of having been suspected as an enemy to
the peace and happiness of mankind, there is nothing on earth
after which, as an individual, I more ardently aspire than a full,
fair, and public examination. I have further to request, that
your lordship will inform me, if it be not the practice in these
cases to assign counsel, and to suffer the accused to speak in his
own defence ? Likewise, whether free egress and regress be not
allowed to such persons, books, and papers, as the accused or his
counsel shall deem necessary for justification ? "
Chief Justice. " With regard to the first, sir, it will be the
duty of the court to assign you counsel, and also to order that

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

165

such counsel shall have free access to you at all proper hours.
With respect, sir, to the liberty of speaking for yourself, the ae*
cused will be fully heard by himself, as well as by his counsel;
but with regard to papers, books, and other things of that kind, it
is impossible for me to say anything precisely, until the thing
required be asked. However, sir, you may depend upon it, every*
thing will be granted to the party accused, so as to enable him to
make his defence. If I understand you rightly, you now admit
that you are the person standing indicted by the name of Thomas
Holcroft."
Mr. Holcroft
" That, indeed, my lord, is what I cannot affirm
— I have it only from report."
Chief Justice. "You come here to surrender yourself; and I
can only accept of that surrender on the supposition that you are
the person so indicted. You know the consequence, sir, of being
indicted for high-treason. I shall be under the necessity of ordering
you into custody. I would not wish to take any advantage of your
coming forward in person, indiscreetly, in this manner, without
being called upon by the ordinary processes of the law. You should
have a moment to consider whether you surrender yourself as that
person."
Mr. Holcroft. " I t is certainly not my wish, either to inflict
upon myself unnecessary punishment, or to put myself in unnecessary danger. I come only as Thomas Holcroft, of Newman
Street, in the county of Middlesex,; and I certainly do not wish to
stand more forward than an innocent person ought to stand."
Chief Justice. " I cannot enter into this point. If you admit
yourself to be the person indicted, the consequence must be, that
I must order you to be taken into custody to answer this charge.
I do not know whether you are or are not Thomas Holcroft. I
do not know you; and therefore it is impossible for me to know
whether you arc the person stated in the indictment."
Mr. Holcroft. " It is equally impossible for me, my lord."
Chief Justice. "Why then, sir, I think you had better sit still.
—- Is there anything moved on the part of the Crown with respect
to this gentleman ? "
Solicitor-General.
" M y lord, as I consider him to be the
person against whom a true bill is found, I move that he be committed."
Chief Justice. " I do not know how many persons there may
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MEMOIKS OF

be of the name of Thomas Holcroft: it would be rather extraordinary to commit a person on this charge, if we do not know
him."
This produced a short consultation between the Solicitor-General,
the other counsel for the Crown, and Mr. White. They were evidently surprised, and not pleased, at his appearance; and one of
them, Mr. Knapp, began an argument to prove that he admitted
himself to be the person indicted. He was interrupted by the
Chief Justice, who again asked if the counsel for the Crown
thought fit to move • that he should be committed ? which was accordingly moved by the Solicitor-General; and he was taken into
custody by a sheriffs officer, Mr. Cawdron.
After naming Messieurs Erskine and Gibbs for his counsel, Mr.
Holcroft asked the bench whether he might be allowed an amanuensis, while he was preparing his defence ; but this request was
declined by the Chief Justice, unless it was urged on the score of
health. Mr. Holcroft was really in a state of ill-health; but as
rthat was not his motive for asking it, he would not take advantage
*of this circumstance.
The court then adjourned ; but he was detained three quarters
of an hour: the reason assigned was, that the warrant was making
'.out; but Mr. Holcroft believed the true reason to be, that the
Crown lawyers were consulting how he was to be treated, and
sending to the higher powers for instructions.
About half-past one o'clock the same day, a person came to Mr.
Holcroft's house in Newman Street, inquired if he was at home,
and seemed at first unwilling to tell his business. He said he came
from Mr. Munden; but afterwards owned he was not a friend of
Mr. Munden, but pretended that he had been with him to inquire
Mr. Holcroft's place of abode. He repeatedly asked the Miss Holcrofts if they were sure he was not at home; and they by this
time suspecting him to be an officer, replied, he might search the
house, though he might be assured their father was not at home,
for that he had never taught them to tell untruths ; and to prove
their sincerity, added, that he was gone to the Privy Council to
surrender himself. "No," answered he; "that he certainly is not;
for I am but just come from the Privy Council" He then showed
his watch, that they might take notice it was half-past one o'clock.
Mr. Holcroft's daughters replied, that they might be mistaken,
and if so, that he was gone to the Old Bailey. Being now under-

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

167

stood to be a messenger, they asked if he intended to come in and
take their father's papers; for, on showing his authority, he was
at liberty to make any search. He replied, that there ivas quite
sufficient without the papers; after which, he went away, saying,
that if the accused had surrendered himself, it would save him
trouble.
These circumstances being related to Mr. Holcroft, led him to
believe that a messenger had been despatched from Hicks's Hall
to the Privy Council; and that to preserve the decorum of authority, this person had then been sent to his house: for the effrontery
of surrendering himself was by his prosecutors and their partisans
thought intolerable.
After waiting a considerable time, the warrant at length appeared,
and the prisoner was attended to Newgate by the officer and one
of the under-sheriffs; both of. whom behaved to him with great
politeness. Here, instead of being committed to close confinement,
like the other persons accused, he was allowed the same liberty of
walking in the court-yard, and visiting his fellow-prisoners, which
is granted to persons confined for inferior crimes.
The step which Mr. Holcroft had taken, as soon as it was
known, excited the admiration of his friends, and probably of his
enemies ; though the latter were careful to keep this feeling within
their own bosoms. The hireling prints of the day immediately
began to pour out their dastardly sneers and mechanical abuse
against him, converting an act of true fortitude, arising from conscious integrity, into the vapouring of a hypocrite, who wished
to gain the rej)utation of courage without the risk. The following paragraph appeared two days after in the " St. James's Chronicle:"—
" Mr. Holcroft, the playwright and performer, pretty well
known for the democratical sentiments which he has industriously
scattered through the lighter works of literature, such as plays,
novels, songs, &c, surrendered himself on Tuesday at Clerkenwell
Sessions House, requesting to know if he was the person against
whom the grand jury had found a bill for high-treason. After
some little altercation, in which Mr. Holcroft seemed to affect some
consequence, he was ordered into custody. This gentleman seems
so fond of speechifying, that he will probably plead his own cause
in part, though counsel were assigned to him.
We do not understand he is in any imminent danger ; and suppose, from his be-

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MEMOIRS OF

haviour, he has the idea of obtaining the reputation of a martyr'
to Liberty at an easy rate. We have that respect for some efforts
of his talents, that we really hope his vanity will be gratified with
having run the danger, without suffering the punishment, of a
traitor ! "
What a pleasant kind of Government that must be, which is so
fond of playing at this mock tragedy of indictments for hightreason with any person who wishes to gain popularity at their
expense, that the danger arising from their prosecutions is made a
subject of jest and buffoonery even by their own creatures! This
miserable scribbler seems not to have been aware, that while he
was accusing Mr. Holcroft of vanity and shallow cunning, he was
bringing the most serious charge against the ministers; as if
they trifled with the life and character of an individual on such
absurd and improbable evidence, that not only the person him*
self, but every one else, must laugh at his supposed danger. It
was, however, in consequence of this fine opportunity, thoughtlessly afforded him by his prosecutors, for ensuring popularity " at
an easy rate," that Mr. Holcroft was afterwards shunned by numbers of plain, well-meaning people, who were persuaded that hightreason was a serious thing; that he was branded as " an acquitted
felon;" that he became a mark for venal pens and slanderous
tongues; that he met with continued unrelenting hostility in his
attempts to succeed as a dramatic writer; that he was at last
driven from his country as a proscribed man; that when abroad
he was singled out, suspected, and pointed at as a spy; and that
after he returned home, harassed by repeated disappointment, he
closed a life of literary labour and active benevolence, with a fear
that his name might remain as a blot upon his family after his
death. And all this, because Mr. Holcroft had, by some strange
accident, through sport or wantonness, been included in an indictment for high-treason : for his innocence was so notorious, that at
the time he delivered himself up, he was insulted by the partisans
of the minister for having wished to purchase the reputation of a
martyr at an easy rate; and that he was afterwards acquitted without being even brought to a trial, there not being the least evidence, or shadow of evidence, against him. Mr. Holcroft was not
only not called upon to make any defence, but he was prevented
from making one, as altogether unnecessary and impertinent, the

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

169

prosecution against him having been withdrawn. Could a prosecution of this kind reflect real disgrace on the person so accused,
and so acquitted ?
Locked within the walls of Newgate, Mr. Holcroft had full time
for meditation. His first duty was to defend himself by showing
the falsehood of the accusation ; but it was a duty which at this
time he knew not how to discharge. He had no documents, nor
could he tell of what he was accused.
He had remained in this suspense a few days, when Mr. Kirby,
the keeper of Newgate, one morning came, desired that he would
follow him; and led him through the otherwise impassable gates to
an apartment in his own house. Here he was introduced to
Mr. White, the solicitor for the Treasury, and his two clerks;
and this gentleman presented him with the indictment, a list of
witnesses, and another list of the jurymen summoned for these
trials; informing him at the same time that the Crown would
grant as many subpoenas, without expense, as he should think
proper to demand. Mr. Holcroft received" the indictment, bowed,
withdrew, and was reconducted to the place of confinement.
His eagerness to examine the charges brought against him, the
list of the witnesses who were his accusers, and the names of the
persons by some of whom he was to be tried, was great; so was
the astonishment he felt after examining the papers. He was indicted with eleven other persons in the same bill, for whose actions
he was to answer, when or wheresoever committed, though totally
without his knowledge or participation. There was not a specific
statement of any one action of the prisoner; but general affirmations concerning the collective actions of twelve men, together
with other unknown conspirators, which, with regard to himself at
least, he knew to be absolutely, and without exception, false. A
promiscuous list of 208 witnesses was also given him, nine-tenths
of whom were utter strangers to him in person, abode, and even
name; and of whom not one had any possible charge to bring
against him. Yet he was left, out of all this inexplicable confusion, to conjecture (if he could) who were his accusers, and of
what they were to accuse him. Mr. Holcroft intended to have
entered a protest to this effect against the indictment; but he was
overruled by his counsel.
The Tuesday following, the trials began. " And perhaps this

170

MEMOIRS OP

country," says Mr. Holcroft " never witnessed a moment more
portentous. The hearts and countenances of men seemed pregnant with doubt and terror. They waited, in something like a
stupor of amazement, for the fearful sentence on which their deliverance, or their destruction, seemed to depend. Never surely
was the public mind more profoundly agitated. The whole power
of Government was directed against Thomas Hardy: in his fate
seemed involved the fate of the nation, and the verdict of Not
Guilty appeared to burst its bonds, and to have released it from
inconceivable miseries, and ages of impending slavery. The acclamations of the Old Bailey reverberated from the furthest shores of
Scotland, and a whole people felt the enthusiastic transports of
recovered freedom."
Though no person partook more largely than Mr. Holcroft of
the general joy, it was not on his own account. I t was a conviction which he could not get from his mind, that his accusers
had never any intention of producing evidence against him. Yet,
knowing how dangerous it might be to be found unprepared, he
had laboured at his defence with the same ardour as if he were
sure of being brought to trial; and the belief that he should not,
was the only thought that gave him pain. To be thus publicly
accused, and not as publicly heard; to have it supposed through
the kingdom that he was involved in transactions which, though
surely not treasonable, were such as he could not but highly disapprove, and of which he never heard till the reports of the Secret
Committee were published,—this was an evil which he would have
given his right hand to have avoided. After the trial of Mr.
Tooke, he plainly foresaw that he should not be called upon for
his defence. He hoped, however, that he should be permitted to
state a few simple facts concerning himself in the open court : but
neither was this allowed him.
Mr. Holcroft was committed to Newgate on the 7th of October,
where he remained eight weeks within a day. On Saturday,
November the 29th, he received the following notice: —
" T H E KING against THOMAS HARDY, and others.
a

I am directed, by Mr. Attorney-General, to inform you that
it is his intention that you should be brought to the bar at the Old
Bailey on Monday morning next; and that a jury should then be

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

171

sworn for your trial, but that he does not propose to give evidence
against you upon this indictment.
"JOSEPH WHITE,

" Solicitor for the Crown,
" To Thomas Holcroft, one of the defendants
29th Nov. 1794.
in the above indictment."
On Monday, December 1st, Mr. Bonney, Mr. Kyd, Mr. Joyce,
and Mr. Holcroft, were put to the bar ; and, in the language of the
court, honourably acquitted. The other gentlemen bowed, and retired : Mr. Holcroft attempted to speak, and the Chief Justice
seemed at first willing that he should go on, though a thing not
customary ; but Mr. Holcroft having intimated that he should detain the court nearly half an hour, he was immediately ordered to
withdraw. Whether he was not wrong in expecting such a favour,
and consequently in subjecting himself to a refusal, I will not here
pretend to determine; but I confess it was a mistake, which men
in general may safely blame, for it proceeded from motives which
few persons are capable of feeling.
The chief circumstances which Mr. Holcroft meant to have
stated in the defence he had drawn up, were, that his prosecutors
had proof that, instead of being a traitor, a mover of war and rebellion, and a killer of kings, he was a man whose principles and
practice were the very reverse. That evidence to this effect had
been given before the Privy Council; and that there was no evidence whatever that he was in any instance a disturber of the
public peace. That in the Constitutional Society of which he was
a member, and under pretence of which he had been indicted
for high-treason, he was theoretically the adversary of all force
whatever; and that practically he concurred with the members
who were most desirous of promoting reform, in urging that it
must be by the peaceable means of persuasion, by the conviction
of the understanding, not by force of arms. The proofs which Mr.
Holcroft had of these particulars were the evidence of Mr. Sharp,
the engraver, and Mr. Symmonds. Mr. Holcroft having written
to Mr. Sharp, desiring an account of his examination, received the
following answer :
" Cop?/ of my [that is, Mr. Sharp's'] testimony, tvhich I signed at
the Privy Council.
" The Society for Constitutional Information adjourned, and left

172

MEMOIRS OF

the delegates in the room. The most gentleman-like person (of
the Corresponding Society) took the chair, and talked about an
equal representation of the people, and of putting an end to war.
Holcroft talked about the powers of the human mind."
"This," says Mr. Sharp, " i s the whole that I signed. The
other particulars of the conversation before the Privy Council are
as follows:—
" Mr. Holcroft talked a great deal about peace, of his being
against any violent or coercive means, that were usually resorted
to against our fellow creatures; urged the more powerful operation of philosophy and reason to convince man of his errors ; that
he would disarm his greatest enemy by those means, and oppose
his fury. — Spoke also about truth being powerful; and gave
advice to the above effect to the delegates present, who all seemed
to agree, as no person opposed his arguments. This conversation
lasted better than an hour, and we departed. The next time the
delegates mety Holcroft was not present. This is the substance of
what I remember of that conversation."
Mr. Sharp was again examined before the grand jury, and this
was his evidence. " I mentioned Mr. Holcroft's disposition and
conversation, when we met, about reasoning men out of their
errors, who was a sort of natural Quaker, and was for the peace^
able means that philosophy and reason point out to convince mankinds He was against violence of all kinds; but did not believe
in the secret impulses of the Spirit, like the Quakers."
The evidence of Mr. Symmonds was to the same purpose. Mr.
Adams, also, the secretary of the Constitutional Society, had
several times declared his utter astonishment that Mr. Holcroft
in particular could be indicted; because of the repeated and ardent
manner in which he and every body had heard him declare his
sentiments in favour of peace and non-resistance.
. On evidence like this was Mr. Holcroft indicted and committed
to prison as guilty of high-treason.
The only circumstance which seems to throw any light on this
mysterious transaction, which resembles a dream, or the extravagance of a bewildered imagination, rather than any thing real, is
the following. Some months before the presenting the bill of
indictment, Mr. Holcroft had called, with another friend, on Mr.
Sharp, who had been apprehended, but was suffered to remain in
his own house in the custody of an officer. Mr. Holcroft made

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

173

some remarks intimating his dislike of violence. This the officer,
who was a king's messenger, but of a lower and more illiterate
order, seemed to feel as an attack upon his profession ; and turning
to Mr. Holcroft, whom he no doubt conceived to be a dangerous
person, he affirmed t h a t h e had seen him at the meetings of the
Corresponding Society. This was denied ; and he again asserted
he had seen him there. T h e man who could imagine and per-^
sist in one falsehood, might imagine and persist in another. On
his repeating his assertion, Mr. Holcroft said to him, < e It is a
wicked lie, s i r ! " T h e man afterwards said, that if he had not seen,
him at t h e Corresponding Society, he had seen him at Mr. T h e l wall's l e c t u r e s ; to which Mr. Holcroft replied, that he had been
present once, and never b u t once, at a lecture delivered b y
M r . Thelwall. This short scene was, however, construed into a
design to affront the officer, produce violence, and favour the
escape of Mr. Sharp ; over whom, on the man's reporting this tale
a t t h e P r i v y Council, a double guard was placed the n e x t day.
Such is the history of the share which M r . Holcroft had in the
trials for high-treason.*
* The remainder of Mr. Holcroft's pamphlet is taken up with letters to different persons concerned in the prosecution, and the larger defence which he had
prepared in case he should be brought to a trial. They evidently show more
virtue, firmness, and honesty, than prudence or management, and denote some*
thing of the raised tone of the public mind. In the letter to Erskine, which is
a truly eloquent composition, the following trait is mentioned. While Erskine
was examining the spy Alexander, who, had he not been detected, might have
sworn away the life of Hardyj this eminent barrister, observing his downcast
countenance, and suddenly interrupting him, exclaimed—"Loqk at the jury,
sir! Don't look at me. I have seen enough of you."
Mr. Holcroft, in the second part of his defence, labours the point of a parliamentary reform'; and among other proofs of the corrupt state of representation,
cites the following curious one
"The borough of Gatton, within these two years, was publicly advertised for
sale by auction : not sold for a single parliament; but the fee simple of the
borough, with the power of nominating the two representatives, for ever. On
the day of sale, the celebrated auctioneer scarcely noticed the value of the estate.
The rental, the mansion, the views, the woods and waters, were unworthy regard,
compared to what he called an elegant contingency! Yes, the right of nominating
two members to parliament, without the embarrassment of voters, was an elegant
contingency! 'Need I tell you, gentlemen/ said he, glancing round the room
with ineffable self-satisfaction, and exulting in what he called ' the jewel, the
unique, which was under his hammer ; need I tell you, gentlemen, that this
elegant contingency is the only infallible source of fortune, titles, and honours* in
this happy country ? That it leads to the highest situations in the state ? And
that, meandering through the tempting sinuosities of ambition, the purchaser
will find the margin strewed with roses, and his head quickly crowned with those

174

MEMOIRS

OF

C H A R IV.
MR. HOLCROFT may be considered from this time as a public character ; for the remainder of his life in a great measure received
its colour from his conduct on this occasion, and from the opinion
and feelings of the public with respect to him. These were, of
course, much divided. That he had been accused of high-treason,
was sufficient to.draw forth the hatred, execrations, and unqualified
abuse of one party; that he was an object of the open and rankling
animosity of this party, was in like manner the cause of the favour
he received from the violent and vulgar of the opposite party. But
there was a third class of persons, inferior in number, as they
necessarily would be, of whom Mr. Holcroft might perhaps be considered as the head, namely, those who being detached either by
inclination or situation from the violence of either party, admired
him for the firmness and honesty of his behaviour, and for the bold
but benevolent tendency of his principles. His principles, indeed,
were of such a kind, that they could not but strike and win upon
the admiration of young and ingenuous minds, of those whose
hearts are warm, and their imaginations strong and active, and
whose generous and aspiring impulses seem almost to demonstrate
the efficacy of disinterested and enlightened motives over the
human mind, till it is hardened, depressed, distorted from its
original direction, and bowed down under the yoke of example and
prejudice. In this view of the subject, indeed, we should be
tempted to assert, that men do not become what by nature they are
meant to be, but what society makes them. The generous feelings
and higher propensities of the soul are, as it were, shrunk up,
seared, violently wrenched, and amputated, to fit us for our intercourse with the world, something in the manner that beggars maim
and mutilate their children, to make them fit for their future situation in life.
precious garlands that flourish in full vigour round the fountain of honour ? On
this halcyon sea, if any gentleman who has made his fortune in either of the
Indies chooses once more to embark, he may repose in perfect quiet. No hurricanes to dread; no tempestuous passions to allay; no tormenting claims of
insolent electors to evade ; no tinkers' wives to kiss ; no impossible promises to
make ; none of the toilsome and not very clean paths of canvassing to drudge
through: but, his mind at ease and his conscience clear, with this elegant contingency in his pocket, the honours of the state await his plucking, and with its
emoluments his purse will overflow."

THOMAS HOLCEOET.

175

That love of truth and virtue which seems at all times natural to
liberal-minded youth, was at this time carried to a pitch of
enthusiasm, as well by the extraordinary events that had taken
place, as by the romantic prospects of ideal excellence which were
pictured in the writings of philosophers and poets. A new world
'was opening to the astonished sight. Scenes, lovely as hope can
paint, dawned on the imagination : visions of unalloyed bliss lulled
r
the senses, and hid the darkness of surrounding objects, rising in
bright succession and endless gradations, like the steps of that
ladder which was once set up on the earth, and whose top reached
do heaven. Nothing was too mighty for this new-begotten hope:
and the path that led to human happiness seemed as plain, as the
pictures in the " Pilgrim's Progress " leading to Paradise. Imagination was unable to keep pace with the gigantic strides of
xeason, and the strongest faith fell short of the supposed reality.
This anticipation of what men were to become, could not but have
a n influence on what they were. The standard of morality was
raised high: and this circumstance must excite an ardent emulation in the minds of many persons to set an example of true and
disinterested virtue, unshackled by the prejudices or interests of
those around them. The curb of prudence was taken off; nor was it
thought that a zeal for what was right could be carried to an excess.
'There is no doubt that this system would be taken advantage of by
t h e selfish and hypocritical to further their own views at the
expense of others; but it is equally certain that it would add new
force to the practice of virtue in the liberal and well-disposed
mind.
Kind feelings and generous actions there always have been, and
there always will be, while the intercourse of mankind shall endure:
but the hope, that such feelings and such actions might becpme
universal, rose and set with the French Revolution. That light
seems to have been extinguished for ever in this respect. The
.French Revolution was the only match that ever took place
"between philosophy and experience: and waking from the trance
-of theory to the sense of reality, we hear the words, truth, reason,,
virtue, liberty, with the same indifference or contempt, as the
man who has married a jilt or a termagant, listens to the rhapsodies of lovers.*
* The above passage was written in a state of perfect security against the
return of that pleasant phrase, divine right. Every thing is by comparison.

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MEMOIRS

OF

The " Narrative of Facts " was shortly after followed by the
" Letter to Mr. Windham," in consequence of the expression
" acquitted felon," applied by him to the persons lately tried. This
letter is written in the spirit of a philosopher addressing a philosopher. It is certainly one of the best productions of the day. It
is temperate, firm, acute, and forcible. Of the spirit in which it is
written, equally remote from insipid affectation or vulgar abuse,
the introductory paragraph may be given as an example. It is as
follows :—
'«

SIR,

" The Members of the House of Commons have arrogated
to themselves many customs and privileges ; which they consider,
some as rights to indulge in parliamentary invective, and others,
as limitations to those rights. Personalities affecting members of
that house are contrary to order; but men, unprotected by the
sanctified walls of St. Stephen's Chapel, may be the objects of
assertions, which, if made anywhere else, would subject the authors
of them to such correction as the law affords ; or as honour, half
idiot, half demon, demands. For my own part, I should never
attempt to unsheath the sword of the law, much less the sword of
the assassin: at least, if it were possible to oblige me to the
former, the case must indeed be extreme. Under such defence as
the law affords, I have been, and may again be obliged to shield
myself against false charges; for I have no better public protection. But that a man of keen sensibility, and quick apprehension,
whose distinctions and discriminations are frequently so fine
drawn, and so shaded, that, like colours in the rainbow, their
mingled differences cannot be discerned; that a man who labours
to be so cautious in his logic, should so often be hurried into the
spleen of a cynic, the rashness of a boy, and the petulance of a
child, is something extraordinary. There may be many such
characters, but they are seldom so situated as to obtrude themselves so frequently and forcibly as you have done into public
notice. However, when they do, they are well worthy the attention of the politician and the philosopher, the man of business and
the man of science. My purpose in this address is not to write a
libel, or to display my talents for satire. It has a more worthy
purpose. It is to warn you and the nation against the effervescence of your passions. The intemperance of public men is

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

177

tremendously awful at all times; but when it plunges millions into
all the miseries of war, it rises into inexpressible horror. It is
strange, that from real benevolence of intention, mischiefs which
fable ascribes to fiends should be the result. Yet this apparent
paradox has of late been too repeatedly, and too carefully, proved.
You, sir, and that extraordinary man, Mr. Burke, whose kind but
erroneous heart, whose splendid but ill-employed talents, have led
you astray, are among the examples."
It was not my intention to have troubled the reader with any
further remarks on the subject of the trial; but there is one passage in Mr. Holcroft's letter which exposes the sophistry and the
injustice of the phrase, which is the subject of it, in so clear and
masterly a manner, that I cannot forbear quoting it.
" Figure to yourself, sir, the first on the, list of these ' acquitted
felons,' Hardy. What were his views ? What his incitements ? A
man of no learning, excellent in his morals, simple in his manners,
and whether they were wise or foolish, highly virtuous in his intentions. Do you imagine he meant to make himself prime minister ? Were these the marks of a prime minister ? Had he the
daring spirit, the deep plans, and the towering genius of a .Cromwell ? No one will affirm things so extravagant. He was a good
and an active man in his endeavour to procure a parliamentary
reform. This he thought, and I think, would have been the
greatest of public blessings. For this he was tried, and declared
Not Guilty. The whole country rang with the verdict, and the
affections of the people were divided between joy at his deliverance and their own, and the contemplation of an innocent man
who had so long been in danger of the most dreadful and barbarous death the merciless law decrees. Compare such a man to
an ' acquitted felon,' who has escaped by the means you have
enumerated: a man, who so far from exciting the benevolent
wishes of a whole people, keeps all who ever heard his name in a
state of dread, lest he should meet them on the highway, or break
into their houses by night, and murder them in their sleep. Some
such action, perhaps many such, he has already committed. At
last he is taken; and knowing no better mode, they hope by his
death to be freed from their fears. They are disappointed: a flaw
in the indictment, a misnomer, or some technical blunder is committed : he is set free, and they are again subject to his depredations, and to all their former terrors. Will you affirm, sir, that
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there are any common qualities, any kindred sympathies, any
moral resemblance, between such a man and Thomas Hardy? —
Whatever the feelings of the people of England were before these
trials, be assured they cannot now endure a repetition of such
odious falsehoods. You could not be then ignorant of the public
sentiment, and in your burning haste to do right you could not be
guilty of this intolerable wrong, were your imagination less heated,
and your intercourse with different ranks of people more general.
You may perhaps now and then hear a dissentient voice; but you
usually mix with men, who, like the parrot educated on board a
man-of-war, can only repeat the same outrages and the same insults. You hear nothing else, and nothing else can you say.
Would, sir, you would keep better company!"
The very just distinction which Mr. Holcroft draws between
the errors of such men as Pitt and Dundas, who were actuated
almost entirely by interest and ambition, and those of men, like
Burke or Windham*, who were actuated almost entirely by imagination, system, and reasoning, shows that the letter-writer himself was not a vulgar politician, joining in the common cry of a
party.
* Though the character of Mr. Windham, as a statesman and orator, was less
developed at that time than it has been since, it seems to have been justly appreciated by our author. He considered him as the disciple of Mr. Burke; and
it is certainly some distinction to be able to understand the arguments, and follow the enthusiastic nights, of that great but irregular mind. He is at present
(with one exception) the ablest speaker in the House of Commons; but he is
still, and ever will be, nothing more than an imitator of Burke. There is, in all
his speeches, an infinite fund of wit, of information, of reading, of ingenuity, of
taste, of refinement, of every thing but force and originality; but of these last,
there is a total absence. All is borrowed, artificial, cast like plaster figures in a
mould. The creations of his mind are as multiplied, and they are as brittle.
Perhaps it may be thought that the want of originality is the last thing which
should be objected to this delightful speaker, all whose sentences sparkle with
singularity and paradox. But this effect is equally mechanical with the rest.
Heal originality produces occasional, not systematic, paradox. He who always
waits to contradict others has no" opinion of his own. It is as easy to predict the
side which Mr. Windham will take on any question, as to guess what thefirstold
woman you meet would think on the same subject; for you may be sure that
his opinion will be the contrary of hers. His creed is a sort of antithesis to common sense, and he is as much the slave of vulgar prejudices in always opposing as if he always yielded to them. Originality consists in considering
things as they are, independently of what others think; singularity is mere common-place transposed. The one requires the utmost exercise of the judgment;
the other suspends the use of it altogether. [These remarks were written in
1810, before Mr. Windham's death.]

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

179

CHAP. V.
'•' LOVE'S FRAILTIES" came out in the beginning of 1794, at Covent

Garden. This play met with indifferent success, of which the
principal cause was a supposed allusion to political subjects in
some passages. One of these in particular excited the most violent
resentment: " A sentence in itself so true," says Mr. Holcroft, " as
to have been repeated under a thousand ditferent modes; and,
under a variety of forms and phraseology, to have been proverbial
in all countries." This obnoxious passage was the one in which
Craig Campbell, when insulted by a fashionable coxcomb, who
asks what profession he was bred to, says that " he was bred to
the most useless, and often the most worthless, of all professions,
that of a gentleman." In this comedy, the author has more pointedly than in any other, set up the claims of worth and virtue
against the arrogant assumptions of wealth and rank. That virtue
alone confers true dignity, has, however, been the common-place
theme of teachers of morality and religion in all ages. But such
at this time was the irritation of party feeling, that to exhibit the
force of this trite maxim on the stage seems to have been regarded as an innovation on common sense, and as big with the
seeds of social disorganisation.
" The Deserted Daughter," " The Man of Ten Thousand," " The
Force of Ridicule," and " Knave or Not," successively appeared in
1795, 1796, 1797, and 1798. The three last of these appeared at
Drury Lane. " The Deserted Daughter," and " He's much to
Blame," were acted at Covent Garden.
Of all these " The Deserted Daughter " was received with the
greatest applause, and it is perhaps the best of Mr. HolcrofVs
serious comedies. The characters of Mordent, of Lady Ann, and
particularly of the faithful old servant, Donald, are drawn with
great force and feeling. The character of Mordent is that of a
philosopher, moralising on the passions and vices of other men, and
hurried away by his own. He has abandoned, or refused to own,
a daughter, the offspring of a former clandestine marriage, in order
to avoid the sneers of'the world, and the contempt of the rich and
powerful connections of his second wife. He maintains and brings
her up as a natural daughter, but without seeing or acknowledging
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MEMOIRS OF

her. This the girl, who has a high spirit and quick sensibility,
resents as an unmerited punishment; and determines either to be
suffered to cast herself at her father's feet, and for once receive his
blessing, or to throw herself on the mercy of strangers. In consequence of this, she is decoyed into a house of ill-fame, by one of
the hoary priestesses of vice, under pretence of affording her employment at her needle; and here she is in danger of falling into
the hands of one of Mordent's profligate friends, who is himself
accessory to the plot for carrying her off, at the moment that, by
the indefatigable zeal of Donald, who had traced her to this abode
of infamy, she is discovered to be his daughter. The scenes which
follow this discovery are highly interesting; and through the whole
of the character of Mordent, the conflict between a sense of duty,
pride, and dissipation, is portrayed with strong touches of truth
and nature. Cheveril is a lively, amusing character, and represents,
with a good deal of risible effect, one of those careless, good-natured
young fellows who would be thought " sad wicked dogs," but cannot prevail on themselves to do any harm.
Dorington, " The Man of Ten Thousand," may be considered as
a benevolent Timon. After living in the most splendid and profuse
hospitality, he suddenly loses his immense wealth, and with it his
friends ; but he does not at the same time lose either his senses or
his philosophy. He preserves, in the midst of the most mortifying
reverses, the same calm dignity and evenness of mind. Great as
this effort of heroism is, it is managed in such a manner as not to
appear unnatural or extravagant. Olivia, his mistress, is by no
means so interesting a character. She is the blemish of the piece.
Her notions of virtue are too fastidious by half, and she exacts
conformity to her standard of perfection with a dogmatical severity which would scarcely sit well on a Stoic. Neither is her
behaviour explained to Dorington in so satisfactory a manner as it
ought to have been. The subordinate characters of Herbert and
Annabel are described with extreme tenderness and simplicity.
They exhibit an amiable picture of those qualities which often
spring directly from a guileless heart, without the artificial refinements of sentiment or reason. Hairbrain is a character of the same
school, and must have had a very good effect in the hands of
Bannister, who played it. Kemble and Miss Farren were the
representatives of Dorington and Olivia.
" Knave or Not," as well as " The Man of Ten Thousand," was

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

181

brought out at Drury Lane. Its success was not very flattering.
The advertisement prefixed by the author to the published playwill explain some of the reasons of this, as well as describe the
most striking features of the play itself.
" The unrelenting opposition, which the productions of the
author of the present comedy have experienced for several years,
is well known to those who pay attention to our public amusements.
It is not for him to pronounce how far this opposition has been
merited by inability. Since the appearance of ' The Road to Ruin/
his comedy of ' The Deserted Daughter' only has escaped; and
that, as he imagines, because it was not known on the first night
of its performance by whom it was written. < Love's Frailties/
' T h e Man of Ten Thousand,' and 'Knave or Not,' have sustained
increasing marks of hostility : so that the efforts made to afford
rational amusement to the public, emolument to the author, and
improvement to morals, have been rendered feeble, and almost
ineffectual. In the last instance, one mistake appears to have
pervaded the majority of the spectators. It was imagined that the
author himself was as unqualified a libeller of mankind as Monrose :
in which character the writer's individual sentiments were supposed
to have been incorporated. Those wrho have read his other works
cannot surely attribute to him any such indiscriminate misanthropy.
The accusation that has been most generally made against him is,
that he thinks men capable of gradations of virtue, which others
affirm they can never attain. Persons, who have made the human,
mind their study, have discovered that guilty men exert the whole
force of their faculties to justify their own course of action to themselves. To this principle the writer was strictly attentive in portraying the character of Monrose. His design was to draw a man
of genius, misled by his passions, reasoning on his actions, systematising them, condemning them in principle, but justifying them
in practice, and heating his imagination by contemplating the
crimes of others; that he might still retain that respect for himself, of which the strongest minds, even in the last stages of vice,
are so tenacious. How far that spirit of faction, commotion, and
anarchy, of which the author has long been, and is still, so vehemently accused, is to be traced in the present comedy, may now
be seen. Sincerely desirous of giving no offence, the passages
which were most disapproved, or, to speak more accurately, reprobated, on the first night, have since been omitted in representation;
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MEMOIRS OF

but they are printed between inverted commas, that the cool judgment may decide whether the author could have been so insane asactually to intend to inflame the spectators, and increase a spirit of"
enmity between men of different sentiments: whom could he reconcile, he would account it the most heart-consoling action of his life.
" Before the comedy appeared, all parties were anxious that nosentence or word should be spoken which could be liable to misrepresentation. Some few passages, therefore, are committed to
the press which never were spoken on the stage : particularly the
passage, where Monrose inquires into his qualifications for being
a lord. A few years ago, this would have been common-place
satire; and it is a subject of no little regret, that at present local
and temporary applications are so liable to be made where none
are intended."
The jealousy which was thus manifested of sentiments, either of"
liberty or public virtue, was perhaps as inconsiderate as it was
unjust. When the tragedy of " Cato" was first played, at a time
when party zeal ran high, the "Whigs applauded all the strong,
passages in the play, as a satire on the Tories; and the Tories,
were as loud in their applause as the Whigs, to show that the
satire was unfelt. But the li horrors " of the French Revolution,
were, it seems, to become a Medusa's shield to screen every species,
of existing vice or folly from the glance even of ridicule, and to
render them invulnerable and incorrigible. To stickle obstinately
for the abuses to which any system is liable is tacitly to identify
the system with the abuse.
In the characters of Susan and Jonas in this play, Mr. Holcroft,
has been guilty of that common vice among the authors of the,
present day, of trusting less to the characters themselves than to,
the persons who were to act them. They were well adapted to show:
the powers of acting in Mrs. Jordan, and Bannister, who might
probably make them amusing or interesting ; but they certainly
stand in need of this foreign aid to produce such an effect.
"He's much to Blame" was acted at Covent Garden in 1798>f
with great and deserved success. It is a truly elegant comedy.
The characters, particularly that of Sir George Versatile, are
amusing and original; and the situations, which arise in the progress of the story, give birth to some of the most natural and
delicate strokes of passion. The scene at the masquerade, where
Maria is discovered by Sir George, is perhaps the most striking^

THOMAS HOLCROET.

183

the unaffected and artless expression of her feelings produces an
effect which is irresistible. The easiness of Sir George's temper,,
and the facility with which he accommodates himself to other
people's humours, without any design or hypocrisy, are admirably
described. The passions are less strongly moved in this comedy
than in " The Deserted Daughter," but they are moved with less
effort, and with more pleasure to the reader. Neither has it any
thing like the same bustle and broad effect as " The Koad to Ruin: "
but in ease, lightness, and a certain graceful simplicity, neither
sinking into insipidity on the one hand, nor " o'erstepping the
modesty of nature" on the other, it is superior to almost every
other modern production. It is the finest specimen Mr. Holcroft
has left of his powers for writing what is commonly understood by
genteel comedy.
The comedy of " He's much to Blame" was offered to the theatre
in the name of a friend ; an artifice to which the author, notwithstanding his dislike to every species of insincerity, was obliged to
resort more than once.
He informs us, in a short advertisement, that he was indebted for
some hints in this play to " L e Complaisant" a French comedy^
and "The Clavigo" of Goethe.
" The Inquisitor," brought out soon after at the Haymarket, and
" The Old Clothesman," an after-piece, at Covent Garden, were
unsuccessful.

CHAP. VI.
HAVING brought Mr. Holcroft's literary history down to the time
when he left England, I shall throw together, in the present chapter, such private incidents as occurred within this period, and as<
have not been already noticed.
After the appearance of the comedy of "Duplicity," in 1782, Mr.
Holcroft left his house in Southampton Buildings, and went to live
in Marylebone Street. He afterwards hired a house, for a short
time, in Margaret Street, in conjunction with his friend, Bonneville.
In 1789, or the beginning of 1790, he removed into Newman
Street, where he continued till a short time before his going abroad,,
in 1799, when he took lodgings in Beaumont Street, near the New
Road.

184

MEMOIRS OF

In the year 1786, Mr, Holcroft first became acquainted with Mr.
Godwin. This friendship lasted for near twenty years. It was
broken off by an unhappy misunderstanding, some time after Mr.
Holcroft's return from the continent ; and they did not see each
other, in consequence of the coolness that took place, till they met
for the last time, a little before Mr. Holcroft's death.
It was Mr. Holcroft who reviewed Mr. Godwin's celebrated
work on Political Justice, in the " Monthly Review," 1793. It
may be supposed that the review was a favourable one. Mr.
Holcroft, at this time, constantly wrote articles in the " Monthly
Review," and was on friendly terms with Griffiths, the proprietor.
But, it seems, the latter was considerably alarmed at the boldness
of some of Mr. Godwin's principles, and still more staggered at the
accounts he had heard of them. He threw himself on Mr. Holcroft's known attachment to the interest of the Review, not to
commit its character by undeserved praise. Griffiths, however,
probably found soon after that the common-place character of the
Review had been endangered ; and the first opportunity was
seized to retrieve the mistake, by retracting their opinion hautemerit in the review of Mr. Malthus's publication.
The marriage of Mr. Holcroft's eldest daughter with Colonel
Harwood took place in the year 1796.
Immediately after his release from prison, in 1794, he hurried
into Devonshire to see his daughter (Sophy), whom he believed to
be dying. His apprehensions, however, were groundless. While
he remained in the country, he had a fall from a tree, which had
nearly proved fatal to him, and which brought on an occasional
palpitation of the heart, to which he was ever after subject, on
using any sudden or violent exertion. Mr. Holcroft had, some
years before, shortly after the appearance of " The Road to Ruin,"
been attacked by a paralytic affection, which he believed to have
been the effect of too severe and constant application. Indeed,
when we recollect the number and variety of Mr. Holcroft's productions, it is evident that either his facility or industry must have
been wonderful. Perhaps there is no instance of a man who
passed through so much literary drudgery in voluminous translations, &c, and who was, at the same time, continually employed
in the most lively efforts of the imagination. His resolute perseverance in pursuits so opposite, and apparently incompatible with
each other, is a proof both of the activity and steadiness of his mind.

THOMAS HOLCKOM.

185

The relaxations in which Mr. Holcroft indulged were few and
regular. He was fond of riding, and for some years kept a horse,
which had generally high blood in its veins. In 1787, he bought
a pony of his father, which he valued so highly, that he refused
to part with it for forty guineas. The French are not great equestrians ; and Mr. Holcroft one day amused himself, rather maliciously, in making a friend from Paris mount this pony, who was
extremely alarmed at the tricks he began to play, though he was
really in no danger.
Mr. Holcroft also belonged to a musical club, of which Shield,
Yilleneux, Crompton, Clementi, and Solomon were members.
From this he afterwards withdrew, on account of the expense
attending it.
His love for the arts sometimes subjected him to temptations
which were not consistent with strict economy. He once gave a
considerable sum of money for a couple of Cremona fiddles at a
sale, one of which he afterwards presented to his friend Shield.
It may be supposed, that that part of Mr. Holcroft's time which
he could spare from his studies, was chiefly devoted to the society of
literary friends. He, however, gave few dinner-parties, and those
were not ostentatious, and consequently not expensive. When a
friend dined with him, a bottle of wine was usually produced after
dinner; but, with respect to himself, he was extremely abstemious
in the use of liquor, and the habits of his friends were rather
those of philosophers than Bacchanalians. A little story, which
the mention of this subject has brought to my recollection, paints
the characteristic simplicity of Mr. Holcroft's father in an amusing
light. Shortly after Mr. Godwin's first acquaintance with Holcroft, he was invited to dine with him one day, when the old
gentleman was on a visit to his son. After dinner, Mr. Holcroft
happened to go out of the room, and, during his absence, Mr.
Godwin helped himself to a glass of wine. This was remarked as
a flagrant breach of the rights of hospitality by the old man, and
he took the first opportunity to caution his son against Mr. Godwin
" as a very bad man ; for that wThile he was out of the room, he,
Mr. Godwin, had taken the bottle, and, without saying any thing,
poured himself out a glass of wine." This laughable discovery
would hardly have been made, if considerable care and economy
had not generally characterised Mr. Holcroft's table. He seems,
indeed, to have observed, through his whole life, the greatest

186

MEMOIRS OF

moderation, even <to a degree of parsimony, in his mode of living.
The only extravagance with which he could reproach himself was
in the occasional gratification of that inordinate love which he had
for every thing connected with learning or the fine arts. A finetoned instrument, a curious book, or a masterly picture, were the
baits which luxury always held out to him, and to wrhich he sometimes imprudently yielded. He once bought a complete set of the
Fratres Poloni, though he did not understand the language in
which they wrote. Books and pictures were his chief articles of
expense: the former he might think necessary to his own pursuits
as an author, and the latter he looked upon as a lucrative speculation ; for it is not to be supposed that he often bought pictures,
unless he considered them as a bargain. The worst of it wras, that
the ardour of his mind for whatever he engaged in, and that confidence in his own judgment which is common to men of strong;
feelings and active minds, too frequently deceived him. Among
the purchases which Mr. Holcroft at this time made, was one
which he supposed to be the original picture of Sion House,
painted by Wilson. He was eager to show this prize to hisfriends, and to one in particular, who expressed some doubt of its.
genuineness. To this Mr. Holcroft replied, by pointing to a
touch in one part of the picture, which he said no copyist could
imitate. A few days after, however, he came to the same friend,
and told him that he had been right in his conjecture, for that he
had now got the real original, and that the other was but a copy^
He afterwards sold the copy to Bannister for five guineas. The
second purchase was a real Wilson, and one of the finest landscapes he ever painted.
Mr. Holcroft occasionally made excursions into different parts of
England, and once or twice went to see his father, who seldom
remained long in the same place. In 1788, he made a journey of
this kind to visit him at Haslington, in Cheshire. Of the particulars of this journey, Mr. Holcroft has left an amusing sketch in a
memorandum-book, which I shall here transcribe : —
*' May 2 4 ^ , 1788.—Received a letter from my father,—alarmed,
— supposed him dying. Went immediately to take coach. Set
out on the 25th, in the Manchester Commercial Coach for Haslington. An ignorant Cambridge scholar, a boorish country
attorney, a pert, travelled officer, a vain, avaricious, rheumatic old
woman, and a loving young widow. Dined at Holkliff, in company

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

187

with outside passengers. Pride of inside ones. Tea at Chapel
Brompton. A sandwich at Lutterworth. Widowr leaves the coach.
Quaker taken up at HincklifF; but four and twenty; conceived
fiimself a wit; rude to the old woman. Breakfast at Litchfield,
design my place to a distressed damsel, and ride outside to Stafford. Cankwood coal-pits. Tillage of Slade. Eemembrance of
former times ; youthful distresses; ass and coals blown down ; white
bread of Hugely; pottery journeys, &c. Pleasant banks of the
Trent. Various seats, parks, pleasure grounds, &c. Quaker takes
his glass at Stafford; becomes more talkative and rude, which he
supposes witty; is told he is carnally inclined, and becomes suddenly abashed. Such is the force of habit and education. Lose the
lawyer. Dine at Newcastle. Quaker listens to learned poetical
^discourse on unities, Shakspeare, Moliere, Boileau, Pope, G-resset,
Eousseau, Voltaire, Milton, &c, in raptures. Old woman displays
her whole stock of great discernment, i. e. vanity. Stop at Talk.
Waggon blown up ; concussion felt several miles. Ostler of Talk
o' the Hill going to see his sweetheart ; drove down the hill for
the waggoner; smith at work saw the gunpowder running out, and
called to lock the wheel, or the waggon would be blown up. Was
not heard, or it was impossible to stop the waggon. Horse's
shoe supposed to have struck fire, and caught the train. Body of
the ostler dismembered, and blown, with one of the horses, through
the wall of a house; his leg and arm found, some days after, under
the rubbish of a blown-down wall. All the horses killed. Many
women and children killed, others maimed ; the glass of the windows shivered into their faces and breasts ; their shrieks terrible.
Deep sands of Cheshire. New-built village of Wheelock, between
Haslington and Sandbach. Joy at finding my father in no danger.
Simple hospitality of farmer Owen. News of my arrival spread
through the village. Bashful, boorish curiosity. Village scandal.
Informed of the character of each individual; one accused of pride,
another of selfishness, drunkenness, &c. A brutal, broken butcher,
who had spent a good fortune, the pest and terror of the place.
Buns naked.at prison-bars in Crewe Park; is horse-whipped by
the squire's order. Informs against his brother Fox and farmer
Owen; confuted, and punished for having killed hares himself,
though unable to substantiate his own charge. Maims cattle, &c.
Js the terror of my father. Tricks of my father's landlord. Promises portions with his daughters, and, when married, tells the

183

MEMOIRS OF

husbands he will pay them the interest. Clerk of the parish, the
barber, cobbler, ostler, and musician of the village. Lady's maid,
returned from her travels, visits the village and her friends; speaks
gibberish ; is reported to understand languages better than myself.
Psalm-singing vanity of the clerk humbled. Village ideas of
London. Cheshire dairies. Excursion to Crewe Cottage. Poetic
ideas. Returned to write down some lines, nearly extempore.
Crewe 'and Sheridan. The first a great man among the neighbouring boors, and his own footmen ; the latter in the House of
Commons, among the first men in the nation, or in the world.
Welsh manners. Red woollen shirts. Sunday mirth. The women till the earth, the men sit and smoke. Goat's milk rich.
Went to Nantwich. Inscription on a house curiously built;
' Thomas Clease made this house in the X V I I I yeare of the
reane of our noble Queene Elezabeth.' Thomas Holcroft, a whitecooper, at Boscow, near Ormskirk. Richard Fairhurst, farmer in
the same neighbourhood, my father's first cousin. Dobson, his
uncle. My father born on Martin's Muir, removed to Sheepcote
Hills, went to school at Rudderford."
Mr. Holcroft's father lived in the latter part of his life near
Knutsford, where he had married again. Mr. Holcroft allowed
him 201. per annum, which, with a little shop and garden that he
kept, maintained him comfortably. He allowed 12Z. a year to his
wTidow after his death, which happened in 1797. A tombstone
was erected to his memory, by his son's desire, with the following
inscription : — "Here lies the body of Thomas Holcroft, who departed this life 1797, aged eighty. He was a careful father, a kind
husband, and an honest man." He was buried in Peavor churchyard, near Knutsford.
Mr. Holcroft's affairs soon after became considerably involved,
partly through the failure of the polygraphic scheme in which he had
foolishly embarked several hundred pounds; but chiefly from a run
of ill fortune at the theatre. He was obliged to sell his effects, books,
and pictures. These it may be supposed did not fetch near their
value ; and the parting with the two last, particularly his books,
Mr. Holcroft felt almost as the severing of a limb from the body.
His plan was to retire to the continent, both for the sake of
economy, and with a view to establish a literary correspondence,
and send over translations of such works as it might be advantageous either to the theatres or the booksellers to accept. Mr.

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

189

Holcroft left England for Hamburgh in May, 1799. Whether it
was just that a man who had unremittingly devoted his whole life
to literary and philosophical pursuits, who had contributed highly
to the public amusement, who had never entered into the intrigues
or violent feelings of any party, and whose principles necessarily
rendered him an inoffensive and peaceable member of society, whose
end was the good of mankind, and whose only weapon for promoting it was reason ; whether it was just that such a man should
become the victim of political prejudice, and because he had been
once made the subject of a false accusation, should be exposed to
unrelenting persecution afterwards from those who seemed to think
that unprovoked injury could only be expiated by repeated insult,
is a question which may at least admit of doubt in the minds of
most thinking persons.
Before Mr. Holcroft left England, he married Louisa, the
daughter of his friend Mercier. Of his marriage with this lady,
it is needless to say more at present, than that Mr. Holcroft found
all that happiness in it which he had promised himself from a
union with a young, sensible, accomplished, and affectionate wife.

CHAP. V I I .
O F that part of our author's life which includes the last two years
he spent in England before his going abroad, I am enabled to give
the reader a more satisfactory account from his own papers.
During almost the whole of this time he kept a diary ; and though
this diary is not filled with great events, or striking reverses of
fortune, it exhibits a perfect picture of the life, habits, and amusements of a literary man. It is my wish to bring the reader as
nearly acquainted as I can with the subject of these memoirs ; and
I know no better way of doing this, than by exhibiting in his own
words almost every thought or circumstance which passed through
his mind during the above period. From hence we may form some
notion of the rest. This diary will occupy a very disproportionate
space to the rest of the work ; but if it should be found tedious, I
shall have erred grievously in judgment. There are some personalities in the original which are omitted; and others which may
still be thought improper. But I believe no greater liberties are
taken with the names of living characters than are to be found

190

MEMOIRS OF

in " Boswell's Life of Johnson," and other sources of literary
anecdote.
Mr. Holcroft began his diary in June, 1798. — It is as
follows: —
" I have long felt a desire to keep memorandums of the common occurrences of life, and have now made a determination, which
I think will not easily be shaken, to keep a
"DIARY.—1798.
" June 22nd. — Called on Mr. Armstrong, relative to my disease ; advises me to take oil of almonds, and rhubarb. Called on
Mr. Shield; saw him : on Mr. and Mrs. Opie : both ill. Wrote to
Mr. Reynolds, bookseller, to settle the account; wrote to Mr. Colman, who called when I was out. Went to Debrett's : the opinion
of Mr. Weld is, that the force sent over by government will be
sufficient to quell the Irish insurrection for the present: believes
Dundas averse to the coercion used in that country, and to the
Beresfords, &c. R. Ad
says, Windham out of the house rails
at the Irish system, that Lord Fitz
, the D
D
, &c. are
averse to i t ; that the D
P
is for it, as well as that part of
the cabinet called the King's friends. Professor Porson dined with
me ; made, as usual, numerous amusing quotations, and, among the
rest, cited the following passage from Middleton's preface, as one
of the most manly, beautiful, and full of genius that he had ever
read:—'I persuade myself that the life and faculties of man, at the
best but short and limited, cannot be employed more rationally or
laudably than in the search of knowledge ; and especially of that
sort which relates to our duty, and conduces to our happiness. In
these inquiries, therefore, wherever I perceive any glimmering of
truth before me, I readily pursue and endeavour to trace it to its
source, without any reserve or caution of pushing the discovery too
far, or opening too great a glare of it to the public. I look upon
the discovery of any thing which is true as a valuable acquisition
to society ; which cannot possibly hurt or obstruct the good effect
•of any other truth whatsoever; for they all partake of one common
essence, and necessarily coincide with each other ; and like the
drops of rain, which fall separately into the river, mix themselves
at once with the stream, and strengthen the general current.' It
is indeed a noble and admirable passage. Porson maintained that

THOMAS HOLCROPT.

191

women are by nature and of necessity inferior to men; and that
whipping is beneficial to youth: on both which points I, to a very
considerable degree, differed with him ; but we rather declared an
opinion, than argued a question. Having drunk about a pint of
wine, he refused any more ; which determination I was pleased to
see. Mentioned the letters to Travis, and the orgies of Bacchus.
Quoted Foote (Smirk in ' The Minor'), and spoke of him, as he well
deserves, with rapture. Went in the evening to the billiard table,
but did not play. I go for exercise, because I find that walking
without a motive wearies, not recruits, the spirits ; but my rule is
never to play for more than a shilling, and never to bet, as I hold
gaming to be a detestable vice. I am obliged to play for something in compliance with the custom. Returned, and read a few
pages of Pennant's ' Tour in Scotland,' which I began this day.
" 23rd, — Wrote a scene in i Old Clothesman;' walked to see
Mr. Godwin ; conversed of my disease; he wished me to consult
Carlisle. Returned; wrote a letter to Mrs. Jordan, in behalf of
Mr. Watts. Conversed with Mr. Webb at Debrett's, on the moral
progress of mankind. Returned and saw Mr. Colman, from whom
I now first learnt that the prologue and epilogue to * The Inquisitor,'
advertised without my knowledge, and to be played this very night,
were written by the prompter, Mr. Waldron. Accompanied Fanny
two lessons, and went to billiards, played about a dozen games;
felt internal pains that warned me; felt my pulse, and found it
extremely quick; left off immediately; applied my thoughts to
calm the arterial action; walked gently home; giddy, and considerably affected; took medicine, and went to bed. Soon after received
accounts, that 4 The Inquisitor' was in part highly disapproved of
and ridiculed. Mr.
was of opinion that the story, notwithstanding, made a considerable impression upon the audience, which
he considered as an impartial one; and that, on the whole, the
feelings of the people were more for than against the play. In the
course of the day, read more of Pennant; the facts he collects are
useful, and some of them curious ; but his manner is disjointed,
confused, and therefore dull.
" 24th.—Worked about an hour at my opera ('Old Clothesman')
— Read Pennant — Went to Colman, who seems fearful I should
wish him to play. ' The Inquisitor' to his own disadvantage.
Agreed to omit certain passages the next night: when he first read
the play, his opinion was warmly in its favour ; he then thought it
o

192

MEMOIRS OF

perfectly safe. T h e ludicrous reception it met with from t h e
audience has changed his opinion. I have found the same effect
produced on others, on various occasions. M y opinion is t h a t it
was not the play which occasioned the laughter, but the manner of
performing it, aided by the gratification which the flippancy of
criticism finds in flattering its own discrimination and superiority.
T h e play will be printed with the passages retained (except one,
which is trifling), t h a t t h e reader of it may j u d g e how far it was i n
itself calculated to produce, or to deserve laughter. O u r theatres
at present (and, from its smallness, this theatre in particular) are
half filled with prostitutes and their paramours : they disturb the
rest of the audience ; and the author, and -common sense, are the
sport of their caprice and profligacy. Met P e r r y for t h e first time
since his release from N e w g a t e ; then Dr. Moore, who showed me
the list of t h e special j u r y summoned to t r y Cuthell, or Johnson,
for publishing Wakefield's pamphlet. — Dined, Godwin and R—ce
present. Godwin mentioned a Mr.
, whom he and*Mr. F a w cett *, on a pedestrian ramble, went to visit at Ipswich : Godwin
saying, that perhaps he would give them b e d s ; if not, he would
ask them to supper, and besides they should have t h e pleasure of
seeing t h e beautiful Cicely, his daughter. T h e y went, stayed
some time, but received no invitation. W h e n they came away,
M r . Fawcett said he had three questions to ask Mr. Godwin —
How he liked his supper, how he liked his bed, and how he liked
Miss Cicely (who had not appeared) ? This occasioned me to r e mark, that the fault was probably not in the host, but in t h e
hypocrisy of our m a n n e r s ; and that they ought to have freely said
* The late Rev. Joseph Fawcett, author of the " Art of War," &c. It was
he who delivered the Sunday evening lectures at the Old Jewry, which were so
popular about twenty years ago. He afterwards retired to Hedgegrove in Hertfordshire. It was here that I first became acquainted with him, and passed
some of the pleasantest days of my life. He was the friend of my early youth.
He was the first person of literary eminence, whom I had then known; and the
conversations I had with him on subjects of taste and philosophy (for his taste
was as refined as his powers of reasoning were profound and subtle) gave me a
delight, such as I can never feel again.
• The writings of Sterne, Fielding, Cervantes, Richardson, Rousseau, Godwin,
Goethe, &c, were the usual subjects of our discourse, and the pleasure I had
had, in reading these authors, seemed more than doubled. Of all the persons I
have ever known, he was the most perfectly free from every taint of jealousy or
narrowness. Never did a mean or sinister motive come near his heart. He was
one of the most enthusiastic admirers of the French Revolution; and I believe that
the disappointment of the hopes he had cherished of the freedom and happiness
of mankind, preyed upon his nrnd and hastened his death.—ED.

THOMAS

HOLCROFT.

193

they wanted a supper, beds, and to see Miss Cicely. Spoke to Mr.
R— ce on the morality of eating animal food: he said we »had no
right to kill animajs, and diminish the quantity of sensation. I
answered that the quantity .of sensation was greatly increased ; for
that the number of living animals was increased, perhaps ten, perhaps a hundred fold, by the care which man bestowed on them;
and that as I saw no reason to suppose they meditated on, or had
any fore-knowledge of, death the pain of dying to them is scarcely
worth mentioning. 1 ought however to have added, that the habit
of putting them to death probably injures that class of men
(butchers) whose office it is, and that they communicate the injury
in part to society. This evil, I think, might be greatly remedied.
Ritson joined our party in the evening.
" 25th. — Took my medicine as usual. Sent orders to Marshall,
and others. Read the papers at Debrett's : they were uniform in
decrying ' The Inquisitor.' One critic, whom I believe to be a man
of taste and candour, accused it of fustian, and various other vile
defects. — Went to Tattersall's — the usual group there of horsedealers, jockeys, and gentlemen: played three games at billiards,
in Sherrard Street. — Saw Mr. S
, who thought but indifferently
of ' The Inquisitor;' alleging however, that he could not hear, &c.
— Went to Colman, at the theatre, ' The Inquisitor' then performing, to the satisfaction of the audience ; he therefore agreed to play
it the next night; but was anxious, if the house was thin, that it
should be laid aside. We agreed to wait the event, and confer on
Wednesday. Returned. Mr. S
came to me from the playhouse, to inform me that the piece had, on this second performance,
been well received; that the actors, who played vilely the first
night, were greatly improved, and that his opinion of it was very
much changed.
" 2§th. — Went to Paternoster-row; conferred with Robinson
on publishing 'The Inquisitor.' He promised to consider the
proposals I had made, concerning the sale of the whole of my copyrights. Returned, and sent ' The Inquisitor ' to press. Went to
King's sale — bought the Bible in Welsh, Polish, Danish, and
Swedish : likewise Novelle di Salernitano (scarce) and other books.
Saw DTsraeli there, and Rogers, the poet, but did not notice the
first. Went to Debrett's: numbers there, Lords Townshend,
Thanet, &c. Messrs. Francis, St. John, &c. The expedition of
Buonaparte, and the news of the defeat of the Irish at Wexford,
o 2

194

MEMOIRS OF

the chief topics. The Irish, it was supposed, must for the present
be quelled. Met Perry, and conversed with him,on * The Inquisitor;' blamed by him for writing too fast. Called at Opie'sin the evening; sat near two hours.— Much difference of sentiment
between us, but little or no ill-humour.
" 21th. — Read Pennant, and Bower's ' Life of Pope Alexander
the Sixth.' The general system of morals at that time in Italy
must have been wretchedly depraved; or this pope, and his active^
but wicked son, Caesar Borgia, might have been admirable characters. They seem but to have excelled their contemporaries in
wickedness. Saw Parson
at Debrett's, who described the
sandy roads of the north of Germany as invariably heavy and bad.
A nobleman, who travelled post, was eighteen days in going t©
Vienna, a journey of little more than 400 English miles. — Praised
the wines of Hungary as the best in the world : those of the common inns in Germany as very bad. I read the three gazettes
relative to Irish affairs, the defeat of the insurgents, the capture of
Wexford, the haughty answer of Lake to the terms proposed, and
the evacuation of part of St. Domingo by the British troops. Returned to meet Colman, who broke his appointment. Wrote to
him. Accompanied Fanny in a lesson after dinner. Mr. Geiseveiller played chess, and drank tea with us.
" 2Stk. — Considered my opera, but did not write. Read Middleton's dedication and preface to * Life of Cicero;' a man of uncommonly sound head and heart. Walked to Debrett's ; nothing
stirring. Colman came to me. The third night of the play
under-charges: promises, if he can, to perform it again with the
new farce, that is, if the farce brings money. Played a lesson with
Fanny after dinner. Visited Mr. Geiseveiller, and met there Dr.
, chaplain to the Austrian embassy, and Mr.
, an emigrant,
native of Brussels. The Doctor had the most literature, but the
emigrant the most logic. The Doctor is a chemist, known to Mr.
Nicholson, who, the Doctor says, has written the best chemical
book in our language, meaning his * First Elements.' They both
reasoned on the expedition of Buonaparte, and both seemed inclined
to think him gone to the East Indies, either up the Red Sea, and
from thence across the Little Desert and by sea to the Carnatic, or
down the Euphrates into the Persian Gulph, &c. Both were convinced it could be no such trifling object as the capture of Malta,
or any Mediterranean island. The blow, they supposed, was me-

THOMAS HOLCKOFT.

195

ditated against the whole of the power of England in India. The
Doctor thinks with me, that Kant, who is at present so much
admired in Germany, is little better than a jargonist. Keturned;
made some good notes for the character of Morgan (in ' The Old
Clothesman'), and went to bed; but my imagination being
-awakened, I could not get to sleep till nearly one o'clock.
" 29th. — Worked at my opera. — At Debrett's, — Conjectures
•were made on Buonaparte's expedition, and the difficulties attending it. Weld of opinion that he would cross the Great Desert,
;as the least difficult. The transportation of artillery, ammunition,
cavalry, &c. over this tract, supposed by Mr. Godfrey to be impracticable. The march of Alexander was of a very different
kind. Walked with the two Parrys, who were stopped by O'Bryan
and Maxwell concerning Fenwick's publication. The Bow Street
people, on a late trial, were affirmed to have perjured themselves.
Ford was supposed by O'Bryan to have been exempt from this guilt,
i t was allowed he had behaved kindly to Arthur, but not uprightly
an court. For my own part, I know nothing of these matters.
" 30th.—Went, after breakfast, to Mr. Stoddart, but did not go
in. Met Opie on my return. Thought myself recovering strength
and activity apace. Sent into the city for proofs of the play, which
were brought back. Corrected them. Wrote notes for a short
preface. Received 111. 16s. lOd. for my mare, which was knocked
down on Wednesday for nineteen guineas at Aldridge's. In the
-course of this day's business, about two o'clock, leaning the pit
-of my stomach hastily over the edge of a desk, I was again seized
with excruciating pains in my stomach; cold sweats and debility
^immediately followed, though the fit was, I believe, the least
violent of the four that I have now had. When it was somewhat
-assuaged, I was under the necessity of writing my short preface,
any second note to W., and of correcting more proof sheets.
*" July 1st — Read Boswell's * Life of Johnson:' the writer
weak, vain, a sycophant, overflowing with worldly cunning: yet,
•owing to the industry with which he collected his materials, the
book abounds in facts, and is amusing.
" 2nd. — Went to Mr. S., paid him the hundred pound bill
on Mr. Harris, at six months, and received the balance: all accounts clear between him and me. Worked at my opera. Wrote
Scenes 8 and 9, as far as * Do you hear how lottery tickets sell ?*
Satisfied, at present, with my alterations in the character of
o 3

186

MEMOIRS OF

Morgan. Read the last proof of ' The Inquisitor.' Read Boswell after dinner. Visited by Messrs. Watts and B,, and Mrs.
Revely. Music, Mozart and Haydn, till ten, Fanny the principal
performer. I retired to rest in some pain, which increased in bed:
dreamed that my body was severed above the hips, and again
joined in a surprising manner; astonished to think I was alive;
afraid of being struck or run against, lest the parts should be dissevered. Very angry at the thoughtlessness of a boy that gave
me a blow, and again surprised that it had no ill consequences.
This dream appears to be the result of the pain, and the waking
thoughts I have had on the probabilities of life or death.
" 3rd. — Wrote to the Rev. G. Smith, under frank given me by
Lord Thanet, containing two bank notes, value six pounds, for my
father's widow. Worked at my opera a very short time. Informed by Mr. Weld, that Dr. Pitcairne had been cured of my
complaint. Characterised him as our ablest physician since the
death of Warren. Related that the Doctor and Sir George Baker
were present in Warren's last moments ; that Sir George wished
Warren to take an opiate, which he refused. Sir George desired
him to give his reasons, and Warren, turning to the Doctor, said,
< Tell Baker why I ought not to take an opiate to day.' Immediately after which he clapped his hand to his breast and exclaimed,
4
It is come again !' then presently expired. Read the Reviews and
< Monthly Magazine.' In the evening called at Opie's : they not
returned from Southgate! Sat with Mr. Nicholson till ten. One
game at chess : conversed of my disease; of the present vicious
enunciation of thought, and its evils to society: of a universal
character which Nicholson is persuaded must soon be invented, and
come into general use: he himself inclined to execute the task,
which he does not consider as very difficult: of Bramhead at Devonshire House, and Arkwright: of Tooke, and the misapplication
of his powers, the sacrifice of wisdom and virtue to the pitiful
triumph of the moment.
"4th.— Sent in Shepperson and Reynold's account, the balance
241.4s. in my favour. Worked an hour or better at my opera. No
news at Debrett's, except Buonaparte said to have taken Malta.
« 5th; — Reading Boswell's 'Life of Johnson' at breakfast, was
highly gratified by the following assertion of Johnson : ' I find
myself under the necessity of observing that this learned and judicious writer (Lord Kaimes) has not accurately distinguished the

THOMAS HOLCKOFT.

197

deficiencies and demands of the different conditions of human life;
which, from a degree of savageness and independence, in which all
laws are vain, passes, or may pass, by innumerable gradations, to
a state of reciprocal benignity in which laws shall be no longer necessary? Visited Carlisle, profuse in his display of chirurgical
knowledge, an acute and thinking mind, disliking contradiction,
tenacious of system, and generally systematizing : thought the
mind ought not to endeavour to regulate disease, its influence
being great, but, as he affirmed, prejudicial. Instanced that people having wounds, by a close attention to their feelings in the
affected part, increased its sensibility to a noxious degree; and
that the bones which, he said (I think erroneously), have themselves no feeling, had, by the attention of patients, fixed upon them
when diseased, become entirely sensitive. He spoke of these as
facts within his own knowledge. From my own experience I believe them to be true, and think with him, that the attention so
fixed upon parts diseased, may be prejudicial; but, from experiments made upon myself, if the attention be fixed with a tranquil, pacifying, and cheerful temper of mind, I am persuaded they
highly benefit the sufferer. This I urged; but his opinion seemed
fixed. Advised me to consult Pitcairne, but did not lead me to
hope, either from himself or others, any degree of medical knowledge that should be efficient. What is called nature, that is, the
changes that are continually taking place, is trusted to as the
chief operator. Received the third volume of Ireland's ' Hogarth
Illustrated.' Clementi dined with us.
" 6th. — Read ' Hogarth,' J. Ireland, vol. iii. Some valuable
information, but wretchedly put together. Hogarth too irascible,
and pushing his favourite points to extremes : a man of uncommon
genius, and though highly admired by some, most unjustly treated
by others. If it be true, which I doubt, that he did not excel in
the higher parts of his art, i. e. in the beautiful and sublime, what
he has written, and what he has done, sufficiently prove it was
not want of power, but want of practice. He felt his wrongs too
indignantly, and, in resenting them, wanted liberality. Manners
are undergoing a great change; and though just at present, an
intolerant and acrimonious spirit prevails, yet there is much less
ruggedness, asperity, and undisguised insult, than there was in
his time. Saw B. at Debrett's: the health of Porson precarious.
Called at Opie's ; he gone to see Hogarth's ' March to Finchley.'
o 4

198

MEMOIRS OF

"7th. — Gillies, B., S., called before dinner. "Worked nearly
one hour at the opera : the scene of Frank and Morgan for and
against speculation; but as I grew warm with the subject, felt
a pain similar to preceding sensations, which warned me to desist.
Eead Middleton's * Life of Cicero/ and the pain went. Reports of
the day, that Buonaparte and four or five sail of the line are
taken: but disbelieved at Lloyd's : and that the insurgents in
Wicklow have surprised and totally cut off the ' Ancient Britons/
a corps hated by the Irish for the mischief done them. Affairs of
Boyd and Benfield deranged; both, it is said, from mean beginnings, had attained the utmost splendour of wealth. Boyd had
been successively the chief money dealer in France at the commencement of the Revolution ; then in England, and for the emperor : something like the cashier of Europe ; compared to Law for
enterprise and capacity, and for proving the facility of an impossible scheme. Read Boswell's 'Life of Johnson' after dinner.
" Sth. — My spirits more cheerful, and my strength increasing.
Read Boswell's < Life of Johnson ;' practised a little music. Purcell, a flowing, impassioned composer — his harmonies original,
yet natural; and his melodies the best of his day. Is it true, as
Boswell affirms, that Corelli came to England to visit him, and
that Purcell being dead, Corelli immediately returned? Mr.
Foulkes, before dinner, gave me an account of Coigley, as well
previous to his trial, as when sentence was passed, and at the
place of execution; his sentiments generous, his mind undaunted,
and his behaviour heroic. Mr. Godwin's conversation, as usual,
was acute, and his ideas comprehensive.
" 9th. — Read Boswell. Wrote notes for the opera, with song,
* Old Clothes to Sell/ and other alterations and additions to the
first exit of Morgan. Dined with Phillips (4 Monthly Magazine').
Present F. the Cambridge man, Signor Damiani, Dr. Geddes,
Pinkerton (*Heron's Letters'), and S.; the three last, Scotchmen.
S. rattled, but had read and remembered. Pinkerton said
little. The Doctor rather fond of dull stories; a man of information, irascible, and pertinacious. Maintained that a gentleman who, following the common path through an orchard, plucked
apples, put them in his pocket, and left a shilling for them at the
house of the owner, committed so heinous an offence, that he
might justly have been shot as a robber. He scoffed at the argument and possibility of the apples being more necessary to the

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

199

happiness of the man who took them than of the legal owner.
The argument is indeed hypothetical, and should be cautiously
admitted. He treated the plea of benevolence, in the depredator's
behalf, with equal contempt; and affirmed he did not argue as a
lawyer, but from principles of indubitable justice. I was his chief
opponent, and for a moment caught some of his heat and obstinacy.
One of his stories was of a Romish priest, who sent up to town to
Coghlan, a Catholic bookseller, for three hundred asparagus, which
the man mistook for Asperges, an instrument used to sprinkle
holy water with. The joke was the bookseller's distress at not
being able to procure more than forty or fifty in the time, and
promising the rest. I forgot to mention Mr. B., a teacher, who
informed us the wife of Petion* remains still persuaded that her
husband is not dead, and that he will again appear as soon as
he can with safety. I related that Petion, when in England, had
once dined with me, that he was so full of his own oratory, as to
turn his back to the mantel-piece, as soon as he came in, and make
a speech, which lasted till the dinner was on table ; that as soon
as eating gave him leave, he again harangued, and would with
difficulty suffer himself to be interrupted, till he took his leave;
and that, for my own part, I saw no marks of a man of great
abilities, to which B. assented. George Dyer came in after
'dinner. Except myself, I have reason to believe that all the
persons at table have been occasional writers for the ' Monthly
Magazine.' I walked slowly, and fed cautiously. The foolish
question of whether the next century will begin the first of
January, 1800, or 1801, was mentioned by F. with as much
pleasure as his imagination seems capable of; for he had been
present at two sumptuous dinners, and was likely to enjoy several
others. He revelled in the idea of disputes which produced
wagers of eating and drinking, said they were very proper, and
the more uncertain and confused the better. He, as a mathematician, had been appealed to, and had decided in favour of the
year 1800. Geddes remarked that there were pamphlets which
showed the same question was agitated at the beginning of the
last century. ' To be sure,' said F., i it always will be a ques* He was the first President of the National Convention in Prance. Having
excited the jealousy of Robespierre, he was included in the proscription of the
Girondists, May, 1793 ; but he made his escape to the department of Calvados,
and soon afterwards his body was found in afield,half devoured, as was supposed,
by wolves.

200

MEMOIRS OE

tion, and it is fit it should be.' Geddes was still more incomprehensible ; for, if I understood him, the century begins with the
year 99. I asked him to explain ; he said he could only do it by
a diagram ; but added, that after Christ was born, the year 1
was not completed till he was one year old ; to which I answered,
this I believed nobody would dispute. As I found they either did
not understand themselves, or at least were unintelligible to me, I
dropped the question.
« \0th. — Left my card for C. — Mr. B. called. Has adopted
the cant which from Germany has spread to England, of affirming
Mozart to be a greater man than Haydn. In Germany, his
theatrical pieces have given Mozart his great popularity ; he was
undoubtedly a man of uncommon genius, but not a Haydn. His
life indeed was too short. Stoddart left his translation of ' Don
Carlos.' He has executed his task reputably; the fourth and
fifth acts of the play are greatly confused. The first interview
of Philip II. and the Marquis of Posa, is a masterly scene. The
whole is unequal; in some parts, feeble; in others, tedious; and
yet a performance of which none but a man of genius could be
capable. It reminds the reader of i Hamlet' and ' Othello,' and of
various passages in Shakspeare.
" llth.—Read
Boswell. Handel returned from the binders.
Wrote Act i. of the opera, but had some notes. Heard at
Debrett's that when Pitt went to the levee, after his illness and
duel, the king shook him by the hand, a thing unprecedented, and
violating etiquette.
" 12ik. — Called on C. He supposes electricity and the human
will to be the same; gave high praise to Count Rumford's experiments on heat. His imagination luxuriant, incautious, and
daring. Dalrymple and the most scientific geographers, whom he
met at the house of Sir Joseph Banks, are convinced of the
practicability of conveying armies to India, by the way of Cairo,
Suez, &c. This supposed scheme of the French still continues
to be the common-place gossip of the day. Revised and copied
part of Scene 18. Dr. Black said at Debrett's, that Father le
Roche was hanged twice, the rope breaking when he was half
strangled, and that he cursed and swore violently at being so
treated. Met G. and 0. at Geiseveiller's. G. characterised Laudohn as a practical rather than theoretical general; and Lacy as
the reverse. Said Laudohn was a severe and despotic disciplina-

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

201

rian; instanced a colonel, at the attack of Novi, whose regiment
was engaged, and he behind. Laudohn coming up, asked him if
that was his proper place, and commanded him immediately to
hasten and head his regiment. The colonel obeyed. Laudohn,
however, passing the same regiment some time after, again found
the colonel in the rear ; and not waiting for any court-martial, or
form of trial, shot him through the head. On another occasion,
during the war with the Turks, he sent orders to General Clairfait,
who commanded a corps about thirty miles distant, to attack the
enemy. Clairfait, a man of skill and courage, considered the
superior numbers of the enemy, and their strong position, and disobeyed ; but immediately despatched a letter stating his reasons.
Laudohn read the letter in presence of the officer who brought i t ;
then tore it, and threw it on the ground. The officer asked, with
some surprise, what answer he was to take back. Laudohn
replied, 6 You have witnessed my answer.' The officer returned,
related what had passed, and Clairfait immediately attacked the
Turks, whom he routed. Laudohn when not in the field, nor
employed in military duties, lived silent, reserved, and penuriously.
At the beginning of the Turkish war, Lacy and others were
employed; and the emperor, according to G., lost the greatest
part of an army composed of 200,000 men. Laudohn was at
length sent as commander-in-chief; and the moment he was thus
employed, he became cheerful, pleasant, and generous ; and in
about a year, so frequently triumphed over the Turks, that he
compelled them to make peace. During the public rejoicings
for one of these victories, at Yienna, his name was emblazoned
and repeated in a variety of ways; and the Emperor Joseph II.
walking with Marshal Lacy to see the illuminations, said to the
marshal, ' My dear marshal, they don't mention a word of you or
me.' After the peace of Teschen, Frederick II., Joseph, and the
generals in chief, dined together; and it was remarked, that
whenever Frederick addressed Lacy, or the other Austrian fieldmarshals, he never gave them that title, but said Monsieur Lacy,
&c.; and when he addressed Laudohn, who had not been honoured
with that rank, he always called him Field-Marshal Laudohn.
The emperor understood the reproof; and a few weeks afterwards
created him a field-marshal. These particulars were told by
G. I do not know whether they are common stories; but they
agree with the character of Laudohn, and are probably true.

202

MEMOIRS OF

When G. went, I conversed with O. on Shakspeare, of whom
he had no great opinion. Corneille, Racine, Crebillon, and Voltaire, he supposed the most perfect writers of tragedy. He
held verse, that is, rhyme, to be essential to the French theatre;
and urged the hexameters of Greece and Rome, and English blank
•verse. He was unwilling to allow it was much more probable,
when the tone of passion is raised, for men to speak in hexameters
than in rhyme, or in alexandrines. I affirmed, they might still
more easily speak in the blank verse of Shakspeare, which in
reality is only an harmonious and measured prose. P . at Debrett's,
when he had done with lords and M. P.'s., spoke to me. Cornfactors are beginning to speculate on a bad harvest. After dinner,
sat half an hour at Opie's. Gr. Dyer there.
" 14th. — Saw in the newspaper another of Garat's speeches at
the court of Naples. Read one yesterday, which, for its pedantry
and foppery, was highly ridiculous. Garat compares France to the
ancient republics; and says she imitates them in sending out her
philosophy and philosophers (himself one) to kings and states, and
subjugated lands. There is something extremely offensive in the
vapouring of this great nation, or, rather, of the persons who take
upon them to govern and be the mouthpiece of the nation, which
certainly has the character of grandeur, both of virtue and vice;
but which yet has a strange propensity, in certain points of view,
-to render itself contemptible.
" 15th.—Sir William Beechey*, with his young son, called: he was
lately knighted. Speaks best on painting, the subject on which we
chiefly conversed: said that a notion prevailed in Italy, that pic^
tures having a brown tone, had most the hue of Titian, and that
the picture-dealers of Italy smeared them over with some substance,
which communicates this tone; and added that my Castiglione landscape had been so smeared. Of this I doubt. Repeated a conversation, at which he was present, when Burke endeavoured to persuade Sir Joshua Reynolds to alter his picture of the dying Cardinal, by taking away the devil, which Burke said was an absurd and
ridiculous incident, and a disgrace to the artist. Sir Joshua replied,
that if Mr. Burke thought proper, he could argue as well per contra; and Burke asked if he supposed him so unprincipled as.to
speak from any thing but conviction ? No, said Sir Joshua, but
had you happened to take the other side, you could have spoken
* The eminent portrait painter. He died in 1839, at the age of 80.

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

203

with equal force. Burke again urged him to obliterate this blemish,
saying Sir Joshua had heard his arguments (which Beechey did not
repeat), and desired to know if he could answer them. Sir Joshua
replied, it was a thought he had conceived and executed to the
satisfaction of himself and many others; and having placed the devij,
there, there he should remain. Beechey praised my portrait,
painted by Opie; but said the colouring was too foxy; allowed
Opie great merit, especially in his picture of crowning Henry VI.
at Paris; agreed with me that he had a bold and determined mind,
and that he nearest approached the fine colouring of Rembrandt*
Spoke in high terms of a picture by Fuseli for Comus, the subject
(if I understood him) the entrance of the brothers to the release of
the lady; and also of a landscape now painting by Sir F. Bourgeois.*"
Played chess with Mr. Du Val. Conceived three scenes for the
opera, and sketched two of them : one was suggested by hearing a
man and woman wrangle.
" 16th.—Mr. Pinkerton called, wishes me to read a manuscript
tragedy written by himself. Wolcott lodges near him at HampsteacL
P . formerly attacked Stevens in his ' Heron's Letters/ therefore they
are not acquainted. Stevens quarrelled with the Hampstead Stage
several years ago for not having kept him a place, declared he would
not ride in it again, has kept his word, and daily walks to town at
seven in the morning, and returns to dinner at three in the afternoon ; keeps no company, except that he has an annual miser's
dinner, that is, a very sumptuous one. P. is now forty, reads
much at the British Museum, which is four miles all but a quarter
from his house, and is an hour all but five minutes regularly in
walking that distance. Nothing at Debrett's. Mr. Godwin returned the first act of the opera with remarks, dictated evidently
by the fear, that ill-success will attend me in future, as it has in
some late attempts. The strongest minds cannot shake off the influence which the opinion of a multitude produces. Louisa Mercier
dined with us. Read Boswell. Still the same loquacious parasite: to
whom we are highly indebted for the facts he has preserved relative
to Johnson, and I had almost said for the laughter he has excited
at himself. He is, indeed, a most solemn, pompous, and important
coxcomb. I never was in his company, but have frequently seen
* He died in 1811, bequeathing his admirable collection of pictures to Dulwich
College, besides 10,000?. for building a gallery there, and keeping the pictures
in preservation.

204

MEMOIRS OF

him in the streets. His grave strut and elevated head, with a peculiar self-important set of his face, entirely corresponded with the
character he unintentionally draws of himself in his writings.
" 11th.—Read Boswell. The French at Turin : their thirst of
dominion insatiable. It is a duty to calculate what will be the
moral consequences of their vicious actions. I am sorry I have not
the time (most men have more or less the abilities) for such calculations. Met Mr. Marshal', who did not much like 'The Inquisitor'
on the stage. Told me Robinson lamented, in a friendly manner,
that I was not more careful of my fame. Perhaps I am mistaken,
but though ' The Inquisitor' was certainly no more than a trifling
effort, I still do not think it a contemptible one. The audience*
Marshal says, were but little attentive to the story. Surely this
was the fault of the performers. But the piece is printed, and if I
am partial, will detect my folly. The topic at Debrett's was the
two Sheares's, who have been executed for treason in Dublin.
They were brothers, both in the law, but had little practice, because
of their open and passionate declarations against government: were
in Paris during some epoch of great conflict, mounted guard, wore
the red cap, &c. as many or most other of the English did for their
own safety, and are the sons of a wealthy banker, who I hear once
was member for the city of Cork. In the course of the day I
walked to Mr. Godwin's, King's, Co vent Garden, Debrett's, and
(after three games of chess in the evening) up Oxford Eoad and
back to the billiard-table with Mr. Geiseveiller, in all nine or ten
miles, after which I played sixteen games at billiards. I imagine
I confided too much in my strength, and took an excess of exercise,
for I awoke between two and three in the morning, after getting to
sleep with great difficulty, and found my sensations, or spirits, as
they are called, considerably in a flutter, and my pulse very quick. I
rose, threw up the window, and walked in the stream of air; a short
time after which I again went to bed and slept, but had very vivid
dreams; in one of them I was riding a race-horse full speed over
dangerous and steep places. This and other experiments seem to
confirm the opinion of Dr. Parry, that there is an undue action of the
arterial system. Sketched a short scene between Frank and Clara,
and considered the arrangement of the second act of the opera.
" 1 8 ^ . —Corrected and transcribed the first scene, and wrote the
duet Act ii. Met Brown at Norwich, and promised him a letter of
recommendation to Hamburg. Parry, jun. at Debrett's, told him

THOMAS HOLCB-OFT.

205

that the Emperor had issued a decree, by which persons having
money in the bank of Vienna were required to advance thirty
per cent, as a loan, for which the whole, bearing at present four
per cent., should be advanced to five; but that persons refusing the
further loan of thirty per cent, should receive no interest for the
money already in the bank. Went to Hampstead, rode about a
mile and a half. Pinkerton pleasant in manner, and apparently not
ill-tempered. Professes to avoid metaphysical inquiry—his memory
tolerably retentive of historical facts and biographical anecdotes."

CHAP. VIII.
" JULY 19th.—Debrett read a philippic by Francis, from his parliamentary debates, against Thurlow, delivered, I think, in 1784, on
the ' India Bill. It had greater strength, and a better style, than
I supposed Francis capable of. Went, for the first time, to the
fruit-shop next door but one to Debrett's, and ate an ice. A notorious gambler, billiard-player, and thief, called the Diamond,
after a thousand escapes, has been detected in stealing stockings ;
is taken, and will probably be transported for life. Should I
hereafter find time, some of his pranks, as part of the history of
the human mind, might be worth recording. Sastres, an Italian,
mentioned by Boswell in his * Life of Johnson,' was at the fruitshop. I asked him if he knew Boswell. The name excited his
indignation; he spoke of Boswell as a proud, pompous, and selfish
blockhead, who obtruded himself upon every one, and, by his
impudent anxiety, lost what would otherwise have been willingly
granted. As an instance, Johnson did not once mention him in
his will, after their pretended intimate and sincere friendship ;
while S. himself had that honour. This account did but confirm the internal evidence of Boswell's own book. Notwithstanding Johnson's professions, which were but efforts to be kind
to him, I think it impossible he should either feel esteem or affection for such a man. I drank one cup of strong tea, and another half
water : to this I attribute a second restless night; I went to sleep
with difficulty after twelve, awoke before three, as on the 17th,
threw up the window, walked in the air, and went to bed. By an
effort I had a doze of a few minutes, but was soon perfectly awake,
and went into the library, where I sat undressed, pointing and cor-

206

MEMOIRS OF

recting the opera, till about ^.ye. I then went to bed, and slept till
nine, but it was not sound and healthful sleep. Johnson complains,
in one of his letters (vol. iii. of Boswell's 'Life,'), of having had
but one sound night's rest during twenty years. Johnson drank
tea to excess. To some persons, I have no doubt, it is a wholesome
beverage; to others, I suspect, it is highly pernicious.
16
20th,—Called on Foulkes and Eobinson ; neither at home,
Mr. Armstrong informs me that several persons have been afflicted, like myself, with haemorrhage, told me that in Euspini's
cases of cures performed by his styptic, was one of a mathematical
instrument-maker, of Dean Street, who really had, as Euspini
asserts, a haemorrhage of the nose stopped by the styptic, but who
died, ten days afterwards, in an apoplectic fit. We both conjectured such discharges of blood were frequently beneficial. Eead;
the papers at Debrett's as usual; the same sanguinary measures
and modes of revenge mutually practised in Ireland. Played
chess and billiards with Geiseveiller; drank no tea, yet had another restless night, little better than the last.
"21st. — I daily, but slowly, proceed with my opera. Saw
Banks of K. at Debrett's, and M. the
's, member in the last
parliament, who very characteristically told me (somebody having
sent him the translation of Schiller's i Don Carlos') that he
accepted every thing which was given him. I looked, and he
endeavoured to correct himself, by adding, if it did not exceed the
value of an octavo volume. A great gossip, with little understanding ; and I am almost surprised that a look should excite in
him a temporary feeling of his habitual selfishness. Played chess
and billiards with Geiseveiller. The marker, a garrulous old
Irishman, affirmed that Irish wafers were better than English: the
reason he gave was, that after a letter was sealed, you might open
it, with an Irish wafer, but not with an English. He pretended
to talk philosophy; said there was but one colour, and that the way
to prove it was to produce total darkness, and then a brown dog
would be white. The sun, he said, regulated the tides, and it is the
moon, and not the sun, that is the cause of light. His own absurd
manner of explaining his blunders is highly ludicrous.
" 22nd.—Wrote the chief part of Scene 7., Act ii. Called on
Sir F. Bourgeois, to see a landscape he is painting. It is one of
his best; the tone is admirable, the composition and execution
spirited. After pointing out what I supposed to be its merits, I

THOMAS HOLCKOFT.

207

added, that the head of the cow in the foreground was, in my
opinion, too large; the wide, open mouth of a dog barking was
overcharged; his clouds, likewise, I said, were not sufficiently
floating, too much in mass, and not tinted as clouds on such a day
always are. We conversed of B., who had made a favourable report to him of the reception I gave him, and of my pictures.
" On the subject of standing in the royal presence, Sir F . said
that Mr. Kemble seemed to doubt that this was so severely exacted ; for when he and Mrs. Siddons were commanded to read a
play to the Royal Family, and a splendid circle was assembled to
hear them, the Lord Chamberlain came and informed them that
they had permission to be seated. But this is a confirmation of
the etiquette, and the exception may be accounted for in a variety
of ways. He that does not fear to be invidious may begin. Sir
F. told me, that in the new edition of Pilkington's ' Dictionary of
Painters,' there is a life of Sir Joshua Reynolds, which some
attribute to Dr. Wolcott, others to Opie. Returned, read the
6
Life of Johnson.' Isaac Read there mentioned as a man superior to all others in his knowledge of English literature. I have
heard Ritson say much the same ; if so, it does not make him vain
at least. His name, as a commentator on Shakspeare, is added to
those of Johnson, Steevens, and Malone; yet I remember one day
seeing him walk with seemingly great humility at the tail of the
two latter, they attentive to each other, or, perhaps, each to himself,
and Read wholly overlooked. Boswell likewise prates (for I think
the term appropriate) of Dr. Towers, who, though a whig, is in his
class of good writers. Let the works of Towers testify. As a
man, when he is in a society where speeches are to be made, he is
pragmatical, verbose, and overflowing with a vapid kind of rage.
He too was the tail-piece and butt of the late Dr. Kippis, who,
when called a man of moderate talents, is not injured.
" 2Zrd.—Read P
's tragedy. Contains some poetry and passion ; presents a picture of the manners of the distant age in
which the scene is laid, superior to any thing I remember to
have read, but is occasionally verbose. Has not enough of
soul, and is deficient in plot. Is much better, however, than
many things which pass current. Wrote the ' Mariners' Glee,'
and the short scene 8., song excepted. Nothing at Debrett's,
except Irish affairs, and contradiction of the reports, which for
some days have been floating, of the capture of Buonaparte,
p

208

MEMOIRS OF

&c. Ate little meat at dinner; took half a pint of milk and bread
between six and seven o'clock, which served for tea and supper,
and slept soundly. Mr. Birch came, and restored the chilled
varnish of the pictures by damping, then gently rubbing them
dry with a cloth, and afterward with flannel.
" 24th. •— Sketched Scene 9, of opera. Attended picture-sale in
the Haymarket: W
the auctioneer, late a bankrupt, paying
eighteen-pence in the pound. The best pictures, all or most of
them the property of W
•, a picture-dealer, notorious for practising the worst tricks of that tricking trade. He bought his own
pictures at high prices, the auctioneer running them up as if he
had a room full of bidders, when he had not one; which artifice, I
imagine, was for the purpose of asserting to his customers that
each picture fetched such and such a sum, even at an auction. A
man ought not to throw away his property, and a picture not
fetching its worth may be honestly bought i n ; but I do not
imagine there was a hope of selling good pictures at this season of
the year. No news at Debrett's. Observed the same regimen
at dinner and tea, with the same success.
" 25tk. —Went with Geiseveiller to see the picture of the Siege
of Valenciennes, by Loutherbourg. He went to the scene of action
accompanied by Gilray, a Scotchman, famous among the lovers
of caricature; a man of talents, however, and uncommonly apt at
sketching a hasty likeness. One of the merits of the picture is
the portraits it contains, English and Austrian. The Duke of
York is the principal figure as the supposed conqueror; and the
Austrian General, who actually directed the siege, is placed in a
group, where, far from attracting attention, he is but just seen.
The picture has great merit; the difference of costume, English
and Austrian, Hulan, &c., is picturesque. The horse drawing a
cart in the foreground, has that faulty, affected energy of the
French school, which too often disgraces the works of Loutherbourg. Another picture by the same artist, as a companion to
this, is the Victory of Lord Howe on the 1st of J u n e ; both were
painted at the expense of Mechel, printseller at Basle, and of
V. and R. Green, purposely for prints to be engraved from them.
For the pictures they paid 500/. each, besides the expenses of
Gilray's journeys to Valenciennes, Portsmouth, &c. Saw Mr.
E—— at Debrett's, who told me he had it from one of the treasury
people, that the present King of Prussia, intending to celebrate
his accession by a festival at Berlin, caused preparations to be

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

209

made, and scaffolding to be raised, on which was a throne with an
ascent of steps. This was noticed by the citizens, who gave the
King to understand the steps were too numerous, and the throne
too elevated. They afterwards thought further of the matter, and
announced their opinion that such a festival was unnecessary ; on
which the hint was taken, the preparations were discontinued, and
the money set apart for that purpose was distributed among the
poor. It was observed by
, the Quidnunc apothecary, that
the government of Spain exhibited tokens of dissolution, he referring to the loan and voluntary contributions at present petitioned for there. I remarked, if this argument were true, there
was but an ill augury for Austria, with its forced loan of the bank
of Vienna. Lord Thanet came in, and was questioned concerning
a prosecution which, it is said, government have instituted against
him and others, for an attempt to rescue O'Connor in the court at
Maidstone. He answered he heard this prosecution was begun,
but had yet received no official notice of it. The coachman of
Judge Buller, he said, was knocked down in court, and ready to
swear he, the Earl, was the assailant, though he sat with the
counsel, and was never out of the eye of the judge. The company
affirmed Buller's faculties are decayed (he has had a paralytic
stroke). As a proof, he tells different stories at different times
concerning this riot. Another adduced by Thanet is, that, in
summing up the evidence, instead of saying the second prisoner,
to whom he was referring, he repeatedly said the second witness,
till Garrow at length got up in a pet, and called, * You mean the
second prisoner, my lord.' M
• and Lady W
, with her
boy, were at Debrett's, the only persons when I first wrent. She
talking her usual masculine rhodomontade concerning Fullarton?s
abuse of the Queen, in his speech on the regency business, which
M—— searched for in Debrett's ' Parliamentary Register,' but
she could not point out the passage, or at least find the language
which she had imputed to him. M - , anxious I should know
he was so familiar with a hidy of rank, three times repeated her
title. I kept my eye on the paper I was reading. Was this
malice, or a proper treatment of petty vanity? His being once in
Parliament gave him an introduction to various persons whose
rank he affects to despise, but whose notice he most spaniel-like
courts. A part of his gossip is, always carefully to tell what lord
informed him of this, and what baronet or lady made such and
p 2

210

MEMOIRS OF

such a remark. He appears to live with true Scotch economy,
except that he is a great feeder and drinker. He hunts for invitations to dinner. Drank tea with Geiseveiller, G
, F
,
and Gessner; F
a man of very confined intellect; being a
Bavarian, he - is so prejudiced as to imagine Bavaria superior to
other countries in or out of Germany. Three other persons called
after tea, two of them English continental traders; the third, a
German from Frankfort, who has executed contracts for government, and is come to England to solicit payment, which, after
three years petitioning and dunning, he is still unable to obtain.
So G
tells me, who has it, I suppose, from himself.
" 26tL — Read Boswell. "Worked at the opera. Bought books
at King's. Went to Debrett's. The news there, that Buonaparte
and his whole fleet were taken: it was communicated by Lord
PI
to the horse volunteers that were reviewing in Hyde
Park; they immediately gave three huzzas, and it ran from mouth
to mouth through the crowd. It was false. Such scenes are
tragically ridiculous. An officer of note had arrived from Lord
St. Vincent; conjecture immediately knew his business: Lords
were the first to believe what conjecture affirmed, and men shouted
and rejoiced at the imaginary destruction of their fellow beings.
Buonaparte has thus been captured at least a dozen times. On
one of these occasions Lord L - — , as I hear, communicating the
news to one of the B
's, began his letter with three hurrahs.
" 27th. — Concluded corrections and additions to the second act
of the opera. Read the papers at Debrett's. The same sanguinary
measures still, pursued in Ireland. The prevailing party there
seem to contemplate the temporary success of Robespierre, but
not his catastrophe. Bought more books at King's. Went with.
Geiseveiller to see a pretended picture by Correggio, and another
by Paul Potter. The latter, I believe, is a true picture ; the sky
and trees excellent; the composition detestable : a view of some
public walk in Holland, with cows and strait-lined railing, like
St. James's Park before the alterations. Of Gorreggio having perhaps never seen a picture, I cannot pretend to judge; but this
sketch, for it is no more, produces too feeble an effect to be his, if
we may decide from internal evidence. The owner modestly asks
nine hundred guineas for it, or ninety-five paid down, and the
same sum annually for nine years on good security. The wild
expectations that men form to themselves are pitiably ridiculous.

THOMAS HOLCEOFT.

211

" 28th. — Reconsidered the two first acts of the opera before
proceeding with the third. Nothing at Debrett's. Read the first
act of 6
• ' carefully, making pencil marks. Walked to
Harapstead; dined with Pinkerton; and after some pleasant
literary conversation relating to the Venerable Bede, &c, made
my remarks to him on his tragedy. He received them with great
candour, but was much more desirous that I should correct than
that he should. Requested me to take the tragedy back, and go
through the four succeeding acts with the same freedom of criticism used in the first. I have promised to perform the task within
three weeks. My sleep remarkably sound after my exercise.
P
told me that when he was at Edinburgh during the American war, the governor of the castle received despatches. Lady
, his friend, in the French sense of the word, was with him,
and he was half drunk. Unfit for the task himself, he gave her
the despatches to read. The lady has a warm imagination, and is
delighted by a grand display : something that she read inflamed
her fancy, and she exclaimed, ' Governor, here is great news; you
must order the castle guns to be fired directly.' The governor
took her word for it, and gave orders accordingly: but the great
news, like the capture of Buonaparte in Hyde Park on Thursday,
was wholly ideal. The guns were fired, the city was alarmed,
crowds came running to know the reason, and the maudlin governor
was disgraced and laughed at.
". 29th. — Monsieur Julien, the assistant of Colnaghi, the printseller, came with Geiseveiller to see my pictures. He formerly
was an auctioneer in Paris, where he sold some famous collections.
He praised quite enough ; but the French and Italians think that
is what politeness requires. Wrote additional verses to songs in
the first act of the opera. Clementi and Geiseveiller to dinner.
Conversed on health: I maintaining that exercise and moderate
feeding were absolutely necessary for people of and after middle
age.
" 30^2. — Third act still under consideration. Nothing at Debrett's, but the respite of Bond in Dublin. The papers state
Farmer's library to have sold for
, and his pictures for
5001. King, the auctioneer, informs me the first sum is accurate,
but the pictures brought only 50/. I saw them. They were select
rubbish: unauthenticated portraits by unknown painters. The ;
sale of Farmer's library astonished every body. His rule was not,
p 3

212

MEMOIRS OF

to exceed three shillings for any book ; except once, when he paid
three-and-sixpence for a pamphlet, which brought fifteen guineas
in the sale. This anecdote I understood to be on the authority of
Dr. Gosset, who is the most constant attendant at book sales of
any man in England, booksellers not excepted. Farmer collected
all old pamphlets and black letter books, whenever he could pick
them up cheap, and these were resold at enormous prices, not for
the value of the information they conveyed, but their scarcity. I
viewed them as they lay in the auction-room, and books and
pictures seemed to be the very refuse of the stalls.
" 31$t. — Finished Boswell's ' Life of Johnson:' the author still
continuing a pompous egotist, servile, selfish, and cunning; as is
evident from the documents and pictures he gives of himself; and
defending and condemning, not according to any principles which
his own experience and observation had taught, but in conformity
to those opinions, whatever they might be, right or wrong, which
might most probably ingratiate him with the powerful. As a piece
of biography, it is a vile performance; but as a collection of
materials, it is a mine. Called on B
. The head of Kemble
painted by him for Desenfans is a fine likeness, and a good picture.
Saw a pair of his landscapes; but indifferent performances. At one
time he copied the old masters. One of these copies after Berghem,
but in the style of Wouvermans, is a good imitation, pencilled
with great labour and exactness, but not with the freedom of an
original. The subject, a man on a white galloway, bird-catching;
but the copy was not finished, nor the nets inserted. Wilson, he
says, was indolent, and, in his latter time, used to make several
attempts at each touch, before his hand reached the precise place.
In this manner a picture would remain several days on the easel,
with but little apparent progress. If B —— be accurate, the
colours on Wilson's palette did not exceed four, and his common
menstruum was linseed oil, instead of other oils eight or ten times
as dear. He had much comic humour, would turn from his easel
to the window, make whimsical remarks on the passengers, pause
to recollect himself, and begin painting again. He was addicted
to liquor, by which his nose became enlarged, and so irritable, that
the handkerchief was frequently applied to it, and kept in his
bosom for that purpose. Glad of every opportunity to escape from
labour to his favourite indulgence, he would say to any acquaintance who happened to call, < Come, let us go and take a drop of

THOMAS HOLCKOET.

213

something. I have painted enough for one day.' Farrington and
Hodges were his pupils; and many of the pictures that pass for
Wilson's were painted by them, but retouched by himself. Thus
the same picture became multiplied. He would even buy copies
made from his pictures, work upon them, and sell them as his own.
To a certain degree they were such, but the practice was dishonest;
for an unskilful eye could not detect the inferior parts. Arts
like these are the ruin of honest and well-earned fame. Wilson,
however, was a man of uncommon genius, of which he has left
sufficient and undoubted proofs. He and Sir Joshua had conceived
some ill-founded prejudices against each other. Under their influence, Sir Joshua once said, at the Academy, Gainsborough was the
best English landscape-painter. Wilson, happening to be unperceived at his elbow, replied, ' You mean the best English
portrait-painter.' If it was not Opie, I forget who gave me this
anecdote.
" August 1st — Proceed with Middleton's 4 Life of Cicero.' It
is full of information. Wrote a song to-day, i Dan Cupid,' &c.;
and a glee yesterday, of ' Bitter pangs/ &c. for the opera. At Debrett's, Mr. Bouverie showed me the Cambridge paper. Flower,
the editor, is a zealot of a bold but honest character. By his
paper, he must necessarily have made himself extremely obnoxious
to persons in power. He unsparingly assails, all whose creed or
moral conduct he thinks reproachable. Godwin has been several
times attacked in his paper, and probably myself. A letter,
written from Ireland by a colonel in the guards, asserts that the
two O'Connors, Bond, and another whose name I have forgotten,
have consented to inform against the insurgents, and transport
themselves from Ireland, on condition that the life of Bond be
spared. Lord Thanet said, he had betted fifty guineas to half-acrown that this was a false assertion. I think myself certain he
will win. A. O'Connor is a noble-minded man, or I am wretchedly mistaken; and it is said his brother Roger is even his superior. Met Mr. G
, whom I informed that, the comedy of
* He's much to Blame' was written by me. He testified great satisfaction at the shame its success brought on my persecutors, and
that the king, not knowing the author, had commanded it twice.
Mentioned its great popularity among the country theatres ; invited me to Turnham Green, and I promised to dine there next
Sunday se'nnight.

214

MEMOIRS OF

« 2nd.—-Bead Middleton. Wrote a song, < The Fiat of Fate,'
Act iii. Went to Debrett's; read a high-flown, complimentary
letter, from some city volunteers, to Colonel
, a bankrupt,
persuading him to continue in their command, and describing him
as an unfortunate man, but of exemplary worth. A
remarked,
that the aristocrats of the corps had thus stirred in his behalf,
because he had gone through thick and thin to serve persons in
power. Walked down Constitution Hill, and wrote Clara's two
songs, of the third act, in the park. Just as I finished, with my
pencil in my hand, I saw I was observed by General F
. We
know each other personally, but are not acquainted. Acquaintance, indeed, among persons of rank, I have very few. My
feelings will not suiFer me to be forward; and such persons are
known only to the obtruding, or those who minister to their immediate pleasures and vices. Men of literature lay claim to
honours to which men of rank have but seldom any good pretensions, and both seem jealous of their individual prerogatives.
"3rd.—Wrote
duet, Act iii. Worked at the opera. Asked
Weld, at Debrett's, if he knew Boswell. He had met him at
coffee-houses, &c, where B. used to drink hard and sit late. It
was his custom, during the sessions, to dine daily with the judges,
invited or not; he obtruded himself every where. Lowe (mentioned by him in his ' Life of Johnson') once gave me a humorous picture of him. Lowe had requested Johnson to write
him a letter, which Johnson did, and Boswell came in while
it was writing. His attention wras immediately fixed; Lowe took
the letter, retired, and was followed by Boswell. ' Nothing,' said
Lowe, 'could surprise me more. Till that moment he had so
entirely overlooked me, that I did not imagine he knew there was
such a creature in existence ; and he now accosted me with the
most overstrained and insinuating compliments possible.' ' How
do you do, Mr. Lowe ? I hope you are very well, Mr. Lowe.
Pardon my freedom, Mr. Lowe, but I think I saw my dear friend,
Dr. Johnson, writing a letter for you.' ' Yes, sir.' ' I hope you
will not think me rude; but if it would not be too great a favour,
you would infinitely oblige me j f you would just let me have a
sight of it. Every thing from that hand, you know, is so inestimable.' ' Sir, it is on my own private affairs, b u t ~
' I would
not pry into a person's affairs, my dear Mr. Lowe, by any means. I
am sure you would not accuse me of such a thing ; only, if it were

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

215

no particular secret'
' Sir, you are welcome to read the letter.'
c
I thank you, my dear Mr. Lowe; you are very obliging; I take it
exceedingly kind. (Having read.) It is nothing, I believe, Mr.
Lowe, that you would be ashamed o f
' Certainly not.' < Why>
then, my dear sir, if you would do me another favour, you would
make the obligation eternal: if you would but step to Peele's
Coffee House with me, and just suffer me to take a copy of it, I
would do any thing in my power to oblige you.' ' I was overcome/ said Lowe, * by this sudden familiarity and condescension,
accompanied with bows and grimaces. I had no power to refuse j
we went to the coffee-house, my letter was presently transcribed,
and, as soon as he had put his document into his pocket, Mr.
Boswell walked away as erect and as proud as he was half an
hour before, and I ever afterward was unnoticed. Nay, 1 am not
certain,' added he, sarcastically, ' whether the Scotchman did not
leave me, poor as he knew I was, to pay for my own dish of
coffee.'
"4th.—Continued the opera through Scene 9., Actiii. Colonel
Barry at Debrett's, returned from Ireland: rejoiced to see each
other. Spoke of Ireland as subdued by the divisions which
government had found the means to create, and chiefly by the aid
of the native yeomanry. Read reviews and magazines.
" 5th.—Corrected Scene 10. Wrote song for Florid. Called on
N
, who had been sent for by the Duchess of D
; she broke
her appointment, made another, and broke that, with a note apologising, and desiring he would come again, and bring a copy of his
very excellent journal. This a good deal resembles scenes I had
with her in 1783, except that I made application to her (for recommendatory letters to our ambassador at Paris), which Mr,
N
did not. Pinkerton, Godwin, Stoddart, and J. Parry, to
dinner. Stoddart, as usual, acute, but pertinacious and verbose i
Godwin clear and concise.
"Qth.— Proceeded with the opera. Walked an hour. Returned, and finished it. Nothing at Debrett's. Have read
* Monthly Magazine' and ' Review ' for some days. Individually,
the numbers of such works appear dull; collectively, they afterwards become highly amusing.
" 7th.—Read and sent the opera to Mr. Harris, with a letter.
Walked to Godwin. He proceeds with his novel. Gave a favourable account of Fenwick's pamphlet on Coigley.

216

MEMOIRS OF

" 8tL—Began to consider my new comedy, which I am very
desirous of enriching with numerous incidents.
" 9th.—Debrett blames Robinson for publishing another translation of the 'Voyage of Perouse;' that already published by Johnson
being complete, the size octavo. R.'s edition is to be quarto, the
plates in a grander style. Debrett's phrase was, he would burn
his fingers. Meditated on the comedy. Conceived two incidents
arising from the poverty of my characters, of a pawnbroker's
shop, and an antique ring. Dined with Geiseveiller, and G
-.
His German friends came after dinner. F
displayed some
knowledge in grammar; but was laughed at by me and G——
for being a disciple of Kant.
" 10th.—Rose at seven, in good spirits, and apparently excellent
health; persuaded, as I had been for some time, that my disease
was gone, and my constitution improved. While eating my breakfast, soon after eight, was seized with a fifth fit of hemorrhoidal colic.
The pain, as on former occasions, excruciating, yet resisted with so
much determination by me, that I am persuaded its violence was
considerably abated. I continued very ill through the day. In
the night my dreams were extremely vivid, often disagreeable, but
not always. I read and composed poetry that never had any other
existence; engaged in metaphysical disputes ; and busied myself
with the plot of a comic opera. I conceived a nobleman and his
servant, Spaniards, to have arrived at a castle with immense walls
and turrets; and that the first thing the nobleman said, must be
to tell his servant that they were now come to the place of action,
and must make their way into that castle. The various obstacles
and incidents which this would afford, delighted me, while dreaming.
A few years ago, having a slight fever, and lying awake in the
night, I found I could speak extempore verses on any given
subject (for I proposed two or three to myself), many of them
approaching excellence, and the others full of high-sounding
words, and such as would be thought excellent by some. Fear of
increasing the fever made me rather endeavour to calm and
appease my mind, than either to proceed or try to remember
those I had made, which might amount to above thirty lines in
number, as I believe. Have found nearly the same facility occasionally, when actually writing poetry, after having considered my
subject a certain time, and made a certain number of verses, or
rather, after rousing the faculties. In my sleep I have read many

THOMAS HOLCJROET.

217

a page of poetry that never was written. Others have told me
they have done the same. Mr. N
says he has several times
gone to bed with his mind wearied by considering a question of
science which he could not resolve, has slept or dozed, and the
resolution has intruded so forcibly upon his thoughts, that it has
awaked him.
(i
Wth.—Sent for Dr. Pitcairne. After he was gone, the pain
rather increased till I rose, half an hour after, when I experienced
some relief. Was induced to examine the nature of pain, and
found that it is not, and from the nature of the human frame
cannot be, incessant. Could it be so, it must soon destroy the
patient. Sensations are impelled upon us. Trifles, the tickling of
a hair, the trains of ideas which pain itself begets, divert the
attention. These intervals appear to be short in proportion to the
intensity of the pain. Played a game at chess with Geiseveiller :
at the beginning with great brilliancy; at the end, with great
stupidity. Received a well written letter from Mrs. B
, and
the opera from Harris.
" 12th.—Harris firmly of opinion the opera will be a good afterpiece, but a dangerous first-piece; I obliged to yield, the slave of
my circumstances. He agreed to give me two hundred and fifty
pounds for the piece and the copyright; and, should it run twenty
nights, to make the sum three hundred. Urged me to proceed with
my comedy, which I promised, if possible, to send at the close of
November. Underwood, a young artist, called to see my pictures.
He was full of admiration, but he is a youth. Godwin called to
inquire after my health, and Mrs. Foulkes.
" 13th.—Pitcairne called, behaved very kindly, and refused his
fee. I could not visit Mr. G
,who had invited me. The Parrys,
Colonel B
-, Mrs. F——, and Geiseveiller called. Yesterday
and to-day, amidst the pain, I reduced the opera, but not completely.
" 14:th.—Mrs. F — — called: and Geiseveiller before and after
seeing ' The Road to Ruin ' for the first time at the Haymarket.
This perhaps is the only theatre in the three kingdoms, DruryLane and the Opera House excepted, at which it has not been
acted more probably fifty times than once. The custom of the
theatres prevents its being performed in London, except at Covent
Garden, where it first appeared.
" 15th.—Wrote to Harris and Robinson. Went to Mrs. B
,

218

MEMOIRS OF

who requested my advice and aid concerning a novel. A lively
woman, upwards of sixty; widow of Dr. B. From a printer's
mark in the margin, there is reason to suspect her novel has been
clandestinely printed. If not, it certainly was in preparation for
the press. Completed the reduction of the opera ; and proceeded,
as the day before, with reading Middleton's 'Cicero,' and correcting
Pinkerton's tragedy.
" 16/^. — Yisited by Dr. Pitcairne, to whom I had sent. Received his fee; is to call on Saturday. Smith the surgeon, Mrs.
F., Samuel S., visitors. Read ' Wild Oats' (having this day received O'Keefe's works), a farce, but one in which much invention
and feeling are displayed. Wrote an air to ' Dan Cupid,' in ' Old
Clothesman.'
"17th. — Went to Debrett's, after taking the warm sea-bath.
Col. B. and others praised the Cheltenham waters, as excellent for
bilious affections. Walked home, not in the least fatigued.
" 18th. •— Visited by Dr. Pitcairne. Corrected tragedy.
" 1 9 ^ . — Walked into the park; but, overpowered with fatigue
and heat, took rest in Whitehall chapel; was too giddy to pay
much attention to the paintings of Rubens.
" 20th. — Pitcairne called; thinks I ought to eat meat: refused
his fee. ' Hugh Trevor' and ' Road to Ruin' sent to Geiseveiller.
" 21st. — Mr. Ramsey, who had acted as a clergyman and physician in the West Indies, returning, was one of the first promoters,
by various pamphlets, of the inquiry into the slave-trade. An
agent of the planters wrote against him, accusing him of want of
humanity in his treatment of the sick slaves. He was advanced
in years, and much agitated; the weather was hot, he made a
journey, and wrote to contradict the calumny. This brought on
an inward hemorrhage, of which he died. Mr. Armstrong gave
me the above account; adding that there scarcely could be a more
humane man than Mr. Ramsey. In the present state of my disorder, I am equally afraid of eating and fasting. Debility threatens
me on one hand with the loss of power to repel the disease : and
not improbably another fit, every mouthful I swallow. Patience
and cheerfulness, experience tells me, are my best aids. I am
patient, but cannot sufficiently recollect myself, so as to assume
that constant cheerfulness which pain so frequently disturbs. This
should be a temper of mind inculcated from infancy.
" 22nd. — The perseverance with which I endeavour to notice

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

219

and remember my own sensations, has occasioned Mr. Armstrong
to accuse me of being subject to violent and false alarms. He is
mistaken. The consciousness I have of serenity is too firm and
permanent to be a deception; but I am persuaded my cure must
depend on a still stricter attention to facts. Dr. Pitcairne came,
prescribed, and again refused his fee. Mr. Godwin called, and
Captain Johnson, an intelligent Scotch seaman, trading to Bremen
and Hamburg; says the Dutch are nearly as good sailors as the
English: as a proof, they, like the English, will navigate a small
trader with six hands, for which the French would require twelve,
and the Spaniards twenty; yet the navigation and work are best
done on board the English and Dutch. Geiseveiller, Mrs. Shield,
and T. and B. Merrier called.
" October 3rd. — I now mean to recommence my diary, which
has been interrupted by the disease so often before mentioned, on
its coming to a crisis, which was all but mortal.
" Went to Debrett's. Met B. and Parry. Saw Emery and
Mrs. Mills in second and third acts of * The Eoad to Ruin.' Both
have merit. Emery the most. Second illumination night for Nelson's victory. Passed through the mean streets leading to the
Seven Dials. The poor did not illuminate. I was in a coach,
being too weak to walk.
" ith. — Called on Carlisle. Visited P
and bride; a woman
of pleasing manners and intelligent countenance. On return met
J. Bapnister and Wathen. Dined at Kensington Gore with Mr.
and Mrs. B. and J. Parry.
" 5th. — Mr. Attwood came by appointment, and received from
me the score of' When sharp is the frost,' &c. composed by me,
but corrected by Mr. Shield, for the opera of ' The Old Clothesman.' Sent back the manuscript by him to the theatre. Called
on by J. Bannister.
« Qth. — Six pints of sweet wine given me by J. Bannister.
" 7 th. — Music. Haydn. Fanny accompanied by Messrs. Watts
and Mackenzie. Mr. Henry present. Dined at Turnham Green
by invitation. Complaint of the G. family of the want of rational
society. The villas of the place having become the country houses
of wealthy but ignorant town tradesmen. Butchers, tailors, tallowchandlers, &c. who make these their holiday and Sunday seats*
Message to N. from G., inviting communication, as well as to
dine> and further intercourse. Whimsical disputes of half-drunken

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passengers in the coach, on my return, concerning and descriptive of Nelson's victory. Each man, according to his own account*
minutely acquainted with all the occurrences.
" 8 ^ . —Galled.on N., to deliver the message from G. Apothe*
cary at Debrett's affirms there are letters in town of Buonaparte*
taken with his despatches; particularly one to his wife, accusing
the Directory of having purposely betrayed him into an irretriev*
able situation of danger. I learnt from Mr. N / s common-place
book that it was on the 11th of March, 1796, that he, Arthur
O'Connor, Dr. Parr (Bellendenus), Godwin, Mackintosh, Opie,
Powel (a young Oxonian brought by Parr), and Coh Barry, dined
with me. I consider the meeting of so many celebrated as well
as extraordinary men, as an occurrence worthy of being remembered.
" 9th. -— Met Weld at Debrett's, who congratulated me on my
recovery in a very friendly manner. Drank tea and sat part of the
evening with Mr. and Mrs. Kemble (the father and mother of Mrs.
Siddons). She, except her usual complaints of rheumatism, cheers
ful and conversable. We talked of Hereford, Ludlow, Worcester
races, Leominster, Bewdley, Bromsgrove, Droitwich, and Worcester
again, as places I had played in while in the Kemble company.
" \0th. — Eead the papers at Debrett's. Weld asked Parson
—— where Buonaparte is at present ? Mn India, past all doubt/
was his answer. I remarked that the parson had always been
a fast, but fanciful traveller.
" 11th. — T h e day rainy; played five games at billiards before
dinner. Went in the evening to see ' Lovers^ Vows' played for
the first time at Covent Garden, ; Translated froni the German by
some retainer at court, as Mrs. Inchbald told Mr* Robinson, but
corrected and altered by her. My legs so swelled that I could only
stay the first four acts; which at times made me laugh, and cry
heartily. Saw the Parrys at the theatre. James,: as usual, fastidious and dissatisfied.
'••••« 12th. —-John Parry at Debrett's, praised the,whole play, including the fifth act, of last night. B., the miniature painter, with
Bannister, called : B. saw my pictures, which he praised very
much. Solo! Bannister the copy of Wilson for five guineas. Finished translating the first act of Kotzebue's 'Indian in England,'which has employed me five or six days \ and as I intend
essentially to alter the character of Samuel or Balaam, more time

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

221

will be employed in the revisal. This character has keeping in the
original, but not enough of the vis comica.
" l%th. — Walked to Brompton to return Mr. S.'s call. Not at
home. Back on foot to Debrett's : obliged to rest several times.
" 14th.— Gave young Watts the letters of recommendation for
the opera band, to P. and Salomon. Picture-dealer's son, near
Stratford Place, brought a little oval Wilson, bought of him by
Bannister, to show me. The water enchantingly transparent, the
sky scarcely less excellent, the composition in itself trifling, but
most happily contrived to produce contrast. Bannister came soon
after with another Wilson, which I think doubtful, yet a charming
picture if a copy:—I mean as far as respects the right hand part,
the sky, and the distances. The figure seated is an admirable
thought, and no less admirably managed. The massy dark wood
(said to be Hornsey Wood) appeared, too lifeless for Wilson ; and
a person who called afterwards with Mr. Heath (I believe Corbould) said he knew the original, of which this was a copy. The
price of the two, the picture-dealer told me, was fifteen pounds.
Called with Bannister on Wathen, and afterwards on J. Aickin?
who is determined to resign. Forebodings of bankruptcy; such
trifles as wood and canvass not to be had ; yet three thousand
guineas lately given for an estate. Cumberland sent his * Tiberius/
which had been repeatedly refused, as a new play, to the theatre.
It was cheerfully received till the title was read, and then im~
mediately returned. A letter from C. to Aickin, stated that it
was a mistake to suppose it the same 'Tiberius;' it was no longer a tragedy; and if magic, music, scenery, and dialogue could
interest an audience, he had greater expectations from this than
from any piece he had ever produced. It was the most laboured^
the oftenest revised, and the best written of all his works. The
letter concluded with an appeal to posterity. B. and K. were invited to spend a week at the country house of C. B. acknowledged he was partial to a good supper, and K. the same. Of
this article C. was sparing. * I suppose, gentlemen/ said he,
'you are no supper eaters; a little bread and cheese and small
beer is all you tal^e.' Their false modesty and contrary wishes
made them feel awkward and look silly, but they confirmed him in
his supposition. When supper time came, the bread and cheese
and small beer appeared. They flattered themselves, however,
that a bottle of wine would be the successor. They were deceived:

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MEMOIRS OF

not a drop of wine was brought. Two or three nights made them
weary of this ; and, on one day, they announced their intention of
departing the next. ' If so, gentlemen/ said the host, ' I mean to
give you a treat this evening, before you leave me ; and such a
treat! But I do not wish to anticipate/ This put them in high
spirits; they imagined a couple of fowls, with good old port or
madeira, would be served up; and they had highly whetted their
fancies with this supposition. The evening came, and with it the
treat. C. approached, with a 'Now, gentlemen, you shall have
i t ; you will find whether I keep my word. Here it is. I suppose
you have heard of it? Tiberius — I can assure you, the best of
all my works.' So saying he spread his manuscript, and began to
read. IL, without ceremony, fell asleep in the first act. B.
with great difficulty listened through the second, when the author
luckily became tired of his task, either from the labour of reading,
or the drowsiness of his auditors.
"15/^.—'Walked out before noon, intending to proceed half
way to Hammersmith, and then take coach ; but finding I had not
motive enough to overcome my weakness, turned back and went to
the billiard table, where I played an hour and a half. Such is the
efficacy of having a motive.
" 16th. —Nobody at Debrett's. Finished translating the second
act of the c Indians.' Mr. Carlisle called. I not at home.
" 17th. — Called on Carlisle. Saw a picture of fish, well painted,
but praised by him extravagantly.
" 1 8 ^ . —Walked to Debrett's, and King's auction room. Saw
Sturt, M.P. and Parry, jun. Mr. P. called in the forenoon.
Praised the passion and power of language with which my tragedy,
he says, is written.
" 1 9 ^ . — Finished translating the c Indians/ Called on Opie ;
saw his view of St. Michael's Mount, a moonlight, the manner
hard, but the scenery and effects grand, and the composition good.
A well painted portrait, likewise, of Dr. A. Went to Birch;
saw a Berghem, as he said, but which I doubt; a good picture.
Walked from thence, with Bannister, to Simpson's, (picture cleaner).
Saw the famous Niobe landscape by Wilson ; and another by him,
lately bought of Sir William Beechey, which Sir William told me
was, according to Farrington's account, partly the work of Wilson,
and partly of Farrington. Simpson angrily asserts Farrington
never touched the picture, and asks fifty guineas for it.

THOMAS HOLCROET. %

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"20th.—Called on Sir Francis Bourgeois; saw the additional pictures of Desenfans. He, as usual, spoke highly in praise of Kemble.
Weld very civil at Debrett's. Billiards in the evening. Compton,
auctioneer, Moore, the attorney, another person, and Palmer, jun.,
author of the epilogue to ' Lovers' Vows' came in. All extremely
civil to me. When I returned home, found Salomon, who accompanied Fanny with his usual feeling and enthusiasm. Spoke in
raptures of Haydn, which well accorded with my own sentiments.
Stayed till one o'clock, and occasioned me to eat too much supper.
Promised to favour Watts, if in his power. Is desirous of setting
an English opera.
"21st—Called on young Watts concerning the opera engagement.
Saw Da Vinci's Battle of the Standard, by Edelinck, a proof, at
Edmonds's, upholsterer; cost him two guineas; cheap, I believe, at
five. Saw Mrs. Shield. After dinner, was above an hour walking
with Fanny to the top of Oxford Street and back.
" 22nd.—Wrote to Shield. Kead the papers. Letter from Dr.
Parry, advising me against the Bath waters. Dined with Robinson.
Thursday, Robinson and myself are to exchange acquittances.
" 23rd.—Called on Aickin. Debts accumulating, business neglected, promises never kept. Hammersley's receiving clerk in the
treasury, the whole in a state of disorder, yet the houses great.
The Walkers, of Manchester, ruined by the war and ministerial
persecutions. Francis and T. at Debrett's. The latter, as usual
sanguine in describing the progress of Buonaparte, whom he conveys to India with great facility, asserting, Egypt and the revolutionizing of crocodiles were not the objects of Buonaparte.
" 24th.—Returned Mr. Boaden's call, and there saw a female portrait, said to be by Leonardo da Vinci; but I think not, though an
excellent old picture. Met Banks, Weld, and Bosville at Debrett's.
" 25th.—Called on Mr. Compton, who advises no sale of effects
till the spring. Proceed daily, but slowly, in correcting ' The Indians.' Papers at Debrett's. Robinson did not keep his appointment.
" 26th.— Compton, auctioneer, called and looked at books and
pictures. Debrett's. Wrote to Mr. P . His wife ill.
"27*A.—Clementi called, but Fanny was out. Mr. M. called*
He attends the Old Bailey bar, from a desire to save the lives of
the culprits. Talked a little metaphysics. I read Pope's character
of Atticus to him.
il
28th.—Called on — , and conversed with Mr. Buller on
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224

MEMOIRS OF

occult and final causes. Saw Tobin's brother. Two girls of the
town, walking in Newman Street, praised the goodness of God;
and, as the weather had been very rainy for some days, they hoped
His goodness would extend itself to render it fair all the next week,
that they might (walk the streets in comfort. A man being tried
for a capital offence at the Old Bailey, the jury retired to consider
of their verdict. The three principal witnesses had been ordered
out of court, after having given their testimony, but stood in the
passage at the door. The reward for convicting the man, as usual,
was forty pounds- The jury returned, and pronounced the fatal
sentence, Guilty. As soon as the sound reached these witnesses,
they jumped up, clapped their hands, and exclaimed to each other,,
Guilty! Guilty! M. was in court, and witnessed the transaction.
,, "29th.—R, jun. came to ask me to petition the proprietors of
Drury Lane theatre for a dresser's place, for the wife of a doorkeeper, who had died suddenly in the exercise of his office. I could
not comply, because of the very improper conduct of these proprietors in refusing to notice the letters I wrote to them, when they
ceased, without any apparent cause, to play ' Knave or Not.' But I
agreed to write a letter for the woman to copy in her own name.
r " 30th.—Wrote the letter; F . having appointed to come for that
purpose at nine, was with me at ten. Young S., and B.'s nephew,
came in their fathers' name to ask for orders. Both families are
rich, but I complied, and procured them. B. and N., M.P. being
at Brighton, where Major R. was, N. praised the Major as a man
of great information, his friend, and one with whom B. ought to
be intimate. B. said, they had met and spoken, and as there could
be no great harm, he would accompany N. to visit R. They happened to meet him, and R. presently took occasion to tell N., that,
from the principles he professed, and the speeches he had made
in parliament, he could not but consider him as an enemy to his
king and country; he therefore desired they might have no more
intercourse. B. laughed at 1 T and his friend, but remarked the
S.
Major was an honest man, for most people would have said as much
when he was absent, without the courage to declare such sentiments to his face., Hare, St. John, and others at Debrett's.
" 31 st.—P. and I had a dispute concerning Shakspeare. He
asserted, quoting Gray and Warton as his supporters, that the
thing in which Shakspeare excels all other writers, and in that
only, is sudden bursts of passion. I allowed he did excel other

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225

writers in this, as in almost every other part of composition, but
that he excelled them most in the full flow of passion. I doubt I
was abrupt and dogmatical, for he appears to be a good-natured
man; yet I could see he went away displeased.
" November 1st—Met Weld and H. at Debrett's. Pitt met H.
on horseback, the day on which it was determined to strike Fox's
name out of the list of privy-councillors, and made such strange
faces at him, that H. went to Brookes's and reported him mad;
on which a person present said, ' T h a t accounts for a strange
speech, as I thought, of Grenville, who affirmed, that while Pitt
was in his present temper, he would not see him, but in the pre*
sence of a third person.' The
• said to be of the Orange party,
and inimical to Cornwaliis. Weld affirms, that since London was
a city, it never had such immense exports as at this moment.
"2nd.—Wrote yesterday an apology to P . for my warmth in dispute ; and received a very friendly and proper answer to-day.
" 4th. — Music at Mr. Mackenzie's. Haydn's symphony quintetto and Mozart: both men of uncommon genius; but the latter,
impatient after novelty and superior excellence, often forgets the
flow of passion in laboriously hunting after new thoughts which>
when thus introduced, have the same effect in: music, as the confetti of the Italians have in poetry; and for these Mozart is frequently extolled as superior to Haydn.
" 6th. — Went and settled with Mr. Robinson..; that is, I made
over to him the copies and copyright of ' School for Arrogance/
•' Deserted Daughter,' * Man of Ten Thousand,' i Knave or Not,'
' H u g h Trevor,' and ' Anna St. Ives/ in consideration of an acquittal of sums due to him, to the amount of 340/., and a conditional promissory note on his part to pay me 150/. more, when
the copies and copyright shall have realised to him the sum of
£04Z. Procured a copy of the ' School for Ingratitude/ advertised
by Bell gratis, that is, at the author's expense; he being angry, or
rather enraged, at the plagiarism which he (falsely and ridiculously) accuses Messrs. Sheridan and Richardson of committing, by
communicating his manuscript to Mr. Reynolds to aid him in
writing the comedy of ' Cheap Living.'
« "jth. •— Called on Carlisle. Conversed on the necessity of cuU
tivating youthful sports and habits in mature and advanced age.
Bought books at King's. Met Harris the manager, and soon after
Tierney, M*P.; both congratulated me on my recovery.
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226

MEMOIRS OF

« 8th. ~ Read f Walpole's Painters.' Looked over and considered
the scenes of my new comedy, of which I have sketched about six.
Papers at Debrett's; picture sale in Cloak Lane. A walk, altogether, of about seven miles. Copies and rubbish at the sale.
Sent Robinson an advertisement of my works, with an order to
Symonds to deliver the ' Narrative/ and ' Windham's Letter.'
" 11th.— Called on, and conversed with, Geiseveiller, concerning his new enterprise. Saw a proof of Duncan's Victory,
by Fittler, which I think but indifferent. Went to, and conversed
with, Aickin on the subject of * The Exiles.' Kelly very desirous
of having something of mine to set. Aickin informed me, that
Tobin has written two dramatic pieces.
"14th.—Wrote
two songs for ' T h e Exiles,' the second of
Balaam, and the first of Harry. Dined on Monday with P . ;
Platonist Taylor and D. present. Taylor intolerant and abusive to all who do not pretend to understand, and put faith in,
his Platonic jargon. Had he the power, according to P., he would
bring every man of us to the stake. From my own experience,
P.'s description is scarcely exaggerated ; but though a bigot, Taylor is an honest one. D., on the contrary, asked P . whether he
had any principles ? and when P . expressed his surprise at such
a question, D. declared he had none. Saw Dr. Towers at Debrett's ; his democracy still maintains its violence; I should scarcely
exceed if I said its virulence. He asked me if the universal defection had not made me turn aristocrat. I answered, that I
supposed my principles to be founded in truth, that is, in experience and fact: that I continued to believe in the perfectibility of
man, which the blunders and passions of ignorance might apparently delay, but could not prevent; and that the only change of
opinion I had undergone was, that political revolutions are not
so well calculated to better man's condition as during a certain
period I, with almost all the thinking men in Europe, had been
led to suppose. The Doctor doubted man's perfectibility; was
more inclined to think him a radical sinner; and said, as 1
held such opinions, I was, no doubt, a Necessarian; to which I
readily assented. I do not know what connection the Doctor
found between perfectibility and necessity; though such connection does certainly exist. Among other things I said, the best
of us, at present, understood morality very imperfectly: his
sanctity took offence at the assertion, and he replied, that some of

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

227

us (meaning, no doubt, himself, and, perhaps, others who hold his
tenets) understood it in full perfection ; at which I could only smile
and dissent.
" 15th. — Saw pictures on show at Christie's, a wretched collection. Met H. in the room to-day, and M. yesterday; though
both excel as engravers, their remarks showed they had but
little judgment of pictures; a circumstance I have had frequent
occasion to observe in engravers, and indeed in painters, though
not perhaps so generally. 'Tis seldom that a tolerable painter is
not a good judge of the mechanical defects or excellences of a
picture. Read at Debrett's, in the papers, the manly behaviour of
Tone, tried at Dublin, and cast for high-treason. Johnson the
bookseller sent to the King's Bench Prison for selling "Wakefield's
pamphlet.
"16th. — Read the first act and part; of the second of ' The
Indian Exiles' to Bannister; and am convinced, by the effect it
produced upon him, that it is much too dull for representation.
I doubt how far it is worth the trouble of alteration. Met Sir
F . B., lately come to town, at Debrett's. He was very kind.
Went to the picture sale at Christie's. The stable-yards, asses,
and pigs of Morland, as usual, fetched a good price.
"Vlth.—M. called, and, speaking on that subject, expressed
his sorrow and surprise that W. should be acquainted with M.»
whom M., like most other people, considers as a very odd character. I mentioned what I conceived to be artifice in the conduct
of W. as a public preacher. M. defended him against the charge,
and gave me the following information. The famous Dr. Franklin, the present Sir J . B., Dr. Solander, Bentley, the partner of
Wedgewood, and perhaps some few others, were desirous of
putting a plan, conceived by Franklin, into practice ; which
was, to have a kind of chapel, or meeting-house, where all matters of faith should be omitted, and pure morality taught. W.,
at that time a dissenting teacher from Wales, was fixed on as
the preacher at this new chapel; but at this period Franklin was
obliged to conceal himself from Government, on American affairs,
and remained some days shut up in the house of W., who, at that
time, was a teacher of youth. The scheme, however, did not drop.
A small chapel in Margaret Street, Cavendish Square, was hired
to these moralists at one part of the Sunday, and to Methodists
on the other. B. and Solander acted with great shyness, if not
a 3

228

MEMOIRS

OF

hypocrisy; and instead of countenancing W., and promoting the
plan, they now and then peeped into the chapel, and got away
as fast as they decently could. Bentley and M., the member for
T., were more open in their conduct; but Bentley and W. disagreed, because Bentley urged him to insist on the immortality
of the soul, and W. replied he could and would teach no other
doctrines than such as agreed with the original plan. M. attributed the failure of the plan to this defection of B., Solandery
and Bentley, but here I think he is mistaken. I attended this
ehapel myself, and became acquainted with W., whose manner was
much too dry and cold, and his reasoning too confused, either to
warm the passions or sufficiently interest the understanding. He
afterwards saw me at the Sunday evening society, where discussion and the reading of philosophical papers were the business of
the meetings : at these I read some papers ; and my manner was
so far animated, as to induce W. to propose to me that he and I
should resume the plan of the chapel, and be joint preachers,
which I positively declined. Since this time, we have met and
spoken in the streets, but nothing more.
" 18th.—Walked to Hampstead and dined with Pinkerton. He
asked explanations of various of the corrections I advised and had
made with pencil-marks in his tragedy. I had only gone through
the four first acts, and he requested I would revise the fifth.
Speaking of Dr. G., he said, that in 1792 it was his custom to
declaim vehemently at the Stratford coffee-house, in favour of republicanism ; and finding the alarm that was raised, and the tide
turning, he soon after wrote in praise of the King, of mixed
monarchy, and of the peculiar happiness derived from it by the
English. The Doctor had been tutor to Lord H., for which an
annuity was settled on him of a hundred a year. About the time
of his turning royalist, Dr. —— died; and, the place of —— becoming vacant, G. went to Lord H., who was intimate with
Dundas, and proposed, if his lordship would procure him this
place, he would resign the annuity. The proposal was accepted, the place procured, and the Doctor's loyalty and royalty
confirmed. Speaking of his literary talents, P. joined with me
in thinking them rather below than above mediocrity. We differed in opinion concerning the perfectibility of man, against
which he quoted the traditional and written authority of five
thousand years, treating the supposition with great contempt, and

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

229

some degree of humorous ridicule. According to him, men grow
more corrupt so rapidly, that in his youthful dealings with booksellers, &c, he met with nothing but open fairness, and at present
he is obliged to be continually on his guard against cheating and
chicanery. I could only answer, that, for my own part, I found
no such general depravity to combat; and that, granting it were
so, this was a narrow ground, belonging to temporary and local
incident, by which the great question could not be decided.
(i
20th.—Called on Sir Francis Burdett, who had just been
reading in the newspaper the King's intended speech to-day (which
for some sessions past has been published the morning before it is
spoken), and eagerly asked my opinion what he, as an honest
member of Parliament, ought to say, thinking it highly objectionable. I read it over, and pointed out parts which I consider,
some as vicious in principle, others false in fact. He repeated the
summary or skeleton of what he intended to say, part of which was
sound sense, and part a repetition of questions a thousand times
ineffectually asked. During the day, sketched the beginning scene
of ' Hobson and Dobson.'
" 21st. — Worked at my comedy. Fairfax and Curtail, Headlong
and the tradesmen, &c. Several politicians at Debrett's canvassing the King's speech, &c.
" 22nd. — Met a political parson at Debrett's whose first recollection was where he was to dine. Said that Brown, the Egyptian
traveller, affirmed Buonaparte is safe in Egypt, and that Egypt
was alone the grand object of the expedition. Received a friendly
letter from Dr. Parry.
" 23rd. — Sketched in part the scenes of Melford and Caroline,
Caroline and Fairfax, and Caroline and the wife of Norman.
Think of rejecting the idea of twin-sisters. A wicked recruiting
hand-bill of Ireland, published in to-day's ' Chronicle.' Spoke of
it to General Hastings and others. It excited universal abhorrence.
" 24th. — Walked to S.'s, Paternoster Row, for the account between us, which he sent in the evening, wishing me to deduct seventy-six of the ' Narrative,' and twelve of the' Letter to Windham/
which he pretends to have been lost by the binder, and this since
the last settling, during which period the account states only three
sold. Saw two or three good pictures at Nodin's, Leadenhall
Street. Met Osmond, whom I,had not seen for some years. He
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MEMOIRS OF

remarked, I was much altered and broken. He was the same to
me. Time effects these changes, especially, as in my case, with
the addition of illness, in despite of the little wisdom we at present
possess. Conversed with Ward, the pugilist, a man who has been
remarkable for uncommon agility, as well as strength and courage;
his language illiterate, his countenance and manner vulgar, yet to
a certain degree pleasing, and his intellect remarkably quick. He
was once so famous at fives, that he beat every opponent, with
right, left, or back hand, by his extreme activity. He is now
among the best players at billiards. The method practised by
pugilists to bring themselves into condition, as they term it, is air
and exercise, regular hours, not more than a pint of wine a day,
lean meat, especially beef, and fowls, with few vegetables. This
regimen may be instructive to persons wishing to recover activity
and strength. Met Jew K., who, from his conversation and
physiognomy, does not appear to grow more wise and placable
as he grows older. Again invited me to renew my visits, which
I do not intend, and spoke of the frequency of those of G., as I
suspect, with exaggeration. Soon afterwards, I was in some
danger of being run over by B. D., his son-in-law, driving furiously in a curricle. The coincidence of these rencontres was
whimsical.
" 25th. — Called on Stoddart; not at home. Received a letter
from him complaining of marked disrespect from me. Answered
by truly denying any such intentional behaviour. Godwin, Carlisle,
and the two Tobins to dinner ; Stoddart came in the evening.
Carlisle spoke of a woman who had been five-and-twenty years
in bed, from a cancerous disease, and who is still living.
" 26th. — Saw J. Robinson, Sir Francis Burdett, and Estey at
Debrett's. It is said in a newspaper, that Kotzebue is imprisoned
by the Imperial government for his democratic principles. Mr.
Aspin, who printed Fenwick's pamphlet on Coigley, called.
« 27th. — T. North, Lord Thanet, &c. at Debrett's. The ravages of the yellow fever at Philadelphia and New York detailed
in to-day's 6 Chronicle.' Courtney says, he lately read in one of Dr.
Franklin's letters a passage where the Doctor foretold epidemical
diseases, if draining and cleanliness were not more carefully
practised.
" 28th. — Called to settle with S.; reminded him that the
preface I wrote, and the proofs I read for him, while a prisoner

THOMAS HOLCKOFT.

231

with him in Newgate, had I charged them, if charged at twelve
guineas, would not have been more than a third of tfie value of my
time; yet I had charged nothing, nor should, unless he contested a
fair account. This induced him immediately to allow the balance'
due on the sale of my books. Papers at Debrett's. On Thursday
the 22nd, Fanny met the Miss Harts, drinking tea with Miss
Banks; they are the daughters of Home Tooke. Home Tooke
takes some pleasure in praising his daughters, which he sometimes
does by those equivocatory falsehoods which are one of his principal pleasures. Of the eldest, he says, < all the beer brewed in
this house is of that young lady's brewing.' It would be equally
true were he to say, all the hogs killed in this house are of that
young lady's killing; for they brew no beer. When a member of
the Constitutional Society, I have frequently heard him utter sentences, the first part of which would have subjected him to death
by the law, but for the salvo that followed; and the more violent
they were, thus contrasted and equivocatory, the greater was his
delight.
" 30th.—P. to dinner. Manuscript letters of James L, Prince
Henry, &c. in the Museum. P. had beei! reading them; says
the character in which they are written is uncommonly beautiful; and that many of them addressed to Prince Henry were
from projectors and improvers with which that time abounded.
Henry delighted in patronising and encouraging them. P. of
opinion that the high character given of Henry was well deserved.
" December 5th. — Saw Cumberland's ' Word for Nature' first
time : was much pleased. He too often unravels his whole fable,
which is slight enough, in the first or second acts. In this some
little suspense is preserved, and very much of those generous feelings which interest while they improve. His usual self-conceit
was exceedingly prominent in the prologue, and sufficiently so in
the play. The epilogue was an incongruous farrago, and took
away much of the pleasant feeling the piece had left. It likewise
was egotistical. In the dialogue, he was guilty of his common
fault, a repeated play upon words, little better than quibbling; and
though not held in so much contempt, inferior perhaps to punning,
of which it is but a meagre species. His characters of the termagant wife, hen-pecked husband, and old officer, are repetitions of
himself: that is, of Ironsides, with Sir Benjamin and Lady Dove,

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MEMOIRS GF

in ' The Brothers ;' except that in ' The Brothers/ if I remember
rightly, the three characters are much better drawn. The chief,
and almost the sole, merit of the present comedy centres in the
youth Leonard, to whom all the rest are very properly made subservient adjuncts. In this comedy, as in ' The Wheel of Fortune/
there are some few impertinent excrescences. These two pieces,
however, have more of wholeness and simplicity in the fable than
most others in the English language ; of those at least that,
because of their insipidity, are not forgotten. These are the
thoughts that occur after having once seen the comedy. Perhaps
when I read and consider it more attentively, I may correct or
alter my opinion. It was received.
" 6th. — The papers to-day have been less favourable in the
account given of Cumberland's comedy than I supposed they
would have been.
" 7th. — Coming from Debrett's I met S., who likewise spoke
unfavourably of Cumberland's comedy.
" 8 ^ . — Call from Mrs.
. She was much affected at being
told by a tailor, who works for Mr.
, that my amanuensis had
reported my opinion of Mr.
to be, that he was not a man of
principle. I replied, that if I had ever conveyed a thought to my
amanuensis, which might be so interpreted, it was when dictating
this diary, the contents of which I supposed he would have regarded as sacred, and not have repeated to the disturbance of any
person named in it. I added, that the diary was intended as a
memorandum of my present conduct, opinions, and intercourse, and
to serve in future as a depository of facts, which both I and others
might wish should be preserved. Many of them must doubtless be
trifling, others may turn to use: and that this end is desirable in
our most insignificant actions. I told her that if by the word unprincipled, any planned intention to defraud was understood, I
never had expressed such an opinion of Mr. •
, because I had
no such opinion ; though his conduct was reprehensible, yet I was
satisfied his intentions were honest and kind. The assessed taxes
the chief subject of conversation now at Debrett's. There was
yesterday in the * Chronicle' what was called ' a scale/ stating,
as is the case, according to the proposed bill, that a man of five
hundred a year landed property, which will sell for (say) twenty
thousand pounds during his life, or leave five hundred a year to
his descendants, is to pay fifty pounds per annum assessment.

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

233

That a man of five hundred a year annuity, which will sell for
only a small part of that sum, and, if not sold, leave nothing to
descendants, must pay the same. And lastly, that a man making
five hundred a year by his profession,, which, during life, will
sell for nothing, and leave nothing at his death, must still pay
fifty pounds annual assessment. Went with Fanny and Mrs. and
Miss B. to Covent Garden, to a new comedy performed there*
written by Reynolds, called ' Laugh when you Can.' A strange
mixture it would be to compare it, as a whole, with Cumberland's ;
yet it has sallies of humour which Cumberland cannot reach, and
will probably have a temporary popularity.
6i
9th. — Called on Carlisle, who showed me a plan for a new
school of anatomy.
" 111h. — Saw P. at Debrett's: told him my intention to go
abroad.
" 12th. — Mr. H. at Debrett's remarked that Canning's fine
speech in the House of Commons was rather a reply to what
Canning supposed Tierney would have said, than to what Tierney
did say.
C(
13th.—-At Debrett's, Weld rallied Tarleton on his approaching marriage and military appointment. Spoke with me concerning Sheridan's opera. T., having quarrelled with S., swore
he would never be friends again; for he never pulled off his
hat to him in the street but it cost him fifty pounds, and if he
trusted himself in the same room, a hundred. S. still supposed
to be concerned in the Haymarket. At Opie's in the evening.
Northcote present. Northcote animated, as usual. Related a
comic conversation between himself and a frame-maker, who had
never heard the name of Northcote, nor noticed it in the prints he
had framed, though he remembered the names of Sir Joshua
Reynolds, West, Opie, &c. After supper, stories of terror were
related.
" One, of a lady waked from sleep, who suffered her lap-dog to
lie at the foot of her bed, and, feeling something move, bid the dog
lie still, at the same time stretching out her arm to feel him, but,
instead of a lap-dog, took hold of a hand ; when a voice bid her
lie still, make no noise, but deliver her keys. The lady was a
woman of courage, and immediately complied; only requesting
her daughter might not be disturbed, who was sleeping by her
side. She, however, was mistaken; the daughter had heard

234

MEMOIRS OF

the thieves, had risen, slipped on a night-dress, and, stealing
into another room, gave the alarm, by which the thieves were
secured.
" Another, of a bigoted old lady, who seeing thieves enter her
apartment with lights, at midnight, exclaimed to her maid, who
lay in the same room, ' Lie still, Betty, for now we shall see the
salvation of the Lord!' imagining it was a celestial apparition.
The thieves, however, were driven away by the fury of a poor
man, maintained out of charity, who was half an idiot, and who,
after the exploit, was made drunk every day, when he went to
Plymouth, with drams given him by people, who bribed him to
tell the story.
" A third, of a gentleman, that having put out his candle,
going to bed, read, in blazing characters on his curtains, ' Confess
thy sins; this night thy soul shall be required of thee.' On
which the gentleman fell on his knees, and, as directed, began to
confess his sins aloud : not from terror, but aware it was a trick,
meant to terrify him, by a waggish young lady; and hearing a
little bustle on the stair-head, truly supposed that she and others
were there listening. He confessed, as the last and greatest of his
sins, that he had seduced the young lady, and, if that might be
pardoned him, he would never again be so heinously guilty. The
joke was understood, and, of course, the lady laughed at, instead
of the gentleman,
*' A fourth, of a cook-maid, left alone in a country-house, which
was attacked by several thieves on the night when she was
sitting up, waiting the arrival of the family. The detail of this
story
. who told it, did not know, except that the fears
and courage of the girl being inflamed, finding them to be
thieves, and that they were making their way by widening the
aperture of the kitchen gutter, she took up a cleaver, and killed
the first man that was creeping forward, then dragged the body
away, imitated his voice, encouraged a second to come in, killed
him, and thus destroyed them all; after which, growing frantic,
she lighted up every room, smeared herself with blood, brandished
her dreadful weapon, and was found marching about the house,
and to and from the dead bodies, by the family, who,, coming
home in the middle of the night, were amazed at the lights from
the windows first, and much more afterwards, when they beheld
the scene within.

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

235

" I am here reminded of a tragical story told me by the late
Mrs. P., with the hero of which, one Alexander
, of Aberdeen, she was personally acquainted, having, while a child, seen
him daily. A pretty girl, whom this man had seduced, had risen
at two o'clock, with one or two others, to wash. While they were
at their work, a whistle was heard, and the girl said, 'That is
Sandy; I will go and speak to him.' She said this with a kind of
wildness and terror in her look, and was persuaded not to go ; but
she said she must and would, come of it what might, as if herself
foreboding some ill. She could not be withheld; but going, said,
perhaps she should soon be back. The night passed away, however,
and, instead of returning, if I remember rightly, she was never
seen more. Her lover remained for some time in the place, till suspicion became so loud, that he thought proper to go abroad; for
there was no proof to detain him, as no one could swear to a
whistle, or knew what was become of the girl. After a lapse of
years, he returned rich, but always deeply melancholy, and loving
to be alone. This behaviour revived the memory of past events,
and he was universally shunned, except by children, to whom he
was particularly kind, and who therefore frequently played with
him, and partook of the good things he gave them.
" Discoursing at Opie's, on the effects of terror, Northcote related, that two of his brothers were sitting by the fire, and as one
of them slept, the other, by way of experiment, when he saw him
about to wake, sat motionless, without appearing to breathe, and
his eyes fixed on one object. The brother, who had been asleep,
watched him as long as his patience could hold, and then spoke,
but received no answer. He spoke again and again, but still the
same fixed, motionless, and, as he began to dread, lifeless figure,
sat before him. He was not a timid man, and the absurd joke
ended without any bad consequences. But the picture which he
afterwards gave of his own terror was a strong one. JN". also
told the following story : — A gentleman, followed by a servant in
livery, rode into an inn in the West of England, one evening, a
little before dusk. F"-» told the landlord that he should be detained
by business in that part of the country for a few days, and wished
to know if there were any amusements going on in the town, 'to
iill up the intervals of his time. The landlord replied, thp^t it
was their race and assize week, and that he would therefore be
at no loss to pass away the time. On the gentleman's making

236

MEMOIRS OF

answer that this was lucky, for that he was fond of seeing trials,
the other said, that a very interesting trial for a robbery would
come on the next day, on which people's opinions were much
divided, the evidence being very strong against the prisoner;
but he himself persisting resolutely in declaring that he was in
a distant part of the kingdom at the time the robbery was committed. His guest manifested considerable curiosity to hear the
trial, but, as the court would probably be crowded, expressed some
doubt of getting a place. The landlord told him, that there could
be no difficulty in a gentleman of his appearance getting a place;
but that, to prevent any accident, he would himself go with him,
and speak to one of the beadles. Accordingly, they went into
<jourt the next morning, and the gentleman was shown a seat on
the bench. Presently after, the trial began. While the evidence
was giving against him, the prisoner had remained with his eyes
fixed on the ground, seemingly very much depressed ; till, being
called on for his defence, he looked up, and, seeing the stranger,
he suddenly fainted away. This excited some surprise, and it
seemed at first like a trick to gain time. As soon as he came to
himself, on being asked by the judge the cause of his behaviour, he
said, ' Oh! my lord, I see a person that can save my life ; that
gentleman (pointing to the stranger) can prove I am innocent;
might I only have leave to put a few questions to him ?' The
eyes of the whole court were now turned on the gentleman, who
said he felt himself in a very awkward situation to be so called
upon, as he did not remember ever to have seen the man before,
but that he would answer any question that was asked him. { Well,
then/ said the man, * don't you remember landing at Dover at
such a time ? ' To this the gentleman answered, that he had
landed at Dover not long before, but that he could not tell whether
it was on the day he mentioned or not- e Well,' said he, * but
$on't you recollect that a person in a blue jacket and trowsers
carried your trunk to the i n n ? ' To this he answered, that of
course some person had carried his trunk for him, but that he did
not know what dress he wore. c But/ said the prisoner, ( don't
you remember that the person, who went with you from the boat,
toVld you a story of his being in the service, that he thought himself^a.n ill-used man, and that he showed you a scar he had on one
side oif his forehead? ' During this last question, the countenance
of the stranger underwent a considerable change ; he said he cer-

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

237

tainly did recollect such a circumstance ; and, on the man's putting
his hair aside, and showing the scar, he became quite sure that
he was the same person. A buzz of satisfaction now ran through
the court, for the day on which, according to the prisoner's account, this gentleman had met with him at Dover, was the same on
which he was charged with the robbery in a remote county. The
stranger, however, could not be certain of the time, but said that
he sometimes made memorandums of dates in his pocket-book,
smd might possibly have done so on this occasion. On turning to
his pocket-book, he found a memorandum of the time he landed
from Calais, which corresponded with the prisoner's assertion.
Xhis being the only circumstance necessary to prove the alibi, the
prisoner was immediately acquitted, amidst the applause and congratulations of the whole court. Within less than a month after
this, the gentleman who came to the inn, attended by a servant in
livery, the servant who followed him, and the prisoner who had
been acquitted, were all three brought back together to the same
.gaol, for robbing the mail.
" 14th.—The assassination of Buonaparte, the subject at Debrett's.
" 15th.-—Met Arthur B., who disbelieves the assassination of
Buonaparte. It was much questioned at Debrett's. T. loud in
asserting it was impossible that a general officer,, surrounded hy
his staff, should be massacred. Tarleton already imagines himself and his staff in P . B. remarked to me on the triumphant
£one of the ministry, and their creatures, in announcing this intelligence. It is true enough, but party spirit never yet had
understanding.
<{
16th.—Walked with Tobin into the park, Met various persons ; among others, S., the surgeon, as flighty and whimsical as
usual. He walked with u s ; dropped u s ; then came up again ;
met another acquaintance, stopped with him, was presently with
us again ; and after first saying I was a deep observer of men and
manners, asked me of what profession was the man he met. I had
scarcely seen the man's face, and, cutting Addison's joke, desired
him to give me the red-hot poker out of his pocket, that I might
swallow it as a first proof of my skill. He then said the man wras
a dentist. I replied, I was about to guess he was a doctor, and
should have been tolerably near the mark. Tobin tells me Doctor
Beddoes is again going to lecture at Bristol on health and its pre-

238

MEMOIKS OF

servation; that he hates physicians, that physicians hate him, and
that he wishes to teach each man to be the guardian of his own
health. Thomas Wedgewood, Tobin says, is so afflicted with bad
digestion, that he is obliged to take several hours' strong exercise
every day. Shooting and turning are part of his amusements.
Metaphysics, the study he most delighted in. I told Tobin I
wished for a school of health, one principal branch of which should
be exercise, and its proper direction, tending to move the limbs and
muscles in all modes, by running, stooping, &c, and that social
games, which should powerfully stimulate, ought to be practised;
bowls, trap-ball, &c, in fine weather. Billiards, marbles, and whatever would engage the attention, and give variety of action, should
be studied. I mentioned the above as those that first occurred to
the memory. Parkinson, jun., a good mineralogist. His father
was offered twelve thousand pounds, and the title of Baron for his
son, by a German prince (of Hesse, I believe), for the Leverian
Museum. It is intended to remove this museum into Bond Street,
make scientific arrangements, &c, and exhibit it at half-a-crown,
or by annual tickets. At present it does not quite pay the interest
of the money. Parkinson, sen., a lawyer, acting chiefly as steward
to various persons. Much talk with Tobin, concerning some manuscript pieces written by his brother, and not a little praised by him.
Stoddart and Clementi to dinner. Read a scene from Lillo's ' Fatal
Curiosity' to them. Agnes and Wilmot concerting the murder.
Critical remarks by S. on the language. Called on N., who
mentioned an attack made on him by T., editor of a magazine
meant to rival his journal. The attack ignorant and artful. I
advised either a perfectly good-tempered reply, or silence.
(i
17tk.—Walked to Westminster, to inquire concerning the picture of Angelica and Medora, but could not find Mr. Bates. Unexpectedly met Colonel Barry at Debrett's, just come to town.
Lord Wycombe, speaking of Lord Cornwallis, says, 'No man is
more open in discussing any question, political, or appertaining to
government, except such as relate immediately to his own office,
and then no man more close.' G. related of one B., a gambler and
famous billiard-player, that he was now in total discredit, after
having lived in a very high style; to support which, he had been
guilty of many notorious gambling frauds. He and one Captain
met one evening at billiards, and played a long rubber
for 501, which B. easily won. The Captain said he had no more

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

239

money then, but would come the next night, and play him for his
own sum, for he was still convinced he was the better player. The
appointment was made, and all the gamblers and sporting people,
who heard of it, flocked to the place. Bets to a large amount
were laid every game; the Captain won, and emptied most of the
spectators' pockets: but the match was not finished, for he and
B. quarrelled, abused each other in very gross language, pretended to strike at each other with their cues, but avoided the
blows by dodging, and separated in an apparently extreme heat.
A person, however, who had been betting, happening to pass toward
Berkeley Square, saw B. and the Captain, under the wall of
Lansdowne House, dividing the bank-notes and money of which
they had robbed the bettors. B. was dealer to one
, who
kept a faro table; and three nights successively, a man came in
towards the close of the play, staked a large sum on the card, and
won it, to the total amount of two thousand pounds. He made
& fourth attempt, but was refused by the table-keeper. B. was
suspected, and discharged; and was soon after seen dining at the
tavern on Kichmond Hill, with the man who had won the two
thousand pounds. Gamblers speak with most acrimonious rancour
against those of their own set who betray them. They delight in
conspiring against all the world besides; but bestow the epithets
thief, robber, rascal, &c. most plentifully when betrayed by one of
themselves.
" IStk, — Conversed with E. at Debrett's concerning L., who
was left joint patentee of Drury Lane theatre, with landed property, houses, &c. of twelve hundred a year, or more. Married a
green woman's daughter because she was tall; himself above six
feet: and, in a very short time, was little better than a beggar;
yet never made any figure, even as a spendthrift. He had last
night a benefit at the little theatre in the Haymarket; a poor house.
" 19th.—Breton at Debrett's, spoke of the tricks of Smithfield
salesmen. He sent thirty head of cattle to market, came himself
unknown to the salesman, and watched his proceedings ; a number,
twelve I think, of bad cows were added to his thirty fat bullocks;
the whole sold together, and he paid the average price; but made
the salesman refund. Farmers are not allowed to sell for themselves; they must employ salesmen.
" 2Qtk. — Mr. H. observed, that the ship Orient had beon
the evil genius of the squadron of Brueys. It had prevented the
R

240

MEMOIRS OF

going into the inner harbour. It would nofc suffer the squadron to
anchor in very shallow water, and by blowing up in the battle did
every kind of mischief.
. "21st.—Conversed with Erskine, Sir Francis Burdett, R. Adair,
Courtney, Este, and Weld. Erskine of opinion it was wrong to
give up agitating the Question of reform without doors, i. e. out
of the House of Commons. He had before remarked that the people
had lost all spirit, which I denied, and, on this occasion, reminded
him that the leaders of the people had abandoned them in a
cowardly manner, and then had called the people cowards. Sir
Francis Burdett is inquiring into the number of persons imprisoned
on suspicion, and their treatment, meaning to state the particulars
to Parliament. Erskine, as a lawyer, has great talents, quick con ceptions, acute feelings, and uncommon power over juries ; but as
a man of grand plans, and inflexible principles, he is far from ranking in the first class. I this day completed my fifty-third year.
" 23rd. — Called on Sir William Beechey, who has lately given
a delicacy of tint and reflected lights to the shaded side of his faces,
which I think admirable; and, as far as my knowledge goes,
peculiar to himself. He related the following anecdote of Serres;
the ship painter. Serres took a picture or pictures of shipping,
from England to the King of France, painted to commemorate
some naval exploit of the French, and invited connoisseurs and
artists to see his performance. Among the rest was the famous
Yernet. Serres waited some time after Yernet had looked at the
picture, till he became impatient to hear his opinion, hoping for
praise, and fearing lest it should not be bestowed. ' How do you
like my picture,' said he, c Mr. Yernet ? ' ' Upon my word, sir,'
replied Yernet, ' you paint ropes exceedingly well.' Nothing
could be more satirical, or better mark the genius of the two men,
than this reply. Yernet, like a man of genius, painted nature at
large, and suggested her minutise, but never gave them in detail.
Serres was incapable of any thing but detail, in which he was uncommonly accurate. Serres thought he revenged himself on
Yernet, by damning him for a fool, that had never known how
to paint a ship, which, in his sense, was true enough. He could
not paint every shroud, rope, and tackle, &c, all which Serres had
laboriously studied.
« <' 24th. — Mr. — . M. P. related an incredible anecdote
•
of the Prince of Sicily,-—the present prince royal, if I do not

THOMAS HOLCKOFT.

241

mistake,—that, being betrothed to an archduchess of Austria, and,
as they could not meet, Germany, &c. being overrun by the
French, being married by proxy, eight months after the marriage
he ordered his attendants to provide child-bed linen; supposing
she must be brought to bed in a month, though he had never seen
her. I said it was incredible, and he answered it was seriously
asserted as a fact.
" 25th. — Mr. C. surprised me much by a very liberal and
friendly offer of the loan of two or three hundred pounds ; thinking it might be want of money that induced me to sell my effects
and go abroad. I answered, one motive was, that of being already
in debt to persons who never reminded me of it, which I could
endure no longer, much less to incur fresh obligations of the same
kind ; but that his offer was a strong testimony of the goodness of
his own heart. That I was likewise desirous of familiarising
myself and my daughter with the true idiom of foreign languages,
and the manners of the people ; also of reducing my expenses, and
of absenting myself till certain prejudices in the public mind,
respecting me, should subside.
" 26th. — Sent the three first acts of < The Lawyer' to Mr.
Harris. Walked with B——r to see P., whose hands are
excessively burned by extinguishing fire, which had caught his
wife's clothes, and must certainly have burned her to death. ; His
resolution was considerable. When the wife of B
r was sitting
for her picture, Beechey related the following anecdote. At the
time of the last procession, he was painting K. G., who asked if he
intended to see the sight: B. answered in the affirmative. ' It
will be very fine, B., very fine.' The day after, when sitting,
he again said, ' Well, B., did you see the procession, B.?' The
painter answered he had. ' How did you like it, B. ? How
did you like it ? ' ' Exceedingly.' ' Had you a good sight, B. ? '
{
A very good one. I saw it from a one pair of stairs, on the top
of Ludgate Hill.' * That must lfave been very fine, very fine
indeed, B. I wish I had been in your place. I should like to
have seen it myself. But I could see nothing; but the back of the
coachman/ Went to * The Jew and the Doctor' in the evening,
which is a tolerably good farce.
a
21th. — Mr. —-=-, at Debrett's, wished the Orangemen of Ireland might raise another rebellion, and be all cut off and totally
destroyed. Such is the miserably vicious state of the minds of
B

2

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MEMOIRS OF

the two opposite parties. Nothing will satisfy either, but the
extirpation and blood of their opponents. Dined with Mr. F.
A Mrs. Remorande came to consult him on law business. Her
husband, an Irish officer, in the French service, was guillotined by
Robespierre ; and she, finding means to secrete 500/., remitted
the money to England. The person afterwards refused payment.
She employed an attorney, and was told by another, one M.,
the first intended to cheat her; and prevailed upon her to let him
continue the suit. She complied, and he soon obtained the money;
but instead of receiving it, as she expected, an information was
laid against her, and she was taken on suspicion before the Duke
of Portland. Her story being heard, the villanous artifice of
M. was seen through, and she was released. He used fresh
endeavours, and she was taken before the Westminster justices ;
but again set free. M. had given instructions, in his own
handwriting, to his servant, how to proceed in accusing her.
These were obtained ; he was prosecuted, and promised, if they
would stop proceedings, the money should be repaid. Her counsel
incautiously took his word; and as it was a criminal prosecution,
when it was dropped, he was no longer in danger, and mocked their
credulity. He was arrested, however, for the debt, and put in the
Fleet prison, where he now lies. This woman's story in France
was still more remarkable. The outlines of it were these. The
papers announcing her husband's death had arrived, and the
tragedy was generally known to the inhabitants of St. Omer's, but
not to her. The people around her were afraid to tell her of it.
She is a woman of quick faculties, observed something remarkably
unusual, gloomy, and strange in their countenances, and could not
conceive the reason. One of them advised her to go to the play,
because she was in need of amusement. This ridiculous advice she
innocently followed ; and her acquaintance at the play were so
astonished at the indecency of such conduct, that she came away
uncommonly agitated by behaviour she thought so affronting.
Still she found the same mournful faces, and at last conjured some
of them, in God's name, to tell her what was the matter. One
advised her, if she had any property, to secure it, for she was in
danger. This alarmed her suspicions concerning the true cause,
and they were confirmed by another, who answered her next
question, by replying, 6 il est partly he is gone.* The famous
tyrant, Le Bon, soon afterward came to St. Omer's. Her person

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

243

was seized ; her property confiscated ; her two children were torn
from her ; and she was ordered to prison. In the delirium of her
distress, she braved this demon, called him Scelerat, and said,
though he aimed at her life, she should live to see him cut off for
his crimes. She was removed, however, to Amiens, among persons
who were soon to be sacrificed, and her hair was shorn for that
purpose. But at this period, Robespierre himself fell; she escaped;
and, by an odd coincidence of circumstances, when Le Bon was on
his trial, she happened to come to the town where he was tried,
went to the court to see the man who had done her so much mischief, and entered it (he being on his defence) at the moment he
was describing the fury with which she had resisted what he called
the execution of the law. She instantly mounted on a seat;
showed herself to the court; and called, in the most impressive
manner, to be heard. The judge was proceeding to commit her
for disturbing the proceedings, till she announced her name, and
the court then listened to her with the utmost attention. The impression she made was so great, that Le Bon sunk dejected, and
offered no further defence to that charge. She supposes him to
have been a man as extraordinary for his abilities, as for his
cruelty and rapaciousness. M. Martinet, an emigrant, came to
tea. In one respect, his was a similar story. He had taught
French, with great reputation, in the university of Cambridge,
where he had never agitated or concerned himself with political
questions, yet an information being laid against him, he was ordered
out of the kingdom. In consequence of letters written by noblemen, divines, and respectable men of all parties, this order was
revoked; but he is not permitted to teach in Cambridge, consequently he has lost an income, which he had established by his
abilities, of between 100/. and 200/. a year.
" 28th. — Met Sir L. C. at Debrett's, and spoke to him to recommend N.'s academy. Was pleased with Pulteney's speech
against the Income Bill. Mr. G-. Dyer drank tea with us, and told
me of poems well written by Lord Holland. Imitations of * J uvenal,'
one of them called * Secession,' in praise of his uncle, Charles Fox.
B. asserted two people had perished by the frost in the prison,
nick-named the Bastille. Sir L. C. agreed with me in disapproving Tierney's motion against the editor of the ' Times/
"29th.—Letter
from Harris refusing to accept bills for me,
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MEMOIRS OF

Wrote in answer. Informed Courtney of B.'s story ; he had heard
it of one person starved, but with aggravating circumstances
that render it incredible.
"&lst.i—Letter from Harris. Spoke to Lord Holland, requesting him to promote Mr. N's plan for an intended academy, which
he promised to do.
"1799.
"January 1st — Lord Wycombe at Debrett's. Conversed with
him yesterday on the Orleans Gallery; and with Courtney on the
subject of solitary confinement. Northcote present. Conversation
chiefly on the perfectibility of man, Shakspeare, and painting.
"2nd. — Mr. Harris called, and proposes to put the comedy in
rehearsal nearly as soon as it is finished. Contended with Lord
H. at Debrett's, against precedents, and in favour of the patriotism
of the people; which points he did not obstinately maintain. Spoke
with P. on the subject of ' The Lawyer.' Every body speaks ill
of Boaden's play, i Aurelio and Miranda,' first performed on Saturday, the 29th ult., at Drury Lane theatre. Dined with Tobin in
Barnard's Inn, No. 7., his brother, Mr. W., and E. The discourse on Christianity, causation, &c, and politics. T. one of
those who defend the present tyranny of the French government;
from the enthusiasm with which they admired the late struggles
of the nation for freedom.
" Srd. —- Mr. C. brought me a hundred pounds as a loan.
Seems very desirous I should not quit the kingdom. Accepted a
draft for ninety pounds, at two months, drawn by Birch, for a
Teniers and other pictures. Had a dispute with Weld concerning
the frost of 1789 and that of 1795. I was wrong. Weld jocularly
accused me of the trouble I took to have myself hanged; alluding
to my surrendering myself when indicted for high-treason, though
my prosecutors seemed unwilling to take me into custody.
"Ath.— M. Martinet, a French emigrant, called for the first
time, the gentleman mentioned on the 27th ult. Billiards with a
stranger. One O. was at play in the morning with a youth of
the name of Frazer, and played barefacedly ill, to encourage him,
meaning no doubt to lead him on and plunder him.
«5th. — E. at Debrett's. He used to be stiff and distant
with me, he now seems to make it a point of being familiar.
A great, and not an ill talker ; little depth of thought, but much
<

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

2U

florid description* Sometimes with a happy poetic word. Weld,
in conversation with me, gave a high character of Lord H., in
which, I think, there was little if any exaggeration. His speech to
the Lords against the suspension of the Habeas Corpus, as reported
by the newspapers, has great and solid merit. His delivery, I
fear, is not very impressive. I likewise fear he has not sufficient
vehemence of feeling to become a man of genius. G. has again
been at play with young Frazer, and to-day thought proper to Win
a few games. The match is to be continued on Monday.
" 6th. — After writing the last and chief scene in my comedy,
yesterday and this morning, part of it from notes, but chiefly the
labour of the two days, I walked with Fanny, and Louisa Mercier,
into the park, where, though it was a quick thaw, numbers were
skating; and had the day been clear, the morning picture would
have been amusing. Met General Maitland, had a salute; a nod
from Lord K. S. on horseback.
" 7 th. — Again transcribed, with additions and corrections, the
last scene. Lord Holland, General Maitland, Mr. Weld, Mr. Hare,
the Duke of Bedford, &c, at Debrett's. The hardships of the
Income Bill discussed.
" 8 ^ . — W r o t e the first scene of the fifth act, the substance of
which I had in my memory; and had the whole act transcribed,
and the comedy sent to Mr. Harris. Saw P. at Debrett's, and
spoke to him of my intended epilogue*
" 9th. — Harris called about three o'clock, much satisfied with
the comedy, but advising some curtailments and slight alterations.
" 10th. —-Wrote to Harris concerning the proposed alterations.
" llth.—-Made alterations in the Tradesman-scene, and returned
the comedy to Harris, that Lewis might read Headlong before I
curtail the Bailiff-scene in the third act. [This comedy came out
at Drury Lane (much altered) in 1803, ran eleven nights, ill performed, and entitled, ' Hear both Sides.' June, 1808.]
" 12th. — Went with Fanny and Louisa to Holman's new
comedy, first time, ' The Votary of Wealth,' a piece in which
there is much to blame, and but little to commend. Heard Mrs.
Atkins in the first act of * Bosina.' M. Le F. and his wife in
the same box ; he pretended to regret we each had visited when
the other was not at home, and to wish a more intimate acquaintance ; but I doubt his sincerity. He is a man of the world, and
his world has not been of the purest kind.
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v

MEMOIRS OF

"13th. — Called on P., who read me quotations made by
Belsham from ' Davenant,' something like miraculously picturing
the political state and government of the kingdom, though written,
I believe, at the beginning of this century. Left the manuscript
of 6 The Lawyer' with him to read. Called on M. Martinet —
not at home, and on Mr. Nicholson. Mr. Godwin brought my
manuscript with further remarks, of the same temper and complexion as his first: on which subject, as nearly as I can recollect,
we had the following conversation. / / . ' The first part of your
criticism which I have read has, I own, both pained and surprised me. When you brought your tragedy to me, you gave a
minute detail of the rules I was to observe in criticising your work,
that you might properly benefit by my remarks, which rules you
have not yourself in the least attended to. One of the first of them
was, not to find fault in such an absolute and wholesale style as
might at once kill your ardour, and make you, if not disgusted with
your work, yet so doubtful as at once to damp all further progress.
Yet, having read mine, you come with a sledge-hammer of
criticism, describe it as absolutely contemptible, tell me it must be
damned, or if it should escape, that it cannot survive five nights,
that the characters and plot are but transcripts of myself, and that
every body will say it is the garrulity of an old man. I am well
aware that the judgment of an author on a work of his own, which
he has lately finished, is extremely fallible ; but a judgment he has,
^and must have, and I am firmly persuaded that this comedy
(meaning " The Lawyer ") contains some of the strongest writing I
have ever produced; and I stake my judgment, as far as the judgment of an author, under the circumstances I have described, can
be staked, that instead of being damned, it will meet with no inconsiderable applause.' G. ' I thought it my duty to speak
my thoughts plainly. The opinion I have delivered I delivered
coolly, after due reflection, and I was desirous you should understand perfectly what my feelings were. My language was unqualified, but there is this distinction between my critique and yours, of
which I complained. I have used no triumphing banter, which
you did.' H. 'Not in that part of my remarks which was
general; nor ever, but when I supposed it would make you more
clearly perceive the defect which I wished you to amend, than any
other method I could take/
G. ' There is another difference
between us. Though I certainly give myself credit for intellectual

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

247

powers, yet I have a failing which I have never been able to overcome. I am so cowed and cast down by rude and unqualified
assault, that for a time I am unable to recover. You, on the
contrary, I consider as a man of iron.' IL ' I t is true, I have
been so hardened in sufferance, by the difficulties I have had to
overcome, that when such attacks are made upon me I think I may
say, however egotistical it may sound, I can, in the language of
Shakspeare, shake them from me " as the lion shakes the dewdrops
from his mane." Yet if you imagine that sensibility is destroyed
in me, the mistake is strange and unaccountable, considering how
well you know me. On the present occasion, I lay wakeful and
ruminating full three hours on the injustice and wrong nature of
your remarks. At length I recollected the folly of such uneasiness, created chiefly by the pain it gave me to think you could
act so improperly, and I then recounted to myself your great
virtues, and how very trifling such blemishes are, when placed
in comparison with them. This, as it ought, acted like a charm,
and almost immediately calmed my perturbation. But it is
right I should inform you I had this perturbation ; and that
though I can overcome feeling, it is still as quick and vigorous
as ever.' We then walked, and conversed on other subjects till
dinner-time.
" l^tli. — Inquired of King, auctioneer, his terms of selling
books : they are ten per cent., not including tenpence in the pound
king's taxes, but all other expenses, except that of conveying them
to the auction room. Lord Wycombe at Debrett's ; read to me the
strange account inserted in the ' Times' of to-day, of Lord Camelford's attempt to go over to France; and commented on the pretended purity of ministers, who have lately conferred the command
of a ship (a frigate as I recollect) on this madman. L. related
to me a whimsical story of a physician, who one night hearing
lamentable groans and cries, went to search whence they proceeded, found a man and woman, drunk, thrown out of an overturned cart, hastened to a public-house to get aid, and in his care
had them put to bed together; but returning the next morning,
found the man in a rage at having slept with such a companion;
and the woman making an intolerable uproar, weeping and reproaching, asserting that her character was ruined, and that he
must and should marry her: which accordingly the good-natured
fool was persuaded to do. Called on Christie; his terms for

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MEMOIRS OF

pictures are seven and a half per cent., all expenses whatever
included.
" 15th. — Met Mr. P. at Phillips's auction rooms. Thinks
highly of 6 The Lawyer.' Suggested an alteration that should omit
the Bailiff in the fourth act. Will consider it. Conversed with
Lord Wycombe at Debrett's.
" 16th, — Mr. Harris called; advised alterations in 'The Lawyer,' which I expect will be essential. His ideas, though crude,
have awakened reflection. He promised to put no other comedy
in rehearsal* till he had my answer within a fortnight.
"17 th. — Made notes for altering the character of Sir Ralph.
Lord Wycombe, Marquis of Townsend, Rans, &c, at Debrett's.
Read the three last acts of i The Lawyer' to Louisa and Fanny ;
their feelings were strong, yet from their variations I could discover some defects. Reading such manuscripts is a good experiment.
6(
ISth. — Account in to-day's i Morning Chronicle' of the Norwegian that died at the age of 160, enjoying his faculties to the
last. * His name, I think, Surrington. G-irton, a landscape designer, looked at my pictures, and praised them highly. After the
Wilsons, his attention was most deeply attracted by the landscape
by Artois.
" 19th. — Barry, the painter, R. A. spent the evening with us.
His conversation, as usual, rapturous in praise of the arts. Speaks,
and, I believe, thinks highly of Fanny's attempts at drawing: not
of her knowledge or execution, but of her feeling for character and
beauty. Saw Mr. Wheeler going to Fulham, who was astonished
and rejoiced, having supposed me dead. Asked me to dine with
him in the country.
6i
20th. — Received a begging letter from a person signing himself J. K., the chief features of which are ignorance and servility. I thought it my duty to refuse his request. I learn —,—intends to read lectures on law, in which political government is
to be introduced, and the established systems of this country highly
praised. Expressed the pain I felt, that a man of such superior
powers should act so false a part, and so contrary to his convictions,
of which I must, in all human probability, be able to form a tolerably accurate opinion, from the many conversations I have had
with him. His judgment was (and, doubtless, still is, for his
faculties are in their full vigour) so clear, his perceptions so pene*

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

249

trating, and his opinions so decided, that I can conceive no possibility of their being so totally changed. Read Dryden's Translation,
Ode 29. b. 1.. of ' Horace,' part of 'Macflecnoe,' and his c Verses on
Young Statesmen,' 1680, aloud.
" 2 1 ^ . — Report at Debrett's, that Paul Benfield is ruined.
Was told he went out to India a carpenter, got employment as a
builder, learned the art of making money breed, and came home
worth 300,000/.
" 22nd, — The union of Ireland is now the whole subject of
political discourse. Ministry seems determined, and their opponents hope, though faintly, it may put an end to their power.
" 23rd. r Met Sir F. B. in Bond Street, who reminded me of
—
my promise; then H., who would not see me, ('tis the fashion
of these folks to those they think their inferiors,) and afterwards
C. Grey, M. P., who was less aristocratic, and gave me a nod.
Lord S.'s 'Address' in the ' Chronicle' and 'Post.' T. calls him
mad. I expressed a different opinion to Weld, who agreed, and
said there was method in his madness.
" 24th: — Met General H. again. He spoke to me, for it was
not in Bond Street, and his pride had no alarms. Such pride is
pitiable, and excites to resentment; but to resent would be equally
weak.
" 25th. — At Debrett's. General H. described the black chief
of St. Domingo, Toussaint, after General Maitland. He is a little
man, about fifty, toothless, lively of temper, and ambitious.
"26*A.—Call from Watts; another from Tobin, who had lent
me (The Sorcerer,' translated from Weber, He and his brother
praised it as the first production in the world. I told him, I thought
the author a man of genius, but that his book is written in a taste
no less disgusting than immoral, besides being deficient in several
of the essential parts of composition, as, a choice of subject, eonduct of the fable, probability, &c. Attwood came and told me the
performers gave high applause at the reading of 'The Old Clothesman.' Met Knight, who is to play Florid, and who wanted to tell
me it as a secret, which I refused to hear. Dibdin, comedian, and
author of * The Jew and the Doctor/ was with him. I like
Mm, because he spoke so earnestly in praise of the virtuous principles of his brother. They are illegitimate sons of Dibdin, the
musical composer, whose conduct towards them is highly reprehensible.; The young man said he had seen his father sq seldom,

250

MEMOIRS OF

that, having weak eyes, he should not know him if he met him in
the street. I invited him to my house. The news at Debrett's
was the failure in the Irish Parliament, of the attempt at a union ;
and not only there, but in the streets, it was the subject of general
conversation. All whom I heard mention it, rejoiced. Naples,
they say, is in the possession of the French; the king having
iled with eight thousand troops to Sicily, after twenty thousand
others had laid down their arms to eight thousand French. The
substance of this I suppose to be true.
*' 28tk. — Finished the alterations in my comedy. Debrett's
full. The conduct of the Irish parliament relating to the union,
the whole subject of political conversation. Read a criticism in
4
La Decade Philosophique/ No. 8, An. 7., — on a French translation of 'Hugh Trevor,' containing great praise, and some pointed
blame. The chief articles of the latter are, — that the plan proposed is incomplete [true] ; that some of the conversations are too
long [true] ; that my satire on professions is unfounded [false] ;
that I have not put my morality sufficiently in action [false again,
the law part excepted] ; that probability is not quite enough regarded [perhaps not] ; and that, to make Trevor so suddenly a
wealthy man, is entirely in the novel style [true; blamable]. The
following are the concluding remarks : ( Malgre ces defauts qu'on
peut reprocher, comme nous l'avons vu, a beaucoup de romans,
memes tres-estimes, celui-ci merite assurement d'etre distingue par
la justesse des observations, la verite des tableaux et des caracteres,
le naturel du dialogue, la peinture exacte des moeurs et des ridicules.
En un mot, c'est l'ouvrage d'un penseur, d'un homme de talent,
d'un observateur habile et exercise, d'un ami des moeurs, et de la
vertu; disons encore d'un ecrivain patriote, hardi defenseur des
droits sacres du peuple, et de telles productions sont toujours faites
pour etre bien accueillies.'
" 29th, — Called on Opie; saw a portrait, whole length, of a
lady, excellent. News of a second defeat of government in Ireland,
109 to 104 against the union. Pitt, in answer to Sheridan, on the
debate here on that subject, said, Sheridan seemed determined to
have the last word; to which Sheridan replied, he was satisfied
with having the last argument, When Dundas brought the sealed
bag, containing the proofs which are to be examined to show the
necessity of a union, Sheridan, seeing there was not much in it,
jocularly said to Dundas, ' Confess the truth; is there any thing in

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

251

that bag, except the report the committee are to bring up?' H——>
M. P. related these as extraordinary witticisms. The one was a
ready reply; the other, a sarcastic question, naturally resulting
from his knowledge of the practices of people in office: nothing
more. Sent my comedy to Harris, with a letter. Called on
Northcote.
" 30th. — Sat to Mr. Opie, first sitting for my portrait, intended
for Colonel Barry. Mr. G. has a portrait of me painted by Opie,
which was exhibited last year, a most admirable painting and
likeness. Received a letter from Harris. A very excellent sonnet
in to-day's * Herald,' on Winter. GeneralH. told me, that Burns,
who has written a pamphlet on the union, cites an expression,
which is become proverbial in Ireland, i. e. ' P u t an Irishman
on the spit, and an Irishman will be found to turn it/
" 31s£. — Second sitting to Opie. He related an anecdote of a
man in Cornwall, who being half drunk, and near a dreadful precipice, suddenly fell, but happened to catch with his hands; on
which he began to pray, in a confused and terrified manner, till he
was so exhausted that he could hold no longer, and at last loosed
his hold ; but scarcely descended a yard, being not quite so far on
his road as the precipice; from which, if he had fallen, he must
probably have been dashed to pieces. The disappointment must
have been an odd sensation. Opie knew the man. S., a
painter, told us of his journey over Mount Cenis, when those
winter winds, characteristically called Tormento by the Italians,
prevailed, which will not let the snow rest till it becomes lodged
in cavities, filling them up, and making one even surface, dangerous to the lives of the most experienced guides. S. has been
in India, where he was painter to the Mogul; and dignified with
a Persian title, appointing him a general, and calling him the
Boyal Falcon of War, though he was in no other capacity than
that of painter; but such cut-throat titles are there the only
honourable distinctions, according to him, that are conferred.
"February 1st.—Dr. B. and
loud in praise of Dr. Drennan's pamphlet against Pitt. Third sitting to Opie. Called
on Birch, who thinks Phillips gets better prices for pictures than
Christie. Mr. and Mrs. Opie, Mr. and Mrs. Perry, Marian, Miss
Barkley, daughter of Sir Robert, Northcote, and Sir Francis Bourgeois, in the evening. On the whole a pleasant party.
" 2nd. — Fourth sitting to Opie, a short one, and only for the

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MEMOIRS OF

coat. A report at Debrett's of the massacre of the Neapolitan
nobility by the lazzaroni. Conversed with Lord Wycombe on the
native ferocity of the Irish. Conjectures run high, that Pitt will
breed a serious civil war in that country. Read three acts of my
comedy to S. It is still capable, and indeed in. want, of great
improvements.
" 4th.—Mr. Harris came by appointment, and we were mutually
of opinion further alterations would greatly improve the comedy.
Sale of Stuart, the artist's, pictures at Phillips's rooms.
"5th. — Este, Dr. Towers, Parry, jun. at Debrett's. Towers, a
character worth drawing. Drank tea with P., who wished me to
mention manuscript travels written by Brown to Robinson.
" 6th. — The foot walk in Hyde Park one sheet of ice, on which,
not being aware, had a severe fall. No news at Debrett's. Letter
from Knight to Attwood* declining to sing 4 The Joys of Eating/
&C, in ' T h e Old Clothesman.' Russian leather. Mr. Breton
said the report was, that the recent death of the Duke of L.
was occasioned by poison, self-administered. This is probably as
unfounded as another report, which proves to be false, that Lord
C. had lost seventy thousand pounds to the Duke of B., and had
then destroyed himself. Lord Cowper is alive, and the duke says
he never spoke to him in his life. It is true, indeed, the Duke
of L. had ruined himself by gaming, and had endeavoured to drink
away the remembrance of it.
" 7th. — Wrote to Mr. Harris concerning Knight's song, &c.
Nothing at Debrett's.
" 8th. —- Pitt at present thought insincere for pretending to
persist in the measure of a union. List of Wakefield's jury from
Mr. Foulkes.
"9th. — Finished my second alteration of 'The Lawyer.' Lord
D. at Debrett's; of opinion that the union is a dangerous affair
to Pitt. The death of Mr. Rans of Moorhall, with whom I had
some slight acquaintance, announced in the papers. Bought the
Crucifixion, a Caracci, highly finished, at Phillips's, the property
of Pugh, a surgeon, who gave eighty pounds, or guineas, for it. A
Metzu sold for ninety-six guineas. The subject, a man on horseback, with host and hostess at an alehouse door; bought by a
young man related to Lord Fitzwilliam.
"llth. — Sent my comedy and a letter to Mr. Harris, stating the
price I required. He refused, and immediately returned the

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comedy. Borrowed and repaid 18/. 16s. to Mr. Robinson, and. 60/.
for a month, of Mr. S.
" 12th. — Sat to Opie. Wrote to Mr. P., informing him that
having seen Mr.Eobinson, if Mn Brown will send his manuscript*
and the price, Mr. Robinson would return an answer. Read
a manuscript of Mr. Tobin, jun.
" 13th.-—Agreed with Mr. Phillips, auctioneer, to sell the whole
of my effects at five per cent., including all charges, except that I
am to remove books, prints, and pictures to his sale-room at my
own expense. Had a second fall on the unthawed snow, by which
the spinal bone is so sore I can hardly walk. Phillips, speaking of
Count Kelly, characterised him as uncommonly liberal, and a great
lover of the arts; Phillips sold his library, and asked permission
to introduce some very indifferent books of his own, which he estimated at forty pounds. The count disliking this, took the books
at the estimate, sent them to Stockholm, had a printed catalogue
of them, and sold them by auction. This was a thing totally new
to the country, and drew numbers of people, some of them from a
considerable distance. The books sold for 120/., and the count
remitted the money to Phillips.
" 14th. — Wrote Finale and a new song for Incledon, in 'The
Old Clothesman/ The dishonourable proceedings of Boyd and
Benfield, the topic of the day. The justification of Boyd, a lame,
or rather a condemning tale. Saw P . ; informed him of what had
passed with Harris.
"15*& — Sat to Opie.
« Yith.—Messrs. G., Glementi, Master Field, Mr. and Mrs. Opie,
Mr. and Mrs. F. to dinner. Field played a concerto and other
things of his own composition. Is a youth of genius, for which d e menti loves, admires, and instructs him; highly to his own honour.
i:
18th. —The opinion that Pitt has again lost a favourable opportunity of treating with France is pretty general.
" 20th. — Sat to Opie. Called on Sharp, and paid him for his
print of
, which he said, if I kept, would become of great
value, for it was the last on such a subject, meaning the destruction of war, that would ever be published. Guessing the reason
of this whimsical assertion, I mentioned Brothers*, of whom he
talked in his usual style. The wisdom of man, he said, counter* A fanatic, who, in 1793, proclaimed himself the apostle of a new religion,
and gave out that he was the *' Nephew of the Almighty," &c. &c. He closed
his career in Bedlam.
.
. >

254

MEMOIRS OF

acting the wisdom of the Creator, had occasioned all our miseries :
but the tongue of wisdom was now subdued,—meaning Egypt,
which was not only a slip of land resembling a tongue, but the
place in which the learning of the world originated. Thus, by the
help of a pun and a metaphor, he had double proof, which he
accepts as indubitable. Syria, Palestine, and all these countries
are soon to be revolutionised; and those who do not take up arms
against their fellow men, are to meet at the grand millenium.
The earthquake is still to happen, and the peaceable, even if uninspired, are all to be saved. So that I, being one of them, were
temples to tumble over my head, should find some miraculous nail
or rafter, or something else equally wonderful, to save me from
being crushed. I asked him, as I had formerly done, why the
earthquake did not happen at the time positively appointed by
Brothers ; and he said, that unless I were one of the inspired, it
was a thing he could not explain. Last summer he had retired to
a lonely place near or at Kilburn ; and there he himself had been
absolutely favoured with a revelation, communicating to him personally, beyond all doubt, the revolutions that are immediately to
happen. He is a worthy and excellent man, and, in spite of this
insanity, has an acute, strong, and inquiring mind. Notwithstanding my cross-questioning him, he has a strong desire to make
a convert of me, and, knowing the principles of peaceful benevo~
lence which I hold, has no small hopes of succeeding. He was
happy at the idea of having more talk on the subject, though I,
both plainly and ironically, in conversing with him, treated it as
it deserves, except that I forbear as much as I can to wound him.
He said he was greatly gratified that, thongh I argued against
Brothers, I never called him rascally impostor, and other abusive
epithets common in the mouths of his opponents. Laughed with
~
, at Debrett's, at TVs account, some time ago, of the prodigious stone, or rocky fragment, that was rained on his estate.
—— said, T. was only half mad, and that vanity was the possessing demon.
"2lst.—Sat to Opie. Lord Wycombe brought the report to
Debrett's of the loss of the Proserpine frigate, with Mr. Granville, his suite, and the whole crew. Sent Mrs.
a one pound
note, as a present relief.
" 22nd.-—Argued at Debrett's against the immorality of invective, for which 1 consider Mr. Wakefield as very blamable. Received a note from Mr. ——, asking, in the name of a friend, to

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admit some pictures in my sale, which I refused, as a public deception, and for other reasons.
"25th. — Met R. A., who walked with me up Bond Street.
Disbelieves the loss of Grenville. Fox still determined on retirement. Tobin called, and inquired my thoughts on his brother's
manuscript, which I gave him.
u
26th.—Sent the following notice to the commissioners for the
Income Bill: — ' I have no income: that is; I have neither
landed nor personal property, that brings me either rent or interest. My income has always been the produce of my labour; and
that produce has been so reduced, by the animosity of party spirit,
that I find myself obliged to sell my effects for the payment of my
debts, that I may leave the kingdom till party spirit shall subside.'
" 27tk.—-Sat to Mr. Opie.
" 28th.—Sat to Opie. Sir L. C., at Debrett's, glad to see me :
a man of unaffected manners, no pride, or as little, perhaps, as a
man of wealth and title can have, and with patriotic and benevolent
intentions. Lord Wycombe walked with me down Piccadilly, to
inquire after my picture of Angelica and Medoro.
"March 1st. — Sat to Opie. Northcote there, who warmly
praised his whole-length of Mrs. Price, and his Old Soldier, and
Girl with Beer. Phillips came, read the catalogue, and approved
my lotting of the pictures. Called and saw his Wouvermans*
Hawking. Parry, jun. is given to hope for a verdict in his favour,
by Erskine.
" 2nd, — Sat to Mr. Opie. Aided to catalogue the German
books.
" 3rd.—Louisa and Theresa to breakfast. Spyring to tea. Informed Colonel Barry of the business of to-morrow, viz., my
marriage with Louisa, and received his hearty congratulations.
He had seen my portrait, was highly pleased, and gave Opie a
draft on his banker.
" 5th.—Went after breakfast, at ten, and sat to Mr. Drummond,
Carlisle Street, Soho, at the request of the proprietors of the
* Monthly Mirror.' Taken in crayons, size of life. A call from
P . ; he told me, they (meaning his friend Mr. Brown and himself) had closed with Cadell for a thousand guineas ; that is, had
sold the copyright of f Brown's Travels into Egypt, Darfoor, &c.,'
for that sum.
" 6tL—Went a second time, and sat to Drummond.
s

256

MEMOIRS OF

6

8th.—Called on Opie; but the morning so clouded after a fall
of snow, that it was too dark for him to paint, in the present
almost, finished state of my portrait.
" 9th.—Sat to Opie. A snowy and very bad day for the picture-sale. Difficulties made by
, the auctioneer, concerning
the prices marked by me, though he had himself required I should
mark them. Thirty-seven lots of my pictures bought in.
" 10^—Mrs. Holcroft visited by Mrs. and Miss B., Mr. and
Mrs. P., and by Mr. and Mrs. Opie in the evening. Mr. Brown,
the traveller, called.
" 12th.—-Walked with Louisa in search of lodgings. Mr. B.
to dinner, and accompanied me, Sophia, and Louisa, to the theatre;
Drury Lane. ' The Secret' and < Feudal Times,' both of them
very dull and indifferent."
'

END OF DIARY.

CHAP. IX.
MR. HOLCROFT soon after went abroad. On his arrival at Hamburg, he went to lodge at the house of his daughter and her
husband, Mr. Cole, who was settled there in trade. He afterwards
went to reside at the house of ——, where he paid five pounds a
week; and as his remittances from England were often interrupted, he would have been reduced to great distress, had it not
been for the generous exertions of a stranger, a Mr. Schuhmacheiv
This gentleman, who was a merchant, advanced 250/. to Mr.
Holcroft, on his note of hand. The first literary attempt which
Mr. Holcroft made after he was settled on the continent failed.
This was to set up a journal (" The European Repository"),
containing an account of the state of foreign literature, and anec^
dotes of celebrated characters. It only reached the second
number.
It is certain that Mr. Holcroft's introductions, and his connections with literary men abroad, would have afforded every
opportunity for executing such a work well, had it met with encouragement. While at Hamburg, he visited Klopstock, Voss,
Sander, &c. &c. On his first introduction to Klopstock, the latter
laboured to,show the superiority of the German to every other

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

257

language in conciseness; and challenged Mr. Holcroft to translate
with equal conciseness into English. To which he replied, that
Klopstdck might be easily supposed to overcome Holcroft^ but that
the English language ought not to suffer on that account. He told
Mr. Holcroft a story of Voss, the celebrated classic ; that at a time
when he was too ill even to hear a scholar read and parse a few1:
lines in the classics, familar as they were to him, he was still able
and desirous to continue his translation of Ovid in hexameters;
and found relief from this laborious task. When Baron Stolberg
(the superintendent of the academy) came to visit him, he hid his
papers, lest he should be accused of neglect of duty, or blamed for
disregarding his health. Sander, a Dane by birth, informed Mr.
Holcroft that " The Eoad to Ruin," and " The Deserted Daughter,"
had been translated into the Danish language, and that the latter
had been the most popular of the pieces brought out the preceding
winter at Copenhagen.
The admiration of the Germans for English literature, and their
contempt for the French, are well known. Moliere is the only
man among the latter to whom they allow much genius. Their
notions of excellence are indeed rather hypercritical than commonplace. They seem in general to assign the highest stations to the
greatest men, but their list of great men is short. There are only
four whom they consider as poets, that is to say, inventors of a new
style, namely, Homer, Dante, Shakspeare, and Goethe. Why the
last should have this high rank assigned him, I do not know. He
is placed by the Germans themselves far above Schiller. Mr, Holcroft, while abroad, translated his poem of " Herman and Dorothea."
A note from the author to the translator on this subject, will be
found among the letters at the end of the volume. Mr Holcroft
also, while he was at Hamburg, finished and sent over the comedy
of " Hear both Sides," and his translation of " Deaf and Dumb,"
which were afterwards acted with success at Drury Lane.
On his departure from England, he had renounced all idea of
picture-dealing and connoisseurship. He however attended several
picture-sales, but without attempting to bid. One day as he was
strolling along the street, his attention was caught by a small
picture, which lay among some lumber at a broker's shop. He
went in, asked the price of it, and was answered three guineas.
Mr. Holcroft made no bargain, but determined to go home, and get
Mrs. Holcroft to come and look at it, to see whether any one else
s 2

258

MEMOIRS OF

must not be as much struck with it as he was. On re-examining
the picture, his confidence in its being an original increased, and
he paid the money for it. As he was returning home in triumph
with the picture under his arm, he met Mercier (Mrs. Holcroft's
father), who had himself been a dabbler in pictures, and who,
laughing, exclaimed, " A ce trait je connois mon sang!"
The first step being got over, they consulted together how to
turn this accident to advantage; they henceforward frequented
auction-rooms, and ransacked brokers' shops, to make mutual discoveries of original pictures, which might be had for a song. Mr.
Holcroft, in this manner, laid out between four and five hundred
pounds, by which he expected to clear at least double the sum.
In this expectation he was once more wretchedly disappointed.
Not that the pictures were in themselves bad; they were many of
them excellent, and in general by the masters to whom they were
attributed; but they were not the finest specimens of those masters,
and with respect to second-rate pictures, it requires either an acquaintance with the particular master who happens to be in vogue
for the time, or regular connections with other picture-dealers, to
secure the purchaser against loss. The pictures which Mr. Holcroft
sent over to England were fifty-seven in number. They were entrusted to the care of Mr. Godwin. He prevailed on some professional friends to go and look at them, who thought they would
hardly sell for the amount of the custom-house duties, which were,
a hundred and fifty pounds. A few of them were however brought,
away, and left in the care of Mr. Opie. The following friendly
letter to Mr. Holcroft, was written on this subject :-—
"December 5, 1799.
" I am quite ashamed that your letter should have remained so
long unnoticed; but being at Norwich when it arrived, I thought
it better to wait till I came to town, and had seen the pictures
mentioned in it, that I might, at the same time I answered it, give
you some account of them.
a
The pictures I found, through the care of Mr. Gillies, safely
lodged in my house on my return to town, which was only three
days ago. With the sketch by Rubens I am quite charmed : it is
really a most exquisite thing. The portrait is a good one ; but is
not the likeness of Lord Strafford, nor painted by Vandyke. The
other two are not at first view so much to my taste, nor am I con-

259

THOMAS HOLCROFT,

vinced they were painted by the master to whom you attribute
them; but I cannot speak decisively till I have examined them
with more attention. Care shall be taken of all; but the Rubens
I have mounted into my painting room, as it contains a great deal
worth studying.
" You will do great injustice to the sentiments of esteem and
friendship, which both Mrs. Opie and myself feel for you, if you
do not rest assured that to hear of your health and welfare will at
all times give us pleasure ; and we have only to beg that in your
next, you will make no other use of your bridle, than to lay its
reins on the neck of your affection, in the utmost confidence that
all that comes from you will be received with a most hearty
welcome,
" I am, with the highest esteem,
" Yours most sincerely,
" J . OPIE."

These pictures were all of them afterwards redeemed from the
custom-house; and with those which Mr. Holcroft had bought in
at his first sale, and other purchases he made on the continent, sold
for near 700/.
While at Hamburg, Mr. Holcroft met with one of those alarming accidents, of which, in the course of his life, a more than usual
number fell to his share. He had been recommended to bathe his
feet in hot water, and mix a certain quantity of aquafortis in the
bath. As he was pouring the aquafortis into the tub, the steam
of the water caused the bottle, which was of very thin glass, to
burst; the aquafortis flew up to his face, burned his wrists to the
bone ; but luckily his spectacles saved his eyes. The state he was
in was dreadful, yet not a single complaint escaped him. " Thank
God," he exclaimed to his terrified wife, who just before the accident
had wished to pour the aquafortis in, but was prevented from doing
so, " you and the child (whom she held in her arms) are safe!"
His daughters, who were undressing in the next room, alarmed by
the shrieks of Mrs. Holcroft, rushed into the apartment, which was
filled with steam ; and the distraction of the youngest at seeing the
condition her father was in, deprived her of all presence of mind*
"For Heaven's sake, Fanny, said her father, "calm yourself;
and do you, Sophy, listen to what I say. Let Dr. Maclean be immediately fetched: he lives in such a street. Your violent grief,
S3

260

MEMOIRS

OF

my dear girls, instead of good, does harm. Be collected, and act
like rational beings/' It was more than two hours before he was
attended by his friend, Dr. Maclean. Till he arrived, Mr. Holcroft
supposed himself deprived of sight; and the joy which the assurance
that he was not blind excited may be easily imagined. During a long
and painful confinement, he was perfectly cheerful, and his mind
always employed and active.
Two years before this accident, Mr. Holcroft was so dangerously
ill as to be given over by his physicians : and at that time his fortitude and presence of mind saved his life. One night the spasms,
to which he was subject, were so violent, that he felt, if they continued, he could not live. Dr. Pitcairne had advised him to take a
very small quantity of laudanum, beginning with five drops, which
he might increase to fifteen or twenty at the utmost, should the
pain become worse. Finding the pain grow more and more violent,
he desired his amanuensis, who attended him, to give him fifteen,
then twenty, drops at a time. This he took to the amount of 140
in the course of the night. Mr. Ealph expostulated, and said he
was afraid to give them; but Mr. Holcroft insisted — " If these
pains continue," said he, " it is impossible I should live, and I can
but die." This bold but dangerous experiment succeeded.
Mr. Holcroft's stay at Hamburg lasted above a year. He had
some difficulty in procuring a passport to Paris from the French
minister at the Hague (as we were then at war with France), but
on a second application he succeeded. He had also met with some
impediment in obtaining one from Mr. Frere, before he went
abroad: While he was at Hamburg, a paragraph appeared in one
of our morning papers, directly charging him with being a spy of
the French government. To this paragraph he condescended to
make a public answer.
Mr. Holcroft remained above two years at Paris* While here;
he seems to have been chiefly occupied in collecting materials for
the large work on the manners, &c. of this capital, which he published after his return, in 1804. Of this work (" Travels into France,
&c/') it is only just to say, that it is one of the most interesting and
instructive books of travels in the language. Its fault perhaps is,
that it bears too hard on the foibles of the French, which Mr,
Holcroft seems to have regarded too much with the eye of an
Englishman. Their own self-sufficiency, it is true, is enough to
provoke and justify -considerable severity of criticism. With

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

261

respect to the question itself of the difference between the two
nations, all that can be said upon it, I think, amounts only to this,
—that the one has too much gravity, and the other too much levity.
Our gravity frequently degenerates into phlegm, coldness, reserve,
pride, obstinacy, and sullenness; as their constitutional levity is
productive of frivolity, pertness, unmeaning loquacity, self-conceit,
fickleness, and indifference to good or evil. The feelings of the
French are more quick and lively ; those of the English more deep
and permanent: again, their apprehensions have more facility and
nicety of observation ; our own countrymen have shown greater
strength and comprehensiveness of mind. France has, I am persuaded, produced more clever men than England ; but that she has
produced more great men than England, cannot be pretended. The
mind of a Frenchman is, in general, more easily moved, and by
slighter causes; an Englishman's feelings are, for the very reason
that they require a greater momentum to bring them out, more
steady and more strong. I do not here inquire into the superiority
of the French or English character. I only state what I conceive
to be the difference with a view to those among the French, who>
setting up an exclusive claim to certain qualities, will not allow
others the superiority in things which are totally distinct, and who
are ready to grasp all excellence, however incompatible, to themselves. Those whQ wish to be furnished with facts illustrative of
the peculiar manners and character of t i e French, will find ample
materials for this purpose, accompanied with refined and discriminating reflections, in the " Travels" of our author.
I shall insert only two examples, which may show the pointed
felicity with which Mr. Holcroft has selected his traits of national
character. " My wife," says Mr. Holcroft, " was one day buying
some fish ; and while she was undetermined, the girl said to her,—
< Prenez cela, car voire mart est un brave homme9 My wife re-r
plied,—' Out, cela se pent bien; mats comment savez-vous quHl est
un brave homme V 'C'est egal] answered the girl, ' cela fait
plaisir a entendre9 This girl's maxim is sound morality wherever
I have been in France." The difference between words and things
is certainly less marked in France than in England: how far this
is an advantage or a disadvantage, I do not, for my own part,
pretend to decide.
The other story is highly honourable to, as well as characteristic
s4

262

MEMOIES OF

of, the French. Their humanity, whatever else we may think of it,
costs them less than it does the English.
" A poor musician, who usually brought a small pianoforte in the
afternoon to the Champs Elysees, and played, that those who were
pleased might reward him by a trifle, having played in vain one
evening, was sorrowfully retiring home. He was seen by Elleviou
(a famous actor), remarked, and questioned. The poverty and ill
success of the wandering musician moved the pity of the actor,
who desired the instrument might again be put down; and, stepping
aside, he said he would return instantly. His wife and friend had
passed on, and he brought them back. It was nearly dark. Pradere, his friend, sat down to the pianoforte, and accompanied Elleviou, who began to sing, to the astonishment of numbers that were
soon assembled. The men had drawn their hats over their brows :
Madame Elleviou put down her veil, and went round to collect;
the pleasingness of her manner, the little thankful curtsies she
dropt to all who gave, the whiteness of her hand, and the extraordinary music they heard, rendered the audience so liberal, that
she made several tours, and none ineffectually. Elleviou, however,
could not long remain unknown; and finding themselves discovered,
Madame Elleviou gave all, and it was supposed more than all, she
had collected from the crowd, to the poor musician: the sum
amounted to thirty shillings; and among the pence and halfpence
there were crown pieces, which no doubt were given by the
actors. The scene, as the audience dispersed, is not easily to
be described. The unexpected relief, afforded to the man who
was departing so disconsolate, was great indeed: but it was forgotten in the charming behaviour of those who relieved him, in
their almost divine music, and in the strangeness of the adventure.
The surrounding people were scarcely less moved; so kind an act
from a man in such high public estimation, excited more than
admiration; and the tears of gratitude shed by the musician, drew
sympathising drops from many of the spectators. This event gave
birth to two new musical pieces, which wrere both successful."
This was certainly an action of which an Englishman is incapable, but to which every Englishman will give his warmest
tribute of applause. When people dispute and cavil about one
another's actions, it is only because there is something wrong or
absurd on both sides.

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

263

The " Travels through France, &c," were published by Phillips,
and Mr, Holcroft received 1500Z. for the copyright.
After Mr. Holcroft's return from the continent, in the summer
of 1803, almost the first undertaking in which he embarked was
the establishment of a printing-house, in connection with his
brother-in-law, Mercier. Mr. Holcroft found unexpected difficulties in this business, owing to the want of sufficient capital to carry
it on. Meeting also with many heavy losses in publications which
he undertook to print on his own account, he found himself under
the necessity, in order to satisfy the pressing demands of his creditors, to dispose of the printing-office, having previously obtained
his partner's consent to do so.
Mr. Holcroft brought out six dramatic pieces while he was
abroad^ or after his return to England: " Deaf and Dumb," " The
Escapes," " Hear both Sides," " A Tale of Mystery," " T h e Lady
of the Rock," and lastly, " The Vindictive Man." All of them,
except the last, were successful.
Those which became the greatest favourites with the public,
were, " Deaf and Dumb," and the " Tale of Mystery," a melodrama. Both of these are certainly exquisite in their kind, but of
the first it is not too much to say, that it is one of the most beautiful
and affecting stories that ever was exhibited on any stage. It is
taken from the French play of M. Bouilly, which was itself founded
on an incident in the life of the famous Abbe de l'Epee, instructor
of the deaf and dumb.
Julio, the heir of the lord of Harancour, who is born deaf and
dumb, is left an orphan when he is only eight years old; and the
helplessness of his situation suggesting the possibility of getting rid
of him, he is taken from Toulouse to Paris by his guardian and
maternal uncle, assisted by a servant in the family, and there lost
in the streets at night. Dupre, the accomplice of his uncle Darlemont, swears to his death; and at their return home, Darlemont is
invested with the estates and honours of the house of Harancour.
Meantime, poor Julio is found in the streets of Paris in a coarse
dress, which does not denote him to be anything but a beggar; and it
being discovered that he is deaf and dumb, he is taken to the asylum
of the Abbe de l'Epee for children who are born with this defect.
The melancholy observed in his countenance and manner, the delicacy of his complexion, and other circumstances, soon lead to $

264

MEMOIRS OF

.suspicion that he is the child of rich parents, and has been purposely lost by some person who wished to usurp his rights. He is
Taught the use of artificial signs, and learns to read and write.
One day, being with De l'Epee, when a judge is passing by dressed
in his full robes, Julio is violently agitated, and makes signs to his
instructor that his father used to be dressed in this manner. Another time, passing through the Barriere d'Enfer, the recollection
suddenly struck him that this was the very gate through which he
entered Paris. This produced a conviction in the mind of l'Epee
that he came from some city in the south of France, of which in all
likelihood his father had been chief magistrate. Yet how to proceed
in his behalf? The youth had never heard his father's name, he
did not know his family, or the place of his birth. After some
ineffectual researches, De l'Epee resolves at last to take his pupil
with him, and traverse in person and on foot the whole of the south
of France. They embrace each other, invoke the protection of
Heaven, and set forward. After a journey, long, fatiguing, hopeless, they at length arrive at the gates of Toulouse. Julio knows
the place, seizes his benefactor's hand, and uttering wild cries of
joy, leads him quickly, here and there, through various quarters of
the city. At last they come to the square in which the palace of
Harancour stood; he stops, points to the mansion, shrieks, and
falls senseless into the arms of l'Epee. This is the foundation of
the story, the rest may be easily divined by the reader. " The
Vindictive Man " was the last, and certainly not the best, of Mr*
Holcroft's dramatic productions. It was condemned at Drury Lane.
From the state of his circumstances at the time, this failure was
felt as a severe blow by the author. With what feelings he bore
it, may be learned from a short but beautiful dedication of the play
to Miss Holcroft.
'

.

" To my daughter

Fanny.

" To you, my dear, I inscribe this comedy, because you approved,
nay, was partial enough to admire the scenes, progressively as they
were written, and the play, when it became a whole. I inscribe it
to you, because you have dedicated your talents, by your literary
efforts, to the cause of morality, and have need of that patient
resignation to which every writer is doomed. I inscribe it to you,
and in this sense to my whole family, with sympathetic tenderness,'

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

265

as a solitary testimony of true and ardent affection: as such, I am
well persuaded you will all receive it, though it has been publicly
condemned. You will remember the giver; and the gift, though
barren, will be welcome."
• Besides the plays which have been enumerated, Mr. Holcroft,
after his return to England, published " The Theatrical Recorder,"
in two volumes, a small volume of poems, called "Tales in Verse,"
and the novel of " Brian Perdue."
Mr. Holcroft, at the time of the failure of his last play, had
several dramatic as well as other manuscripts in hand, which, had
he been allowed to finish them, would have easily relieved him
from his temporary embarrassments. He had, however, a young
and increasing family to maintain ; and the ill health with which
he had long struggled now increased fast upon him, and rendered
all his efforts vain.
Mr. Holcroft had, for nearly a year, been so much troubled with
an asthma, as to render walking difficult to him. He was not,
however, confined to his house till about half a year before his
death. His disorder was violent spasms, accompanied with spitting
of blood, and an enlargement of the heart, occasioned, as was supposed, by continual anxiety. It was during the two last months
of his illness, when he could no longer rise from his bed, and when
every effort, to speak was almost convulsive, that he dictated the
account of his own life, which ha,s been inserted in the beginning
of these volumes. Let it remain a proof of the energy of his character, arid of that superiority of the mind oyer the body which
was one of his strongest sentiments. Through the whole time he
discovered a fortitude in suffering which has rarely been equalled;
nor did he till the very last relinquish the hopes of recovering. If
any thing could exceed the patient courage with which he passed
through this trying scene, it was the affectionate, unwearied
assiduity with which Mrs. Holcroft attended Jum, night and day,
through the whole. For the last six weelss, she scarcely once
quitted his bedside for a quarter of an hour ; together. The task
was one to which duty and affection were alone equal. In any
other circumstances, her strength wpuld have failed under such
exertions; but Mr. Holcroft was not satisfied unless she was with
him r and that consideration prevailed over every other. Colonel

266

MEMOIRS OF

Harwood, his son-in-law, was with him from the Sunday evening
before he died; on which day his physicians, Dr. Buchan and Dr.
Hooper, had given him over. Many of the following particulars
are taken from Colonel Harwood's account.
There was not the shortest interval in which he was not in complete possession of himself. The only slight indication to the contrary was that he once said to the Colonel, " I have great difficulty
sometimes in rousing my mind ; therefore, if at any time I stop in
speaking to you, do you remember my last word, and join it to the
next that I shall afterwards say to you." This, however, rather
implied his strong efforts to preserve his intellects, than the failure
of them. His stopping at any time in the midst of a sentence
appeared to be always owing to the difficulty of articulation, rather
than the loss of memory. When he was so far gone that it was
difficult to understand him, he desired those who were with him to
repeat his words, that he might be sure they were heard, and then
nodded assent.
On Sunday he expressed a wish to see Mr. Godwin, but when
he came, his feelings were overpowered. He could not converse,
and only pressed his hand to his bosom, and said, " My dear, dear
friend 1" On Monday he again wished to see Godwin, and all his
friends that could be sent t o : but he had not strength sufficient to
hold a conversation : he could only take an affectionate leave, and
then, he said, he had nothing more to do in this world. He afterwards frequently spoke, or moved his lips, as taking a most affectionate leave. A little before he died he called for wine, and
refused it from every hand that held it to him, till his eldest
daughter took it into hers; he then bowed his head to her, and
drank i t ; thus, in some way or other, showing signs of regard to
all, till his last moments approached. Hearing a noise of children
on the stairs, he said to his wife, " Are those your children, Louisa?"
as if he was already disengaged from human ties. On Thursday
night, about half-past eleven, he seemed in great pain, and said to
Mrs. Holcroft, " Hoiv tedious I my affections are strong." It was
thought, from this, that it would be a relief to his feelings that
they should retire: they all went into the next room, Colonel
Harwood still keeping his eye upon him; but seeing his struggles
Increase, and being desirous of sparing his wife and daughter a
sight they could not have borne, he returned into the bed-room,

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

267

and gradually shut and fastened the doors ; which Mr. Holcroft
observing, showed evident signs of satisfaction. And seeming
then easier, he smiled, and fixing his eyes on his friend, took them
no more from him till they were closed for ever.-—Thus died a
great and good man, who showed in the last and most trying scene
of all the same firmness of mind and warmth of affection which had
distinguished him through life.
Mr, Holcroft died on Thursday, the 23rd of March, 1809, at the
age of 63.
The following is the report which Dr. P. A. Buchan and Jfc A,
Carlisle favoured Colonel Harwood with, who also attended the
examination.
Statement of the Anatomical Inspection of Mr. Thomas
aged 63.

Holcroft,

" London, March 24th, 1809.

" The examination took place twenty-four hours after decease.
The body was considerably emaciated, and slightly anasarcous
throughout. An extensive cicatrix at the upper part of the
sternum, and at the junction of the neck with the breast, indicated
some long-continued chronic abscesses. The cavity of the abdomen
contained about a pint of dropsical water. The stomach, intestines,
mesenteric glands, kidneys, and bladder, were free from diseased
structure. The liver was about twice the natural bulk, hard, and
tuberculated on its surfaces. The peritoneal covering of this viscous substance was marked by numerous opaque spots, where the
membrane was drawn into folds, and this appearance seemed to
characterise a series of inflammations. The interior texture of the
liver was tuberculated. The gall-bladder was much distended.
The outer surface of the spleen had much of the appearance displayed by the liver. The cavities of the thorax contained about
two quarts of dropsical water. The lungs were soft, and their aircells free. The heart was large, and bore the relaxed character
which often occurs after a long-continued laborious circulation.
The coronary arteries had begun to ossify. The arch of the aorta
was dilated, approaching to aneurism, and the texture of its coats
had become hard and inelastic. The descending aorla and the primary iliac arteries had become completely ossified in several parts,

268

MEMOIRS OF

and were unduly dilated. From the facts here adduced, it may be
considered that the diseased structure of the liver, and of the heart
and its principal arteries, led to the dropsy of the chest, which
might be the immediate cause of death, although in a frame so
disorganised, life could not have been-much longer protracted.
Whether the disease of the liver preceded that of the heart and its
vessels, or the contrary, and whether they were distinct diseases,
and which of these led most decidedly to the fatal event, are subjects for uncertain speculation,"

THOMAS HOL6ROFT.

269

LETTEKS TO AND FKOM THE AUTHOR,

L E T T E R I.
To a Friend.

1799.

" Y o u , and many other of my friends, were informed of my
motives for quitting my native country, and residing some few
years abroad; till more peaceable times should again render that
country to me what it once was,—admirable for its general industry, manners, and morality, and undisturbed by the suspicions
and persecutions with which other countries were, and too often
still continue to be, afflicted. Nothing but the strange terror
which had seized the public mind could have engendered that
spirit of individual rancour so foreign to the English character,
which suddenly spread through the nation; and nothing but the
stupor of mind, under such an impulse, could have made me suspected as one of the heads of the abominable Hydra, to extirpate
which every Englishman was summoned. The fear was itself ridiculous : but, in their consequences, such fears have been fatal to
many a worthy man.
" I cannot recollect these things unmoved ; neither can I hear
various false reports of my being obliged to quit England, and of
my not being suffered to return, without wishing that those who
give them credit may be undeceived. My departure from England
was voluntary; as is my absence. I cannot live in danger from
laws which I have not violated, or power with which I do not contend. I carefully shun the acrimony of political dispute, and the
circles in which it is indulged. To the utmost of the little ability
I have, it is my desire to inform, with the hopes of benefiting,
mankind ; and this end cannot be attained by making them angry.
In action, heart, and principle, I am, or would become, the friend

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of man The only enemy I encounter is error ; and that with no
weapon but words : my constant theme has been, let it be taught,
not whipped.
" The letters I mean to address to you are intended for the
public ; and of these facts I wish the public to be informed and reminded. You must not, therefore, be surprised that I speak of
them in this place. Whatever fable may invent, or credulity believe, I pledge my veracity to the world, that what I have above
said is literally true : and may the world treat my memory with
that ignominy which a falsehood so solemn and gratuitous would
deserve, if I prevaricate!
" Avoiding the pursuit of this painful subject, the busy memory
recurs to another, equally ungrateful: I did not quit the circle of
friends, in whose intercourse I found so much benefit, and took so
much delight, but with the bitterness of regret. I could not sit in
apathy, and see the few effects I had collected become the scattered
prey of brokers and dealers ; and chiefly my libraiy, on which so
much of my money and time had been bestowed, squandered,
twenty and more books in a lot; several of them individually of
greater worth than the price paid for the whole. It seemed the
dissolution of my social life; and something like the entrance into
a wild and savage state. What multitudes of such thoughts did
my afflicted heart suffer without giving them utterance! It would
but have communicated and increased affliction.
" I wish not to dwell on these dark parts of the picture. Who
quits the country of his fathers without a sigh? Yet, who journeys
forward to lands unexplored without hopes of strange and unexpected pleasures ? It is a season full of apprehensive emotions,
flutterings of the heart, and hopes and fears too numerous to be
defined. At least it is such to those to whom travelling is not become a habit.
" Some people have asked, why are books of travel so much
read? It is because they are so often entertaining. Customs,
when they differ but little from our own, seldom fail to excite our
surprise, our laughter, or our contempt. Without crossing the
seas, a man who has the faculty of noticing the remarkable, the
whimsical, and the absurd, in his daily walks at home, never fails
to entertain, if he think proper to narrate and to comment; and the
traveller who wants this faculty of observation, journeys to little
purpose^ and is heard with little pleasure. He sometimes even

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endeavours to falsify the true reports of his predecessors ; and to
offer the dulness of his discernment as a proof of his impartiality
Thus much by way of introduction/'
LETTER II.
" LET US begin our journey, and whet your imagination to fill up
the narrative.
" We were sufficient in number to occupy a small cabin; and
various reasons determined us to sail down the river, instead of
posting by land to Yarmouth. Wind and weather out of the
question, he that depends on the word of a captain, for the day that
his vessel will be ready to sail, will be deceived ninety times in a
hundred; a week of additional latitude is often too little. Not
thoroughly aware of this, we left the polite parish of Marylebone,
and removed to the purlieus of London Bridge. How many
thanks are due to our worthy and liberal friend G., for the
many invitations he gave us to his table, and the pleasant urbanity
with which we were there treated. But these, you well know, are
not the only acts of kindness for which we are indebted to this
free-hearted, worthy man.
" About two days before we went on board, a sudden difficulty
seemed to start. We were told we should be stopped at Gravesend,
if we had not a passport. This seemed incredible ; we inquired,
and some affirmed, and others denied, the necessity of such a document. Could an Englishman want a passport, to go wherever his
business or his pleasure might invite him, within the British
domains, or to a neutral state ? By many the idea was scouted,
and as it proved, justly. Yet others were so positive in affirming
the reverse, that I thought it prudent, for full security, to go to
Gravesend, and inquire.
" It happened to be at the hour when the tide served, and the
common passage-boats were ready to sail; and, as this was a cheap,
an expeditious, and to me a novel conveyance, it was in every
sense acceptable. Those who have made the experiment, know
with what solicitations they have been invited to step on board
first one boat and then another. On this occasion, it happened
that the Queen Charlotte, and the Prince of Wales, were rivals;
but, as I was first harangued by the orator of the Charlotte, and
had no other preponderating motive, the right seemed to be in
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her; and I was escorted, with great eagerness and civility, to my
seat.
" I had heard so much of Gravesend passengers, and the pecu-i
liar rhetoric in which they indulge, that I thought it probable
they would detect something ridiculous in the cut of my coat, the
colour of my hair, or some other feature or appurtenance about
me. I was not deceived. The shortsightedness that obliges me'
to wear spectacles, has often subjected me to the derision of the
working community, who never suspect there can be a rational
motive for walking the streets with what they generally regard as
a badge of supreme folly. I had not taken my place five seconds,
before I saw the leer and the wink go round. The weather being
fine, every body was on deck ; and the assumed gravity of my
look at first checked risibility. But the pause was short. An
impudent fellow opposite to me, looking in my face, said, ' The
next time I go to court, I will get a saddle for my nose, because I
see it is all the go.' < You had better get a handle to your hat/
said the man at the helm, whose invitation to come on board I had:
followed ; and who, therefore, I suppose, thought proper to be my
champion. My assailant knew his man, and, without noticing
this retort, continued,—i I'll ask my granny to leave me her barnacles. Pray, sir, how many candles may you see in the dark,
when only one is lighted ? ' ' How many fools did you meet when-,
you last dipt your pate in a pail of water ? Who gave you that
coarse net-work to cover your face ? "Why did not you ask your
wife to wash it before you came out ?' [The man was scarred with
pock-marks, and the river tar continued] ' You're a pretty fellow
to hoist the slang-flag! Where did you learn gull-shooting ?-<you are an apt scholar! You could eat a giblet-pie before you
could spell goose *****.' Enough of these vulgar but merry kind
of combats. Would that the well-bred duellist were as harmless I
" I believe it was here I first remarked one of the many superstitious habits of seamen, — that of whistling for a wind. I find
it is common to them all, from the captain to the cabin-boy. The
day was more calm than either the passengers or the boatmen
wished; and, to beguile the time, a man sang the beautiful ballad
of ' Black-Eyed Susan.' Having ended, another told, us a tragical
tale, which the song, no doubt, had brought to memory.
" T h e mate of a ship had a sweetheart, who came on board the
evening he was to sail. She was a pretty girl, and deeply af*

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273

fected ; her love was strong, or rather violent. Having drawn him
aside, she told him, if they parted, she was certain they should
never meet again, and that she had not the power to leave the
ship. He remonstrated on the impossibility of her stay; but she
could listen to nothing but her passion, fears, and forebodings.
She wept, intreated, went on her knees, and, if he would but consent, said, she would hide herself in the forecastle, till the ship
should be under weigh. The mate, who could not comply, at length
reproved, and left her in anger, while she threatened her own destruction. He went below, and, not seeing her when he returned
on deck, he concluded she was gone. Alas ! the poor agitated and
despairing creature had thrown herself overboard. She had done
it unseen; and the mate, immediately afterward, perceiving that
the boat in which she came was waiting, began to inquire ; but no
one knew what had become of her. He recollected her proposition
to hide herself, and went in search, certain, as he supposed, she had
made the attempt. She was nowhere to be found : his alarm increased ; his cheeks became pale. One man said, 'he had heard
"something fall into the water, and to be sure it must be she. Who
knew but she might have been thrown overboard ? ? Suspicions
arose : the pallid hue and wild terror of the poor mate gave them
strength; he was taken into custody, tried for the supposed murder,
and in great danger of suffering death ; so strong did the circumstances against him appear to be in the opinion of his judges. One
witness, however, was very clear in his testimony, that he saw the
mate go under hatches, and leave the deceased on the deck ; that
he likewise saw him return ; and that it was during* this interval
the accident must have happened, for that he and others had accompanied the mate in his search to find her. Thus the positive
and accurate evidence of this witness, saved his shipmate from an
ignominious death.
" The life of a man, in a court of law, depends upon a breath.
Bemember it, you who sit in judgment on the lives of your
fellow-creatures!
" Another told us how his cabin-boy (he was himself a seacaptain) jumped overboard in a rough sea, to recover a mop,
which he had accidentally let fall. He succeeded, but it was at
the risk of his life. ' I asked him,' said the captain, e how he came
to do such a thing ? and the little hell-spawn told me, " he was
afraid I should give him the cat; if the mop had been lost." I'll
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give it you to some tune, lubber, said I, if you do such a thing
again.'—So much for a captain's humanity. This is no bad instance of the general despotism exercised on board of ships.
" Fine writing will object to the coarseness of phraseology in
this letter, and, under other circumstances, I would not give fine
writing such cause of complaint; but, were it changed in this
place, we should no longer be in company with sea-captains and
passengers from Billingsgate in a Gravesend boat."
L E T T E R III.
" W E parted during a calm, in my last; but remember we are not
yet at Gravesend. In wit, vulgar or refined, puns are more frequent agents than wits generally suppose. Hearing a child cry in
a woman's arms, a sailor exclaimed, ' So ! We have a squall; we
shall soon have a breeze.' ' Yes,' replied a second ; < I hope another hand will be put to the bellows/
" It so happened that the punster was a prophet. The sails
swelled, and the steersman told us ' we could not have a better»
wind if we had bought one.' To which another added,' he wished
he could find the way to the weather office.'
" I doubt if there be a nation existing, more skilful and alert on
the water than the English. The Thames, in particular, has vessels so numerous, and of such various kinds, riding and traversing
its waves in such endless directions, that the unaccustomed eye is
confused in its attempts to distinguish and individualise the
moving multitude. Ships, snows, brigs, sloops, cutters, barges,
lighters, boats, vessels of every form and size, and from all regions
of the earth ! My heart beat while I watched the dexterity with
which they mutually shunned the shocks, that, at every returning
moment, threatened each other with oversetting. Of this we were
.once in danger. The steersman of a heavy barge, had his attention called away, perhaps not three seconds, from his duty; and it
wjp with the utmost exertion and presence of mind that the active
follows on board the Charlotte kept her from running foul of
|he barge. The danger past, they were enraged, and began to rate
the barge-man, who, angry with, and ashamed of, himself, bade
them, in a surly tone, ' mind their own business.' ' You don't
mind yours,' aptly retorted one of them ; ' I'll be hanged if you
are he that set the Thames on fire.'

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275

" I was not a little amused by an itinerant bookseller, one of
the passengers, who opened his pocket, and spread his wares upon
deck ; and, to astonish and invite customers, among other things,
exhibited a small quarto, on botany, with coloured plates, which,
he told us, was for a surprising learned gentleman at West Thurrock. (Apropos of Thurrock. All book-men are addicted to
etymology. Pray was this the rock of the gothic god, Thor ?)
Among his literary treasures was a sixpenny description of the
passage by water, from London to Gravesend, by the erudite
Bibliopole Pocock, of the latter place, from which, if you have the
patience to read it, you may discover how may reaches, or windings, are in this traject. Pillaging this boatman's history, and
pointing to the shore, our sagacious tradesman told us, 'all those
houses were built in one day's time.' The prevaricating knave
ought to have given a different emphasis, and have said, 'in one
day's time.' But wit was always a shuffling fellow, and seldom a
friend to truth. The hawker's jocularity, from the same source,
was next exerted on a church, of which we had a prospect, which,
he said, was as light by night as it was by day 1 Of the truth of
which quaint pun the inventor had no doubt. Yet the unvarying
force of gravitation is not perhaps absolutely certain. But I am
now getting out of my depth, and will therefore hasten on shore to
Gravesend. In despite of the noble stream that washes the banks,
this said Gravesend is a dirty, disagreeable place, and for pitiful
extortion unrivalled. If you have but little money in your purse,
or if you feel indignation or sorrow at beholding man in the daily
practice of petty theft, till the confirmed habit makes him believe
thieving to be justice, and necessary to his happiness, arrange your
affairs, so as to make but a short stay at Gravesend. It was my
good fortune to remain there only one night. My journey was
unnecessary; no pass was required: but of this 1 was ignorant.
The expense and trouble were trifling, the characters and scene of
action new, and the pain of uncertainty was relieved. And now
thank your benignant stars that you have escaped from a Gravesend
boat, and have only paid so trifling a tax on good sense and good
manners. The potentate of the North, at whose breath all things
shake, having honoured a yacht by his presence, issued an edict,
commanding that it should no longer remain a paltry yacht, but
become a glorious frigate. Peter was not so great as Paul, for
Peter could only change a brown loaf into Banbury mutton."
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L E T T E R IV.
u

AND now comes the day of departure : and now farewell for a
time to London, that hive of souls ; itself the soul of Britain, the
seat of action, the city of great events ! Farewell to many pleasures, and to many pains ! to friends in whom the heart delighted!
\*y foes that persecuted they knew not why! we go in search of
better days.
" Before we embark, suffer me to make an observation, and tell
a story. Fortune is a capricious jade ; she flies from those who
pursue ; and pursues those who shun her. The remark is old; but
not, I believe, the tale to which it leads.
" In the town of Halberstadt, not long ago, there lived a tanner,
remarkable for having been made enormously rich against his will.
Daring the seven years' war, the French, being at this place,, had
collected all the cattle in the environs, the skins of which they had
to sell. The tanners of Halberstadt had but little power to buy,
one alone excepted. To him the French applied ; but, not understanding speculation after a certain quantity, he absolutely refused
any more. Conquerors are not to be trifled with ; and finding
that their persuasions, which indeed were numberless, could not
prevail, they resorted to the argumentum baculinum, and the tanner was at last beat into compliance. It was, however, under the
condition that the other tanners would, at a fair price, lend him
their tan-pits; and this the argumentative French very readily
undertook. The tanners were summoned, refused, and the rhetoric
of the bastinado was again employed. It was resistless; the tanners
let out their tan-pits. The tanner, who bought the hides at onesixth of their value, parted with the dollars he had been so desirous to retain; and, in a few years afterward, became the wealthiest
tanner in Germany.
" I will give you another example of the caprice of this said
Madam Fortune.
" In Germany there are lotteries of various construction/ Of
one of these the law is, that he who draws a first prize, a second,
and a third, shall the fourth time begone of the five that are to draw
for the capital lot of I know not how many thousand dollars. A
cooper, who loved to tap the barrels he hooped, bought a ticket,
which came up a prize once, twice, and thrice; but the foolish

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277

'fellow was thirsty ; and being offered drink for the present, and
money to buy more for a fortnight to come, he could not resist the
temptation, and sold his ticket, which was a fourth time the fortunate number. He comforted himself with his can ; and made a
second venture, with exactly the same good and ill success. To
another man this would have been horribly vexatious ; but the
jovial cooper let it pass; and when the next lottery came, made
another purchase. The third time it had arrived at the third
stage of winning, and he was again on the point of parting with his
chance. By something of persuasion, and something of force, the
reckless fellow was prevented. < Fortune,' said his friends, or perhaps his wife, though this is the kind of husband a wife knows
least how to manage, ' Fortune absolutely persecutes you to accept
her favours ; why do you so perversely cast them from y o u ? '
For once the sot heard reason ; and the doctrine of chances proved
how dangerous it is to lay the long odds ; for the cooper's ticket
again gained the great prize.
" From us fortune is flying ; and we are now in pursuit. The
sequel will show how perverse a jade she is, and how determined
not to be overtaken.
" On the 1st of July, 1799, we went on board the Ken'net,
Captain Thomson. All was confusion, all hurry. Barges, loaded
with prodigious bales, lay beside her ; a dozen men were straining
every nerve to raise them over her side, and stow them between
her ribs. It excited attention and surprise to see these cumbrous
packs wedged with such contrivance as scarcely to leave a vacancy.
Every thing that suppleness of limb shows, sinews and muscular
force could effect, was in continual exertion. The vessel was to
fall down the river the next tide ; which seemed incompatible witfe
the labour to be performed.
" With what additional wonder do I recollect scenes like these
in my native country, having compared them with the inattention
I since have witnessed. Here every man was active and intelligent ; and one even supremely above the rest. Indeed it was prodigious. He was the mate; he directed the whole; his eye was
everywhere ; and his arm seemed to work miracles. He was full
six feet high; and when the ponderous load seemed to defy their
collected strength, he came, applied his giant force, and, at the first
pull, it began to move. His agility was no less surprising, and
• almost irreconcilable to such bulk; for his wrist would doubly
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measure that of an ordinary man. His understanding was equal
to his bodily power; he instantly saw what was wrong, and the
way in which it was to be rectified. Give but his faculties another
circle of action, and an epic poet might have made this man his
hero; yet he was but the mate of a ship, subject to a captain who,
though no fool, was far indeed from his equal; and when I asked
him if he did not mean to be a captain himself, answered with a
sigh — ' I wish, sir, I may ever have so much good fortune.'
" In what a traverse and frequently ludicrous manner does accident arrange the place and office of man, and the affairs of this
poor world!
" The mate's name was Baird; and he and his commander were
both Scotchmen. In the invoice, he was written captain, and the
captain supercargo; a falsehood to which the infamous practice of
pressing has given birth ; a mate, like a foremast man, being liable
to be pressed.
" When I came on board, and saw the work that was still to do,
I concluded it was impossible it should be accomplished. The
mate himself doubted, but hoped, and worked like legion. Yes ;
we were at Gravesend the next day, where we were examined at
the Alien Office ; and on the evening of the 3rd, anchored at the
Nore.
" The ocean was before us ; the evening was calm ; the expanse
vast; the shores of Essex and of Kent were to the right and left;
and the fleet with which we were to sail, with our convoy, and the
admiral's ship that guards the Nore, were all in view. The silence
that reigned was suddenly interrupted by the eight o'clock bell,
that rang from vessel to vessel; and, much more agreeably, by the
admiral's military band. We were at a proper distance; and the
music came so softened to our ears that it was delightful.
" The captain went on board our convoy, received his sailing
instructions, and the next morning the fleet, about thirty in number,
was under weigh.
" Owing to the closeness with which the ship was stowed, the
decks were so belumbered, that it required the cat-like activity of
a sailor to pass, without a fall, to the forecastle. I supposed they
were so to continue. How much was I mistaken! No sooner
was the business of setting the sails performed, than the active
Baird began a clearance. All hands were at work; the hatches
opened ; room for stowage still was to be found; cables were coiled ^

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279

and, in less than half an hour, no signs of disorder or incumbrance
were to be seen. In some things, how full of caution is a sailor!
How active is he, and how orderly on the approach of storm or
battle. What contradictions are there in his habits! The least
appearance of defect in his shrouds, braces, or rigging, must be
repaired: his decks must be daily washed ; to every thing that regards the safety of the ship, the strictest attention must be paid.
He must not sleep more than four hours at a time, and never
soundly; the least alarm must bring him upon deck. His eye
must alternately be upon the watch; his apprehension of danger
must never cease. Meanwhile, his own. convenience is utterly
neglected. Being at sea, he puts on any dirty or ragged jacket,
sleeps upon boards or ropes, and feeds on the coarsest fare. Our
cook was half covered with grease and tar; his hands were uncommonly large, and chapped; and he washed his dishes with a cable's
end. It often happens that the sailor's beef is half putrid, his
butter and cheese the same, his biscuits swarming with maggots?
and his water stinking. To this he is sometimes by necessity reduced ; and the landsman is astonished at the habits which such
hard necessities have taught. But a voyage to Hamburg is
seldom of so much severity, and the pampered passenger as seldom
goes to sea unprovided.
LETTER V.
" OUR convoy was sluggish, and we were off the Norfolk coast on
the 5th. We gave it some few parting sighs, remembering the
relations and friends that were there, and who, perhaps, had they
known the incident, would have brought down their telescopes, to
have taken a last view. Was it affection or vanity that gave me
this thought? Let it be permitted to hope the best.
He that makes a voyage and meets with no adventures, using
the common phrase, must be greatly in or greatly out of luck:.
unless indeed we suppose him fast asleep, which, with the convenience of a close carriage is the way that most travellers see the
world. A watchman, shut up in his box at midnight, without the
aid of his candle and lantern, sees it as well. We were willing to
keep awake, and were not in want of stimulants. I had been to
sea before, more than once, yet had numberless things to remark,
especially as I had never before sailed with a convoy. The

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Kennet was a good sailer; but if we ran before our guardian, we
were liable to have a ten-pounder sent, with a possibility of hitting
us, as a warning order to keep astern. If we were too close, the
peril was that of running foul of the ships under the Commodore's
lee. If the weather fell hazy, this danger increased. If it was a
calm we must no less carefully keep our distance. Should you
have supposed that, being on the boundless ocean, you must
always have sea room enough, the above hints may help to rectify
your mistake.
On the 6th, we were off the Texel; on the 7th saw Lord
Duncan's fleet; and on the 8th were still upon the Dutch coast. I
repeat what the mariners and their charts told me, for I could not
see land. The sailing under the protection of cannon balls, the
look-out that was kept for the approach of an enemy, and the
hostile fleets of Britain proudly riding on a threatened shore, inspired thoughts which
1 will take another time to tell you what
these thoughts were. We caught gurnels, a pretty but cruel warfare The wretched animal was generally an hour gasping for the
medium in which, till then, he had breathed, and dying with difficulty.
A more animating incident occurred. Perhaps you are ignorant
that smugglers, if pursued, will sink their cargoes of gin, and leave
a buoy, by the aid of which they are sometimes recovered. From
one of these, as it was supposed, a keg was seen to come swimming
among the fleet. The sight awakened two passions at once,—
drunkenness and ambition. To what dangers do they expose the
thirsty, the daring, and the rash! The fleet was under sail, and
the keg swam in a contrary directidn. "We perceived a consultation was held on board a ship but little distant. In a moment,
one of the sailors began to strip. We watched his proceedings
with surprise and apprehension; we saw him plunge into the
sea, and stem the waves with such eagerness, that it seemed impossible for his strength not to be presently exhausted. How impatiently did the eye pursue him, his head now hidden, and now
seen dancing among the waves, till we could no longer catch a
glimpse. It was a fearful distance. There was something so
daring in the attempt, and so vigorous in the execution, that he
became a kind of hero, in whose dubious fate every heart was
interested.
" Meanwhile, the sailors, who first discovered the prize in ques-

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281

tion, lay to; that is, turned the ship so that the sails did not catch
the wind; and hoisted out their boat. In this they went in search
of the swimmer and the keg. We could not discover their proceedings ; but we learned, after their return, that the sailor had
overtaken and seized the object of his wishes ; and they brought
him and his prize once more on board of the ship to which he
belonged, in triumph.
6i
A rash action, when successful, never fails to be admired. To
people who live on shore, the remarks, language, and adventures of
mariners are often amusing. The answers, however, which the
latter return to passengers, are frequently surly, and expressive of
contempt. Sailors, I assure you, are as pragmatic, and full of
pedantry, in their way, as any Doctor the Universities can afford.
Men are always surprised at, and diverted by each other's ignorance ; forgetting their own.
" The seaman, however, has a feature common to us all; he is
pleased with those who listen to his complaints. One of our men
told me how long he had served on board a man-of-war, the sufferings he there endured, and painted the despotism of naval
officers, in the anecdotes he related. A captain, who perhaps had
read Culpepper, or some such erudite author, thought proper to
physic his crew regularly once a month; and to take care the
doses he prescribed were actually swallowed. This was not all;
if the men were sick afterwards, they were put in the bilboes, to
convince them they were well; and one poor fellow, who was extremely weak, was flogged for not running fast enough up the
shrouds.
"Another of these commanders having given a man three dozen
lashes on the starboard of the vessel, ordered him two dozen more
on the larboard ; that, as he said, one side might not laugh at the
other.
" The man cited many more incidents of a like kind; adding,
that when on board a king's ship, he many a time wished himself
dead. Observe, I can only be answerable for my own veracity; I
faithfully repeat what I was told.
" I shall be equally accurate in what I am going to relate ;
though it is on a subject which some naturalists have treated as
absurd* The captain and mate of the Kennet had both navigated
the coast of Norway, the Northern Ocean, and the Atlantic ; and I
questioned them concerning the Kraken. They neither of them

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pretended to have seen this supposed stupendous monster of the
waters : but they immediately expressed their firm conviction of
its existence. I asked their reasons; and they affirmed it had
been twice seen within the last four 3'ears.
" The first instance they cited was that of a captain coming
from Archangel, or Greenland, through the Atlantic ; who was
surprised at the appearance of rocks unknown to the chart of
mariners, and immediately ordered out his boat, to have them examined; meanwhile the Kraken, that is, the imaginary rocks,
disappeared and he sailed over the place; but forgot, during his
astonishment, to sound.
" Their second instance was more circumstantial. About two
years and a half before the time at which they spoke, a Dane,
sailing through the Firth of Forth, on the coast of Scotland, was
so terrified at the appearance of rocks in such a place, that he lay
to; being for some time persuaded that he had lost his reckoning,
and had arrived he knew not where. After consideration, he took
courage, and sailed past them; and when he arrived at Dundee,
gave a relation of what he had seen. Finding himself at first
disbelieved, he and his crew made oath of the fact, either at the
Custom-house, or before a magistrate of Dundee. The narrators
were both Scotchmen; and affirmed they spoke of the attestation
being thus made from their own knowledge. Persons, who shall
deem it worth their trouble, may easily make an inquiry whether
such attestation exists in Dundee.
Ci
My informants confirmed, unquestioned, the usual accounts,
fabulous or not, that fishermen find plenty of fish on the back of
the Kraken, as they do on sand banks, at a certain distance below the surface; and that these fishermen hasten away, as soon as
they perceive the Kraken beginning to rise, because, when it goes
down, it occasions a dangerous whirlpool. These, you will re-collect, are the old stories of Pontoppidan.
" Finding this leviathan so familiar to their belief, I next inquired if they had heard, or knew any thing of the sea-snake, by
some called the sea-worm ? To this question I received a still
more direct answer. The mate, Mr. Baird, who certainly was not
a liar by habit, whatever mistake or credulity might make him,
assured me that, about the midway in a voyage to America, in the
Atlantic, he had himself seen a fish, comparatively small in the
body, of from forty to fifty fathoms in length ; and that he had

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

283

excited great terror in the captain, who was well acquainted with
those latitudes, lest it should sink the ship.
" They both related other stories concerning the appearance of
this sea-worm, asserting, that it will rise out of the water as high
as a common mainmast.
" Should you ask, do you repeat these things because you think
them credible ? I answer, no. But who can affirm he can mark
out the boundaries of possibility? Some mariners treat these tales
as absolutely false and ridiculous: others seriously affirm them to
be t r u e ; and I think it a duty to collect evidence, and to remain
on this question, as on many another, in a certain degree of
scepticism.
" They spoke of another fact; which, supposing them to speak
truth, deserves attention. The waves in the Western Ocean are
sometimes so oily, from dead whales, as it is imagined, that they
are not much disturbed by a brisk gale. The sailor's brisk gale,
observe, by you and me -would be called a high wind."

LETTER VI.
u

REMEXMBER I left you in a gale at sea, and a high wind on shore:
but what would you think of a stiff breeze ? I heard one described
by a sailor, who swore that it shaved him ; that he could not keep
his hair safe on his head; and that it made the ship sneeze. His
metaphors, and the composure with which he spoke of a tempest,
that to a landsman would have been so full of terror, were
amusing.
" Our voyage was performed by the aid of gentle gales ; and wre
got in view of Heligoland on the morning of the 9th. Being now
out of danger from an enemy, the ships were allowed to part company, and each make the best of her way. To people weary of
the qualms and inconveniences of a sea voyage, and impatient to
arrive at the place of their destination, with the latent hope of unknown pleasures from unknown sources, this was welcome news.
The captain was teazed with our questions; and we were much
disappointed to find there was little hope we should yet see Hamburg within four and twenty hours.
" It was late in the day before we arrived at the red buoy,
where usually the pilot comes on board. We now entered -the

284

MEMOIRS OF

Elbe, the navigation of which is both difficult and dangerous, if
circumstances are unfavourable; and I could not but admire and
most sincerely applaud the precautions taken for safety, and augur
favourably of the industry and understanding I should find in
Hamburg. These, however, are the labours of sea-faring men;
and such are the dangers of the waters, that sailors, who, speaking
of them as a class, are far from being the most intelligent, exert
very sagacious means to guard against these dangers. The apparent width of the Elbe is great; but the bed of the navigable
channel is comparatively small; buoys, therefore, have been placed,
and distinguished by colour and numbering, to mark out the course,
of the stream, which winds exceedingly.
" The eye of the traveller is always caught by those objects
which differ greatly from such as he has been accustomed to see;
and the appearance of our pilot was to us highly original. His
figure was diminutive; yet so bundled up in jackets and breeches,
that it was swelled out to a very respectable bulk. His breeches,,
far from being small clothes, wrere large and loose, and had pockets,
or rather paunches, at the sides, in which he put his pipe, his tobacco, his bread and cheese, and other necessaries. I suppose he
wore half a dozen pairs; for he unbuttoned three, with great unconcern, before us all, to come at a fourth. His face was thin, his'
forehead contracted, his chin peaked, his nose large, his mouth
wide, his teeth black and decayed, and his eyes small and red.
Having given his directions, as soon as he had leisure he dressed,
or rather undressed himself, that he might look respectable before
the ladies ; that is, he pulled off two jackets, the first exceedingly
thick and weather proof, two pairs of trowsers, and his boots, which
hung loose about his legs. He then appeared in a grey damask
doublet, made probably from his great-grandmother's holiday
gown, long quartered shoes, and a pair of pewter single-tongued
buckles, extravagantly large, and diamond cut. He had a gigantic
kind of sleeve-button to fasten his waistband, and another of the
same form but less, at his shirt collar; these, by their embossing,
equalled his buckles in splendour ; and in his now reduced size, he
accurately resembled the wooden men cut in Dutch toys. I found
amusement in studying this figure, it being the first of the kind
I had seen. His language was low Dutch, but he spoke broken
English; and I endeavoured to make him talk; but, as he knew
nothing, he could say nothing. The office of pilot frequently re-

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

285

quires great presence of mind, activity, and courage: this mstn
had certainly no such qualities.
" Under his guidance, however, we entered the Elbe ; and the
shores of Holstein on the left, and Hanover on the right, began ix>,
close upon us. I know not when or how it came there, but the
picture I had in my mind of Holstein, was that of one of the rude
and naked countries of the North; and I felt surprise, as we ap-»
proached its banks, to see them frequently adorned with houses
built of brick, and the gable ends painted green. This, however,
as I afterwards found, is by no means the general style of building
in that province; but it appears that men every where take delight
in having pleasant habitations on the banks of rivers. At this
part of the Elbe, the left hand shore had a flat and low appeaiv
ance; while in Hanover we could see, not mountains, for there are
none in these parts of Germany, but high lands. I know not why,
but the traveller appears to have a latent expectation that every
thing which he is to see, is to be unlike every thing he has seen;
and is almost disappointed to find that trees are trees, and that the
banks of rivers in foreign countries are as verdant as those of his
native land. It is true, there are in reality marked differences;
but these must be sought for in the minuter parts, and not in
the grand features of nature, some few and singular instances
excepted.
" The Elbe cannot be navigated in the dark, for the buoys and
pilot marks cannot be discerned ; and at twilight we cast anchor.
At this the sailors did not repine: it was a necessity to which they
knew they must submit; but we, impatient passengers, heard with
regret that the wind blew peculiarly fresh and fair. In the middle::
of the night it strengthened, and opposed the tide ; in consequence
of which, the waves rose, and the ship rolled violently. Doors
flew open, boxes arid bottles tumbled from their places, and there
was a great clatter in the cabin. It seemed strange to be so much
disturbed, having now passed the sea, and safely arrived in the
river. Trifles, to which we are unaccustomed, excite surprise."
LETTER VII.
" T H E anchor was weighed as early as possible; for it was still
doubtful whether we should arrive at Hamburg before the close
of day.

236

MEMOIRS OF

" According to regulation, the pilot from the red buoy has a
right only to proceed to a certain distance; after which, another,
if he be in readiness, comes on board and takes charge of the
vessel. Our little man was very anxious in his hopes that a successor would not appear; and that he should have the whole profit
of proceeding to Hamburg. But he was disappointed. At the
proper station his rival came; and he returned. The second pilot
was no less characteristic in manner and appearance than the first;
though very different. His dress, indeed, was nearly the same;
but instead of the insignificance of the former, he had an assuming
deportment; which, agreeing with the costume, made me imagine
I was actually in company with ancient Pistol. With his pipe in
his mouth, his wide, straddling gait, and his hands in his breeches'
side-pockets, commanding with a kind of bluff" authority, and speaking a half unintelligible jargon, the picture was almost complete.
His son was with him; a young boy, the likeness and the ape
of his father. The decayed state of this man's teeth, made me
conjecture that smoking might be a principal agent in producing
this defect, which I afterwards found to be common among the
Germans.
" This man, however, had activity in his profession; and it
was fortunate that he, instead of the former., was our pilot: for,,
in going up the river, had not he and all the crew strongly
exerted themselves, we might have been run down by the sluggish neglect of a Dane; which danger we escaped with great difficulty.
" As we proceeded, the appearance of the opposite shores considerably varied ; we lost sight of the distant high lands in Hanover, and saw nothing but a dead and low flat; while the Holstein
bank became elevated, the number of the green-ended houses
increased, and the town and fortifications of Grluckstadt came in
view. It is low, and we could see little of the palace of which our
pilot vaunted. We discerned nothing that in the least approached
magnificence; but saw many things that had a charming air of
rural calm and cleanliness. These pleasing appearances became
more frequent as we approached Altona; but we could not sufficiently enjoy them, for it was now once more the close of day.
Being at Altona, we were glad, though surprised, to find ourselves
within a gun-shot's distance of Hamburg: but our joy on this
occasion was short; for we heard, with vexation, that the gates of

THOMAS HOLCKOFT.

287

Hamburg, as well of the port as of the city, were regularly shut at
dusk; and that admission, even for a prince, was then impassible.
" Altona, like Hamburg, is a seaport town; and it may safely be
prophesied, that at no very distant period they will form but one
place. The number of shipping at Altona was considerable,1
though, small when compared to those that crowded the harbours
of Hamburg. But the appearance that catches the eye, and
distinguishes these cities from all that I had before seen, was the
excessive quantity of windows in the houses*; the front surfaces
of which are nearly one half of glass. I had remarked the upper
stories of certain manufacturing houses in London, that have rows
of windows in the same manner; and inquired if the houses I
now saw were all manufactories ? It was a question the sailors
could not answer, but I afterwards found that every house was
thus constructed.
" About nine o'clock, we came to moorings in the river without
the harbour; exceedingly mortified at being obliged to sleep
another night on board, knowing that every thing to give us
a pleasant reception had been prepared by our friends on shore.
Expectation is whetted by difficulty and delay: yet expectation,
without these stimulants, is generally too high. We were soon to
be on German ground; and Germany is one of the grand divisions
of Europe, renowned for its ancient resistance to the Eoman arms,
and claiming, in modern times, not only the destructive honours of
war, but a high rank in every department of science and belles
lettres; we should therefore find it peopled with the learned, the
polite, and the brave. With these, and a thousand other grateful
images, we appeased our impatience, and once more waited the
return of day. How eager is man for the future, — how insensible
to the present! — Had he the power, how would he lend wings to
time, and wish his life away!"
LETTER VHI.
" T H E morning came,"the captain ordered out his boat, and we had
scarcely patience to descend into it with care. The fleet that had
arrived had to find berths in the harbour: ships must change their
stations; some to depart, others to load or unload: the boats and
barges employed seemed almost as numerous as the ships them* There is no window-tax in Germany.
U

288

MEMOIRS OF

selves: multitudes of the peasants that inhabit the banks of the
Elbe, who, from necessity, are both watermen and farmers, were
arriving, male and female, in their skiffs, to provision the devouring city: all was life, all was motion; and we, rowing in the midst
of the scene, had our faculties wholly absorbed by the countless
novelties that at once invaded them. The animation of the Elbe
cannot indeed be said to equal that of the Thames : but then the
objects were so different, and their appearance generally was so
uncouth and boorish, that the eye was bewildered, and unable to
examine them individually.
"We were stopped at the entrance of the harbour by the voice
of a sentinel, and questioned concerning who we were, and what
our trunks contained; but this is rather a form than a scrutiny;
for few ports are so free of access, or give so little trouble with respect to custom-house duties, as that of Hamburg. The government of Hamburg, comparatively, has laid but few restraints upon
trade : that is, it has practised fewer of the vices of finance common,
more or less, to all governments, which absurdly rob, by their
endeavours to enrich, themselves. We landed on the Vorsetzen, at
the principal stairs of the harbour, and were immediately struck
by their inconvenience : they were narrow, steep, and dangerous,
especially to persons carrying luggage. The krahnziehers, or city
porters^ perceiving we were English, and unacquainted with the
place, pressed their service upon us, which we eagerly enough
accepted ; and having landed our trunks on the quay, one of them
went for a coach, and another for a car, to remove us and our
effects. We intreated them to make haste, which they promised ;
and, though they kept us waiting in vexation above half an hour,
they might still be said to keep their word : as Germans, they
were quick. We had, indeed, heard much of the inflexible phlegm
of this people, but as yet we were novices in its practical effects.
While we stood wratching our luggage, gazed at and gazing, the
appearance of those around us strange to us, and ours to them,
among other things that attracted attention were two waggons, if
they might so be called, that met; and though the street, speaking
of Hamburg, was tolerably wide, could scarcely pass. Each was
drawn by four horses, two abreast, the driver riding on the near or
left hand shaft-horse; each had four wheels, and not two feet broad
at the bottom, though both were uncommonly long ; the axle-trees
projected above a foot on each side ; in short, nothing could be
more ill constructed for turning and passing in narrow streets.

THOMAS HOLCROET.

289

The convenience which would have resulted from their smallwidth
was wholly destroyed by the projecting axle-trees ; the rope-harness was so long, and the horses drew at such a distance from each
other, as at once to employ the space of drawing abreast, and what
was nearly sufficient to have drawn lengthways. This, added to
the length of the waggon, the awkwardness of the drivers, and the
lazy unconcern with which they sat and looked, when they had
embarrassed each other, before they determined how they would
act, combining and harmonising with other appearances around us,
immediately gave birth to much surmise and meditation on national
character. It was heightened, too, by the contents of one of the
waggons, which was loaded with the filth and ordure of the city, as
offensive almost to the sight as to the smell. Let us not, however,
be too hasty in our conclusions; the detail of facts as they arise
will best explain the real state of things: individually they may
mislead; but collected and compared, they must elucidate.
" I t is true, the next I have to relate is of the unfavourable
kind. Three of the krahnziehers harnessed themselves to the car
that drew our luggage ; the distance they had to take it might be
six or seven hundred yards, and a porter in London would willingly
have done the whole work for three shillings; but their demand
was twelve. It is true, three of them thought proper to employ
themselves, and they rendered that which might have been easy
and expeditious, laborious and slow. Neither was their demand
complied with ; one third was abated: but then they supposed
themselves paid no more than their due, and were dissatisfied that
strangers were not taxed higher. It is said, indeed, and I suppose
truly, that throughout Germany labour is nowhere so extravagantly
paid as in Hamburg: but a comparative estimate of the rate of
labour is much wanted; for it is a subject on which there are
many and gross mistakes. In proportion as the inhabitants of a
country are ignorant, labour is supposed to be cheap ; the very reverse is generally the truth."

Letter to Mr, Freeman.
"SIR,
"Bath.
" I had once the pleasure of receiving a very humane and
sensible letter from you on the part of my father. After the character he has given of you, I do not wonder at it. Benevolence
u 2

290

MEMOIRS OF

and wisdom frequently are, and ought always to be, united. I am
now to address you on his behalf. He informs me he is indebted
to you to the amount of ten pounds, which was lent to him in
necessity, and which I assure you is remembered by him with gratitude : it is an affair that, if I am not mistaken, does honour both
to you and him. He is very anxious to have you satisfied that yoi*
shall not suffer for your generosity. I have it not in my power,
without great inconvenience, to discharge the debt just at present,
though it is a burthen which I wish to take from my father. I
shall be enabled within this year, that is, at the beginning of next
November, to pay it. I am secretary to a society which allows me
that sum; and which, if you will accept of my note, or a draft payable at that time, shall be appropriated to this use. I shall be glad
if you will favour me with a line respecting the affair; and after
begging you will accept my most sincere thanks for the obligations
I owe you on my father's account, take the liberty to subscribe
myself, &c.
"Januarys 1779."
To Mr. Richard Hughes.
" Barnstaple.
" SIR,
" I shall execute with pleasure any little commands you wiD
please to favour me with, and beg you will not suppose it any
obligation. I have inquired concerning a first singer, but hear of
none except Mr. Cubitt. I have not applied to him, because I am
told he has been with you before, and that he seldom visits one
company twice. If you want a capricious hoyden, who values herself upon her character and virtue, yet walks about the town in>
men's clothes, with a long stride, and a fierce cocked hat; who has
more spirits and as many antics as an ape or a tumbler; who is a
coquette this minute, and a prude the next; raps out a great oath
now, and anon reads you a lecture upon propriety and decorum;
talks to herself, at herself, of herself, and never for five minutes
together upon any other subject; who affects the girl, and whose
wrinkles are as apparent as her vanity; who yet does every manager she is with considerable service, by the singularity of her
character, and the free airs she gives herself among the men; who
on the stage has considerable merit in breeches parts, coquettes, &c.r
but who will be Wall and Moonshine, or haunt you both sleeping

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

291

and waking; in short, if you want a person who is sentimental,
dissipated, reserved, obliging, talkative, sullen, laughing, pouting,
and all in less time than I could copy this period; who has many
indications of strong sense, and more of absolute insanity; whose
heart would direct her to do right, but whose vanity will not permit her; I say, if such a person pleases you, then take Mrs. H.
If you suspect me of pique or ill-nature while I have been painting
this picture, you wrong me. I have not, nor is it probable I ever
should again have, occasion to associate with Mrs. H. If she
should say it were a bad likeness, I will mend the copy when she
mends the original. We have a new after-piece of Mr. Sheridan's
coming out this evening, i The Critic/ from which we expect great
things. Pray give my best respects to Mrs. Hughes, and believe
me to be sincerely yours,
" T. H.
" Oct. 30. 1779."

To Mr. Holcroft.
" Mr DEAR FATHER,

" I am glad the trifle I sent came safe to hand. Mr. Freeman's receipt is sufficient. You did not mention whether Mr. Freeman still continues your friend. I wish you would be kind enough
to let me know whether you have all your garden ground, and
your bed of asparagus still, and what you chiefly depend on for
your livelihood. Let me beg of you not to be unhappy. When
you can no longer make up your payments, give up your all and
eome to me. I have told you frequently, and I cannot repeat it
too often, I will never see you want. I am afraid you think the
little I have hitherto done for you an obligation: 1 think I discover
it in your letters. Let me entreat you, do not consider it in this
light. You cherished me in infancy, and I should be very wicked
to see you perish in age ; you loved me then, and I love and
reverence you now. I will show you how sincere I am in my
professions, the moment I have it in my power. I am exceedingly
concerned for my poor mother's afflictions; I hope she endures them
with patience and fortitude, which alone can alleviate and make
them lighter. I was not at home when your friends from Bath
called; I should have been happy to have seen them, but they
never came again. I hope you bear the burthen of old age cheerfully ; nothing but indifference to the accidents of life can make
u 3 •

292

MEMOIRS OF

them supportable. Life itself, in the wisest, happiest, and longest
lived, is short, uncertain, and chequered with good and evil; a kind
of dream that ends in a profound sleep. You are travelling towards the grave, and I am following you very fast, nay, possibly
may finish the journey before you; but let us not be unhappy on that
account; we shall rest from our labours, while our sons and daughters in numberless succeeding generations shall toil in the same
steps, have the same hopes and disappointments, and sink at last
into the same forgetfulness. Life is an April day ; if we are impatient and out of humour, it is overcast with tempests, clouds, and
rain ; but if we bound our desires, and are cheerful, sunshine and
serenity prevail. Mrs. Holcroft and the three little ones are all
well, as are all friends, who frequently inquire after you. You
would be delighted with the children, especially the boy, who is a
fine little fellow, reads well, and is learning French and Latin."

To Mr. Holcroft.
" King's Mead Square, Bath.
" MY DEAR FATHER,

" I take great pleasure in hearing of your welfare, and
that you are not likely to become unsettled again, which, if I had
not a house to invite you to, would give me great pain to reflect
on, more especially at your time of life. I cannot tell you how
much I respect Mr. Freeman: he certainly must be a very benevolent, worthy man; and I beg you will assure him from me that he
shall be certain not to lose the least part of the sum he has lent
you; and that I am ready to give him my notes, if he pleases to
accept of them, for the payment at such stated periods as I find
myself able to pay them at. Your property in your garden, and
your own integrity, dear sir, are sufficient security; but I would
willingly remove every burthen from your shoulders, as well as
give Mr. Freeman every certainty in my power. I am every day
more esteemed; and I believe, if I have life and health, there is
little doubt of my success. I hope, sir, you will not think me
rude in cautioning you not to be too eager in increasing your stock ;
as by having more affairs on your hands than your small capital
can supply, you may easily lose the whole ; besides that you bring
a degree of trouble and anxiety on your mind that your health

TIIOMAS HOLCROFT.

2£3

cannot now support perhaps. I am exceedingly glad to hear that
my mother is better. We are all in good health, our relations
dine with us on Sunday, and we always speak of you. Mr. Marsac
is not arrived. My comedy is to be played next season. God
bless you both, and make you happy. I am, dear father, &cf
" March 31st."
To Fulke Greville^ Esq.
'< SIR,
" Before I proceed to any other subject, permit me to
assure you that I not only think myself greatly honoured by your
correspondence, but greatly obliged by your remarks, and more
especially by the candour and liberality with which they are made.
Indeed, sir, these sensations have made too powerful an impression
to be soon or easily forgotten. Your ideas of consistency, however I may have failed, agree entirely with mine; for which
reason, whenever you find absurdities or inconsistencies, I shall be
glad if you will freely point them out. Your objection to 'The Two
Knights' is well founded. I will make Sir Harry a lord, or Sir
Hornet a Mr. ~
Vandervelt is in the same predicament. A
large fortune, and the illiterate manners of Turnbull, are sufficiently
improbable, unless what Osborne says, when he draws his character
in the first act, reconciles it to truth. I think your hint, however,
a good one, and worth attending to. If any phrases, words, or
other alterations of that nature occur to you in reading, I beg you
will not scruple to write them on the blank leaf, being convinced
that you have too much candour to take offence if I should happen
to differ with you occasionally. If you understand that Sir Hornet
sends the Turnbulls to his nephew's house as a residence, I have
erred in expressing myself, and must correct. The last thing you
have noticed I confess affects me a good deal. I thought I had
contrived the plot so as to keep the audience in suspense relative
to the real character of Osborne; if I have failed in this, the error
is a capital one indeed. It is true I could not make Osborne a
rascal so palpably as to take away all probability of the contrary,
because the mind would have been too much shocked at the want
of poetical justice in the denouement ; the point to be hit was, that
perplexity which must arise in the mind on seeing a worthy person
likely to be betrayed by an unworthy one; but yet to preserve a
possibility of his salvation by having a possibility of your suspicions
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294

MEMOIRS OF

of the supposed unworthy one ill founded. Now to certain minds
who are intimately in the mechanical secret of plot and catastrophe,
&c, I hardly know how this is to be effected. You, sir, know
that a comedy must end happily, because critics have made it an
inevitable rule. You see, as you proceed, there is no way of doing
this but by making a certain character (Osborne for instance)
not what he appears to be: you foresee, therefore, this will happen,
and your concern for the distress of another vanishes. But in
what labyrinth shall the poet bewilder you, sir, who are possessed
of this clue! If the whole audience see as far as you, sir, my play
loses half its merit. The work in question was to be a comedy, the
auditors were to laugh ; wit, humour, variety of character, of manners, of incident, were absolute requisites for a good comedy, and
as entirely so as instruction and reformation from the fable and
moral. The poet's attention must, therefore, inevitably be divided;
he must bestow a part on each. If the catastrophe of my play is
not more moral, more forcible, and more affecting, than that of any
late production, it is worse than any of them, because the plot has
greater capabilities; but the nature of the work would not permit it
to be as much so as if it had had but one whole and undivided intention, that is, as if it had been a tragedy. Do not imagine, sir, that
I am seized with the irritability of authorship: whenever I am
chagrined it will be at myself for committing errors, not at others
for telling me of them. I am afraid there is truth in your objection,
though I confess I have been told by some readers they were entirely
at a loss concerning the catastrophe till it happened; but it is
evident they either said false, or were less discerning than you.
Continue, sir, to tell me truth. They will not flatter me at the
theatre. I will retrieve my errors where I can. I am concerned,
however, sir, at giving you the labour of writing. You will be in
town soon ; or at Petersham I shall be proud to wait on you;
you will give me your opinion with greater ease: I find already it
will be of much service to me; and I repeat, I think myself greatly
honoured, and indebted to that philanthropy which could prompt
you so cheerfully to the present undertaking.
" I am, sir, &c.
(i

September 4th."

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

295

To the same,
"SIR,

" I have this moment received and read your last letter:
your attention to me is not only an honour to me, but to yourself,
sir; it expresses the anxiety of a generous mind. I continue to
think that your suggestion of Osborne's gratitude is a very happy
improvement, and as such have endeavoured to give it all the expression and force I could from the mouth of Osborne. As to Sir
Harry, he appears to me to be so overflowing with passion, that is,
the turn is so sudden and unexpected, and he is so affected with
Osborne's friendship and virtue in disguise, and at the hideous
danger he had just escaped, that, if I feel right, he cannot speak,
except in exclamation. The difficulty of making impassioned
characters say neither too little nor too much is, as you observe,
exceedingly great : and the plot frequently obliges the author to
say too much; but it never fails in some degree to offend. I
confess, sir, you almost terrify me about the loss of Melissa's
fortune, but I have no remedy ; the reason is what I gave you in
our last conversation. Mr. Nicholson says, were it not done, he
confesses he would not do i t ; and yet, as it is at present managed,
the effect is such that he can scarcely wish it undone; nor does he
seem to think there is much risk in it. He approved your beforementioned hint concerning Osborne's gratitude, exceedingly, and
thought it very happy. I don't know how enough to thank you
for your kind offers concerning the prologue; but Mr. Nicholson
is at present about one, and had begun it before I received your
letter; how far it may succeed in mine or Mr. Harris's opinion, I
cannot yet predict; but I am under no disagreeable concern on
that subject, because I know Mr. Nicholson's candour and good
sense so well as to be certain, should it not chance to be happy, he
will not suffer the least chagrin ; not to mention, sir, that I should
be exceedingly sorry again to subject your performance to the
caprice or ill taste of others, to which I myself, in this business,
am entirely subjected. I have not yet seen Mr. Henderson : he
was out of town.
" l a m , &c.
« T. H."

296

MEMOIRS OF

To the same.
« SIR,
" I am very much concerned at not knowing where or
which way to remit the copy of the comedy to you, being ignorant
of where you are, or where this may find you. I went on Tuesday
with it into Somerset Street, but found the house entirely shut up.
The trouble you have taken in reading and advising, demands
every attention from me. It is to be played on Saturday the 13th.
If you come to town, or can instruct me how to send the comedy
to you, I shall be happy. I assure you, sir, you can scarcely conjecture the trouble and chagrin attending things of this nature:
there have been three epilogues written before there was one to
please the speaker ; and at this instant I am not certain of finding
any person to speak the prologue. Mr. Henderson said he could
not please himself in it, and therefore declined i t ; and Mr. Lee
Lewis, to whom it was afterwards given, who fancies himself a wit
and a critic, does not find opportunities enough of regaling his acquaintance in the upper gallery ; whether he will or will not speak
it, is yet to be determined. There have been various alterations
made in the play, and a very considerable one relative to the loss
of Melissa's fortune, though your objection is not entirely obviated.
I have written a speech for Sir Harry, on the eifects of gaming, as
consonant to the ideas you hinted as I could ; and I believe it will
have a charming effect. Your turn, too, for the denouement is exceedingly happy. I can only add, sir, that I think myself exceedingly obliged to you for these favours, and shall take the earliest
opportunity when you are in town, with your permission, of
thanking you in person.
" I am, sir, &e."
To the same.
" SIR,
" I am exceedingly happy that you do not suspect me of
ingratitude: indeed, sir, I should detest myself had I, by my own
neglect, treated you with the least disrespect. It would have been
a symptom not only of an inflated, silly mind, but of a bad heart
also. I repeat this, sir, because I assure you I was very uneasy till
the receipt of your obliging letter removed my doubts. I cannot
help again observing to you, sir, that the approbation of people of
known worth and undoubted abilities is very flattering; and I hope
there will be nothing wrong or indelicate in saying that I feel

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

297

myself peculiarly happy and elevated at having gained the esteem
of Mr. and Mrs. Greville ; and I am certain I shall neglect no
opportunity of endeavouring to improve a friendship so honourable
to me, and, at one period of my life, so seemingly incompatible. 1
know, sir, the most effectual mode of accomplishing this will be to
do my duty in society, and assiduously to cultivate such talents as
accident or nature has bestowed upon me ; and this, sir, is my most
serious intention. Kespecting the play, I, sir, was never satisfied
with making Sir Harry lose his sister's fortune ; besides that I find
it is an incident in 'The tragedy of the Gamester,' where, as the hero
does not survive the dishonour, it is very proper and happy. However, as few are sufficiently refined to feel properly on this occasion,
it has a good stage effect. You can hardly conceive how great the
effect of the denouement was on the first night; the whole house
seemed taken by surprise ; and Osborne's generous account of the
reason of his conduct greatly heightened, or rather gave a complete
finish, to their pleasure. There is another speech, which was
written in consequence of some hints I received from conversing
with you, which I think one of the best conceived in the whole
play. It is Sir Harry's soliloquy in the fourth act, after Melissa
has put her fortune in his hands. I very much approve what you
are pleased to term the niceties of verbal criticism. An exact and
well-regulated machine depends as much, if not more, upon small
things as great ; but still there must be vast labour and precision
indeed, if no particle of dust insinuates itself among the cogs and
wheels ; however, when such is discovered, it would be folly not to
brush it away. The epilogue I wrote, and it has a good effect in
speaking. The curtailings have some of them been suggested at
rehearsals by the performers, and some were my own, but the
greatest part were Mr. Harris's. I dislike Sir Harry's squeezing
Clara's hand, as much as you can do; I assure you, sir, it was the
insertion of the actors: and I chose rather to submit to that,
and many other things I disapproved, than to appear obstinate or
opinionated. ' Mrs. Holcroft desires me to assure you, sir, she is
exceedingly obliged by the kind mention you have made of her,
and only wishes it were possible to have an opportunity of expressing her gratitude in actions both to you and Mrs. Greville;
but this she despairs of.
i(
I am, sir, &c.
" Oct. 28."

298

MEMOIRS OF

To Mr. Freeman,
" Bath.
" To a heart like mine, addicted, both by principle and constitu*
tion, to the glowing emotions of friendship, the philanthropy and
warmth of sentiment so conspicuous in your letters, and particularly in your last, are very acceptable. And though I have not
leisure to answer you so fully as I wish, nor opportunity to return
those many kindnesses you do me, yet to be totally silent would be
ungrateful. Let me therefore return you my most sincere thanks
for all your favours, particularly for those done to my father; believe me, sir, they shall never be forgotten. You are pleased to
style yourself my friend, and I am proud of the appellation: the
friendship of good men is not to be obtained upon slight and trivial
terms: they know not only their own worth, but that the merits or
demerits of those to whom they apply that serious and respectful
word, are in a great measure reflected back upon themselves ; and
this makes them cautious. For my own part, sir, small as my
consequence is in this world, nothing but a thorough conviction of
the goodness of a man's heart could make me accept him for my
friend. I am convinced you think in this like me; and I esteem
your friendship, sir, and the friendship of men like you, too highly
ever to wilfully make myself unworthy of it. Men who feel the
dignity of virtue are too proud to be vicious. Excuse this, sir; I
only mean to assure you I will endeavour to equal the good opinion
you are pleased to entertain of me, and not to write my own eulogy."
To the same.
" D E A R SIK,

" I received yours of the 25th in due course, and have forborne
to answer it till now, because I had not money to pay any part of the
account before. As soon as I go out to-day I shall pay ten pounds
in part to Mr. Ellis, and hope to pay as much more in a few weeks;
shoujd you think this too tardy, be kind enough to hint as much,
and I will endeavour to quicken my motions. Had I any means
of conveyance, I would send you a book just published (by me) in
French and English, very curious :—< Memoires de Voltaire ecrits
par lui-meme.' If you will be kind enough in your next to inform
me who in London sends you parcels oftenest, I can take occasion

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

29$

now and then to send you such trifles as I have any concern in.
We complain in London of literary envy among literary men, and
often with reason; but our men of letters are far behind those of
France in that particular; parties there are as high among the
learned, as here among politicians. Their passions are sudden,
their wit keen, and their tongues imprudent; all these must have
exercise; and as they dare not, like us, talk of beheading prime
ministers, tell kings they are fools, and regulate the affairs of nations, they are all judges of wit, taste, poetry, and the belles let*
tres,i&nd. much in the same proportion as we are of politics ; that
is to say, there are a thousand who affirm and dogmatise, for one
who discriminates and judges with temperance and taste. Their
authors of the present century, who have been famous, are most of
them dead or old, and they themselves say they have little hopes
from any of the rising generation: but this is a common-place complaint of all ages, and I have no doubt is without foundation now
as heretofore. Notwithstanding their universal pretensions to dispute and decide in works of wit and taste, the common people are
very ignorant and ill-educated, insomuch that you will see, in the
best streets of Paris, the inscriptions on the signs frequently misspelt; which is matter of astonishment to an Englishman, who
seldom sees such a thing even on a village chandler's shop sign. I
have written the above sketch in obedience to a wish expressed in
your last; it is hasty and slight, for I am pressed at present for
time, as indeed I generally am. My father is at present in Manchester ; but he has taken a cottage in Cheshire, whither he and
his wife are going in a few days. In his last he desired me to give
his kindest love and sincerest thanks to you and your family, for all
your kindness and goodness to him; he likewise wishes to know
who is Mr. F
's successor, and if it is necessary he should come
to Bath at the expiration of his lease. A line when you have
leisure, sir, will be very acceptable to your sincere friend, and
obliged humble servant,
" T. H."
To Mr, Professor Dugald

Stewart

" D E A R SIR,

" I have treated you with seeming disrespect, by neglecting to answer your letter. This is a thing I should be ashamed
of with any person, and especially with one who I believe

300

MEMOIRS OF

deserves the best esteem of the best men. Hear what I can
urge in mitigation, and I hope to obtain your pardon. Your
letter arrived just at the moment when my opera of 'The Noble
Peasant' was in rehearsal; and I exceedingly hurried and teazed,
not only with attending every day at the theatre, but with alterations, writing new songs, new scenes, making retrenchments,
&c. &c. to suit the circumstances of introducing this performer,
leaving out that, and so on ; by which you will readily conjecture
I was not idle: add to which the necessity of supplying printers
with copy of ' Les Veillees du Chateau,' which I am translating. I
even began this letter yesterday, but was cut short at the word
teazed in the last paragraph, par un impertinent, and was obliged
to defer the subject till this morning. My defence is ended, in
which I even plead guilty, but hope you will find lenity not ill-bestowed. M. de Bonneville has been several months at Evreux. I
wrote letter after letter, and received no answer, till at last I grew
very seriously uneasy. My letters lay at Paris for him ; he is returned, has written, and I am recovered of my fears. I believe,
sir, you know how deeply I am interested in whatever concerns
Monsieur de Bonneville. At present, or rather at the moment he
wrote, he was severely afflicted with the tooth-ache; but this,
though a terrible evil while it lasts, is not I hope a lasting evil.
I shall transcribe your kind expressions concerning him in my
next, for which give me leave to thank you : I assure you they
gave me pleasure; yes, sir, great pleasure. My delay has had one
good effect; had I written sooner I could not have told you where
he was, or if anywhere. I received his letter on Thursday last;
shall write in a few days, and would advise you, sir, to do likewise : your letter will be sure to reach him if you direct to him,
' Chez Monsieur Barrois le jeune, Libraire, Hue de la Paix a Paris.'
You are kind enough to say, sir, you will call on me when you
come to London. I have a house and table, sir; and such as they
are, if you will do me the honour of making them your own while
you stay, be it short or long, I shall remember the favour: this is
said in plain and simple sincerity, and not in compliment. If you
should see Mr. Robertson, junior, pray present my kind respects.
« I am, &c.
" T. H."

THOMAS HOLCKCXFT.

301

From Madame de Genlis.*
"SIR,

" With pleasure,, as well as gratitude, I acknowledge the
receipt of the translation you were pleased to send me, which came
to hand prior to your letter, and consequently before I could well
go to make my claim. I have not yet had time to peruse it, but
by the preface I am surprised to find you have omitted some incidents in the tales of (Eglantine' and of ' Pamela' which in this
country have created universal interest. Even the journalists, from
whom I had little reason to expect mercy, owing to the severity
/with which they are treated in my works, have with one accord
praised the expunged passages. I mention this to you with the
less reserve, because those very passages are not of my own invention, which may be seen by referring to the notes relative to
them. I have besides given the place of Madame Busca's residence; a number of persons have been to see her, and have
satisfied themselves of the truth of my statement. Woe be to the
false delicacy which is unable to endure a recital honourable to
humanity, when made with an appeal to the feelings powerful
enough to command tears! However, sir, be persuaded that I
entertain a lively sense of the very great attention you have otherwise shown me, as well as of the handsome, and by far too flattering
encomiums you have passed on my feeble productions. My motives
are pure, and I have courage enough to tell truths likely to prove
beneficial: — my writings will corrupt no one ; — this is the only
merit I am anxious to claim for myself; and indeed in our days it
is sufficiently rare to satisfy its possessor.
" There is now in the press a new edition of the e Theatre dHHducation' to which I have added another volume, consisting of pieces
taken from the Scriptures. This new edition will appear in the
course of May next, and I beg your permission, sir, to forward
you a copy, as a small token of my gratitude, and of the sentiments
with which I have the honour to be, sir, your very humble and
very obedient servant,
" DtJCREST GENLIS.
«'-Belle Chassee, 22ndFeb. 1785."
* This letter is a translationfromthe French.

302

MEMOIRS OP

To Madame de Genlis*
" I HAVE received your favour, madam, and am happy to find the
book's came safe to hand. As to the retrenchments you are pleased
to notice, I will not pretend to justify either my own false delicacy
or that of my nation; but I can affirm, that be it false or true, it
exists, and that to an English reader, I have done the book a service, and no injury. A person of your genius, madam, need not
appeal to the approbation of journalists (I speak generally); however, if that were any consolation, I can likewise plead their support on this very subject, as you will see if you will please to read
the ' Critical Review' for February last; but I would rather have
given you satisfaction, madam, than fifty reviewers. You may
well imagine, madam, I acted for the good of the work, according
to the best of my judgment, but I will by no means presume that
judgment infallible. Permit me, madam, to relate a short story.
A certain young nobleman was remarkable for the elegance of his
dress, the symmetry of his person, and the refinement of his
manners. The old ladies admired him, the young ladies loved
him, and even the handsomest among the men envied him. He
was the chief inventor of modes, the leader of fashions, and the
arbiter of taste and tailors; above all, he was remarkable for a fine
head of hair. Proud of his power, and conscious of his abilities,
his ambition was insatiable. One day, while waiting for his hairdresser, he happened by some odd accident to be turning over the
leaves of a folio, in which he saw engravings of Eastern habits.
He burst into a laugh: * What strange figures!' cried he; (how
little do they understand of grace and elegance! Were I among
them, I would soon teach them better.' Full of this idea, and
urged by a thirst of still superior fame, he determined to take a
voyage to China, in order to begin by humanising and converting
that vast empire to the principles of good taste. Arrived at Pekin,
and being a master of his art, his first endeavour was to gain the
suffrages of the fair sex: to effect this, he assailed, and hoped to
captivate, the daughter of a mandarine, acknowledged to be the
greatest beauty in all Pekin, and, as her admirers daily swore, in
all the world. Much depended on a first impression, and this he
knew; he therefore pared his nails and powdered his hair, and
some add, perhaps maliciously, painted his cheeks. Full of the

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

303

remembrance of former celebrity, and elate with the consciousness
of present perfection, he walked up to the glass, admired the image
it reflected, and with the step of ease and self-approbation, called
for his palanquin, and proceeded on his visit. Thus prepossessed,
I need not describe his surprise and chagrin, when, instead of
meeting the approbation he thought so certain, he heard the beauteous Chinese, though struck with his fine form (for proportion
must ever please), find fault with that European art, — that taste
which he had held so irresistible; the smart, short cut of his
clothes suffered a thousand ridiculous comparisons; and his frizzed
and powdered hair, so bushy and so full, afforded endless laughter.
A circumstantial detail is needless. The European, when he beheld the Chinese in their own country, and in great numbers, did
not find their fashions so absurd as he thought them in an engraving. He fell desperately in love with the mandarine's daughter,
soon consented to cut off his fine hair except a single lock, to let
his nails grow, and wear a long vest; for without such condescension he found it impossible to win the affection of his mistress;
that is, he translated himself into a Chinese. Truth and nature
are the same in all countries, but the mode of decoration varies in
each. This, I hope, madam, will be a sufficient apology for any
occasional liberties I may have taken with your very estimable
work, and which, notwithstanding, I believe few people think
more highly of than I do, because few have studied its numerous
excellences with such minute attention. There is a new edition
now in the press, and I shed tears daily over the proofs as I read.
I shall receive the favour of your ' Theatre d'Education,' with
the respect and thanks such a present, coming from such a person,
deserves.
" I am, madam, &c.
" T. H."
To Fulke Greville, Esq.
(i

DEAR SIR,

" When I returned from Blackheath, I found your kind
note, in which you speak in that mild and true spirit of philosophy
which is worthy of a liberal and philosophic mind. Proof respecting the subject in question (instinct) is not to be had. To me the
difficulties seem less to suppose the actions of all animals the consequence of reflection, than to suppose them blind impulse. I care
x

304

MEMOIRS OF

not a farthing, whether my opinion be right or wrong : but while
it is my opinion, however weak or absurd it may be, I will never
pretend to a conviction I do not feel: and in this I am sure to meet
your approbation, because a contrary conduct would be contemptible. A hen that has chickens, rakes up a barley-corn on a dunghill, and stands clucking over it till her brood come round her. I
could as soon suppose this an action of instinct, viz. an action
without an intention, for that is what I understand by the word
instinct; I repeat, I could as soon suppose the hen acted from instinct, and without any idea passing in her mind, as I could at
seeing a tomtit carry moss into the hollow of a tree for the safety
of itself and young ; the action is much more complicated in the
one case than in the other ; but I do not see that it warrants me
to conclude the tomtit is acting without any intention. My mind
revolts at the idea of a bird selecting a hole just capacious enough
to creep into, remarking in what tree that hole happens to be,
flying away and looking around for materials to make its nest,
placing those materials in a certain form, leaving its mate to watch,
and give notice if an enemy approach; and going through a rational
and well connected system, without rationality, and without meaning. It seems to me much less difficult to suppose the bird has a
greater capacity than I am habituated to attribute to birds; or that
it learns to do these things from seeing others of the same species
with which it lives in society do the like. Pray, sir, do me the
justice to believe that I mean to give all this as mere opinion, and
that I am superior to dogmatising. The fact you mention of the
squirrel may, as you say, sir, if I am not mistaken, afford deductions for either side of the question. The first thing I should wish
to inquire into would be, wdiether the squirrel had never been in
company with other squirrels that had the like habits; and, if that
were proved against me, I should next inquire whether a young
squirrel that had never been in company with any other squirrel
did, the very first time it had nuts given it, go and seek for a
corner to hide them ; and, if even this extraordinary thing were to
happen, I should still be much more inclined to attribute it to the
fears and cunning of the animal, than to suppose it went and came
and knew nothing about the matter; for so, I think, acting from
instinct, or without intention, implies. Your Wilbury horses, sir,
are surely on my side of the question, and my very good friends on
this occasion, or I am once more egregiously deceived. They not

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

305

only choose to leave the heat and retire to the shade, but they
moreover select that part of the shade which suits them best; that
is, where they are least annoyed by flies. Just so an ,over-roasted
cook-maid retires behind her fire-screen: and if she happens to sit
down on an uneasy chair removes to another, and gives the easiest
the preference. Men play on the harpsichord and talk, as men
walk and talk; i. e. the thing is so familiar., it employs only a part
of their attention ; but give them music which is too difficult for
them, that is, which employs their whole attention, and I from experience will answer for their silence. The respect due to your
friendly mode of arguing has occasioned me to do what I have a
great aversion to, write a long letter. But however convinced you
may be of the fallacy of my arguments, I hope I shall never give
you cause to suspect the sincerity and friendship with which I am,
and shall ever remain,
" Your very respectful,
" Humble servant,
" T. H.
" P. S. — I have sent you the magazine, and a volume of the
Harleian manuscript, a very scarce, curious, and dear book, and
hope it may afford something that will entertain. I have not got
the other book : * Lord Kaimes's Sketches of Man' is the title."

To the Hon. Horace Walpole.
66

SIR,

" The politeness with which I was received on my accidental visit to Strawberry Hill, in company with Mr. Mercier, and
the pleasure I felt not only in viewing so rare a collection of the
works of art, but in the very kind manner in which they were
shown, will not easily be forgotten. As a small testimony of the
truth of this, I then projected, and having received them from the
binders, now take the liberty to send you copies of such dramatic
works of mine as have been already played and published, which
I beg you to accept, not as a task imposed upon you to read them,
nor yet with an expectation of praise; but as an acknowledgment
of as much thankfulness as I dare express. I have also enclosed
a copy of a manuscript comedy, for which I can give no better
reason, than that though every motive of delicacy would make
x 2

306

MEMOIRS OF

me avoid laying you under the least restraint, yet it may happen
that the perusal of it may afford you an hour's amusement, which
is the best return I am at present able to make for the attention
with which you were pleased to treat me, and the invitation you
gave me to revisit Strawberry Hill in a more favourable season.
" I am, sir,
" Your very respectful, humble servant,
« T. H."
ANSWER.

To Mr. Holcroft.
"Berkeley Square, Nov. 28.1788.
" THE civilities, sir, which you are pleased to say you received
from me at Strawberry Hill, were no more than were due to
any gentleman, and certainly did not deserve such acknowledgment as you have made ; and I should be ashamed of you thanking
me so much, if the agreeable manner in which you have greatly
overpaid them by the present of your works did not make me easily
swallow my shame, though it will not dispense me from assuring
you how much I am obliged to you. I shall read them with pleasure as soon as I am settled in town. Just at present, I live
between town and country, and should not have leisure but to read
them by snatches. It is for this reason, that if you are not in
haste for it, I shall beg leave to keep your manuscript comedy till
I can peruse it with proper attention. If you should want it soon,
I will return it, and ask for it again ; for it would be unjust to the
merit of your works to run through them too rapidly.
" I am, sir, your obliged and obedient, humble servant,
" H. WALPOLE."

To Mr. Holcroft, sen.
"August 31. 1791.
" M Y DEAR F A T H E R ,

" I have received both your kind letters, and hope you will
excuse my not having answered you sooner; my delay having
been occasioned by the intense application which I am obliged to
pay to a work I am now writing. I imagine it will be printed
about, Christmas, and you shall receive an early copy. Nothing
gives me greater pleasure than to hear of your good health. , I am

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

307

convinced of the efficacy of sea-bathing, and am glad you are near
enough to the sea to enjoy the benefit of it. Remember, my dear
father, what I repeated to you, when I had last the happiness of
your company. Keep your mind alive ; exercise every part of
your body, fingers, joints, and muscles; endeavour to infuse spirit
and vigour into them, and depend upon it you will be surprised at
the effects which will be produced. We die piece-meal, by falling
into habits of apathy and neglect; and by supposing that debility
and inactivity are the inevitable consequences of age. The mind
becomes weary of action; it loses its desires, and the body sinks
into listlessness, palsy, and universal decay. This I am persuaded
is the error of a false supposition, that death is inevitable. !Not
that I would have you understand I myself think I shall not die:
but I very sincerely think, when I do die, it will be of ignorance,
and of the disease I have just mentioned ; accidents excepted.
" You inquire, dear sir, whether I am married again. I cannot
say what miracles may happen in the world; but I really think I
have had marriage enough for one man. The woman whom 1
could truly esteem is not easily to be found; and, if the discovery
were made, it would be strange if she were wholly disengaged.
Your grandchildren are all in good health, and inquire after you
very affectionately. Mrs. Colles and family are well, — she dined
with us the Sunday before last. With respect to affairs, I am sorry
for your sake, my dear father, that I am not so rich as I could wish.
The only remedy is strict economy and hard labour ; both of which
conditions I am obliged severely to comply with : but, far from
being discontented, to be able to comply with them, to be rid of
the false notions that fix felicity in the enjoyment.of superfluous
trifles, which none of us want, and to have a mind industrious,
active, and delighting to produce, these things are to me happiness
which may be almost called supreme. I shall for some months be
exceedingly short of money; but you shall nevertheless hear from
me at the usual time. Pray remember me kindly to Mrs. Holcroft,
and assure yourself that I shall always remain
" Your dutiful and affectionate son,
" T. H."

x 3

308

MEMOIRS OF

From Mr. Shield.
" Turin, September 22. 1791.
" DEAR HOLCROFT,

"*
*
*
*
My health, since I left
England, one day excepted, has been extremely good; but passing
the Alps, in the manner I did, was too much for me. I thought it
degraded the race of men too much to suffer two of them to carry me
in a sedan over this immense mountain : in consequence of which
we had mules ; and, after riding about one mile, reflection told me
that I was shortening the life of an animal, by obliging it to carry
me up and down so many precipices ; and as I saw women walk it,
I was resolved to do the same, for I was then in possession of the
temper of the animal which I led, and would not yield to the entreaties of my fellow-travellers to remount. I was so much exhausted when I arrived at Laneburg, that I threw myself upon the
bed; soon after which, dinner was served up in the same room ;
but my appetite had entirely left me through fatigue: my heart
was good, but my strength failed me. However, after waiting for
two hours for some very indifferent tea, it revived me a little, and
I got into the coach, and was entirely recovered by the time we
reached Turin. A man needs no common share of that inestimable quality which you so eminently possess (fortitude) to travel
through the south of France and Savoy, with only a dozen words
of the language. I thought change of scene would prove the best
medicine for me, and I seem to have been right in my prognostications, for I find myself in the full possession of my faculties, and
am determined to exert myself in my profession. A very accomplished Eussian is my chief companion. But the greatest original
of our voiture party is a Chinese, of a small stature, but of a capacious memory: he speaks the French, Italian, Spanish, German,
Dutch, Eussian, and Latin languages, so as to astonish the natives
and students of the above. His character is so uncommon that,
were you to draw him for the English stage, he must reside in
London before the audience would acknowledge your character to
be natural: most people like him, for the only indignity he has yet
met with is his being taken for my valet, from his attention to me.
" Yours truly,
"W.

SHIELD.

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

309

" P. S. I cannot view the beautiful scenes which at present
surround me without recollecting the strokes of Milton's pencil in
his sublime picture of ' Paradise Lost.'"

To Mr. Shield.
"London, Oct. 11. 1791.
" D E A R SHIELD,

" You cannot easily imagine the pleasure which your letter
gave me. The passions, hopes, and alarms of the heart are necessarily excited in behalf of those for whom it has an affection by
distance, and by its ignorance of the good or ill health, happiness,
or misfortune of those it loves. I heard of you at Lyons, and for
the moment was satisfied. I knew from the numbers who cross
the Alps, that there would be little or no danger in traversing the
tremendous Mount Cenis; yet I was anxiously desirous to hear
you had passed it in safety. I have accompanied you in imagination, and looked down from its summit on the surrounding nations.
Fanny supposes that, being placed there, the eye has a survey, as
it were, of all Europe, though in reality its powers are too feeble
to see distinctly and accurately at a few yards' distance; but fancy
delights in these deceptions, nor can the scenery be other than
sublime and astonishing. You are, at present, in what, perhaps,
more than any other, may properly be called the country of contradictions. The noble works of art, of sculpture, of painting, and
the monuments of architecture, which are to be met with in almost
every city of Italy, form a surprising contrast to the ignorance,
poverty, sloth, and present depravity of its inhabitants. Men, who
by the baneful influence of priesthood and bad government, have,
from the first of mankind, become almost the lowest. Sunk in
ignorance, deprived of energy, destitute of all noble emulation, we
ask, with amazement, how could a people like this produce works
so magnificent; or tower, as they have done, above the rest of
mankind ? You are sensible, dear Shield, I now speak of them as
a nation; there are, no doubt, individuals among them who still
possess those powers, and that genius, of which the herd of their
fellow citizens is deprived. They only wait a more happy moment, and return of times more fortunate, to become all that they
have been, and I hope much more. I need not tell you the infinite pleasure it would give me, could I, at this moment, transport
x 4

310

MEMOIES OF

myself to the palace in which you lodge, for such no doubt it is, and
accompany you in all your peregrinations : I have a very earnest
desire to see Rome, that queen of cities, and take a view of all her
treasures, which, as I am told, are so immense and multifarious, as
presently to satiate the most inquisitive mind.
"Do not forget, dear Shield, to fix your attention on the various
works of Michael Angelo; in painting, sculpture, and architecture,
1 am persuaded he was the first of modern artists. Nor must
Raphael escape your notice. Rome, I am told, is the only place
on earth to view his pictures, for all the best of them are there. I
shall ask you a thousand questions concerning them on your return, and of the effect they produced upon you. The remains of
ancient architecture: the Pantheon, Trajan's Pillar, the Castle of
St. Angelo, &c. &c, you will certainly not forget. I should indeed prefer fixing my attention on a select few of the grandest
objects, to that of dividing it into too many parts, and thus rendering it without efficacy. No passage in your letter gave me so
much pleasure as that in which you tell me you are in full possession of your faculties, which you are determined to exert The
determination is well worthy of a mind like yours, Shield, which
to possess, and not to employ, is, in my opinion, the true sin against
the Holy Ghost; it is unpardonable. Familiarised as your mind
at present is to'harmony, and stored with musical ideas, what can
be so desirable for the world, or so delightful to yourself, as to arrange those stores, to pour them forth, and to dig the gold from the
mountain where, while it lies buried, it is worthless. Not that any
accusation of the kind can be brought against you, yet, Shield,
distance will authorise friendship in speaking a truth, which false
modesty unjustly forbids us to repeat viva voce. Your works are
already an honour to your nation and your a r t ; and had you
not been under the malignant influence of absurd prejudices, they
would have been infinitely more honourable. We are, at present,
all, more or less, under similar influences, and obliged to obey the
dictates of necessity, I hope, however, that you will be less so in
future than heretofore ; and the end of my present very severe
labours is to free myself from them, if possible. There needed
not any caution relative to the newspapers: I believe you are too
generally beloved to be in danger of attack ; but should illiberality
or envy show their fangs, be certain you will not want a defender.
Forgive me, dear Shield, for not transcribing this letter myself;

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

311

my brain is exceedingly busy, and not a little fatigued ; you will
see on what when you return to England. 1 am obliged to employ every moment in that severe labour which is requisite to form
a consistent, efficacious, and excellent whole; whether the work I
am writing will be such, must be left to the proof, but such, at
least, I must endeavour to make it, and I hope my efforts will not
be unsuccessful. All good, all happiness, all pleasure be with you
wherever you go.
" T . H."
To Mr. Godwin,
"July 20. 1797.

" I T was my intention to write, for I feel a kind of vacuity of
heart, when I am deprived of the intercourse of my accustomed
friends ; but as I cannot write to them all, and as we have many
friends in common, I think there are few whom you may not
safely assure on my part that they have their turn in my thoughts.
I deferred this pleasant duty, however, till I had seen your mother,
whom I thought it right and respectful to visit. My coming occasioned some little alarm ; the Major, Mrs. Harwood, and Fanny,
accompanied me ; we were seen from the windows as we came up
to the gate. I had my spectacles on, and your sister-in-law ran to
inform your mother that yourself and Mrs. Godwin were arrived.
The old lady stood in the portico; the young one advanced ; there
was an anxious curiosity in their countenances, and your sister said,
addressing herself to me, ' I think I know you, sir.' I scarcely
knew what to reply: imagination had winged her and myself up to
London, where I supposed, some years ago, I might have seen her
at your lodgings ; taking it for granted she was a relation: but as
I did not answer, Major Harwood relieved our embarrassment by
announcing my name. The change of countenance, perhaps, could
not have fully persuaded her that my face was actually yours, yet
she seemed rather to trust to her hopes than to her recollection ;
and these being disappointed, an immediate blank took possession
of her features, and the rising joy was damped. Your mother,
however, very kindly invited us in, and gave us all the good things
she had that could administer to our immediate pleasures. The
expectation which Major Harwood had raised by his description
of your mother were not entirely answered. She was neither so
alert, so commanding, nor so animated, as he and Ann had de-

312

MEMOIES OF

scribed. I think her very rapidly on the decline ; having quitted
her farming business I have no doubt myself but that her faculties
will be impaired much faster than they would have been had she
continued to exert them. Her memory is good, her conceptions,
speaking comparatively, are clear, and her strength considerable.
I have seen more of the county of Norfolk than of its inhabitants;
of which county I remark that, to the best of my recollection, it
contains more churches, more flints, more turkeys, more turnips,
more wheat, more cultivation, more commons, more cross-roads,
and from that token probably more inhabitants, than any county I
ever visited. It has another distinguishing and paradoxical feature,
if what I hear be true: it is said to be more illiterate than any other
parts of England, and yet I doubt if any county of like extent have
produced an equal number of famous men. This is, however, merely
a conjecture made, not from examination, but from memory. As it
is necessary for me to bathe, I shall immediately depart for Yarmouth, and pass through Norwich, which I have not yet seen.
If you, or Mrs. Godwin, or both, can but prevail on yourself or
selves to endure the fatigue of writing to me, I hope I need not
use many words to convince you of the pleasure it will give me :
and be it understood that this letter is addressed to you both,
whatever the direction on the back may affirm to the contrary.
Professions are almost impertinent, and yet I am almost tempted
to profess to you how sincerely and seriously I am interested in
your happiness, but as I am sure my words would ill describe
my thoughts, I shall forbear. Pray inform me, sweet lady, in
what state is your novel ? And on what, courteous sir, are you
employed ? Though I am idle myself, I cannot endure that any
body else should be so. Direct to me at the post-office, Yarmouth."

To Mr.

Holcroft

"December 11. 1794.
" SIR,
" Were I not writing to Mr. Holcroft, I should think it
needful to apologise for my abrupt self-introduction to you in
London, and the liberty I now take in addressing you; but I trust
you will not deem me impertinent, nor expect any professions to
convince you of the esteem and admiration I have for your
character. These sentiments induced me to visit you in your late

THOMAS HOLCROFT.

313

unjust confinement, to be anxious for your safety, and sincerely to
rejoice that you are now restored to your friends, and your extensive circle of usefulness. You may perhaps recollect the scheme*
of which I gave you an imperfect outline; I much desired your
opinion and advice on the subject; but your mind being then
much engaged on its peculiar situation, I forbore to intrude the
subject. Hoping you may now be happily settled at your rightful
home, and believing you would be happy to assist me by advice,
as well as enforce by precept any virtuous intention, I would engage your thoughts to our projected plan of establishing a genuine
system of property. America presents many advantages to the
accomplishment of this scheme — the easy rate at which land may
be purchased is not the least important; yet we are not determined
on emigration. Principle, not plan, is our object. A friend has
suggested that the plan is practicable in some of the uncultivated
parts of Wales. I recollect your expressing a desire that we might
form such a society without leaving the kingdom. As we wish to
consult all who may render our efforts more serviceable to the
cause of truth and virtue, we should be happy if, in some unemployed hour, you would consider the subject, and impart to us any
objection which may occur peculiar to the scheme of emigration.
From the writings of William Godwin and yourself, our minds
have been illuminated; we wish our actions to be guided by the
same superior abilities; perhaps when together, you may bestow
some thoughts to our advantage. To him, and your friend Nicholson, I would request the remembrance of an admirer. Long may
they continue to instruct and amend mankind! If we could
practise our scheme in this kingdom, it would save much expense,
perhaps danger, and at the same time be more agreeable to our
private inclinations ; but the probability of being obnoxious to
government, and subject to tithes, are in our opinions serious
objections. I forbear to make any remark on the late trials, or
formally to congratulate you on your acquittal. I hope the spirit
of inquiry will be excited to advantage ; perhaps you would rather
have had your trial proceeded in ; though the Court authority
prevented your speaking, they cannot prevent you from printing
your injured case. I am anxious to see your appeal on the
subject.
" When you address your charming daughter (Mrs. C , of
* The Pantisocrasy Scheme.

314

MEMOIRS OF

Exeter), whom I saw with you, be good enough to make my
remembrance. I wonder not at your drawing the charming
character of Anna St. Ives, having so fair an original.
" ROBERT LOVELL.

" No. 14. Old Market, Bristol, 1794."
From Mr. Dermody.
"London, June 15. 1796.
"SIR,

From the universal celebrity of your talents, and the liberal
spirit which breathes through all your productions, I am, though a
stranger, emboldened to request your superior guidance in the
paths of literature. Yery little used to authorship as a trade, inexperienced in the polity of booksellers, and even unacquainted
with the city itself, it would, I presume, be no dishonourable employment to direct a wandering muse, and you alone, sir, are the
person I conceive (from general benevolence) best adapted to that
task both by affability and experience. Without these two qualifications, you could not have written ' Alwyn,' which, next to Fielding's work, contains the most affecting and sportive scenes that ever
adorned a novel. I have lately borne a commission in the army,
and am, at present, under the patronage of a most learned and
amiable nobleman; however, being formerly taught to believe that
I had some talents, it is disagreeable to be unemployed with
every faculty on the stretch for exertion. By that nobleman's
desire, I left a large poem, < The Retrospect,' with a printer of
eminence in Pall Mall: but was much surprised to be informed
yesterday that he had embarked for Italy, and the manuscript was
locked up. I have but a very rough draught of it now till he
returns. Your very great dramatic eminence might be of the
most material benefit by pointing out the steps proper to be taken
in a line of which I have been ever enamoured. If you deign
to direct a short reply to this stra, je intrusion, I shall have the
honour to lay a few pieces of poetry (which fortunately are correctly copied) before your judgment—meanwhile
" I am, sir, with great respect,
" Your obedient servant,
" THOMAS DERMODY.

" No. 30. Oxendon Street, Haymarket."

THOMAS

HOLCROFT.

From the Marquis

315

Dampierre,

" Liege, 6 Xbre Tan l r de la Republic.
" D E A R HOLCROFT,

" I charge my dear friend, the young Mergees, my countermen, to tell you that I never forgot our old friendship, he'll tell
you my profession of faith, upon the Eevolution. He'll bring you
a relation of the victories of the French, and you'll see my part in
it. I have the honour to conduct the liberty lads in the way of the
victory.
*' Adieu, dearer among the dear,
" H. DAMPIERRE.*
" Maj. G. of the French Republic."
* The Marquis de Dampierre, with whom I was very intimate at Paris in
1783. He received a mortal wound on the 8th of May, >-793, of which he died
on the 10th, when he was Commander-in-Chief, and which battle the French
gained. — T. H.

THE END.

LONDON:
SPOTTISWOODES and

SHAW,

New-street-Square.