'Wrote a letter-afterwards a postscript. Rather in 'low spirits certainly hippish-liver touched-will 'take a dose of salts. 'I have been reading the Life, by himself and 'daughter, of Mr. R. L. Edgeworth, the father of the 'Miss Edgeworth. It is altogether a great name. In '1813, I recollect to have met them in the fashion'able world of London (of which I then formed an 'item, a fraction, the segment of a circle, the unit of a 'million, the nothing of something) in the assemblies ' of the hour, and at a breakfast of Sir Humphry and 'Lady Davy's, to which I was invited for the nonce. 'I had been the lion of 1812; Miss Edgeworth and 'Madame de Staël, with "the Cossack," towards the ' end of 1813, were the exhibitions of the succeeding year. 'I thought Edgeworth a fine old fellow, of a clarety, 'elderly, red complexion, but active, brisk, and end'less. He was seventy, but did not look fifty-no, 'nor forty-eight even. I had seen poor Fitzpatrick 'not very long before-a man of pleasure, wit, eloquence, all things. He tottered-but still talked ' like a gentleman, though feebly. Edgeworth bounced 'about, and talked loud and long; but he seemed. 'neither weakly nor decrepit, and hardly old. 'He began by telling "that he had given Dr. Parr 'a dressing, who had taken him for an Irish bogtrotter," &c. &c. Now I, who know Dr. Parr, and 'who know (not by experience-for I never should ' have presumed so far as to contend with him-but by hearing him with others, and of others) that it is not so easy a matter to "dress him," thought • Mr. Edgeworth an assertor of what was not true. He could not have stood before Parr an instant. For the rest, he seemed intelligent, vehement, viva'cious, and full of life. He bids fair for a hundred years. 'He was not much admired in London, and I re'member a "ryghte merrie" and conceited jest which 'was rife among the gallants of the day,-viz. a paper had been presented for the recall of Mrs. Siddons to the stage (she having lately taken leave, to the loss of ages,-for nothing ever was, or can be, like her), to which all men had been called to sub'scribe. Whereupon, Thomas Moore, of profane and poetical memory, did propose that a similar paper 'should be subscribed and circumscribed "for the ' recall of Mr. Edgeworth to Ireland *. 6 The fact was-every body cared more about her. She was a nice little unassuming "Jeanie Deans'looking bodie," as we Scotch say—and, if not handsome, certainly not ill-looking. Her conversation 'was as quiet as herself. One would never have guessed she could write her name; whereas her 'father talked, not as if he could write nothing else, 'but as if nothing else was worth writing. 'As for Mrs. Edgeworth, I forget-except that I think she was the youngest of the party. Altogether, they were an excellent cage of the kind; and 'succeeded for two months, till the landing of Madame 'de Staël. 'To turn from them to their works, I admire them; 'but they excite no feeling, and they leave no love— In this, I rather think he was misinformed; whatever merit there may be in the jest, I have not, as far as I can recollect, the slightest claim to it. except for some Irish steward or postilion. How'ever, the impression of intellect and prudence is pro'found-and may be useful. 'January 20th, 1821. Rode-fired pistols. Read from Grimm's Corre-, spondence. Dined-went out-heard music-re' turned-wrote a letter to the Lord Chamberlain to request him to prevent the theatres from repre-, senting the Doge, which the Italian papers say that, 'they are going to act. This is pretty work-what! 'without asking my consent, and even in opposition 'to it! 'January 21st, 1821. Fine, clear frosty day-that is to say, an Italian frost, for their winters hardly get beyond snow; for ' which reason nobody knows how to skate (or skait) '-a Dutch and English accomplishment. Rode out, ́ as usual, and fired pistols. Good shooting-broke 'four common, and rather small, bottles, in four shots; ' at fourteen paces, with a common pair of pistols and 'indifferent powder. Almost as good wafering or shooting considering the difference of powder and 'pistols-as when, in 1809, 1810, 1811, 1812, 1813, '1814, it was my luck to split walking-sticks, wafers, 'half-crowns, shillings, and even the eye of a walking'stick, at twelve paces, with a single bullet-and all, by eye and calculation; for my hand is not steady, 'and apt to change with the very weather. To the prowess which I here note, Joe Manton and others ' can bear testimony! for the former taught, and the 'latter has seen me do, these feats. 'Dined-visited-came home-read. Remarked ' on an anecdote in Grimm's Correspondence, which says that "Regnard et la plûpart des poëtes comiques étaient gens bilieux et mélancoliques; et que M. de Voltaire, qui est très gai, n'a jamais fait que 'des tragedies-et que la comedie gaie est le seul genre où il n'ait point réussi. C'est que celui qui 'rit et celui qui fait rire sont deux hommes fort dif'ferens."-Vol. VI. 6 At this moment I feel as bilious as the best comic 'writer of them all (even as Regnard himself, the next to Molière, who has written some of the best 'comedies in any language, and who is supposed to 'have committed suicide), and am not in spirits to 'continue my proposed tragedy of Sardanapalus, which 'I have, for some days, ceased to compose. To-morrow is my birth-day-that is to say, at ' twelve o' the clock, midnight, i. e. in twelve minutes, I shall have completed thirty and three years of age!!!-and I go to my bed with a heaviness of heart at having lived so long, and to so little purpose. 'It is three minutes past twelve.-""Tis the middle of night by the castle clock," and I am now thirtythree! Eheu, fugaces, Posthume, Posthume, 'Labuntur anni;— ' but I don't regret them so much for what I have done, as for what I might have done. Fine day. Read-rode-fired pistols, and re' turned. Dined-read. Went out at eight-made 'the usual visit. Heard of nothing but war,-“ the cry is still, They come." The Car. seem to have no plan-nothing fixed among themselves, how, when, ' or what to do. In that case, they will make nothing ' of this project, so often postponed, and never put in ' action. VOL. III. I |