GILBERT W.
The name of this personage occurs in various parts of our manuscript; but the scrap which follows, did not seem unworthy of insertion, and appears to have been drawn up with some care and pains.
The celebrated Gilbert W. was also a contemporary. He has written his own life with some diffuseness, and he who writes this account is not disposed to controvert any of his assertions, as they relate to himself. With respect to others, the case is very different. He viewed every body, who at all presumed to have opinions opposite to his own in matters of religion, politics, or literature, with a jealous and a jaundiced eye; nor could it be easy in the common intercourse of life, ever to meet with a man in these instances so inflexibly pertinacious. Our friend, it seems, and we use nearly his very words, knew him on his entrance into life. He knew him in life’s progress, knew him till within a near period to his dissolution. He was invariably the same; petulant, fond of dispute, impatient of contradiction, and estimating every one’s talents and merits merely as they harmonized with, or opposed his own prejudices and propensities; yet, in his character and conduct, he involved this singular contradiction—his demeanour in private society, was mild and urbane, and certainly unprovoking; but the moment he took his pen in hand, he appeared to divest himself of his customary garments, and to clothe himself in storm and tempest, hurling his thunderbolts like another Jupiter from Ida.
His first appearance in the schools at Cambridge can never be forgotten. He had excited a general opinion of his superior abilities, and as his waywardness of temper was also universally known, curiosity led numbers to hear him when he had to sustain the character of Respondent against three Opponents. All were surprized at his acuteness, and admired his dexterity, but all were offended with his petulance, and indignant at the asperity of manner, with which he seemed to browbeat the Moderator. Most of the auditory in appearance had made up their minds, that he was a man not to be beloved, but that he would certainly make some noise in the world.
Our friend further writes, that in a very short interval after this public exhibition of his talents, he met him at the rooms of a common acquaintance. He warmly expresses the astonishment he felt at perceiving the same man, whose external carriage and demeanour had in public so excited displeasure, enter into conversation and argument with a sort of mildness, which by the contrast looked like affectation. But thus it always was, and this justice is willingly rendered him; that however reprehensible his public principles, his asperity in political animosities, his want both of temper and judgment in his criticisms, his pertinacity of opinion, and the total absence of candour, nay, it may be said, of charity, in his measuring all virtue and all knowledge by the standard of his own prejudices—yet when seen in the bosom of his family, he certainly appeared to conduct himself with the greatest mildness. Nor did we ever hear of but one assertion to the contrary, but this is of such authority, that it is impossible not to yield it our assent. A learned and amiable judge, after the business of the assizes was over, paid a visit to Dorchester jail, at the time when W. was there, most justly suffering the penalty of an atrocious and abominable libel. He had not proceeded far into the interior of the prison, when he was annoyed by the loud complainings of a boy, apparently suffering from a severe beating. Upon enquiry, he found that it was Mr. W. inflicting parental and perhaps salutary chastisement, on his son. Allowance may, however, be reasonably made for the circumstances in which he then was placed, and which might have a tendency to sour the benignity of his temper. The impression, however, upon the amiable judge was, that such behaviour did not seem quite in character with the avowed principles of this friend of human kind, this perpetual exclaimer against war, and of every species of severity of man against man. The above anecdote was communicated by the judge himself, who witnessed the incident, and the gaoler said it was a daily occurrence.
His system of educating his children was certainly a little singular; but as it is only in part detailed in our manuscript, it is impossible to decide peremptorily upon its merits. One thing is thus specified:—“Calling upon him one morning when he resided at Hackney, I was shown into his library; I there found him standing over one of his daughters, who was not more, apparently, than fourteen; she had a volume of the octavo edition of Clark’s Homer before her. On my expressing some surprise, he desired me to examine her in Greek. I did so; she read a few lines very readily, construed them without hesitation, knew the derivation of the more complicated words, and discovered a familiar acquaintance with the Greek syntax.”
We have since heard that this young lady has invariably been of the most amiable character and manners, and filled a very useful and honourable station in society.
Our Sexagenarian had at different times intercourse by letter with W. and though they were notoriously and avowedly at variance, upon many essential and important matters, they lived for a time on terms of remarkably good fellowship. It was at length violently broken asunder by W. never to be renewed, and by the following occurrence. Our friend, as he represents the fact, had been for some time engaged in a literary work of considerable extent, and among other communications which he received from different friends, Mr. W. accommodated him with a few memoranda. We are willing to give any share of blame to our friend, which the severest reader may think proper to impute to him; but on the publication of this work, the few notes transmitted to him by Mr. W. did not appear of sufficient importance to demand, or to warrant, specific acknowledgment. He, however, thought far otherwise; and, in the first ebullition of his indignation, wrote the following curious epistle:—
“Mr. W. has seen Mr. ⸺’s last publication, in which, among other acknowledgments, there is no mention made of Mr. W.’s assistance. Mr. W. therefore sets down Mr. ⸺ for a complete barbarian, as actuated by some church and king motives, all of which, God be thanked, are coming to a speedy issue in this country.”
It may be asked of those who undertake to be the advocates of G. W.’s tenderness of heart, and benevolence of conduct, by what feelings he could possibly be influenced, when he wrote the above note. What could he intend by the sentence, “influenced by some church and king motives, all of which, God be thanked, are coming to a speedy issue in this country.”
As Dr. Johnson observed of Andrew Millar, when told that on receiving the last portion of the manuscript of the dictionary, he thanked God he had done with him (Johnson); so it may be observed in the present instance. But for what could W. thus piously thank his Maker, unless for the hope which he enjoyed by anticipation, that he might see the church overturned, and the king destroyed; which, as these things could not be accomplished without many scenes of bloodshed and misery, must seem alike creditable to the piety and humanity of him who prayed thus with himself.
A mutual friend, who had much influence with our Sexagenarian, and apparently possessed the same with W., kindly undertook to heal the breach; but it would not do—he was implacable—and the Philanthropist never forgave or forgot the supposed injury.
Of Porson there will be occasion to say a great deal in another place, but we are anxious to rescue his memory from an injurious and unjust aspersion cast upon it, in W.’s Posthumous Letters to Mr. Fox. We shall then have done with Mr. W.
In those letters W. undertakes to give a character of Porson, who, by the way, had always a contempt, which he was at little pains to conceal, for W.’s critical abilities. In this character, it is lamentable to say, there is more truth than could be wished; but when it is affirmed that Porson was dull in conversation, it may be maintained that W. knew nothing of the man. If it be true, as perhaps it may, that Porson never spent but one day at W.’s, it appears from his notes that our friend spent that day with him, and accompanied him thither. He well knew Porson’s sentiments of their host, and thought that he rather exerted himself more than usual on that day, and that the conversation on all sides was lively and interesting. Be that as it may, Porson could on no account be represented as dull. If he did not like his company, he would perhaps be silent; but whenever he did say any thing, they must have been dull hearers, who did not immediately discern rays of intelligence, acuteness, and information, whatever the subject introduced might be. It is extremely difficult to account for W.’s thus committing himself on the subject of Porson, and for his asserting what he must have been conscious at the time, it was in the power of so many persons living, to contradict and refute.
On the whole, perhaps, the biographical sketch which W. has given of himself is agreeable enough, for it can hardly be expected that an individual should exhibit a representation of his own infirmities and defects. Our friend certainly retained no particle of enmity against his memory, but there are memorandums before us, from which it appears that the venerable Sylvanus Urban, Gent. has at different times received letters from W. of which the spirit was to the full as harsh and acrimonious, as that which has been transcribed above.
Ω μῆτερ ικετευωσε μη πισειε μοι
Τας αἱματωπους και δρακοντωδεις κορας.