Heaven first taught letters for some wretch's aid, Some antique, lovesick, North of Ireland maid! They live, they speak, they breathe what age inspires, Preposterous fondness and impure desires! The latent wish without a blush impart, Reveal the frailties of a morbid heart; Speed the neglected sigh from soul to soul, And waft a groan from Indus to the Pole!
The reading of Miss Macgilligan, like her ideas, was rather on a contracted scale. She suspected, however, that her nephew had aimed against her the shafts of ridicule, and was preparing her resentment accordingly; when the Baronet deprecating her wrath, assured her, that he had recited the lines exactly as originally written, and that in the present clay they had no personal application, having been composed by a little cynical fellow many years before Miss Macgilligan came into existence.—The lady gave credence to the assertion, and the impending storm was happily averted.
The residence of royalty being within the precinct of St. James's, the bells of the neighbouring church sounded a merry peal in the ears of the party; and were responded to by those of St, Martin-in-the-Fields, a parish of which it is remarkable that his Majesty George II. was once church-warden, serving the office, of course, by deputy. The steeple of this church, as well as those of many others in the metropolis, displayed, throughout the day, the royal standard, a manifestation of loyalty which likewise extended itself to the liquid element of old father Thames, where many of the vessels commemorated the anniversary by frequent salutes of artillery, under the decorative and splendid canopy formed by the colours of all nations.
The carriages of the foreign ambassadors, and those of the friends of government, were again in requisition, and rattled along the streets towards the several mansions of the members of administration, who each, in conformity with ancient usage, gave a grand dinner on the birth-day, at least on that appointed for its celebration.
“At these dinners,” said Dashall, “politics and etiquette are both laid aside; conviviality is the order of the day; the glass, the joke, the repartee and the 'retort courteous,' circulate freely, and all is harmony and good humour.”
“With sometimes a sprinkling of alloy,” said the Squire, “I have heard that during the administration of Mr. Pitt, he and the Lord Chancellor Thurlow were frequently at variance on subjects having no reference to politics, and even under the exhilirating influence of the grape.”
The party were all attention, and the Squire proceeded—“At a cabinet dinner a discussion took place between the Premier and Lord Chancellor, as to the comparative merits of the Latin and English languages. Mr. Pitt gave the preference to the former, the Chancellor! to the latter; and the arguments on both sides were carried on with equal pertinacity.—The Premier would not yield a jot in opinion. Becoming at last impatient of opposition,
“Why,” said he, “the English language is an ambiguity—two negatives make an affirmative; but in the Latin, two negatives make a positive.”—“Then,” said the Chancellor, “your father and mother must have been two negatives, to make such a positive fellow as you are!”{1}
1 Lord Chancellor Thurlow, although a very eccentric character, was yet a man of uncommon benevolence. A vacancy having occurred in a valuable living of which he had the presentation, numerous were the candidates for the benefice; and amongst others, one, recommended by several of the nobility, friends of the ministry, who made himself sure of the appointment, although, directly or indirectly, the Chancellor had not given any promise. In the meanwhile, it was one morning announced to his Lordship, that a gentleman, apparently a clergyman, waited the honour of an interview. The servant was ordered to shew the stranger into the library, whither the Chancellor shortly repaired, and inquired the object of the visit. “My Lord,” said the other, “I served the office of Curate under the deceased Rector, and understanding that the presentation is in your Lordship's gift”—“You want the living,” exclaimed the Chancellor, gruffly. “No, my Lord; my humble pretensions soar not so high; but I presume, most respectfully, to entreat your Lordship's influence with the new Incumbent, that I may be continued in the Curacy.” Surprised and pleased by the singular modesty of the applicant, who had served the same parish as Curate above twenty years, and now produced the most ample testimonials of character, his Lordship entered into conversation with him, and found him of extensive erudition, and orthodox principles. He ascertained, besides, that this poor Curate had a wife with six children entirely dependent on his exertions for support; and that the remuneration allowed for the faithful discharge of arduous duties, had been only thirty pounds per annum. The Chancellor now promised his influence in behalf of the Curate, with the person who probably might succeed to the living. “I shall see him,” added his Lordship, “this very day; attend me to-morrow, and you shall know the result.” The Curate took bis leave, and in the course of the morning the would-be Rector made his appearance. “O!” exclaimed his Lordship, entering directly into the business, “I have had a humble suitor with me to-day,—the Curate of the late incumbent whom you are desirous of succeeding; he wishes to continue in the Curacy; the poor man is burthened with a large family, and hitherto has been very inadequately rewarded for his labour in the productive vineyard of which you anticipate the possession and emolument. Suppose that you constitute the happiness of this worthy man, by giving him a salary of one hundred pounds per annum; he will have all the duties to perform, and you will pocket a surplus, even then, of seven hundred a year, for in fact doing nothing!” This would-be was astonished; he had never before heard of a Curate in the receipt of one hundred pounds per annum; besides, he had already engaged a person to do the duty for twenty-five pounds. Fired with indignation at the inhumanity and arrogant presumption of this callous-hearted Clergyman,—“What!” exclaimed his Lordship, “and so you would turn the poor Curate out of doors, and abridge the miserable pittance of his successor, and all this before you've got the living! John, shew this fellmo down stairs!” Gladly would this Incumbent, by anticipation, have conceded every point required; but it was too late; the die was cast, and he found himself in the street, unknowing how he got there, whether on his hands or his lucls! Next day the Curate was announced. “I have not been able to succeed,” said his Lordship,—“the new Incumbent has engaged a person who will do the duty for twenty-five pounds per annum.” His Lordship paused, and the unfortunate Curate looked the personification of Despondency. “Cheer up, man!” exclaimed his Lordship, “If I have not influence sufficient to continue you in possession of the Curacy, I can, at least, give you the Living!” putting into the hands, at the same time, of the amazed Curate, the presentation to a Rectory worth eight hundred pounds per annum!! Here we must draw the Grecian painter's veil,—the gratification on either side may be conceived, but cannot be expressed.
Sir Felix laughed heartily at this anecdote, and inquired of his aunt whether she knew any of the Positive family in the North of Ireland.