The ‘Monk’ Lewis consulted me whether he should dedicate his translation of the 13th Satire of Juvenal to Mr. Fox. I said he would take it as a compliment. It was published yesterday, but is not so good as most of his other verses; 28 of the best lines are by Wm. Lamb,[243] a rising genius, who is to dine here for the first time to-day. Those imitations of Juvenal[244] by Ld. H. crept into the newspapers. I was extremely frightened and got Mr. Hare, Tierney, etc., to exert themselves to get the remainder suppressed, as I really feared Ld. Minto’s being wrong-headed.
24th Feb.—I have contented myself with skimming carelessly enough over Lewis’ paraphrase. The undertaking seems above his means, and was done, as I understand, at the request of his father, who was anxious that he should give a classical turn to his literary reputation, as he laments his ballad and green-room tastes. Several of the lines are wofully bad:—
From morn’s first languish to the death of day,—
but enough of what I have really found too dull to read through.
I thought young Lamb pleasant, though supercilious, as he shut himself up in his own thoughts as soon as he saw Ld. G., Morpeth, Boringdon. He affects to hold them cheap for being Anti-Jacobins, an affectation he has caught from ye D. of Bedford. On the following Sunday we had many of the same party, with ye addition of the Bessboroughs, Canning, and Frere. Wycombe, being present, annoyed Canning, and put him out of his natural bias of ease and pleasantry. In the course of this week we had several numerous parties of the Bessboroughs, Fish Crawfurd,[245] etc., etc., Hare, Fitzpatrick.
Sunday, 3rd March.—Jekyll, Hare, Tierney, and Fitzpatrick are now in the house. They dined here. The latter has lost such a great portion of his ill-gotten pelf in the same way as he acquired it, viz., at the gaming-table. There is no one poison in the human breast that operates so powerfully to the exclusion of every good feeling, as that of gambling. It produces misanthropy, meanness, and avarice, and I do not know a real amateur and practitioner of the vice in favour of whom an exception can be made. Hare has genuine, quick feelings, and his sensibility has not been totally blunted; but I can hardly admit as an apology for his inveterate pursuit of fortune at the Hazard table his necessities. But I am perhaps illiberally intolerant; the example in Ld. H.’s family, and the scandalous expedients a certain Duchess has, to my knowledge, been able to bring herself to resort to, have inspired me with horror and contempt for the class.
The news arrived to-day of Mr. Grenville’s safety.[246] The frigate is lost, and 15 persons, but he and his suite got over the ice. As no mails are come (14 now are due), the particulars are not known. It will be highly gratifying when he hears how universal and sincere the sorrow has been.
LORD LAUDERDALE
5th March,’99.—Mr. Fox is come here to-day to dine at the Whig Club; he returns to sleep. Ld. Lauderdale is so much better that he walks about. He told the D. of Bedford that, being kept awake one night from pain, he diverted himself by composing a speech and a reply for him upon the Union. ‘I can understand,’ said the Duke, ‘that you may write a man’s speech for him, but how you can make a reply which must notice points in the debate I cannot guess.’ ‘Why, the speech I intend you shall make is calculated to put old Grenville into a rage; he will get up and abuse you, and lug in France, French principles, localities, and all the old story. Then you must answer him, and begin by an apology to the House for the long speech you have been the occasion of their hearing, as you know it must be very disagreeable to the House; but that, for yourself, it is of no consequence, as you are used to noise, for in your agricultural pursuits you are accustomed to the bellowing of beasts.’ This is what Ld. L. calls excellent raillery, and I only note it down as a specimen of his talents in that line; no one so excellent as he is at a coarse joke, but polished wit he not only cannot furnish, but is incapable of relishing. Sheridan said, ‘Don’t tell Lauderdale, for a joke in his mouth is no laughing matter.’
10th.—Mr. Fox dined at the Whig Club; in the speech he made he did not supply materials for fresh attacks. We sat up very late with him; his conversation is always instructive and entertaining. He shuns politics as much as I could wish. Criticism, literature, and observations upon character are ye chief topics. It is astonishing what a storehouse of knowledge his mind is of every sort, from a fairy tale up to a system of philosophy. A novel was mentioned, upon which he launched forth upon a discussion on the different merits of the novelists, in which he displayed as great a range of reading as a miss who reads from a circulating library could do. He knows, in short, every production of the sort that has appeared. He professed liking fairy tales, romances, novels, etc. The only sort he admitted were dull are the old French ones of Mlle. Scudéri—Le Grand Cyrus, etc.—tho’ he made a few exceptions, especially for ye Princesse de Cleves,[247] as well he might, for that is very pretty. He set off early the next morning. Mrs. Armstead disapproves of his absence being extended beyond the time she fixes.