No. CXLIX.
It is quite unpleasant, after having diligently read a volume of memoirs, or voyages, or travels, and carefully transferred a goodly number of interesting items to one’s common-place book—to discover, that the work, ab ovo usque ad mala, is an ingenious tissue of deliberate lies. It is no slight aggravation of this species of affliction, to reflect, that one has highly commended the work, to some of his acquaintances, who are no way remarkable, for their bowels of compassion, and whose intelligible smile he is certain to encounter, when they first meet again, after the éclaircissement.
There is very little of the hæc olim meminisse juvabit, in store, for those, who have been thus misled. If there had been, absolutely, no foundation for the story, in the credulity of certain members of the Royal Society, Butler would not, probably, have produced his pleasant account of “the elephant in the moon.” There were some very grave gentlemen, of lawful age, who were inclined to receive, for sober truth, that incomparable hoax, of which Sir John Herschell was represented, as the hero.
Damberger’s travels, in Africa, and his personal adventures there gave me great pleasure, when I was a boy; and I remember to have felt excessively indignant, when I discovered, that the work was written, in a garret, in the city of Amsterdam, by a fellow who had never quitted Europe.
I never derived much pleasure or instruction, from Wraxall’s memoirs of the Kings of France of the race of Valois, nor from his tour through the Southern Provinces, published in 1777. But his Historical memoirs of his own time, prepared, somewhat after the manner of De Thou, and Bishop Burnet, and extending from 1772 to 1784, I well remember to have read, with very considerable pleasure, in 1816; and was pained to find them cut up, however unmercifully, with so much irresistible justice, in the Edinburgh and Quarterly Reviews, and the British Critic. Mr. Wraxall made matters immeasurably worse, by his defence. There could be no adequate defence, for a man, who had asserted, that Lord Dorset told him an anecdote, touching an event, which event did not happen, till Lord Dorset was dead. A single instance of this kind, in a writer of common accuracy, might be carried, in charity, to the debit of chance, or forgetfulness; but the catalogue, presented by the reviewers, is truly overpowering. To close the account, Sir N. W. Wraxall was, in May, 1816, convicted of a libel, in these very memoirs, upon Count Woronzow, the Russian minister; and Mr. Wraxall was imprisoned in Newgate, for that offence.
After this disqualification of my witness, I am, nevertheless, about to vouch in Mr. Wraxall, by reciting one of his stories, in illustration of a principle. I quote from memory—I have not the work—the reviewers prevented me from buying it. June 16, 1743, the battle of Dettingen was fought, and won, by George II. in person, and the Earl of Stair, against the Marechal de Noailles and the Duke de Grammont. Mr. Wraxall relates—me memoria mea non fallente—the following incident. After the battle, the Earl gave a dinner, at his quarters; and, among the guests, were several of the French prisoners of war. Of course, the Earl of Stair presided, at one end of the table—at the other sat a gentleman, of very common-place appearance, of small stature, thin and pale, evidently an invalid, and who, unless addressed, scarcely opened his lips, during the entertainment. This unobtrusive, and rather unprepossessing, young man was the Lord Mark Kerr, the nephew, and the aid-de-camp of the Earl. After the removal of the cloth, the gentlemen discussed the subject of the battle, and the manœuvres, by which the victory had been achieved. A difference of opinion arose, between the Earl and one of the French Colonels, as to the time of a particular movement. The latter became highly excited, and very confident he was right. The Earl referred to Lord Mark Kerr, whose position, at the time of that movement, rendered his decision conclusive. Lord Mark politely assured the French Colonel, that he was mistaken; upon which the Frenchman instantly insulted him, without saying a word, but in that felicitous manner, which enables a Frenchman to convey an insult, even by his mode of taking snuff. Soon after, the party broke up, and the Earl of Stair was left alone. In about half an hour, Lord Mark Kerr returned, and found his uncle very much disturbed.
“Nephew,” said he, “you know my strong dislike of duelling. In our situation we are sometimes, perhaps, unable to avoid it. The French Colonel insulted you, at table; others noticed it, besides myself. I fear, my dear nephew, you will have to ask him to apologize.”
“I noticed it myself, my Lord,” replied the Lord Mark; “you need have no trouble, on that account—we have already met—I ran him through the body; and they are now burying him, in the outer court.”
Duels are often produced, by a foolish, and fatal misestimate, which one man makes of another’s temperament. The diminutive frame, the pale cheek, and small voice, modest carriage, youth, and inexperience, afford no certain indicia: nimium ne crede colori. Men of small stature, are sometimes the more brusque, and more on the qui vive, from this very circumstance.