It was a glorious victory which Gyll enjoyed in peace for four years. Then his hour of reckoning came. A correspondent of Notes and Queries, signing himself "Anglo-Scotus," pointed out (February 24, 1866, p. 158) that the statement concerning the Gylls in Burke's Landed Gentry was erroneous; that no officer named Gyll ever held a commission in either regiment of the Life Guards; that Hamilton Flemyng was not the last (or any other) Earl of Wigtoun; and that consequently no such person as Lady Harriet Flemyng ever existed. Gyll pondered for a month and then, at last, nerved himself to write to Notes and Queries (March 24, 1866, p. 250) asserting that Hamilton Flemyng was "per legem terrae, 9th and last Earl of Wigton." His letter was thought to be too rambling for insertion: the editor confined himself to printing this crucial passage, and referred Gyll to the report of the Committee for Privileges which set forth that "the claimant (Hamilton Flemyng) hath no right to the titles, honours, and dignities claimed by his petition." This report was quoted in the same number of Notes and Queries (pp. 246-247) by an Edinburgh correspondent signing himself G., and G. went on to say that, though no Gyll ever held a commission in the Life Guards, a certain William Gill figures in the Edinburgh Almanacs for 1794-5-6 as a Lieutenant in the 2nd Life Guards. I have since verified this statement, and I find that William Gill was gazetted to the 2nd Life Guards on September 26, 1793. In spite of the interest that he took in his family history, Gyll had no accurate knowledge of his father's doings. William Gill was transferred to the Late 2nd Troop of Horse Grenadier Guards (a reduced corps receiving full pay) on March 23, 1796, and he retired on March 19, 1799 (see The London Gazette, Nos. 13,878 and 15,116). But Gyll was ever a muddler and a bungler. He informed Lipscomb that his father had "died suddenly" (op. cit., vol. iv., p. 605); while, in the History of Wraysbury (p. 121), he copies an epitaph recording William Gill's death "after a long and painful illness."
It was thus established that the family name was Gill; that the younger William Gill did not marry the daughter of the last Earl of Wigton (or Wigtoun); that he was never a Captain in the 2nd Life Guards; and that in 1803, when he was alleged to have raised two troops of cavalry, he had already resigned his commission four years. Human nature being what it is, this exposure may have brought a smile to the lips of the Bowyer-Smijths who had listened to Gyll's stories of a cock and of a bull for a quarter of a century. Gyll collapsed at once when detected, and he published no more results of his genealogical researches. It is a pity, for who knows to what length of absurdity he might not have gone? Who knows, indeed, whether his little tale of the Lord Mayor and the baronetcy is not of a piece with the rest? I have searched the contemporary newspapers, and the nearest approach that I can find to a confirmation of Gyll's assertion is in The Diary; or Woodfall's Register (Friday, April 24, 1789): "That the Lord Mayor will be a Baronet is now certain; and that Deputies Seekey and Birch will be knighted is extremely probable." I do not know what happened to Seekey and Birch. The Gylls are enough for a lifetime. Years afterwards a correspondent to Notes and Queries (December 26, 1876, p. 512) derisively observed that "the Gyll family, however, quarter the Flemyng arms, and also the Flemyng crest." But the badger was not to be drawn a third time: Gyll endured the affront in the meekest silence.
The versatile man had relieved his severe antiquarian studies by excursions into light literature. A Tractate on Language was published because, as the author avows (p. iii), "he thought (perhaps immaturely) that some occult treasures and recondite truths in philology were eliminated, and were worthy public consideration." When Gyll wrote these words (1859) he was in his fifty-seventh year, and was as mature as he was ever likely to be. The work, which contains the alarming statement (p. 171) that "Noah taught his descendants his matricular tongue," seems to have been rudely handled by critics. In the second edition of his Tractate Gyll replies with the ladylike remark that "as regards his opinions, it was not consistent with equity or delicacy that they should have been encountered with savage phrenzy;" and, with a proper contempt for reviewers, he adds that "while such reviews indulge thus indiscriminately, pourtraying sheer obliquity of mind and judgment in lieu of that manly acumen to which they pretend, the critics must perceive how much below the dignity of the criticised it is to evince uneasiness or resentment—both as easily 'shaken off as dewdrops from the lion's mane.'" It is unlikely that Gyll is widely read nowadays, and this is my excuse for doing what I can to save two distinguished aphorisms from the wreck of his Tractate. There is nothing like them (it is safe to say) in Pascal or La Rochefoucauld.
(a) "As in religion what is bones to philosophy is milk to faith" (pp. iii-iv).
(b) "A literary man, however, is like a silkworm employed and wrapped up in his own work" (p. 163).
After his exposure in Notes and Queries Gyll dropped genealogy, heraldry, and topography as though they were so many living coals. But, though he dreaded the fire, he was still bent on making the world ring with the name of Gyll. Spanish literature, which was at that time cultivated in these islands by such men as Chorley, FitzGerald, Archbishop Trench, Denis Florence Mac-Carthy and Ormsby, seemed to him a promising field in which he should find no dangerous rivals. In the History of Wraysbury (p. 146) he included his own name among the "names of literary and distinguished characters of Wraysbury," and under the date 1860, he mentions his "Translation from the Spanish of Don Guzmán de Alfarache." I presume this was a version of Mateo Alemán's picaresque novel, but I can find no trace of it. At the age of sixty-four the extraordinary Gyll furbished up the few words of Spanish which he had learned in Mexico thirty-five years earlier, and courageously started as a translator of Cervantes. His versions are the worst ever published in any tongue. But criticism was impotent against his self-complacency. A true literary man, he lived—to use his own happy phrase—"like a silkworm employed and wrapped up in his own work." On the whole his was a prosperous career. Carpers might do their worst, but the solid facts remain. Gyll had practically blotted out the stain of the stationer's shop and the aldermanship; he had obtained permission to write his name with a y: he had elbowed his way into county-histories, into Burke's Landed Gentry and into Burke's General Armory; he had published such works as, in all probability, the world will never see again. He appreciated these performances to the full, and he revelled in gazing on the south window in Wraysbury Church, of which he writes (History of Wraysbury, p. 123): "At the summit are two small openings of painted glass, and in the centre is a quatrefoil in which the letters G. W. J. G. are convoluted.... The play of colours on the monuments when the sun is brilliant, affords a pleasing variegation." What more could the mind of man desire? Gordon Willoughby James Gyll died on April 6, 1878.
[111] See p. viii. of Gyll's version: "Dedicated by Cervantes, to his Excellency Don Joseph Moniño, Count of Florida Blanca, Knight of the Grand Cross of the Royal Order of K. Charles III." The fact is, of course, that Gyll translated from Los seis libros de Galatea, reprinted in 1784 by Antonio de Sancha with a dedication to Floridablanca. The words—"Dedicated by Cervantes"—are interpolated by Gyll. Floridablanca died in 1808, nearly two hundred years after Cervantes.
[112] Evidently a misprint for Silena.
[113] In justice to Gyll, the polemist, I reprint his two letters contributed to Notes and Queries (May 25, 1861, and July 27, 1861):—
(a) "A STATIONER writes his remarks on the subject of some alterations on lapidary inscriptions in Wraysbury Church: and pray, Sir, by what right does this tradesman ask any family why they choose to change a monumental reading, provided nothing is inserted which militates against truth?