There is one anecdote, however, of which though this writer has but an obscure recollection, he thinks worth mentioning, as it serves to throw a small ray of light upon one of H's characteristic foibles. One evening, being in full glee, and talking of his early life to this writer and three or four more of his acquaintances, he said that the first time he ever received, specifically on his own account, the slightest mark of applause was on this occasion. He had a letter to deliver in a certain play or farce of the name of which the writer has not at this moment the slightest recollection. The person to whom he was to give the letter was, according to the plan of the piece, in very ridiculous circumstances, scuffling with his wife, which he vainly endeavoured to conceal. After handing him the letter it was H's business to retire; but the comedian acted his part so naturally and looked so ridiculously rueful, that it completely discomposed the boy's nerves, so that just as he got to the side wing, and was about to disappear, he could not help turning about and looking back at the man, and in spite of him burst into a fit of laughter, which he endeavoured to suppress by putting his hand to his mouth. The audience thinking it was purposely done in character, were astonished at the natural way in which the boy acted it, and gave him loud marks of approbation—"I dare say," continued H. "I looked devilish odd at the time, for the house laughed incontinently." "Ay, ay," gravely replied a young Irishman who was present, "I dare say it was your game eye they laughed at." Down fell the muscles of poor H's face—he changed colour, and was for sometime before he could rally his spirit or recover his pleasantry.[F]
His time, however, was not lost or misapplied. He had an inexhaustible thirst for knowledge, and therefore read, with ardour and industry, every book he could lay his hands upon; and he has told this writer, that if reading had been painful to him, his ambition was so ascendant, and his determination to rise in the world so unalterable, that he would not have read less. Strong indeed must have been the internal impulse which made a boy of his age and spirits, his own voluntary task-master, which induced him to lay the pleasures natural to his age at the feet of a laudable purpose, and to devote to useful labour a portion of his time, greater than the most diligent college book-worms devote to their studies. He has declared to this writer that in summer time he rarely gave more than five hours out of the four and twenty to sleep. The rest was devoted to reading, refreshment by food, attendance on the stage, and the practice of music. These constituted the whole of his amusements; except that, when at Bath, he went out sporting—not to shoot, but to see others shooting. One of the players who was a sportsman, was a favourite of some of the great men in the neighbourhood, and often went out shooting with them. On these occasions H. accompanied him, carried his hawking-bag, powder magazine, shot, &c. and helped to mark the birds when they sprung. Thus was generated the passion for dogs and shooting to which he was afterwards so warmly addicted, and which indeed was, in the end, the cause of his death.
The worthy prompter supplied him with books, a benefit he derived from the following circumstance. In Bristol there is a lane or street occupied by venders of second-hand articles of various kinds. Thither he one day repaired to buy, if possible, a pair of cheap silk stockings:—poor John, like many others in the world, was most vain of that part of him which was least handsome. As he sauntered along inspecting the goods that lay exposed to view, he saw a bookstand, at which he stopped, and with greedy eye devoured each title-page. An odd volume of Harris's Hermes caught his fancy, and after having pondered for some time on the alternative, whether he should postpone legs in favour of head, or vice versa, he concluded on the former, saying to himself that Hermes would be snatched up by the first person who saw it; but that the second hand silk stockings could be got at any time. The volume was eighteen pence; yet so restricted was our hero's finances, that this little sum deranged his stocking plan for a week.
His friend the prompter, seeing the book with him, took it out of his hand, and looking at it, told him he had thrown away his money in buying such stuff, and exhorted him not to waste his time in reading it. On coming to an explanation with him, the good man finding the boy intent upon improvement, benevolently told him that he should neither want proper books, nor instructions how to make use of them. He then lent him Lowth's grammar, and pointed out the most useful places. H. read it diligently, and though he seldom forgot any thing he once read, he perused Lowth three or four times over. The literary knowledge of H. was one of the most astonishing circumstances about him. It is doubtful whether on the day he died, he left a more perfect orthoepist living behind him. Indeed his attainments, particularly in poetry and critical science were so great, considering his early privation of means, that with all the aid derived from his frequent and free communications, the writer of this has often found it difficult to account for them satisfactorily.
From this period of H's life all is an hiatus till his connexion with the celebrated James Whiteley, manager of the most extensive midland circuit ever known in England; viz. Worcester, Wolverhampton, Derby, Nottingham, Retford and Stamford theatres. Why, how, or when he left Bath and Bristol—or whether he was intermediately employed at any other theatre, the writer is not in possession of a single fact to enable him to determine. Of one Miller, a manager, he has heard H. speak, but not with any interest. James Whiteley was the theme on which he most liked to dwell. Whiteley was perhaps the greatest oddity on the face of the earth; but of a heart sound, and benevolent beyond the generality of mankind. Violently passionate, and in his passions vulgar, rude, boisterous, and so abhorrent of hypocrisy, that he laboured to make himself appear as bad as possible. He was a native of Ireland; and it has often been said of him that in eccentricity and benevolence he was a full match for any man of that country. He would ridicule and abuse his actors in a style of whimsical foulmouthedness peculiar to himself—but he would allow no other man living to do it—and while conferring substantial benefits upon them, would blackguard them like a Billingsgate fishwoman. So essentially did he differ from most other managers, that instead of wronging or pinching them, instead of intriguing against them, to run them down with the public, in order to enhance his own consequence, he was their champion, their sincere friend, and the strenuous supporter of their character and of the dignity of his company. If they fell into misfortune they found in him a father—and, dying rich, he bequeathed to his veteran performers who survived him, a weekly salary for life, which those who survive still enjoy. Whoever has read or heard of the character of doctor Moncey, may form some idea of the oddity of James Whiteley. Whiteley went much further than Moncey—for the effusions of his spleen or his humour were sometimes too coarse and indelicate to bear public repetition, though they still remain the topic of conversation with all who knew him, and supply an inexhaustible fund of mirth to all who remember him.
In this extraordinary personage Hodgkinson found the warmest, most benevolent friend; and, what may appear strange, a most valuable instructor. Himself always appearing wrong, and speaking like one cracked, he never failed to set right all those who were guided by his advice; and, while his tongue ran riot as if he were drunk or mad, his conduct was governed by sound sense and prudence. If ever any thing hobby-horsical or pedantic crept into the conversation of Hodgkinson, it was his fondness for describing this worthy oddity.
He had heard Whiteley's character described in a variety of quarters, and went to him expecting to be ridiculed, blackguarded, and patronised. Nor was he disappointed. Under his auspices, H. grew up, acquired professional knowledge, and, considering his age, much fame. A whole number of this work would not contain the anecdotes which, in his cheerful moments, Hodgkinson has related to this writer, of Whiteley's worth and eccentricities; but the humour and oddity of them were of a kind not only too coarse for general perusal, but so dependant for effect upon the manner of telling them, that it would be idle to relate them here. Their first meeting, however, and the conversation on that occasion may be hazarded. A gentleman of the name of Mills, an old friend of W's and much in his good graces, introduced our youth to him, having previously obtained his consent to see the lad, and consider what line of business he was fit for. "You must not," said this mutual friend, "take ill any thing that Whiteley says to you. He is a kind of privileged person—says what he pleases to every one, and does all the good he can. But this I can tell you, that if he treats you ceremoniously (for no man can be more perfectly the gentleman when he pleases) you have no chance with him.
"My name being announced," said H. relating to this writer his first interview, "Jemmy Whiteley surveyed me from head to foot with a grinning drollery, that no words can describe; he spat out, according to custom, about a score of times, and after a tittering laugh was proceeding to speak, when he was suddenly called off." "Stay here," said he, "I'll be back in a minute or two." As he was leaving the room he stopped at the door—looked back at me again—pulled up his small clothes, and jeeringly tittered at me in a manner that was enough to provoke a saint, if it were not for the man's well known character. "It will do I see," said my friend, "depend upon it, it will do—dont mind his sayings; but when you come to business, be plain, downright and firm, and you'll have his heart." When W. returned, he again surveyed me from head to foot, and again grinned and tittered. I was almost as tall as I am now, and as thin perhaps as you ever saw any one of the same height. My face too was pale from recent indisposition, and I had no appearance of beard. "So," said he, addressing Mills, "this is the chap about whom you gave me such a platter of stirabout with Ballyhack butter[G] in it yesterday." So far from being vexed or daunted by this first address, the like of which I had never heard before, nor could well understand, the playful, good-natured drollery in his face, and the singularity of his deportment tickled me so, that I could not, if it were to save my life, suppress a smile of merriment, upon which after scrutinizing my face with the eye of a master of his business, he turned to the other and said, "the blackguard has some fun in him I see, though he looks as if a dinner would not come amiss to him—for he's as slim as a starved greyhound;" then casting a comical glance at my clothes which were neat, good, and new—he said, "Why boy, your belly ought to swear its life against your back, for you are killing the one to cover the other." I blushed, but still could not help laughing. "You are mistaken Whiteley," said the other, "there is not a man in your company eats better than John." "Where does he get it?" said W. "he cant have above half a guinea a week for his salary, and the clothes now on his back must cost at least twenty half guineas, or perhaps half a year's pay." "Go on Whiteley," said the other, "discharge all your Irish nonsense upon his head, he has temper to bear it all; in the meantime I'll take a walk, and come back again: but let me know what time you intend to be done, that I may be ready to a minute; for in matters of business Whiteley, you know I like to be punctual." W. understood this sarcasm, and turning to Mills, poured forth such a volley of whim and oddity as I think never fell from the lips of any other man in this world. When he was in this vein of humour, he had, in addition to the comic cast of his countenance, a lisp and a brogue which enhanced his drollery, and at every pause he drew in his breath as if he were sipping out of a teaspoon. He began, "Now you think yourself a very clever fellow after that oration, dont you! you feel aisy I hope Mr. Mills, after throwing that wisp of bullrushes off your stomach! have you made your speech, honey?" Mills laughed and bowed submission. "Pull down your cap then, my dear, and be hanged." Then turning to me, "Take care of yourself, boy, for if you mind what this man says to you, you'll come to the gallows: you stand a chance of that as it is, or I am very much out in my reckoning; but if you follow his advice, you will be hanged as dead as Jack the painter, or my name's not Jemmy Whiteley." "Never in my life before or since," continued H. "was I so astonished, or so diverted. In the midst of all the ribaldry of his mouth and the farce of his countenance, the benevolence of his heart glistened in his eyes;—my nerves were convulsed with a twofold sensation, and actually so enfeebled that, bursting into a fit of laughter I, unbidden, sat down in a large arm chair that stood behind me." "What's this his name is," said he to Mills: "Hodgkinson," replied the other. "I thought that there must be an O or a Mac to his name by the aisy affability with which he helped himself to the great chair. Old Maclaughlin, that blackguard Jew that calls himself Macklin, could not surpass it for modesty." I rose. "Och, to the d—l with your manners honey," said he, clapping his two hands on my shoulders and pressing me down into the chair, "stay there since you're in it, and be d——d to you."
"Well, Whiteley," said my friend, "as you think my advice might be fatal to the young man, give him some advice yourself. What do you think he had best do? what do you think fittest for him?" "Any fool can tell him that," returned Whiteley: "the best and the first thing I advise him to do, is to eat a hearty meal, and as I dare say he has not a jingle[H] in his pocket, I advise him to stay here and dine; and you may stay along with him, if you please." "I cant—I'm engaged," said the other. "Then if you dont, the d——l a crust shall he crack here." Upon which, turning to me, he said, "see what you can do with him, boy—if you cant keep him along with you, you dont get a toothful in this house." I looked foolishly at my friend, who said, "Well, if that be the case, I must stay;" upon which W. making me a very low formal bow, gravely said, "I thank you, sir, for the great honour this gentleman does me, in condescending to eat a piece of the best leg of mutton in the north of England."
"W. then sat down, but he overflowed so with oddity, that business was out of the question. Every three minutes produced an explosion of the most extravagant kind—often full of humour, sometimes witty, always coarse. It was in vain that my friend now urged, and now insinuated the subject of the stage; Whiteley baffled him with a joke or a jeer, or a story—and sometimes with a transition so extreme, rapid, and unconnected, that it was impossible to do any thing with him. My singing was adverted to. "Ay," said Whiteley, "I suspected he was one of your squallers; I thought from his chalky face and lank carcase that he was of the Italian breed, and that his story would end in a song. Did you ever see Signor Tenducci, boy?" "No sir." "No matter, you are not the worse for that; but I have nothing to do with Italianos. I have none but men and women in my company." I then ventured to advert to the English opera and hinted at my old favourite The Padlock. "Why if I were disposed to try you, there is nothing in the Padlock that you could play and I could give you. The part of Ursula is filled by the same old lady who has played it for years in my theatres." The torrent could not be resisted, so we swam along with it, and laughed heartily. "You are too bad Jemmy Whiteley," said Mr. Mills, "by my soul, you're too bad." "Oh I am a very bad fellow to be sure; you'll talk on the other side of your cheek by and by, when you are swallowing my old ale and red port at three and six pence a bottle."