On hearing this last part of the sentence, Lord Loughborough laughed heartily, and exclaimed with good humour, “I suppose it was the Red Lion of Brentford.”
He had once a poor scholar at his table, who, among various things, had published some which were acceptable to his Lordship. He introduced the subject of the author’s different works, and, addressing him, observed, “I liked such a book of yours exceedingly—it did you much credit; but what could possibly induce you to print ⸺” here he named another book. The guest bowed, and merely replied, “Res angusta domi.” Lord Loughborough replied, “I am perfectly satisfied with your answer.”
It has, however, been imputed to Lord Loughborough, that he gave the literary men whom he distinguished, a mouthful only; and did not, even with respect to the few for whom he professed the greatest esteem and regard, make any efforts to raise them to the more elevated honours of their profession. There may be some truth in this, and more particularly so, as to one individual, who enjoyed, very deservedly, much of his society and friendship. Thurlow certainly did not lose sight of Horsley till he saw him seated upon the Episcopal bench. But at that period, the public attention was much directed to the controversy between Priestley and Dr. Horsley: it was well known that Thurlow hated Priestley from the bottom of his heart; and, indeed, whatever he might be practically himself, he on all occasions manifested a consistent determination to support the Established Church. He was familiarly acquainted with Beaufoy, the Member for Yarmouth, in Norfolk, who was known to be a strict Dissenter, and the conversation one day turning on the subject of religion, he said to Beaufoy, “I would support your d⸺d religion, if it was that of the state.”
Beaufoy ought to have known him better; but having had a Yarmouth Clergyman very particularly recommended to him by his Norfolk Constituents, he thought he could not more effectually promote his clients’ interest, than by introducing him to Thurlow, with whom he was going to dine. The scheme, however, failed altogether; for after the first salutations, Thurlow turned to Beaufoy, and asked him why he brought his d⸺d parson to him.
The contrast between such rude and unfeeling abruptness, and the courteous and conciliating manners of Lord Loughborough, is particularly striking. The latter always received the humblest clergyman with graciousness and affability, and has often been heard to lament that his situation as Chancellor was very painful to him, from his being perpetually compelled to refuse petitions which had the strongest claims on his humanity. He would facetiously observe, that his greater livings gave him no trouble; their designation was either anticipated, or easily determined. But for his smaller livings, he had always a multitude of applications, and seldom or ever one, without “seven or eight small children at the end of it.”
This tribute of gratitude and sincere attachment, is most willingly rendered to a man, who, whatever might be his failings in the opinion of his political adversaries, must have had the unqualified praise of all, for acuteness, sagacity, and for all the best powers of intellect. He was also a most polished gentleman; he bore his high honours without insolence, and without oppressing his inferiors by an affected condescension, conciliating all who approached him by his affability and graciousness of manner.
Asclapone medico, usus sum valde familiariter, ejusque cum consuetudo mihi jucunda fuit, tum ars etiam, quam sum expertus in valetudine meorum. In qua mihi cum ipsa scientia, tum etiam fidelitate, benevolentiaque satisfecit.—Hunc igitur tibi commendo. Oh si intelligat diligenter me scripsisse de sese. Erit mihi vehementer gratum.