two on the Niger, were profusely illustrated by his pencil.

THE ROYAL SOCIETY OF

LITERATURE.

I had the following account of the origin of the Society, verbally, from Jerdan, the editor of the Literary Gazette. The Society had a hard struggle to maintain its ground, and was in fact nearly strangled in its birth. George IV. gave a commission to the Bishop of Salisbury to form it, and many meetings took place at Ridgways', and at the rooms of some public institution, for the purpose of bringing it into being. A letter, however, which Sir Walter Scott addressed to Lord Sidmouth, then Home Secretary, had the effect of making that nobleman adverse to the scheme, and, in consequence, many other peers and influential persons withdrew their patronage from the undertaking. At last a meeting took place at which the Bishop of Salisbury and the Bishop of Bangor (Majendie) were present, and at which it was proposed by the latter prelate that the project should be abandoned; but by way of doing so gracefully, that a medal should be struck-probably for distribution among the projectors. Jerdan, with reference to one of the proposed objects of the Society, namely, to stem the tide of immoral and otherwise objectionable literature, and in reply to the Bishop of Bangor, remarked that his lordship might as well attempt to stem the tide of the Thames by hanging a penny piece over the centre arch of London Bridge. The good humoured prelate, so far from being offended at the retort, shook hands with Jerdan, and complimented him on the aptness of his illustration. The body of the meeting then dispersed, leaving the Bishop of Salisbury, Prince Hoare, and

Jerdan

to

Jerdan in the rooms. asked the Bishop, very deferentially, if he felt justified in abandoning an undertaking which he had received the sovereign's commission to promote, and after some conversation it was resolved to endeavour to ascertain the sentiments of the King on the subject. Some time elapsed before an opportunity occurred, but, at last, during the King's visit Brighton, a person of rank in the Royal suite ventured on the experiment. His Majesty said that Sir Walter was not likely to favour a scheme in which he had not a prominent part, and the friends of it ought not to be deterred merely because a minister of state was adverse to it. From that moment the promoters of the undertaking rallied, and relaxed not in their efforts until their object was attained. It is painful to add that the munificent endowment by George IV. of the Institution, providing for the comfort of the literary veterans of his country, was cancelled by his successor. The Society, however, still flourishes under the excellent management of the Council and Secretary.

WILLIAM BECKFORD,

OF FONTHILL.

This extraordinary man, whom Croly once described to me as one to whom in physical and mental gifts Nature had been prodigal, I had frequently seen at Mr. Jennings', the publisher in Cheapside, where he was in the habit of calling two or three times a week. At last, however, I was formally introduced to him; and I will transcribe, verbatim, the notes which I made, from time to time, of our interviews.

1837. Dec. 16. After some little conversation on the subject of the Portugal volume of the

"Landscape Annual" which I had engaged to write, the subject of Fonthill was introduced, when I ventured to ask him if the house was a large one. His answer was "Enormous, although," he added, "it does not justify the reports commonly current of the magnificence of my style of living-for instance, I never sat down alone to forty dishes!" I asked him if Fonthill Abbey was built after his own plan. He said, "No. I have sins enough to answer for, without having that laid to my charge; Wyatt had a splendid opportunity of raising a monument to his fame, but he missed it." He acknowledged, however, that much of the interior decoration was after his design. Referring to the recent annual festival at Guildhall, he said he could have entertained as large a company at Fonthill, in which there was a hall 302 feet long, and 153 feet high. Speaking of his present place, Lansdown (Bath), he said that he had there more books, and considerably more works of art and vertu than he had at Fonthill. I ventured to ask his acceptance of a little Pindaric doggerel, entitled a "Royal Dream," suggested by the Queen's visit to the City on the last Lord Mayor's Day. He accepted it very graciously, and opening the book he quoted from it, in a voice of thunder:

Cheapside to Park Lane (where he lives) in twenty minutes.

66

1837. Dec. 21. Mr. Beckford's greeting was: Ah, sir, your little poem has made me laugh finely, and a good laugh in these gloomy days is worth something. It is a delicious poem. The transitions from scene to scene are most rapid and admirably managed, and the dénouement most cleverly contrived. The notion, too, of the little old woman, and the equestrians in the civic procession was delightful, although I scarcely think that you will be elected to any of the civic honours on the strength of it." Landseer's picture (the engraving) "Bolton Abbey," and Wilkie's "Maid of Saragossa" were hanging in the room. He spoke in raptures of the first; but condemned the other in no measured terms. Speaking of Collins, who had gone abroad or was said to be about to do so, to pursue his art, Mr. Beckford said, "He had better have stayed at home-England will furnish him with better subjects-see what happened to Wilkie!" referring to the change which came over the spirit of that painter's dream, when he abandoned comedy for tragedy and portrait painting. He mentioned that he once asked Wyatt if some one (I forget who) had any taste.

Yes," was the reply, "a great deal, and all bad." He spoke of Croly, and said, "Ah! he is a splendid fellow-the Martin of Poetry." He said that he had a terrace at Lansdown which had not its equal in Europe. A gentleman stated that Lord Fitzwilliam had given £15,000 for a picture (Titian's "Venus," I think), quoting as his authority the curator of the gallery. "Don't believe him," said Beckford, "housekeepers and curators always exaggerate. I have often had letters from persons inquiring if I really

gave such a sum for a picture, naming some preposterous price which my people had attached to it." On the subject of dumb animals, he said, "I love all dumb animals." I remarked that his horses looked as if they were well cared for. "Ah," said he, "they are fine creatures." Alluding to the celebrated picture of the "Pet Lamb," which the butcher is about to carry away from some children its playmates, Mr. Beckford said, "I cannot bear to look at it—it is painful; there are real miseries enough in the world without imagining new ones." We agreed that it was easy enough to harrow the feelings both in painting and

writing.

1838. Jan. 26. Mr. Beckford, in the most graceful manner, presented me with a splendidly bound set of his works, "Letters from Spain and Italy," and "Alcobaça and Batalha." Referring to his palace at "Cintra," he expressed himself very indignant that it had been supposed to have been built by himself. "The fact of the matter," he said, "is this: on my first visit to Portugal I saw the place, which was a beautiful Claude-like edifice, surrounded by a most enchanting country. It belonged to a Mr. De Visme, a merchant, from whom, at the time, I could not obtain it. Afterwards, however, he pulled it down, and built another in barbarous Gothic. On my return I rented it of him, for although he had knocked down the old edifice he could not level the hills nor root up the woods. I build it!" he exclaimed. was built by a carpenter from Falmouth." I asked him if he did not find horse exercise fatiguing. 'Fatigue!" he said. "I never felt fatigue; I can walk from twenty to thirty miles a day, and I only use my carriage on account of its being convenient to

"It

put in a book or a picture which I may purchase in my rambles." He added that he never used spectacles, which I could readily understand, as I have heard him read from the smallest type, and the faintest pencilling with apparent facility. He quoted to me from a modern poet, as a fine specimen of bathos:

"Where the foul fungus stiffens."

"That is of the mushroom school of poetry," I remarked. "Toadstool, my dear sir, toadstool,” he rejoined.

1840. April. Jennings produced to-day a portfolio of very fine engravings from an old master which he had just published. Mr. Beckford looked very carefully through them, and remarked, of a very fine specimen of French engraving, "This is very fine-the perfection of engraving, but differs from the original picture in that the engraver could not refrain from throwing in a little French taste. A Frenchman always does this— he cannot help it." On turning over the prints we came upon some indifferent impressions of some rather singular subjects. "What is the matter here?" exclaimed Mr. Beckford. There was little in the words, but the manner of their utterance was very striking. The greater part of the collection was purchased in our presence by a gentleman, who had no sooner departed than Mr. Beckford asked who he was. "A Mr. Smith, a brewer of Romford," was the reply. "Well done, brewer! well done, brewer!" exclaimed Mr. Beckford, "his purchase shews his taste, although he has bought some rubbish with his gems."

He

shewed me an engraver's proof on India paper-not laid down-of the "Virgin and Child" (by Carlo Dolce, I think engraved by Raffaelle Morghen), about an inch and

a-half wide, by an inch broad, for which he had given three guineas and a-half. It was a gem, certainly, and, as regards the imHe pression, probably unique. spoke, to-day, in high terms of the advance made by the Scotch painters, instancing Duncan's picture of "Charles Stuart's Entry into Edinburgh, after the Battle of Preston," which I had seen a few days before, at Moore's, and admired exceedingly. He added that he had had a very favourable account of the state of art in Edinburgh from his grandson. "The Earl of Lincoln ?" I asked. "No," was the reply, "although he has very good taste-I mean the Marquis of Douglas; a fine young man, with very many noble qualities, and withal without a taint of affectation." I remarked that simplicity of character in man or woman was the grand charm. "And Douglas," he rejoined, "has it in perfection: you will see a portrait of him by Pickersgill, in the Academy this year." He said that he had read the "Ingoldsby Legends,' on the recommendation of the Marquis, and spoke in high terms of them.

1841. March. Mr. Beckford has returned to town, and I met him to-day at Jennings'. He renewed his thanks for a little brochure"The Comet of Many Tales," which I had sent to him at Lansdown, and which he acknowledged at the time in the following letter:

"Lansdown, 18 Nov., 1840. "Excellent sport! I enjoy it exceedingly, and to be induced to laugh at anything during these serious and gloomy times is no slight benediction. Receive, therefore, my dear sir, sincere and hearty thanks from your grateful and obedient servant,

"W. H. Harrison, Esq."

"W. B.

6

went, and were admitted to the King's closet. Well, Sir George,' was the Royal greeting, as he advanced with a dignity which he well knew how to assume, 'have you peppered 'em?' Sir George, who was a fine looking man, though somewhat pompous withal, replied, Your Majesty, my regiment has done its duty;' and that particular regiment was very active on the occasion. The King then, in one of his transitions from the dignified to the trifling which were common to him, and perhaps were indicative of the malady under which he finally sank, turned to me and said, 'Well, I all your chickens are suppose dead!' alluding to the fact of my father, the Alderman, having roofed his house with copper, which the King had predicted would infallibly kill all beneath it, with verdigris." Mr. Beckford added that he was introduced at Court at sixteen, and that he owed the partiality of the King to the high favour in which his aunt, whom Sir George Howard married, she being at the time a widow and a countess, was held at Court, "for," said Mr. Beckford, "he well knew that my father was

anything but favourably disposed towards him." "He said that Queen Charlotte was very agreeable in her manner, and well informed, but remarkably plain. He added that the heart of George III. was not exactly in the right place, and that he was the cause of the Revolution in France; probably attributing that event to the example of American revolution, the result of George's obstinate adherence to the Tea Tax.

Mr. Beckford once asked me my opinion of a novelist, who was a great dandy, and dined on the occasion on which I met him in lemon-coloured kid gloves. I said he was undoubtedly clever, but a cockscomb. "Yes," was the reply, "a cultivated one, and has blown double." Conversing one day on the projected Government expedition to the Niger, I mentioned the armament of the vessels. Mr. Beckford recommended their taking some arch-blunderbusses: "There are arch-dukes," he said, "why should there not be arch-blunderbusses ?" When Haytor, the clerk of the works during the erection of Fonthill Abbey, was on his deathbed, he sent for Mr. Beckford, and told him he wished to relieve his mind of a burthen which had long oppressed him. He went on to say that he had suggested the turning of an arch under the tower; but Wyatt laughed at the notion. "That tower," said the dying man, "will make a curtsey some day." The prediction, long after Beckford told me the story, was fulfilled-it made, not a curtsey, but a bow to the ground, as all the world knows. Fonthill Abbey was sold to Mr. James Farquhar for £350,000, and one of his executors told me they did not realise more than £150,000 for it. Mr. Gaspey, the author of "The Lollards," and "George Godfrey," and the editor

of the Sunday Times, and other newspapers, told me that he was invited by Phillips, the auctioneer, to spend a few days at the Abbey during the preparation for the sale of its contents. It happened that shortly before bedtime they were all in a gallery, the name of which I forget, when the younger Phillips, by way of a frolic, blew out the light, and left the others to find their way to the rooms in the dark; he being perfectly familiar with the way, and forgetting that the gallery was full of precious and fragile works of art, china, etc., betook himself to rest. Gaspey groped his way to the end of the gallery, and there found a staircase, which, instead of leading to the bedrooms, landed him in the open air on the roof of the gallery. Retracing his steps he found a flight of stairs, at the other end of the gallery, which led to his room. Before, however, he retired to rest, he knocked at young Phillips's door, and told him that he did not know what mischief he had done, for while groping his way in the dark he had come in contact with a pile of what he conceived to be china, and from the crash that ensued, he supposed he had done no end of mischief. No light was then procurable, and Mr. Phillips was rewarded for his practical joke by being kept awake all night in an agony of doubt and fear, from which he was only relieved when daylight shewed him that all things were in statu quo. It was commonly believed that many articles of furniture, art, and vertu sold as part of the "genuine articles" had been purchased by Phillips, and put into the catalogue. Be that as it may, when I once remarked that there must have been some gems sold at the sale, Beckford said, "Yes! but many of them were gems from the Philippine