Life of Edmond Malone/Chapter 1
CHAPTER I.
1741–1765.
A thorough Irish antiquary will find pleasure in searching out the history of the Malones. It is one of the most national of the country. No Saxon has anything to say to it. He may plunge into the unknown depths of Milesians and Celts; disport himself as wildly as Irishmen are said to do in the mysteries of races; and emerge with as little positive knowledge of sober facts as any of his predecessors.
According to the famous Charles O’Connor, of Balanagar, the most recondite of moderns in such studies, it may be traced from a king of Connaught, Murray Mullathan (Murray the long-headed), who died in 701. His descendants assumed various names. Surnames were an innovation of the eleventh century, and adopted from peculiarity of person or character. Thus a descendant of the house being tonsured in honour of St. John, received the name of Maol Eoin, which soon became Malone—the former signifying bald, the latter John. This branch had estates conquered for them out of the territories of the chief of Westmeath by their royal relative of the long head not far from the modern town of Athlone; and there their descendants continue.
From a junior branch of this race, which for some generations had practised the higher branch of law, sprang the subject of our notice. His grandfather, Richard, while yet a student in London, had been sent on a mission to Holland by King William, on the recommendation of his friend, Ruvigny, Earl of Galway; and afterward gained wealth and celebrity at the Irish bar. Four sons pursued the same profession in the same place during the career of the father; so that the family enjoyed a species of monopoly of the courts.[1]
Of these, the most celebrated was Anthony, an orator, lawyer, and statesman of the first class. His name is even still mentioned with the reverence that belongs only to the great. To a commanding person, fine voice, an impressive yet conciliatory manner, temper rarely to be ruffled by an opponent, were added powers of argument and persuasion so effective, that it was once proposed to transfer him from the Irish to the English House of Commons, in order to oppose Sir Robert Walpole. The encomium of Grattan on this eminent person should not be forgotten.
“Mr. Malone was a man of the finest intellect that any country ever produced. The three ablest men I have ever heard were Mr. Pitt (the father), Mr. Murray, and Mr. Malone. For a popular assembly I would choose Mr. Pitt; for a Privy Council, Murray; for twelve wise men, Malone.” This was the opinion Lord Sackville, the Secretary of [17]53, gave of Mr. Malone to a gentleman, from whom I heard it. “He is a great sea in a calm,” said Mr. Gerard Hamilton, another good judge of men and talents. “Aye,” it was replied, “but had you seen him when he was young, you would have said he was a great sea in a storm; and like the sea, whether in calm or storm, a great production of nature.”
Edmond, second son of Richard, and father of the critic, was born in 1704. Intending to vary the scene of hereditary pursuit, he was called to the English bar in 1730; but removed from family ties and influences is said to have had indifferent success. In 1736 he married the daughter of Mr. Benjamin Collier, of Ruckholts in Essex. One of the ceremonies on this occasion is recorded by his son on the authority of the officiating clergyman, and forms a curious peculiarity in past manners.
“He” (Dr. Taylor, of Isleworth, who gave the details in 1788) “married my father to Miss Collier in 1736. Old Mr. Collier was a very vain man who had made his fortune in the South Sea year; and having been originally a merchant, was fond, after he had retired to live upon his fortune, of a great deal of display and parade. On his daughter’s wedding, therefore, he invited nearly fifty persons, and got two or three capital cooks from London to prepare a magnificent entertainment in honour of the day. When other ceremonies had concluded, the young couple were put to bed, and every one of this numerous assemblage came into the room to make their congratulations to my father and mother, who sat up in bed to receive them: ‘Madam, I wish you a very good night! Sir, all happiness to you, and a very good night!’—and so on through the party. My father, who hated all parade, but was forced to submit to the old gentleman’s humour, must have been in a fine fume; and my mother, who was then but seventeen or eighteen, sufficiently embarrassed.”
In 1740, this gentleman removed to the Irish bar, and favoured by circumstances and application, soon obtained considerable business. A seat in the House of Commons followed. He became in time serjeant; and in 1766 found a seat on the Irish Bench as one of the judges of the Court of Common Pleas, which he filled till his death in 1774. His children were— Richard, afterwards Lord Sunderlin; Edmond, of whom this memorial is written; Anthony and Benjamin, who died young; and two daughters, Henrietta and Catherine, who survived their brothers.
Edmond was born in Dublin, 4th of October, 1741. At an early age he was sent to a celebrated school in Molesworth Street, kept by Dr. Ford, where his brother Richard had preceded him. Among their school-fellows was Robert (Captain) Jephson, subsequently author of Braganza and other tragedies, with whom a very sincere and durable friendship was formed. Here likewise about the same period were found the future first Marquis of Lansdown, Lord Sheffield, General Blakeney, and others, afterwards of some note in the world. A favourite amusement of the boys was the performance of plays. Such was their reputation in this line, that much of the fashion of Dublin was found among the audience, and something of its gravity; more especially Lord Chancellor Jocelyn, who was observed to be no niggard of his praise. Macklin, the celebrated actor, sometimes conducted these exhibitions. In 1749, Julius Cæsar was brought out in very good style, two of the Jephsons taking the parts of Brutus and Cassius; Marcellus, by the late Lord Lansdown; Casca, by General Blakeney; Anthony, by the late Rev. Thomas Robinson; Portia, by Richard Malone. Edmond was then too young to exhibit in public, but succeeded in due time to similar honours; and it is believed that in his instance, as was the case with Jephson, Shakspeare and the drama were never afterwards forgotten.
A promising career here carried him to Trinity College, Dublin, in 1756, where in due time he became bachelor of arts. Richard, his elder brother, had been entered in 1754, and in 1758 removed to Christchurch, Oxford. The talents of Edmond were more than respectable; he ran the race of competition among fellow-students with considerable applause, particularly in an Ode on the Marriage of his Majesty George III. This offspring of juvenile loyalty occupies more than one hundred and fifty lines; was published in Dublin in a thin quarto in 1761, with ten others from the University on the same theme; six of which (two in Latin) were by his chosen friends, then, as in after life, Kearney, Hussey, Southwell, and Chetwood. I have in my possession a prize volume of poetry, Somerville’s Chase, given him in 1760. Likewise some of his exercise books, gleaned from among the old book-shops in London. The ode will be found at the end of this volume.
Steady, rather than shining powers, formed his characteristic feature. He had determined to accomplish anything he took in hand—to take a comprehensive view of subjects of study, and not to quit what he had once begun till the details or principles were mastered. This quality, the basis of all solid knowledge, is rarely popular with youth. Light minds are content with light or superficial acquisitions; and the sedate student occasionally found himself open to the jest or the neglect of more volatile companions. He might be considered then as shadowing forth symptoms of the future critic. He was a remorseless inquirer. Nothing would be taken upon trust where minute examination was practicable. Thus, while at college might be found that keenly inquisitive spirit which nearly fifty years afterward induced him to write to Bishop Percy in terms I have mentioned elsewhere—“Give me but time, place, and names, and the genuineness or falsehood of any story may be easily ascertained.”[2]
A mind judicially constituted in essentials, seemed to be cut out by nature for the bench. He was therefore destined for the family profession, to which some time in Dublin was given in initiatory studies. Added to the esteem earned by steady talents, he had won warm affection from several fellow-students, who through life expressed for him the strongest regard. Among these were the very distinguished Fellows of the University, Doctors Michael Kearney and John Kearney (afterwards Bishop of Ossory), Dr. Wilson, Rev. John Chetwood, Henry Flood, John Fitzgibbon (afterwards Earl of Clare), and others, some of whose letters will be found in his correspondence.
The climate of Ireland appearing not to agree with Mrs. Malone, her husband—now Mr. Serjeant Malone, M.P.—and Edmond, accompanied her to England in the summer of 1759. Highgate was selected for a time as her residence. Hence she writes to her husband, taking an occasional glance at the society of London by visits to the family of her relative, Lord Catherlough, an Englishman with an Irish title. Ultimately she removed to Bath, where, gaining partial relief, she continued for some years. In the meantime, when comfortably settled with her relatives, the Serjeant considered the moment favourable for giving his son a view of the interior of England. A tour was therefore undertaken through the Midland Counties, much to the gratification of both.
They did not reach Dublin till towards the end of the year—the Serjeant to his usual labours in the four courts, with occasional trips to a country residence and farm named Shinglass; and Edmond to college studies preparatory to further examinations. His father had formed a favourable opinion of his talents and diligence. His disposition was affectionate, his temper genial, his attachment to his mother and sisters devoted, to which the former more than once alluded; and there reigned between the brothers a degree of regard which appears never to have been interrupted. Their letters, as well as surviving testimony, render it apparent that there could not be a more united family. From the country retreat of his father, when taking a turn at farming, we have the following sensible admonitions to Edmond, January, 1760:—
My dear Neddy—I am very much obliged for your letter of last Sunday, which was a great treat to me, in this lonely place. I often wish for your company, but at the same time am glad that you made the choice you did, of sitting down to read for next examinations, as you will by that means soon recover the time lost by our English expedition last summer.
The seeing you and your brother both so diligent in the pursuit of the necessary means for your own happiness and success in the world, is the greatest joy and pleasure of my life, and makes amends for a thousand troubles I have from other causes; and if it shall ever be in my power to reward you for it as I wish to do, I’ll show you all the affection and kindness the most deserving child can expect. But as human events are so precarious, there is no trusting to that chance. Continue, therefore, my dear child, the same course of industry you are in, in order to qualify you to get your own bread, and to make your own way in the world. God Almighty always blesses the diligent and industrious; He has been pleased to endow you with a good understanding, and many other advantages, which can't fail to succeed when properly applied. I came here on Friday from Mr. Magan's, and have been quite alone ever since. I live much as you do, upon a bit of mutton every day, and occupy only one room in the house, except the chamber I lie in. I found both tea and sugar here,[3] and Mrs. Magan gave me a pound of sugar. . . . The weather, last Saturday, was so very bad I could not stand out; but Monday was a fine frosty day, and I was abroad all day long, and am very busy in my farming, which mightily wanted my presence here. There fell a great deal of snow on Tuesday, which kept me a prisoner that day, but I think the air is a great deal warmer for it.
I send the enclosed cover to your mamma open to you, that you may send anything you please under the same cover, and then seal it and send it away next Saturday. I hope to see you on Sunday night; but, as I must dine on the road, I would have you dine at your uncle's, as usual; and, if I come at any reasonable time to town, I'll call upon him that night. Tell him that nothing but the severity of the weather shall prevent my being in town to my time.
In 1763, he was entered of the Inner Temple. London possessed charms to a young and ingenuous mind, which found amusement not in its dissipations, but varieties. To him, fresh from a narrower sphere, it was indeed seeing the world—a preparative to enlarged intelligence and liberal studies. Unlike Dublin there was no provincialism, none of those views or misapprehensions which smaller or partially isolated communities take of their own or others’ affairs. He saw none of that secondhand influence—few of those second-rate men who, busy or ambitious, always needy, often corrupt or instruments of corruption, influenced or governed his country less for its interests than their own. In London these things were better veiled or less practised. There he found the centre of that society always to him a main source of delight—literary and dramatic persons—or what formed a substitute as constituting a large admixture of both to a young man without ties of home—namely, coffee-house society. The “Grecian” in the Strand was then and long afterwards the favourite resort; and, to strangers in the metropolis, an irresistible evening attraction.
Glad was he likewise in opportunities of paying to an affectionate mother the duty of a good son, to which allusion is made in her letters. She had continued at Bath, unable to walk without assistance, and died there in the beginning of 1765. Lord Luxborough, now become Earl of Catherlough, thus writes to her husband from Golden Square, January, 1765:—
You would have received my most sincere condolence on the melancholy event that has happened, but that, till last night, by a letter from your dear son, I imagined you would have come to Bath; but now I hope your journey hither has been prevented, and that all your children will mix their tears with yours at Dublin, for the irreparable loss we have all sustained. I say we, because I most affectionately loved and esteemed my late dear kinswoman for the many good and valuable qualities she had. . . . I wish to my heart you may have fortitude of mind to support you under this calamity. You have the comfort of your most deserving children, and that they may all live to be a blessing to you is the sincere wish of, &c. &c.
Edmond, who continued for some months in London, thus adverts in a letter to his father to a delicate topic of the day—the first mental illness of George III.—which had been studiously kept out of sight. Nor are the attractions of the Grecian Coffee-house, even for an Irish chief justice, forgotten.
London, March 2, 1765.
Honoured Sir[4]—As I imagined you would be entirely taken up with business during circuit, I have not troubled you with a letter for some time past, and, indeed, should not now, but suppose you will by the time you receive this be returned to town, and this is the last opportunity of paying my respects before I see you in London. My brother, I think, in his last letter informed you of the death of Mrs. Weaver. We have heard nothing further from Lord Catherlough on that subject, so that we may bid adieu to the prospect of any share of her personal fortune. I have not heard to what it amounts, but suppose it can’t be less than 6,000l. . . .
I have little public news to send. The K has had a slight fever, which has alarmed people so much that it is said a Regency will be formed in case any accident should happen to him. Everything goes on very smoothly in the House of Commons, the Opposition being inconsiderable in numbers, and without a head, for Mr. Pitt has not been in the House the whole winter. Hence it is imagined that the motion for an address, to know by whose advice General Conway was dismissed, in which he has certainly promised to assist them when health would permit his attendance, as it has been so long deferred, will not be brought on this session.
Lord Chief Justice Aston arrived here yesterday, and found his way very soon to his old friends at the Grecian, among whom I fancy he will be much happier than with all his dignities in the Council Chamber of Dublin. . . .
An affectionate reply, in a wise and fatherly tone, adverts to the neglect of the deceased relative in her will.
“By not suffering the events of life to affect us, we shall by degrees become superior to all calamities. I well know that one thousand pounds a-piece to my children would have been a great benefit; but after all, their happiness depends more on the wisdom and virtue of their own minds than on that or any other sum. So let us, my dear child, think no more of it.”—He had just returned from Kilkenny assizes on his way to preside (by order) over those of Wicklow. Whiteboyism then disturbed the country; no less than eleven were capitally convicted. Five more were acquitted for what was called “high treason,” and he agreed in opinion with the jury. Yet, in proof of the exasperation of public feeling against such offences thus absurdly said to be treasonable, he dared not, he said, make the avowal of their innocence to any but his own children. He postponed a journey to London to wait the arrival of Lord Hertford from Paris, who was nominated to succeed Lord Northumberland in the viceroyalty.
Among the intimate and lasting friendships formed at college has been mentioned that of Chetwood, who soon afterwards took orders. His family, settled near Chester, were connected with Ireland, and had destined him for the church of that country. Imbued with taste and imagination, fond of poetry and music, with a lively sense of the advantages of polished and intellectual society, he felt and regretted the rudeness of the country in which his lot was cast, and occasionally could ill repress gentle repinings at his position. This was but natural to a sensitive mind. But to live among people mostly of an alien and exclusive creed—to labour with the certainty of few fruits to be reaped, no honours to be won—to have the motives of kindnesses towards poorer neighbours suspected, and charities almost repelled, or to find indifference forced upon him, and yet charged as negligence or barbarity—these are the conditions upon which a Protestant clergyman must often take his position in Ireland.
Letters to his friend under such circumstances formed one mode of relief. But he possessed the Irish faculty of hoping, or in other words, that the chances of life would eventually turn out in his favour; and thence with a light heart threw forth his thoughts in an agreeable strain. For Malone he had contracted a strong attachment, he loved his temper, thought highly of his capacity, applauded his tastes and pursuits, sought frequently at his hands for literary information and opinions, and their correspondence continued, though often with long intervals, till nearly the close of life. Just at this period he had quitted his charge on a visit to the paternal abode near Chester, whence he thus writes:—
Plasissa, July 30, 1765.
It is time, my good friend, to thank you for your last letter, which I received some weeks before I left Ireland. You will be surprised to hear that I am still in the same kingdom with you. I am sorry to think, however, that I am not likely to receive much pleasure from diminution of the distance between us. We are still too remote to render a meeting very practicable, unless my stay here were longer than I believe it can be. Three months, I fear, will be the utmost that prudence will allow me to enjoy the beauties of the scene before me.
I committed my flock at Rockfort to the care of a temporary curate, and sailed from Cork to Bristol about three weeks ago. I devoted a few days to the Hotwell; a few more to Bath and its purlieus; took a most delightful tour through Gloucestershire, Worcestershire, and Shropshire; and am now arrived at my father's, where I want nothing to brighten my happiness except the addition of my friends Edmond and Southwell to my party.
Were it not inconsistent with your present pursuits, how glad should I be to have your company whilst I remain here. I would venture to pronounce that the situation of this place would inspire you with that exalted enthusiasm that a fine rural scene so naturally suggests. But you have been so long an Englishman, that the hanging grove, the open lawn, the winding river, the distant sea, are objects that, perhaps, from their frequency, have lost their force upon you.
To me, who have come from an uncultivated world, where rude nature reigns without a rival, each minutest beauty is so far from being lost, that I often fancy I view everything around me through a magnifying glass,[5] and that every tree spreads at least a quadruple proportion of foliage before my eyes beyond its real produce. At present, I can truly say I pass nothing unadmired. I am in the situation of one caught in love; my heart—my poor heart—my Edmond, is caught, and the Sylvan Deities have engaged all my attention. The great Berkeley, upon his return from Killarney, told the friend to whom he was describing its beauties that the utmost exertion of all the powers of art might repair a ruined Versailles, but that God alone could make a Killarney. I never felt the spirit that I am sure then warmed his lordship so strongly as I have done since my last arrival in England. I would prescribe previous banishment to any one who had a mind to enjoy real solid pleasure from the prospect of natural or artificial beauties. But I shall fill my paper before I say a word upon any other topic than that of rural beauty. You think me mad already, in all probability. I heard from Southwell[6] just when I left home; he was then well, and going upon a ramble into the country with his father.
I met Fitzgibbon[7] at Bath, on his road to the Hotwells. His unparalleled effeminacy, I am now convinced, is unconquerable. Change of kingdom has, I think, rather increased his unnatural delicacy of manners. His dishabille was not by any means remarkable after a long journey from Oxford, but it gave him great concern that I should meet him in such an undress. Risum teneatis.
I hope, my dear Ned, to hear from you immediately. Direct to me at Crewe Chetwood’s, Esq., at Plasissa, near Chester. If I return by way of Bristol, which as yet is not determined, I shall perhaps be in London for a few days; and for that purpose, shall leave home a fortnight sooner than if I go through Dublin. This depends upon accidents which I cannot yet be informed of, so that our meeting is not absolutely impossible. Adieu. God bless you, my dear Ned, and believe me ever, &c.
The first days of the return of this cheerful friend to his post—Rockfort, near Bandon—were employed in persuasions to Malone to release his muse from supposed durance, and exhibit her to the world. Literature, and the persons and topics connected with it, formed at all times his favourite theme. And among youthful writing associates, whenever prose is not forthcoming, the presumption seems to be that the candidate is addressing the Goddess of Song. Most of them would have it that nature had cut him out for a poet; but circumstances afterwards hardened him into a critic.
Rockfort, Nov. 15, 1765.
Our friend, Southwell, transmitted your letter to me by the last post, which I had expected with impatience before my departure from Dublin. It arrived here, however, before I did, as if it was meant to welcome me to my rural abode. I received my friend with that ardour that its hospitable intentions merited; and you see, I take the earliest opportunity of returning the visit.
I feel a little like a schoolboy upon his reviewing the scenes of scholastic discipline after the dissipation of Christmas holidays. I enjoy the sensations that a poor bird does when clipped in his wings; and I fancy, that no lover ever sat down to pen a sonnet on the charms of his mistress with stronger inspirations from the power of song than I now could to tack together a few wretched couplets of wretched topics on rusticity and retirement. But, however, as you are my friend, and have not offended me, I will not punish you at present by inflicting torments brought from the inquisition of the Muses. I long much to see you, if it were for no other reason than to examine the recesses of your escritoire. I am sure, my friend, that that warm brain of yours can never find enjoyment in inaction. The forms of beauty, either moral or personal, solicit it too strongly to suffer it to be at rest. No law jargon, no collection of statutes, not all the Pandects in the world, can even avail to extinguish the passion for the muse when she has taken legal possession. “Naturam expellas Colo, tamen usque recurret,” said one of the best philosophers that ever united that character and the poet’s together. If you resolve to keep them close concealed—I mean those compositions that you most penuriously have hoarded up and concealed from public inspection—Shakspeare’s curse attend you. Never pray more; abandon all remorse; on poems’ heads poems accumulate; and never reap those unfading laurels that their publication would ensure you the possession of.
You inquire about Tom’s[8] mistress. She is not tall, nor yet very low of stature. She is not a beauty, though she has a red and white complexion that I much approve of, and her features are rather delicately formed. She is well made, and brimfull of virgin modesty. When she casts an eye towards her little hero, she blooms like the rosy bosomed morning. But yet I know not whether her happy fortune has destined her to the participation of our friend’s bed. There may be obstacles that tend at least to retard, if not prevent, the union; and Tom, though not in love, is not perfectly at ease on this account. Adieu! God bless you, my dear Malone, is the constant wish of your faithful and affectionate friend.
- ↑ The family seat was purchased by this gentleman, of which the following account is given in Brewer’s Beauties of Ireland:—“Baronstown, on the banks of Lough Iron, is the splendid seat of Richard Malone, Esq., inherited by this gentleman from his relative the late Right Honourable Richard Malone Lord Sunderlin, who died without issue. The name of this place is derived from its ancient proprietors, the family of Nangle, Palatine Barons of Navan. The estate was purchased of that family by Richard Malone, Esq., father of the celebrated forensic orator Anthony Malone, and of Edmond, the father of Lord Sunderlin. Baronstown House is a capacious edifice of stone, chiefly built by the late Lord Sunderlin, under whose tasteful direction the demesne was enlarged and enriched with extensive plantations. . . . .
“At Kilbixy, on the Baronstown estate, and in view of Mr. Malone’s mansion, is a small but beautiful church, erected under the auspices of the late Lord Sunderlin. This structure is a very estimable example of the successful imitation in modern times of the florid style of pointed architecture, and will, we trust, remain to a very late posterity a proof of the exquisite taste and magnificence of its noble founder. Kilbixy (locally pronounced Kilbisky) formerly contained a castle, and an Hospital for Lepers, of which last building some remains are still visible.” — Brewer’s Beauties of Ireland.
- ↑ Life of Goldsmith, vol. i. p. 126. 8vo. 1837. In allusion to some of the poet’s stories to his relatives.
- ↑ Irish villagers were then sadly deficient in the usual supplies now required for civilized life, so that a pound of sugar became a provision against accidents.
- ↑ This deferential phrase which also concludes the letter, was likewise used by Burke in addressing his father. What examples for a modern Templar!
- ↑ This graphic sketch of Ireland at that time came from a strong imagination. So backward was she in moral or, in other words, civilized influences, that it seemed to affect things physical—not even the trees appeared to produce their due proportions of foliage!
- ↑ A relative of Lord Southwell, to whom there are future allusions.
- ↑ Afterwards Earl of Clare, so well known in the disturbed periods of Irish politics. His character, whatever his dress may have been in future life, exhibited anything but effeminacy.
- ↑ Mr. Thomas Southwell.