Among his Dublin friends was Mr. Andrew Calwell, a lawyer, although not actively taxing the law for a maintenance. His father, in that usually well-paid profession, had performed the duty before him: and although likewise called to the bar himself, he thought it more satisfactory to sit down to the enjoyment of the paternal inheritance rather than aim to increase the store. His tastes, like those of Malone, were literary. He acquired a good library; frequented booksellers’ shops; read much; and selected companions of similar pursuits, who in his retreat in Cavendish Row, often found a social dinner set off with considerable learning, friendly disposition, and gentlemanlike manners. Where seed is thus plentifully sown, we expect in time to see a crop. But it was not so with Caldwell. He produced only one or two trifles; one of which, an account of Athenian Stuart’s escape from some intended Turkish murderers, was corrected by Malone.
He annually visited London, sought out that friend as his guide in literary purchases, and enjoyed such social dinners as he himself bestowed.
“I dined,” he says to Bishop Percy on one occasion, “with Malone on Sunday, téte-à-téte . . . . I had just begun his Life of Dryden; but got only through a few pages when obliged to come away. No writer, I think, ever took more pains to establish facts and detect errors. When he offers himself to the public it seems to be his aim to employ the utmost diligence of research to be useful and to merit favour. He tells me he does not escape; and has already been attacked for the very circumstance
