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"Why, madam, it may do to lock up your bread and cheese in, and that's all it's fit for," was the reply.

"We are tempted to give one more anecdote of this extraordinary being, especially as the subject of our memoir was himself one of the parties therein concerned. They both had been dining with the late Mr. Stephen Price, the manager of Drury Lane Theatre, and as the host showed unequivocal symptoms of indisposition--he was suffering severely from gout in the hand-the party broke up early; and all but Cannon and Hook took their leave by about eleven o'clock. Upon them every possible hint short of absolute rudeness was expended in vain; a small table had been wheeled up close to the fire, amply furnished with potations, such as they loved, and they were not to be wiled away. At length, unable to endure the increasing pain, Price quietly summoned up an inexhaustible supply of black spirits and white,' and, leaving his guests to mingle as they might, stole off unobserved to bed. Next morning, about nine, his servant entered his

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There were redeeming traits in Cannon's character, lively generosity and pre-eminent disinterestedness, which it is to be hoped will survive his errors.

Spite of his talents and conversational powers, Hook was unfortunate in his affaires de cœur, the first of which his biographer places on record as having occurred during a brief sojourn at Sunbury. While at this place, the name of the inn, "The Flower Pot," suggested to Hook one of his practical jokes; the termination of which not being upon record, leaves it questionable if it was of a character to redound to the credit of the chief actor therein.

even cook and scullion. Such perseverance in one particular line did not ensure success in another, and the treasury accounts soon partook of that confusion which generally reigned where Hook was concerned. Upon this unfortunate subject his biographer has added little to what has already appeared in the pages of the Quarterly, (vol. Ixxiii,) and from which it has been now long and generally understood, that whatever errors there were upon the part of Theodore, they were not of a venial character, being simply errors of omission, of oversight, and neglect.

Hook, it may be observed, without being of a remarkably superstitious turn of mind, or, as some foolishly call them, supernatural was yet not prepared to discredit spiritual,

existences.

"Philosophers," he says, in a preface to "Martha the Gypsey," "may prove, and, in the might of their ignorance, develop and disclose, argue and discuss, but when the sage who sneers at the possibility of ghosts, will explain to me the doctrine of attraction and gravitation, or tell me why the wind blows, why the tides ebb and flow, or why the light shines-effects perceptible by all men-then will I admit the justice of his incredulity-then will I join the ranks of the incredulous,

A case is related as having fallen more immediately under Hook's observation, which appears to be the counterpart of that related in Leigh Hunt's "Town," as connected with Lord Craven's house. Hook was, however, decidedly superstitious upon some points. He always gravely maintained, that his miseries, consequent upon the Mauritius deficit, were foreshadowed to him in the course of his voyage homeward, by a visitation from the original "Flying Dutchman." He had also a marked dislike to being the thirteenth in company. One of his friends, who was himself suspected of a leaning the same way, notes in the following words an instance of this weakness:

"Dined at

; we were seated twelve in

In 1812 Hook was, his biographer hints, through the influence of "the fair of May Fair," presented with the appointment of number, when Hook arrived. He looked at first very black on finding himself the thirteenth, but accountant-general and treasurer at the Maubeing told that Y, the actor, was expected, ritius, worth about £2,000 a year. Neither, immediately took his seat, and the evening passed however, the heat of the climate nor the du-off merrily enough. An anecdote was given in ties and responsibilities of his situation could calm the characteristic exuberance of his spirits. On the occasion of a public dinner, the new accountant-general amused himself, and frightened the island out of its propriety, by firing salutes to the honor of every person present, soldier or civilian, including

the course of conversation singularly corroborative of the superstition by which Hook was clearly at first affected. A party of twelve had just sat down, and one of the guests having observed hardly like to be the person destined to occupy a vacant chair, was remarking that he should that seat, when a tremendous double rap was heard-the door was thrown open, and Mr.

404

Fauntleroy announced-he was hanged within the year!

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of the New Monthly, was in deprecation of
the plan, as not only wearisome to the reader,
but positively fatal to anything like fair de-
velopment of plot. "Jack Brag" followed,
a sequel to " Gilbert Gurney," and the por-
trait of a vulgar, vain, and impudent cross
between a tallow-chandler and a sporting
gentleman, met with great success. Lastly,
Births, Marriages, and Deaths," published
in 1839, was followed, in 1840, by "Pre-
cepts and Practice," a collection of short
papers and tales, which he had contributed
to the New Monthly during his editorship.
Two other works, "Fathers and Sons," and
Peregrine Bunce," were never finished by
their original author.

Hook returned to England, harassed by difficulties and pecuniary embarrassments. After a short residence at Somer's-Town, where he formed that connection which, with his warm heart and honorable feelings, he could never dissolve, although he had never sufficient courage to render it sacred and indissoluble, and many months of durance vile, he took up his abode at Putney, and started, with the assistance of his old friend Daniel Terry, a small periodical, called The Arcadian," but which had little either pastoral in its name, or durable in its composition. A more important event in Hook's The success of his novels enabled Theolife was the establishment of the John Bull dore Hook to start once more in the world. newspaper at the close of 1820. It is to the He rented an expensive house, furnished it permanent preservation of the best things extravagantly, sought the most fashionable contributed to this paper that the second volume of the "Life and Remains" is de- late hours, and had very soon to beat a and dissipated society, kept open table and voted. Four years after his connection with retreat once more to the friendly banks of the John Bull, Hook published the first series of that collection of tales which, under the Thames, where, in a pretty villa near the title of "Sayings and Doings," placed last; his end, hastened by a career which Fulham Bridge, he ultimately breathed his him at once in the highest rank of novelists. last; his end, hastened by a career which This was followed, in 1830, by "Maxwell," sical or mental resources, but on the conhad never spared or husbanded either phygenerally considered as the most perfect of his productions; but of all his works, the trary treated them as gifts only to be valued for their brilliancy, and the strain they may most mirth-provoking was "Gilbert Gurney," of which his own personal adventures be capable of enduring, entailing thereby the form the groundwork, and which was pub-consequent and inevitable result of a premalished by monthly instalments in the New The production of thirty-eight volumes Monthly Magazine, upon his undertaking the within sixteen years-the author being all editorship of that long-established favorite in 1836. Hook deprecated the practice, the while editor, and almost sole writer, of a newspaper, and for several years the effinow all but universal among popular novelists, of delivering his tale by monthly instal-cient conductor of a magazine-certainly

ments. One of his last letters, addressed to Mr. Poole, a fellow-contributor to the pages

A

* Another story was at the same time told in connection with this unfortunate gentleman. Mr. R, a wine-merchant, was very intimate with Fauntleroy, and with a few friends was in the habit of dining with him frequently. On these occasions, when the party was not too large, the host would produce some very choice old Lunelle wine, of which R- was exceedingly fond, but Fauntleroy could never be prevailed upon to say where he got it, or how it could be obtained. When the latter was under sentence of death, his old associates visited him repeatedly, and at their last interview, the night before his execution, R, after having bid him farewell with the rest, on a sudden paused in the prison passage, returned to the cell, and said in a low voice to the criminalYou'll pardon my pressing the subject, but now, at all events, my dear friend, you can have no objection to tell me where I can get some of that Lunelle."

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ture extinction.

affords, as the Quarterly Review remarks, sufficient proof that he never sank into idleness. In all his works, Hook paid little regard to consecutiveness, or regularity, or even to style. He aimed at delineation of character at striking and ludicrous scenes and situations-at reflecting the language and habits of actual life-and all this he accomplished, in some of his works, with a success that produced many rivals, but few superiors. Yet with all these successes, and although in receipt of a large income--probably not less than £3,000 a year by his writings-passages in those parts of his diary which have been published disclose frequent struggles, ever-deepening distresses and difficulties which, while they are often inexpressibly touching, ought not to be without their

lesson.

From Fraser's Magazine.

MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.

"I PURPOSE to write," says Mr. Macaulay, "the history of England from the accession of James the Second, down to the time which is within the memory of men still living"-a task often undertaken and performed before, and even which Mr. Macaulay's labors will not prevent others in times to come from attempting. The epoch chosen is The epoch chosen is among the most important of the many crises of our political fortunes. The results of the Revolution of 1688 are still felt by us; and the conflict of opinions which brought about that great change still goes on, though it be in a mitigated form, and subject to rules which that very Revolution made a part of the great charter of our liberties. To one who can, in these, our times of tierce political strife, forcibly and completely withdraw himself for a moment from the whirl, and confusion, and passion, which is all around and about him; who can, with a calm philosophy, peruse and think upon the brilliant work now before us, it must prove a subject of curious and deeply interesting speculation. The author, the subject, the times in which we live, and the principles which now govern our statesmen, when viewed in juxtaposition, inculcate of themselves a lesson of wisdom which we should all do well to accept.

The author-and when we speak of him, we find ourselves unable to attain wholly to that calm philosophy we have so strongly recommended, feelings of personal regard making us partial judges in all that relates to him-the author brings to the task he has undertaken qualities, which, though necessary for its due fulfillment, are yet so rare as to be almost peculiar to himself. Gibbon gravely describes the advantages he had derived from his service in the militia, say; ing, grandiloquently-"The discipline and evolutions of a modern battalion, gave me a clearer notion of the phalanx and the legion; and the captain of the Hampshire Grenadiers [the reader may smile] has not been useless to the historian of the Roman Empire." Mr. Macaulay's work is the history,

not so much of England, as of English parties, which, though they be actuated by principles which are common to all mankind, and which at all times of man's history have been in active operation, still have received among us peculiar modifications, and manifest themselves, in consequence of our institutions, in a manner peculiar to ourselves. To understand these peculiarities, and appreciate their value properly, requires, on the part of the historian, knowledge and habits which can only be acquired by a party man. Parliamentary struggles cannot be so well described and so thoroughly understood as by one who himself has borne a share in the contests of Parliament; and no one so well as he who has had some insight into the practical working of our law, can solve the many legal problems which arise in our constitutional history. But a mere party man will take a party view; will be a partial witness, a biased judge; and a lawyer, whose mind has been warped by habits acquired and fixed by a life spent in the courts, can hardly so extend his view, as to take in the "range of empire." Mr. Macaulay's fortunes have, fortunately, given him an opportunity of acquiring the knowledge necessary, without contracting the habits of thought and feeling which so often render that knowledge useless; and his very want of success as a party politician has contributed mainly to endow him so strikingly with the qualities of an impartial and sagacious historian. From his earliest youth Mr. Macaulay was destined to be a politician. He was educated in the Whig camp, in the hope that one day he would prove a useful,

We must guard ourselves and Mr. Macaulay assertion. His history is, in our opinion, pre-eminfrom the mistaken conception that may attend this ently a history of parties; but it is also something

more. And the author's multifarious reading has enabled him to draw an interesting comparison between the present material condition of England, and that which existed in the times of James 11. See chap. iii. See also Mr. Macaulay's description of what he conceives to be the duties of an historian, vol. i. p. 3.

that is, an expert and unscrupulous, partisan. | The hard-working men of party are with us almost always men of comparatively humble fortunes, whose mental powers have raised them to eminence. In the long array of modern English statesmen, few can be found who have not in youth been stimulated to exertion by the comparative narrowness of their means, or by the desire to raise themselves from an obscure position. Of these youths, accident placed some in the Tory, some in the Whig ranks. The magnates of each party, with true worldly wisdom, have fostered and encouraged aspirants of this description; and hailed with satisfaction, and rewarded with applause, and, when able, with place, the gradual manifestation of capacity which party struggles have called forth. The Whig party, being in reality excluded from power for more than a quarter of a century, could not offer, as a means of allurement to their ranks, the advantages of office; but these seductions were well supplied by the social blandishments which, in their place, were lavishly employed. The great Whig houses were always open, the smiles of the leaders, men and women, were always ready, their warm and well-sustained applause was always given, when any young man gave promise of the power and the will to join their ranks and fight their battles. The expectations with which young aspirants have been thus trained and fostered have oftentimes been deceived; and many a reputation has by party applause been built up, and for a few years maintained, but when left at last to support itself by its own intrinsic strength, (as in all cases must inevitably happen,) has broken down and disappeared. Some, which would have well repaid all the care and interest shown toward them, have been snatched away by death, leaving behind unavailing regrets, and the visions of a hope now for ever disappointed.* In the days of our youth, among the various names bruited in society as of men from whom political prophets expected much, none stood higher than the name of the gifted author of this History. Even in his boyish years, his future renown was confidently predicted, and the great leaders of the Whigs already counted on the benefit to

their party to be derived from the splendor and power of his eloquence, from his learning, his varied acquirements, his brilliant and dazzling style. Every fresh effort on his part, whether as a poet or as an essayist, was hailed as a triumph; and the hour was impatiently expected when he might, in the House of Commons, verify the predictions of his ardent friends, and justify the eulogies of his many admirers. Some there were, however, who had studied carefully the character of his mind, and who knew accurately the nature of the assembly in which he was expected to render his party service, and they even then whispered doubts as to the fulfillment of all those prophecies of success in which his sanguine friends had so boldly indulged. The brilliant essayist is not always-in fact, is seldom-a ready and powerful debater. To be a great orator, an orator of the highest class, a man must, indeed, be a great writer; but it is not given to every great writer to be a great orator likewise. In addition to mental peculiarities, there were others, belonging to the temper and nature of the man himself, which stood in the way of his success as a politician. The fastidious and delicate tastes of a scholar, unless attended by a passionate ambition and an iron will, are so offended, so shocked, by the coarseness, the littleness, the baseness, the hideous immorality, the surpassing selfishness, and the marvellous ignorance, which are inevitably encountered by all who mingle in political contention, that he feels himself debased by contact with things so degrading, and eagerly seeks for an excuse to withdraw from a scene so full of loathsome and contaminating influences. Some there are who see all this, and seeing, abhor it, but who are willing to encounter all the abominations as evils incident to humanity, which good men must face if they desire to see them controlled and diminished. But these are men of ardent, active courage, sanguine temper, and inflexible perseverance. To this hardihood and courage may be, and sometimes is, united a taste as refined as that of the most sensitive and retiring scholar. But a powerful will, a strong passion, enables its possessor to face without shrinking those loathsome scenes which overpower, because they disgust, the * Read, as an illustration of this remark, the let-pure-minded man, who is not thus proters of Francis Horner. They exhibit the fair side tected. of political patronage, and give a pleasing picture of the kindness and care of the patrons; but Horner was to be their great card, and was immeasurably superior to all the young-ay, and old Whigs of his day. His loss was a serious blow to the party.

who had thus more narrowly scanned the The result justified the predictions of those mental and moral character of the young Whig partisan. It is needless to mince the

mons.*

matter, or to pick our phrases, when the great noise-hurt some of the enemy, pershortest and simplest is at hand, and com- haps, and frightened some; but the action pletely explains what we wish to express- was always decided before the gun could be Mr. Macaulay failed in the House of Com-reloaded. Still he was a great gun, and, By this we do not mean to say that he was not listened to. He was listened to, and with pleasure; but as far as the debate was concerned, the speech he delivered might as well have been printed as an article in the Edinburgh Review, reserved as a pleasure for the arm-chair and the study, with the lamp on the table, the door hermetically closed, dressing-gown and slippers on, and paper-knife in hand. The essay, in this way enjoyed, would be delightful; the speech was a beautiful thing out of place-a marble statue exposed to London weather-Sir Robert Peel's mahogany wheelbarrow employed for real work. We suspect that nobody more completely understands this estimation of his House of Commons' career than Mr. Macaulay himself. He knows that men a thousand times his inferiors exercise an influence in the House that he never possessed-an influence which his very excellence prevents his ever hoping to acquire. The bustling and the vulgar politician pushes by him in the crowd, and takes a foremost place simply because he is bustling and is vulgar. The Esquimaux feeds with delight upon garbage, the very sight of which turns the stomach of a civilized man.

But the experience acquired as a member of Parliament, though not leading to great parliamentary success, was eminently of service to the historian of the parties which still carry on their contest for power within the walls of Parliament. "The eight sessions that I sat in Parliament," says Gibbon, "were a school of civil prudence, the first and most essential virtue of an historian." Mr. Macaulay has, however, far transcended the humble position with which the great historian was satisfied. The experience of Gibbon was gained simply as "a mute," to use his own phrase; and his official position was merely that of an obsequious lord of trade. But Mr. Macaulay, though speaking rarely, spoke always with a certain effect; he was, in fact, one of the great guns of debate-one which it took a long time to load, and still more to bring into position: when fired it made a

What is failure for a man who aspires to the highest position, and who is endowed with abilities of the highest order, would in an inferior person be considered success. But mediocrity is an advantage not permitted to men of Mr. Macaulay's stamp There is no medium. If they do not attain complete success, they fail.

from his urbanity and perfectly unaffected manners, a favorite with all parties. Returning from India, where he had acted the part of a law-maker as well as an administrative functionary, he was again sent to Parliament, and on his friends coming into office he became a member of the cabinet. To a mind like his, fraught with the knowlege of past times, the being thus admitted behind the scenes of the great political threatre must have been of infinite use and interest. He could compare the reality with the relation of it-the daily record of events with that truer history which his position enabled him to learn. Read with such an experience, the history of the past became something more than an old almanac, and the intrigues of days gone by might be judged by and compared with those which he must have seen carried on around him. But the active life of a cabinet minister was hardly compatible with the careful study of history and the composition of a laborious work. Fortunately for us, and we sincerely believe fortunately for himself, the bigots of Edinburgh quarrelled with their gifted representative, and chose some obscure person, of a spirit more congenial with their own, to speak their vulgar sentiments and protect their interests in the House of Commons. Mr. Macaulay lost his election, and then was seen the Whig appreciation of great ability that was not directly useful to themselves politically. Had Mr. Macaulay proved himself an active and powerful debater, his loss would have been felt by the ministry, and means would have been found to put a vacant seat at his command. But the brilliant essayist and converser, the poet and the historian, might, indeed, confer lustre upon his colleagues by his association with them; but he was of no particular assistance to them in the daily conflicts which they had to wage in the Commons. Seat after seat, as they became vacant, found members, but none seemed fit for the excluded cabinet minister. Young and mute sprigs of great Whig houses slid into seats that would joyfully have selected Mr. Macaulay, had not means been taken to make the constituencies pass him by. The studied slight became an insult, which, though not complained of, must have been felt. A high-minded man could not brook the indignity, and Mr. Macaulay availed himself of the plea which his forced ex

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