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sides discharging excellently well her own and all the tender offices becoming the female character, besides being a faithful friend, an amiable companion, and a tender nurse, could likewise supply the wants of a decrepid husband." And afterwards, in a gale of wind, when the anxiety of the captain communicated alarm to the passengers, the novelist concludes his comments on the occurrence by observing that, in the event of accidents, his "dear wife and child were both too good and too gentle to be trusted to the power of any man he knew."

Thus, after so many miseries and mischances, retaining the priceless treasure of a happy and contented mind— cheerful in spite of bodily anguish and the gloomiest apprehensions-displaying to the last the tenderest care and most considerate regard for the dear objects clinging, like tendrils, to him for support-the bold and battered Voyager, who had contended so bravely with the storms of life, and in so many tempests buffeted back its fiercest waves, drifted on towards the haven of Eternal Rest.1

(1) It may be proper here to state that, before he left England, Fielding prepared for the press a new edition of “Jonathan Wild," originally published in his "Miscellanies." In the "Advertisement from the publisher to the reader," allusion is made to the personal attacks of which the author was so often the object. As this "Advertisement" has not been reprinted, it is here given in its original form:-"The following pages are the corrected edition of a Book which was first published in the year 1743. That any personal application could have ever been possibly drawn from them, will surprize all who are not deeply versed in the black Art (for so it seems most properly to be called) of deciphering Men's Meaning when couched in obscure, ambiguous, or allegorical expressions: This Art hath been exercised more than once on the Author of our little Book, who hath contracted a considerable Degree of Odium from having had the Scurrility of others imputed to him. The Truth is, as a very corrupt state of morals is here represented, the scene seems very properly to have been laid in Newgate: Nor do I see any Reason for introducing any allegory at all; unless we will agree that there are, without those Walls, some other Bodies of Men of worse Morals than those within; and who have, consequently, a Right to change Places with its present Inhabitants. To such persons, if any such there be, I would particularly recommend the perusal of the third chapter of the fourth Book of the following History, and more particularly still the speech of the Grave Man in pages 195 and 196 of that Book."-Life of Jonathan Wild. A new edition, with considerable corrections and additions, by Henry Fielding, Esq. Millar. 1754.



FIELDING'S passage to Lisbon proved a perilous and tiresome one, even for that time of day. Vexed by his long detention off Ryde, the captain weighed anchor in a dudgeon, determined to make headway, from whatever quarter of the compass the wind might blow. After the gale referred to in the last chapter, he was glad enough, however, to find shelter and security in Torbay, where the novelist once more gazed on the coast of Devonshire, and took advantage of his detention to purchase two hogsheads of cyder as a present for some friends, and another hogshead to take with him to Lisbon. "I purchased," writes the garrulous traveller, "three hogsheads for five pounds ten shillings, all which I should have scarce thought worth mentioning, had I not believed it might be of equal service to the honest farmer who sold it me—and who is by the neighbouring gentlemen reputed to deal in the very best-and to the reader, who, from ignorance of the means of providing better for himself, swallows at a dearer rate the juice of Middlesex turnip, instead of that vinum pomone which Mr. Giles Leverance, of Cheeshurst, near Dartmouth, in Devon, will, at the price of forty shillings per hogshead, send in double casks to any part of the world." It is doubtful whether "the honest farmer" duly appreciated this flattering notice, which, whilst it performed during his lifetime the duty of an advertisement, has likewise handed down his name to a remote posterity. Master Leverance's excellent cyder was not the only

creature-comfort which solaced the travellers during their detention on the coast of Devon. An acquaintanceship was here formed with the John-dorée, an inhabitant of the deep justly prized by the natives of the west. Having tasted this dainty, the novelist received, with little surprise, the information that his friend Quin, the epicure and actor, "whose distinguishing tooth had been so justly celebrated, had lately visited Plymouth, and had done those honours to the dorée which are so justly due to it from that sect of modern philosophers who, with Sir Epicure Mammon, or Sir Epicure Quin, their head, seem more to delight in a fishpond than in a garden, as the old Epicureans are said to have done. Unfortunately," he adds, "for the fishmongers of London, the dorée resides only in those seas; for could any of this company but convey one to the temple of luxury under the Piazza, where Macklin, the high-priest, daily serves up his rich offerings to that goddess, great would be the reward of that fishmonger, in blessings poured down upon him from the goddess, as great would his merit be towards the high-priest, who could never be thought to overrate such valuable incense."

The " temple of luxury under the Piazza" (Covent Garden) referred to by Fielding, was the singular speculation of that singular genius, Charles Macklin, the actor and dramatist, and in 1754 the talk of the town. In the previous December this eccentric personage had taken leave of the stage, though in "the full vigour of his fame and constitution ;" and in his parting address had hinted that he had a scheme in view from which he expected to derive both profit and reputation:

"Since then for reasons I the stage give o'er,
And for your sakes write tragedies no more,
Some other schemes of course possess my brain,—
For he who once has eat must eat again:

(1) Macklin's Memoirs. 1804.


And lest this lank, this melancholy phiz,

Should grow more lank, more dismal than it is,
A scheme I have in hand will make you stare :-
Though off the stage I still must be the player;
Still I must follow this theatric plan,

Exert my comic powers, draw all I can,

And to each guest appear a different man."


The adventurous actor's scheme had at least novelty to recommend it. He proposed to unite an ordinary, over which he was to preside in the character of host, with a lecture-hall and school of oratory, called "The British Inquisition," in which he was to fill the post of teacher and lecturer. On the 11th March, 1754, he commenced operations by opening a public ordinary, as the first step in the development of his scheme. All the arrangements were here on the most liberal scale, and excluded every chance of profit. For the sum of three shillings the guests were supplied with a luxurious dinner, including wine, port, claret, or whatever liquor they preferred." A numerous staff of servants was engaged by the liberal host, with whom he communicated by signs, so that the company should not be disturbed by unseemly chattering,—an attention which the epicure Quin particularly commended. Once in Foote's presence, however, at the Bedford, where this practice had been warmly praised, Macklin, in the pride of his heart, made a statement which drew upon him one of the wit's most telling sarcasms. "Sir," said Macklin to his eulogist, "I knew it would do. And where do you think I picked up this hint? Well, sir, I'll tell you: I picked it up from no less a man than James Duke of York, who you know, sir, first invented signals for the fleet."-" Very àpropos, indeed," exclaimed Foote (who was lying in wait for the self-satisfied actor), " and good poetical justice; as from the fleet they were taken-so to the Fleet both master and signals are likely to return!" 2 (1) Macklin's Memoirs.

(2) Macklin's Memoirs, 1804. A very minute account of these curious public entertainments is given in this work, from the recollection of a literary gentle

In the course of the year 1754, Macklin completed his scheme by opening "The British Inquisition," when he delivered himself of some heavy discourses on eloquence and the drama. But the friends who had applauded his dinners refused to pay the same compliment to the lectures. The wits indeed attended, but only to turn the lecturer into ridicule, whose gravity formed a strange contrast to the titterings and even open laughter of the audience. Poor Macklin could not deceive himself long as to the reception which his discourses met with; but he attributed the jocularity of his auditors entirely to the envious machinations of Foote, whose skill in raising a laugh he knew full well. As he could not exclude the humourist from the lecture-hall, he resolved one night to administer to him an open rebuke. Before he began his lecture, therefore, hearing a buzz in the room, and observing Foote talking and laughing to a select circle, he assumed his gravest theatrical manner, and in a tone of stern authority exclaimed, "Well, sir, you seem to be very merry there; but do you know what I am going to say now?"—" No, sir,” said Foote; "pray do you?" This retort was irresistible,

man then living. "Dinner being announced," it is said, "by public advertisement to be ready at four o'clock, just as the clock had struck that hour, a large tavern bell, which he had affixed to the top of the house, gave notice of its approach. This bell continued ringing for about five minutes: the dinner was then ordered to be dished, and in ten minutes afterwards it was set upon the table; after which the outer room door was ordered to be shut, and no other guest admitted. Macklin himself always brought in the first dish, dressed in a full suit of clothes, &c., with a napkin slung across his left arm. When he placed the dish on the table he made a low bow, and retired a few paces back towards the sideboard, which was laid out in very superb style. . . . . Two of his principal waiters stood beside him, and one, two, or three more, as occasion required. . . . . Thus was dinner entirely served up, and attended to, on the side of the house, all in dumb show. When dinner was over, and the bottles and glasses all laid upon the table, Macklin, quitting his former situation, walked gravely up to the front of the table, and hoped that all things were found agreeable;' after which he passed the bell-rope round the back of the chair of the person who happened to sit at the head of the table, and making a low bow at the door, retired. . . The company generally consisted of wits, authors, players, Templars, and lounging-men of the town."

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(1) Macklin's Memoirs,

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