CRABB ROBINSON,

25

of his Boswell-ian Reminiscences, and because though of comparatively humble origin - he grew to be an excellent type of the well-bred, well-read club-man of his day-knowing everybody who was worth knowing, from Mrs. Siddons to Walter Scott, and talking about everybody who was worth talking of, from Louis Phillippe to Mrs. Barbauld.

He was quick, of keen perception — always making the most of his opportunities; had fair schooling; gets launched somehow upon an attorney's career, to which he never took with great enthusiasm. He was an apt French scholar — passed four or five years, too, studying in Germany; his assurance and intelligence, aptitude, and good-nature bringing him to know almost everybody of consequence. He is familiar with Madame de Staël-hob-nobs with many of the great German writers of the early part of this century is for a time correspondent of the Times from the Baltic and Stockholm; and from Spain also, in the days when Bonaparte is raging over the Continent. He returns to London, revives old acquaintances, and makes new ones; knows Landor and Dyer and Campbell; is hail fellow

-as would seem-with Wordsworth, Southey, Moore, and Lady Blessington; falls into some helpful legacies; keeps lazily by his legal practice; husbands his resources, but never marries ; pounces upon every new lion of the day; hears Coleridge lecture; hears Hazlitt lecture; hears Erskine plead, and goes to play whist and drink punch with the Lambs. He was full of anecdote, and could talk by the hour. Rogers once said to his guests who were prompt at breakfast: "If you've anything to say, you'd better say it; Crabb Robinson is coming." He talked on all subjects with average acuteness, and more than average command of language, and little graceful subtleties of social speech - but with no special or penetrative analysis of his subject-matter. The very type of a current, popular, well-received man of the town good at cards- good at a club dinner-good at supper-good in travel - good for a picnic — good for a lady's tea-fight. He must have written reams on reams of letters. The big books of his Diary and Reminiscences

*Best edition is that of Macmillan, London, 1869.

CRABB ROBINSON.

27

which I commend to you for their amusing and most entertaining gossip, contained only a most inconsiderable part of his written leavings.

He took admirable care of himself; did not permit exposure to draughts—to indigestions, or to bad company of any sort. Withal he was charitable—was particular and fastidious; always knew the best rulings of society about ceremony, and always obeyed; never wore a dress-coat counter to good form. He was an excellent listener- especially to people of title; was a judicious flatterer- a good friend and a good fellow; dining out five days in the week, and living thus till ninety and if he had lived till now, I think he would have died—dining out.

Mr. Robinson was not very strong in literary criticism. I quote a bit from his Diary, that will show, perhaps as well as any, his method and Iange. It is dated June 6, 1812:

"Sent Peter Bell to Chas. Lamb. To my surprise, he does not like it. He complains of the slowness of the narrative — as if that were not the art of the poet. He says Wordsworth has great thoughts, but has left them out here. [And then continues in his own person.] In the perplexity arising from the diverse judgments of those to whom I

am accustomed to look up, I have no resource but in the determination to disregard all opinions, and trust to the simple impression made on my own mind. When Lady Mackintosh was once stating to Coleridge her disregard of the beauties of nature, which men commonly affect to admire, he said his friend Wordsworth had described her feeling, and quoted three lines from Peter Bell: '

'A primrose by a river brim

'A yellow primrose was to him,

'And it was nothing more.'

"Yes,' said Lady Mackintosh-that is precisely my

case.

999

Thomas De Quincey.

On the same page of that Diary- where I go to verify this quotation—is this entry:

"At four o'clock dined in the [Temple] Hall with De Quincey, who was very civil to me, and cordially invited me to visit his cottage in Cumberland. Like myself, he is an enthusiast for Wordsworth. His person is small, his complexion fair, and his air and manner are those of a sickly and enfeebled man." †

*Thomas De Quincey, b. 1785; d. 1859. Confessions of an English Opium Eater, 1821. Complete edition of works, 1852-55. Life and Writings: H. A. Page, 2 vols. London, 1877.

†The entry is of 1812, p. 391, chap. xv. Macmillan's edition. London, 1869.

DE QUINCEY.

29

Some twenty-seven years before the date of this encounter, the sickly looking man was born near to Manchester, his father being a well-to-do mer

chant there whose affairs took him often to

Portugal and Madeira, and whose invalidism kept him there so much that the son scarce knew him; -remembers only how his father came home one day to his great country house-pale, and propped up with pillows in the back of his carriage — came to die. His mother, left with wealth enough for herself and children, was of a stern Calvinistic sort; which fact gives a streak of unpleasant color here and there to the son's reminiscences. He is presently at odds with her about the Bath school -where he is taught she having moved into Somersetshire, whereabout she knows Mistress Hannah More; the boy comes to know this lady too, with much reverence. The son is at odds with his mother again about Eton (where, though never a scholar, he has glimpses of George III. gets a little grunted talk even, from the old king) and is again at odds with the mother about the Manchester Grammar School:

so much at odds here, that he takes the bit