The Press. — London, England, 1856-12-27 00:00:00

1238 'itcraturt. Letters of James Boswell, addressed to the Rev. W. J. Temple. Now first Published from the Original MSS. With an Introduction and Notes. London : Bentley. THERE is not recorded in literary annals a more singular incident than that which re bites the discovery of the MSS. of these letters. We quote the story us it appears in the preface to this volume : A few years ago a clergyman having occasion to buy some small articles at the shop of Maclaine Noel, at Boulogne, observed that the paper in which they were wrapped was the fragment of an English letter. Upon in spection, a date and some names were discovered ; and further investigation proved that the piece of paper in question was part of a correspondence, carried on nearly a century before, between the biographer of Dr. Samuel Jonnson and his early friend, the Rev. William Johnson Temple. On making inquiry, it was ascertained that this piece of paper had been taken from a large parcel recently purchased from a hawker, who was in the habit of passing through Boulogne once or twice a year for the purpose of supplying the different shops with paper. Beyond this no further information could be obtained. The whole con tents of the parcel were immediately secured. The majority of the letters bear the London and Devon postmarks, and are franked by well-known names of that period. Besides those written by Boswell which are here published, were found several from Mr. Nicholls, Mr. Claxton, and other persons alluded to in the followin pages, as well as a few unfinished sermons and essays by Mr. Temple. At the death of the purchaser of these letters they passed into the hands of a nephew, from whom the editor obtained them ; and in the present form they are now submitted to the public. Now, though we hold it impossible for any one to doubt the perfect genuineness of these letters, yet we think that in all such cases it is only due to the public that the facts of dis covery should he most precisely stated, and that the MSS. themselves should be sub mitted to the inspection of literary men. In the statement quoted, the name of the clergy man who recovered the letters should have been given, and also the date of his visit to Boulogne and of his purchase. The story is in itself so extremely improbable, or rather so like an invention, that we are strongly dis posed to doubt its truth without in the least questioning the authenticity of the letters. We think, in short, that they may have come into the hands of their editor, or original proprie tor, in some manner different from what is here set forth. Having said so much on the preface to this volume, we must express our conviction that the letters themselves are among the most curious productions ever given to the world. In his correspondence wi►h his friend Temple, Boswell reveals every movement of his mind, every quality of his character. He shows himself mean and extravagant, open and ounning, feeling and heartless, virtuous and ♦icious. All those baser elements of humanity which men who are conscious of their pre sence endeavour to shut up closely in their breasts, Boswell delighted in relating trumpet tongued to his friend. We wonder, as we read his confessions, that so great a fool should ever have been allowed to walk the earth at liberty ; but a closer scrutiny of his actions satisfies us that he differed from other people rather in the openness of his nature, and in the extreme candour of his revelations, than in the motives which animated him. In these " Letters," more even than in his celebrated life, Boswell seems to have been incapable of the slighest disguise or distortion of truth. Whatever he said, or whatever he felt, he seems to have been compelled to set down without the slightest colouring. If truth be emphati cally —as we believe it is—the reflection in outward utterance and action of inward im pressions and emotions, then Boswell was one of the most truthful men who ever lived in the world. The ridicule which has been heaped upon him, and which the publication of these " Letters" is likely immeasurably to increase, is due even more to the extreme openness with which he relates his follies, than to the follies themselves. He was in a most extraordinary manner free from all that concealment which the training of the world in general renders a part of our nature. We deride Boswell, as Parisian fasbione deride the pude, ~.:e~a...-- THE PRESS. It is no small merit of the volume that it supplies ua with a tolerably complete biogra phy of Boswell. In his letters to Temple he dwells on all the chief events of his life. The letters commence when Boswell was only eighteen, and they do not terminate till his death. The last effort of his hand was pro bably spent in an endeavour to inform Temple of his illness. The prefatory notices to the letters are well informed, and the et'iting of the volume extremely satisfactory. Is it not probable, at page 68, where there is a blank in the passage,— When jaded with business, or when tormented with the passions of civilised life, I could Hy to the woods, nay I could on the time of a mountain, were it possible for me to be conscious of it, and to brave the elements h 3 glorious insensibility— that " vegetate" is the undecipherable word which Boswell wrote? It would take us too long to go through all the letters. There is not one which is not thoroughly characteristic. Some of the most amusing are those in which he details with great exactness the progress of his love affairs, setting forth every mood of his mind as it changed with his pass:on, or with the demea nour of his fair one for the time being. Of one of his charmers he wrote : In a former part of this letter I have talked a great deal of my sweet little mistress; I am, however, uneasy about her. Furnishing a house and maintaining her with a maid will cost me a great deal of money, and it is too like marriage, or too much a settled plan of licentiousness; but what can Ido ? I have already taken the house, and the lady has agreed to go in at Whitsuntide; I cannot in honour draw back. Oh, my friend ! were you hut here; but, alas ! that can not be. Mamhead is not within a cell ; it ought to be, for you should always be my pastor, and I might now and then be yours. Friend of my youth, explain to me how we suffer so severely from what no longer exists. How am I tormented because my charmer has formerly loved others! Besides, she is abred, quite a rompish girl. She debases my dignity ; she has no refinement, but she is very handsome, and very lively. What is it to me that she has formerly loved? So have T. I am positive that since I first courted her at Moffat she has been constant to me; she is kind, she is generous. What shall I do? I wish I could get off; and yet how awkward would it be ! Think of your Berwick Celia, and sympathise with me. One way or other, my mind will be settled before I can hear from you. This is a curious epistle to a clergyman. Admonish me, but forgive me. Later in this same letter lie says:— What is to be thought of this life, my friend ? Hear the story of my last three days. After tormenting myself with reflecting on my charmer's former loves, and rumi nating on parting with her, I went to her. 1 could not conceal my being distressed. I told her I was very un happy, but I would not tell her why. She took this very seriously, and was so much affected that she went next morning and gave up her house. I went in the afternoon and secured the house, and then drank tea with her. She was much agitated; she said she was determined to go and board herself in the north of England, and that I used her very ill. I expostulated with her ; I was some• times resolved to let her go, and sometimes my heart was like to burst within me. I held her dear hand; her eyes were full of passion ; I took her in my arms; I told her what made me miserable ; she was pleased to find it was nothing worse. She had imagined that I was suspicious of her fidelity, and she thought that very ungenerous in re considering her behaviour. She said I should not mind her faults before I knew her, since her conduct was now most circumspect. We renewed our fondness. She owned she loved me more than she had ever done her husband. All was again well. She said she did not re proach me with my former follies, and we should be on an equal footing. My mind all at once felt a spring; I embraced her with transport. [The letter then proceeds to say that the same evening he supped with some friends, became intoxicated, and committed gross follies, which the next day he went and confessed to his charmer in terms which he thinks eloquent.] A little later we have a characteristic re mark:— Now that i have given my mind the turn, I am totally emancipated from my charmer, as much as from the gardener's daughter who now puts on my fire and per forms menial omoes just like any other wench; and yet just this time twelvemonth I was so madly in love as to think of marrying her. Shouid not this be an everlasting lesson to me ? He fell in love with a young Scotch lady, Miss Blair, Fah his usual impetuosity. In sketch ing out a tour for his friend Temple, he prays him to visit her, and furnishes him with the most express instructions how he was to pro ceed : Wednesday.—Breakfast at eight ; set out at nine ; Thomas will bring you to Adamtown a little after eleven. Send up your name; if possible, put up your horses there, they can have cut grass ; if not, Thomas will take them to Mountain, a place a mile off, an d come h ac k an d wa i t et dinner, Oleo Miss Blair my letter. Salute her and her mother; Lek to walk. See the place fully; think what improveßteati phoold be made. Talk of ray were, the SATURDAY, purse, the chocolate. Tell you are my very old rand inti mate friend. Praise me for my good qualities —you know them; but talk also how odd, how inconstant, how im petuous, how much accustomed to women of intrigue. Ask gravely, pray don't you imagine there is something of madness in that family? Talk of my various travels— German princes,—Voltaire and Rosseau. Talk of my father ; my strong desire to have my own house. Observe her well. See, how amiable! Judge if she would be happy with your friend. Think of me as the great man at Adamtown,—quite classical, too! Study the mother. Remember well what passes. Stay tea. At six, order horses and go to New Mills, two miles from Loudoun ; but if they press you to stay all night, do it. Be a man of as much ease as possible. Consider what a romantic ex pedition you are on; take notes; perhaps you now fix me for life. This lady was for a time Bostvell's " Princess." After a lengthened detail of his varying emo tions, and of her changing conduct, ho relates an interview he had had with her:— Edinburgh, 24th December, 1767. I met the Princess at church ; she was distant as before. I passed the evening at her aunt's, where I met a cousin of my Princess, a young lady of Glasgow, who had been with us at Adamtown. She told me she had some. thing to communicate, and she then said my behaviour to the Princess was such, that Mrs. B. and her daughter did not know how to behave to me; that it was not honourable to engage a young lady's affections while I kept myself freel in short, the good cousin persuaded me that the Princess had formed an attachment for me, and she assured me the Nabob had been refused. On Monday forenoon I waited on Miss B. I found her alone, and she did not seem distant ; I told her that I was most sincerely in love with her, and that I only dreaded those faults which I had acknowledged to her. Tasked her seriously if she now believed me in earnest. She said she did. I then asked her to be candid and fair, as I had been with her, and to toll me if abe had any particular liking for me. What think you, Temple was her answer? " No; I really have no particular liking for Sou; I like many people as well as you." Temple, you must have it in the genuine dialogue. Boswell.—Do you, indeed? Well, I cannot help it; I am obliged to you for telling me so in time. I am sorry for it. Princess.—l like Jeany Maxwell ( Duchess of Gordon) better than you. B. —Very well ; but do you like no man better than me? P.—No. B.—ls it possible that you may like me better than other men ? P —I don't know what is possible. ( By this time I had risen and placed myself by her, and was in real agitation.) tell you what, my dear Miss Blair, I love you so much that I am very unhappy if you cannot love me. must, if possible, endeavour to forget you. What would you have me do? P.—l really don't know what you should do. B.—lt is certainly possible that you may love me; and if you shall ever do an, I shall be the happiest man in the world. Will you make a fair bargain with me? If you should happen to love me, will you own it? P.—Yes. B.—And if you should happen to love another, will you tell me immediately, and help me to make myself easy ? I'.—Yes, I will. B.—Well, you are very good (often squeezing and kissing her fine hand, while she looked at me with those beautiful black eyes). P.—l may tell you, as a cousin, what I would not tell to another man. R.—You may, indeed. You are very fond of Auchinleck, that is one good circumstance. P.—l confess I am. I wish I liked you as well as Ido Auchinleck. have told you how fond I am of you; but unless you like me sincerely, I have too much spirit to ask you to live with me, as I Know that you do not like me. If I could have you this moment for my wife, I would not. P.-4 should not like to put myself in your offer though. B.—Remember you are both my cousin and my mie• tress, you must make me suffer as little as possible, as it may happen that I may engage your affectiors. I should think myself a most dishonourable man if I were not now in earnest, and, remember, I depend upon your sincerity; and whatever happens, you and I shall never have another quarrel. P.— Never. ll.—And I may come and see you as much as please ? P. Yes. My worthy Mend, what sort of a scene was this! It was most curious. She said she would submit to her hue band in most things. She said that to see one loving her would go far to make her love that person ; but she would not talk anyhow positively, for she never had felt the un- easy anxiety of love. We were an hour and a half together, and seem pleased all the time. I think she behaved with spirit and propriety. I admire her more than ever. She intended to go to her aunt's, twelve miles from town, next day : her jaunt was put off for some days. Yesterday I saw her again ; I was easy and cheerful, and just endeavoured to make myself agreeable. . _ These specimens will suffice to show the individualism of the letters. They are full of the minutest details of Boswell's sentiments and actions, and are at times positively affect. ing from their confessions of frailty, and from the evidenoo they afford that Boswell, vfitb •