WE E grant, although he had much wit, As being loth to wear it out; ty and high rewards are in your power. Sell your services to Great Britain; make your market of whatever secret information you can procure, that may guard us against the machinations of your country; be, in fact, one of the necessary evils which policy forces us to use in desperate cases; do what no honourable man could do to save yourself from speedy death; your conscience is stained by purposed murder. Comply, perforce, with these conditions, and you shall be as liberally paid as you must, by all parties, be justly despised.' BUTLER (Hudibras). The secretary used to repeat his illustrious master's words, which were, as nearly as possible, to the foregoing effect. The clever miscreant joyfully accepted these terms, and for many years earned the bribes of a spy in our behalf. No doubt a snuff-box was the safest medium for the warning portrait, as fancy heads frequently adorned such a thing; while, had the miniature been set as a locket, whoever saw it must have been sure that it depicted some real individual. HUMORISTS OF YESTERDAY. DR. JOHN DORAN, F.S.A. (With a Portrait.) In addition to the crowned heads' of wit and humour, such as that of Douglas Jerrold in the present number, it is part of our plan to accompany 'Anecdote Corner' occasionally by portraits and reminiscences which will record some humorists of yesterday; friends, the sound of whose voice seems scarcely to have died away from the ears of the living. The publication of a new edition of Memories of Our Great Towns (Chatto & Windus) leads us to begin with that admirable raconteur and most estimable man of letters, the late Dr. John Doran, F.S.A. The biographical notice which appeared in the Athenæum furnishes us with a compact record of one whose genial and earnest characteristics made him at once a delightful acquaintance and a charming author. Any one who shared his friendship can bear testimony to the truth of the kindly notice we append: Under a bright, spring-like sky, that accorded with their memories of his happy temper and genial influence, a number of his old friends assembled last Tuesday* at Kensal Green to witness the interment of Dr. John Doran, a man whose generous spirit and moral worth would have rendered him remarkable had not scholarly taste and enthusiasm enabled him to win a conspicuous place amongst men of letters. It is not often that death by a single blow spreads such wide sorrow amongst literary * Athenæum of February 2d, 1878. workers. For Doran was at home in most of our literary coteries, and whilst no one encountered him in society without being charmed by his pleasant address and animated conversation, it was impossible for any one to make the first approaches towards intimacy with him, and not to entertain a cordial liking for one so overflowing with manly kindliness and honest sympathy. The regard with which he inspired his habitual associates was a sentiment of the closest attachment. That some of those nearest friends may be found in the Society of Antiquaries may be inferred from the unanimity with which the Cocked Hats-the dining club of the Antiquaries-postponed sine die their dinner, appointed for the 6th instant, on hearing that their friend would never again appear at their pleasant meetings. It is, at the same time, indicative of a characteristic of Doran's colloquial style, and of one result of his conversational achievements, that whilst some persons were astonished at the greatness of the age assigned to him by the obituary notices of the daily papers, others were no less surprised to discover that he was not older. Though he never affected to be younger than his years, Doran did not to the last strike casual observers, or even his ordinary acquaintance, as a veteran whose career had begun in the first decade of the present century. The whiteness of his hair would, indeed, have been appropriate to an octogenarian. But to the last his countenance, voice, and manner were those of a man in the middle stage of middle age. His smile had the freshness of a yet earlier period, and his whole bearing, as he delivered anecdote after anecdote to a group of listeners at a dinner-table, or in the corner of a crowded drawing-room, was so light and easy in its gaiety, that no stranger, seeing him for the first time in any of the earlier months of last season, imagined how nearly he had approached the end of his seventieth year. On the other hand, those intimate friends to whom he used to pour forth his personal reminiscences of John Kemble and Mrs. Siddons were induced by the remoteness of the recollections to magnify his age in an amusing manner. Speaking on the authority of Men of the Time,' the newspapers were, however, accurate on this point. His age and nationality would justify us in classifying Doran with Irish journalists of a past generation. For he was born in 1807, a member of a good Irish family, whose splendour in former times he used to exemplify by declaring, with a humorous assumption of historic seriousness, that they were the first people in their particular region of the Emerald Isle to wear blue breeches. But, apart from the hilarity that distinguished him in his earlier days, Doran had no single point of resemblance to those Irish journalists of thirty or forty years since whom Thackeray delighted to portray. Doran's superabundant gaiety was never associated with any kind of recklessness; and in the performance of his several duties, more particularly in the fulfilment of his professional engagements, he exhibited the most anxious and delicate concern for the interests of others. Possi bly it was to his advantage in this respect that the pen was not his only means of subsistence in his earlier manhood, when young professional authors pursued their calling under difficulties not easily imagined at the present time. For, though literature was a passion with him from his boyhood, he did not adopt it as the one serious business of his life until he had fairly entered middle age. His satisfactory establishment in what may be termed literary society was an affair of even more recent date. For, though his connection with this journal was preceded by a period of several years, during which he edited a London weekly newspaper that concerned itself chiefly with religious politics, he can scarcely be said to have taken his proper place in the world of letters until he became a member of the Athenæum staff, some fiveand-twenty years since. It was subsequent to that event that he formed one of the remarkable company of men whom Douglas Jerrold, in the full brightness of his powers and success, gathered round him once a week at Clunn's Hotel. It was at Our Club' that Doran made the acquaintance of several of his closest associates in future years. There also he was brought into social contact with some young men who, taking to heart the prudent admonition of the great lawyer who bade farewell to the Muse in order that he might woo a mightier mistress, have raised themselves to conspicuous places on the judicial bench since they used to dine on the last day of every week with a jubilant set of authors and artists in a Covent Garden tavern. was at this time, when he had left young manhood behind him, and was nearing the term when he would rank amongst the veterans It of the pen, that Doran began to take great pains to win the regard of aspirants in art and literature. No man of warm affections enters the middle stage of existence without suffering acutely from the removal of the comrades who attended his earlier fortunes. The loss of old friends is apt to make such a man experience a sense of desertion and an equally depressing sense of premature oldness. This was in an unusual degree Doran's case, when he remarked to a friend who was his junior by nearly a quarter of a century, 'I am determined to prolong my youth as far as possible by persisting in hopefulness and drawing young life about me.' But, though he attributed this purpose to an enlightened selfishness, his real motive in the matter was a genuine and generous sympathy with youthful genius. And if he played a prominent part in Our Club' and other clubs of a similar constitution, Doran was a steady writer and no less diligent student. He had entered his forty-seventh year before he published the earliest of the long series of agreeable and sometimes learned volumes that, rated at their lowest, may be commended for affording just the intellectual diversion that is most acceptable to men of cultivated taste and scholarly attainments in their hours of idleness. That far higher praise may be justly accorded to the best of these delightful performances it has often been the office of the Athenaeum to declare in strenuous terms. Even the slightest of them may be described as works in which a writer, having an unusually large acquaintance with curious and too generally neglected literature, has reproduced the multifarious results of his devious readings with excellent judgment and humour. It should also be remembered, to the great credit of these dexterous manipulations of the curiosities of literature, that they exhibit everywhere the candour and sincerity for which their author was remarkable. Had he been capable of condescending to artifices sometimes conspicuous in literary achievements, Doran's facile pen could have easily worked into pompous essays and pretentious treatises the materials which he offered with equal modesty and openness to the thousands of educated readers who were with good reason thankful for them. But good as they are in their peculiarly novel way, Dr. Doran's books do not give any adequate idea of his literary usefulness. To a critical journal, that in surveying the entire field of letters needs the assistance of men possessing an accurate knowledge of the outlying fields and the hidden nooks and corners of literary achievement, he was of almost inestimable convenience and value. The same may be said of his exceptional fitness for the editorial management of Notes and Queries, which, in addition to its other titles of respect, fully justifies the felicitous words in which Lord Houghton, in an afterdinner speech, called it a repertory of useless knowledge. Moreover, Dr. Doran was especially serviceable to literary criticism on account of his special knowledge of large subjects, as well as by the diversity of his out-of-the-way information. At present we know not where to look for his equal as a student of eighteenth-century literature. Nor should it be forgotten that, whilst he was remarkable as a critic for his knowledge of details, he was even more remarkable for considerateness towards the authors on whom he passed judgment. Perhaps no critic ever did his full duty to the public with so much tenderness towards writers. 'You are not mistaken, my dear fellow, as to your facts,' he once remarked in his kindliest way to a young writer, but don't hurt people needlessly with that strong pen of yours. When you come to be as old as I am, you will be sorry to remember that you have been guilty of needless cruelty to any one.' The gentleness of this just speech was very characteristic of the man, and may help to account for the hold he had on the affections of his friends. The last thing penned by this true gentleman was a brief note of courteous apology for an oversight. before he was seized with the fatal illness this day fortnight, Doran wrote an assurance of his regret, for having, in the Athenæum of the 5th ult., assumed that Dr. Stebbing was dead. Having thus made an end of writing, he went to his bed. His illness was not especially painful; and it is questionable whether he ever realised the urgency of his case, though, on the day before his last, he remarked seriously, 'Yes, I am nearing the great mystery.' Just The volume, of which Messrs. Chatto & Windus have now issued a second edition with illustrations, contains that series of pleasant, chatty papers which appeared annually in the Athenaeum for many years, concerning the locality chosen for the meeting of the British Association for the Advancement of Science. These papers were the result of much careful research, and were revised for the press only a few weeks before the author's death. They are brimful of good stories and antiquarian lore, deftly administered with a light touch and a happy humour. Some chips are here broken off for our readers: DONCASTER POETS AND 'Jocks.' -Doncaster has been especially fortunate in its racing poets. They have really struck a sportive lyre, and they ride their Pegasus with loose rein, but with no lack of whip and spur to stimulate him to gamesomeness. The course has had, too, its wits as well as its bards; and half of what is attributed to the northern jockeys as mere ignorance is really to be laid to their appreciation of fun. When Alcides first appeared on the course, they knew well enough the quantity of the syllables, but they also knew the quality of the horse. They accordingly called him All Sides; and nothing could be more appropriate, for the nag was of the very thinnest, looked as if he were cut out of pasteboard, had no back, and, to completely authorise his nickname, never ran straight. Nor were the north-country 'jocks' less witty on their masters than on the steeds. No name was better known at Doncaster, no man altogether so fortunate there for a time, as Mr. Petre. At that period, however, he exemplified the truth of the proverb implying that Love does not favour the favourite of Fortune. lucky master of a racing-stud had been unsuccessful in more than one suit to very many ladies; and as he once walked on to the course Tommy Lye, that atomy in topboots, remarked to his fellows, Eh, look oop, lads; yon's Solicitor-General !' The CLERICAL IRRITABILITY.-The following choice bit of statistics is notable for its singularity: 'It is a matter of notoriety, furnishing a fruitful subject for reflection and comment, that the great majority of complaints reaching the Post Office authorities take their rise with clergymen. |