bordered it with a thick bed of earth from a nursery, and
even contrived to have a grass-plot. The earth I filled
with flowers ; they were allowed to be perfect. Thomas
Moore, who came to see me with Lord Byron, told me
he had seen no such heart's-ease. I bought the Parnaso
Italiano while in prison, and used often to think of a
passage in it, while looking at the miniature piece of
horticulture : —

" ' Mio picciol (Ji'to,
A me sci viyna, c campo, e selva, e piato.' — Bai.di.

" 'My little garden,
To me thou'rt vineyard, field, and meadow, and wood.''



28 LEIGH HUNT.

" Here I wrote and read in fine weather, sometimes
under an awning. In autumn my trellises were hung
with scarlet-runners, which added to the flowery invest-
ment, I used to shut my eyes in my arm-chair, and
fancy myself hundreds of miles off.

" But my triumph was in issuing forth of a morning. A
wicket out of the garden led into the large one belonging
to the prison. The latter was only for vegetables ; but it
contained a cherry-tree, which I saw twice in blossom. I
parcelled out the ground in my imagination into
favourite districts. I made a point of dressing myself as
if for a long walk ; and then putting on my gloves, and
taking my book under my arm, stepped forth, requesting
my wife not to wait dinner if I was too late."

This " bower of roses " became a sort of shrine to
many an ardent Liberal who had recognised the editor as
a practical fighter in the cause he had at heart. Men of
letters came to visit the critic in prison, and were eager
to introduce their friends. Byron, Mocre, Hazlitt,
Cowden Clarke, the Lambs, Mill, Brougham, Bentham,
and above all, Shelley, were among his visitors. Old
school friends " used to knock at his door," and
Haydon, " sending those laughs of his about the place
that sound like the trumpets of Jericho, and threaten to
have the same effect." Many of them came " with
small gifts from large hearts," and to all alike he was
hospitable and gay. He was further occupied by The
Examiner, which he edited throughout his imprisonment
(dotting its pages with naive paragraphs of autobiography),
and by the composition of many poems.



BIOGRAPHY. 39

- It is a great mistake, however, to suppose tliat these
years were altogether pleasant and profitable ; though
his own utterances may excuse the view, they do not
alter the facts. He was in very bad health, and had
been ordered daily rides at Brighton. Though cheered
by friends and books, the sights and sounds of prison
life were extremely trying to his nerves. There is a
passage in the Autobiography which shows how greatly
his spirit was broken. He is speaking of the day of his
release : —

" It was now thought that I should dart out of my
cage like a bird, and feel no end in the delight of
ranging. But, partly from ill-health and partly from
habit, the day of my liberation brought a great deal of
pain with it. An illness of long standing, which re-
quired very different treatment, had by this time been
burnt in upon me by the iron that enters into the soul of
a captive, wrap it in flowers as he may ; and I am
ashamed to say, that after stopping at the house of my
friend Alsager (just opposite the prison gates) I had not
the courage to continue looking at the shoals of people
passing to and fro, as the coach drove up the Strand.
The whole business of life seemed a hideous impertin-
ence. The first pleasant sensation I experienced was
when the coach turned into the New Road, and I beheld
the old hills of my affection standing where they used to
do, and breathing me a welcome."

The effect upon his character, as Mr. Monkhouse has
well pointed out, was also serious : — " Imprisonment
fostered his indolent habits of body, by restricting his



30 LEIGH HUNT.

opportunities of exercise ; it confirmed his habit of self-
absorption and self-indulgence ; it flattered his vanity at
every point ; and it weakened, if possible, the small
responsibility which he felt as to the conduct of his
private concerns."

When Leigh Hunt came out of prison in 1815 his
position was one of considerable influence in many
directions. Among Liberals, political and literary, he
was in some sort a recognised leader ; though his in-
terest in politics had already begun to wane. He
continued to edit The Examiner, keeping its pages open
for the discussion of grievances and the advocacy of
reform ; but he turned more and more to the subjects in
which he was really interested — to the study and produc-
tion of literature. He published poetry with a certain
personal charm, which had an important influence upon
his greater contemporaries ; and was perfecting that
unique prose style which found perhaps its finest expres-
sion in the papers of The Indicator, 1819-20.

Meanwhile The Examiner printed many works of
genius which were too advanced or too unconventional
for the publishers, and its editor was ready with
words of cordial welcome and praise. The association
led usually to personal friendship, and Leigh Hunt
was a very sociable fellow in those days. He had
a little " white and green " study " overlooking the
fields to Westbourne," where he received " the noble
poet," while Lady Byron drove on to " Henderson's
nursery ground," and Wordsworth, with the eyes of
Ezekiel or Isaiah — not so fine as Carlyle's — who " had



BIOGRAPHY. 31

a habit of keeping his left hand in the bosom of his
waistcoat — and was sceptical on the merits of all kinds
of poetry but one." Then there was Charles Lamb,
with " a head worthy of Aristotle," and Coleridge, whose
"forehead was prodigious — a great piece of placid
marble," and a host of others, small and great. Of Keats
he writes, that " it was a pleasure to his friends to have
him in their houses, and he did not grudge it. I could
not love him as deeply as I did Shelley. That was im-
possible. But my affection was only second to the one
which I entertained for that heart of hearts." The
sensitive youth had, unfortunately, been led to doubt the
sincerity of Hunt's friendship, but no suspicion could
have been more unfounded. Hunt, however, was ready
to forgive it, and the beautiful letter, which he wrote to
Severn at Rome, as it proved, a fortnight after the poet's
death, remains a witness to his strong and constant
affection.

"Vai-e of Health, Hampstead,
"IfarchS, 182 1.

"Dear Severn, — You have concluded, of course, that I have
sent no letters to Rome, because I was aware of the effect they
would have on Keats' mind ; and this is the principal cause, for,
besides what I have been told of his emotion about letters in Italy, I
remember his telling me on one occasion that, in his sick moments,
he never wished to receive another letter, or even to see another
face, however friendly. But still I should have written to yoic, had
I not been almost at death's door myself. You will imagine how
ill I have been when you hear that I have but just begun writing
again for The Examiner and Indicator, after an interval of several



32 LEIGH HUNT.

months, during which my flesh wasted from me with sickness and
melancholy. Judge how often I thought of Keats, and with what
feelings. Mr. Brown tells me he is comparatively calm now, or
rather quite so. If he can bear to hear of us, pray tell him ; but he
knows it all already, and can put it in better language than any man.
I hear he does not like to be told that he may get better ; nor is it
to be wondered at, considering his firm persua^-ion tliat he shall not
survive. He can only regard it as a puerile thing, and an insinua-
tion that lie cannot bear to think he shall die. But if this persuasion
should happen no longer to be so strong upon him, or if he can now
put up with such attempts to console him, remind him of what I
have said a thousand times, and what I still (upon my honour,
Severn) think always, that I have seen too many instances of re-
covery from apparently desperate cases of consumption not to in-
dulge in hope to the very last. If he still cannot bear this, tell him
— tell that great poet and noble-hearted man — that we shall all bear
his memory in the most precious part of our hearts, and that the
world shall bow their heads to it, as our loves do. Or if this again
will trouble his spirit, tell him that we shall never cease to remember
and love him ; and that, Christian or infidel, the most sceptical of
us has faith enough in the high things that nature puts into our
heads, to think that all who are of one accord in mind or heart are
journeying to one and the same place, and shall unite somehow or
other again, face to face, mutually conscious, mutually delighted.
Tell him he is only before us on the road, as he was in everything else ;
or, whether you tell him the latter or no, tell him the former, and
add that we shall never forget that he was so, and that we are
coming after him. The tears are again in my eyes, and I must not
afford to shed them. The next letter I write shall be more to your-
self, and a little more refreshing to your spirits, which we are very
sensible must have been greatly taxed. But whether our fiiend dies
or not, it will not be among the least lofty of your recollections by
and by that you helped to smooth the sick-bed of so fine a being.
God bless you, dear Severn.

" Vour sincere friend,

" Leigh Hunt."



BIOGRAPHY. 33

When Leigh Hunt first met Shelley he was "a youth,
not come to his full growth ; very gentlemanly, earnestly
gazing at every object that interested him, and quoting
the Greek dramatists." The friendship did not ripen
immediately, but each became from time to time con-
scious of the other's progress in life, and when Shelley
was thrown into the deepest conflict of passion by
Harriet's suicide, it was to Leigh Hunt that he turned
for consolation. His confidence was amply justified,
and from henceforth it was never withheld. Their
intimacy was of a rare kind, unclouded by misunder-
standing or jealousy, founded on the deepest sympathy
in principles and taste. In all matters between them the
distinctions of meum and tuum were lost sight of, though
it happened that, so far as purely financial relationships
were concerned, the more difficult part of gracefully
receiving benefits fell to Leigh Hunt. As much as
;^i,4oo is said to have passed between them in one year,
and this sum by no means represents the whole of
Hunt's indebtedness. It is alike to the credit of both
that the fact caused no rupture in their intimacy, or in
that of their wives. A glance at the debtor's method of
expressing gratitude may serve in some measure to
explain this anomaly. " My dear Mary," he writes to
Mrs. Shelley in September, 1821, "pray thank Shelley,
or rather do not, for that kind part of his offer relating
to the expenses. I find I have omitted it, but the
instinct that led me to do so is more honourable to him
than thanks. I hope you think so." There can be no
doubt that both the Shelleys we7'e of this opinion.

c



34 LEIGH HUNT.

Hunt always regretted that, for any undertaking in
which they were mutually interested — such as the
support of the young Hunts — Shelley had more means
than he, but a consideration for his friend's feelings
prevented his dwelling upon this misfortune.

The theory, of course, may be easily ridiculed, and it
would be dangerous in ordinary life for ordinary persons,
but for Shelley and Hunt it possessed complete efificacy.
It happens, moreover, that there is abundant evidence
of Hunt's cheerful readiness to apply it— towards Hay-
don, for instance — in cases where the material loss was
his own.

Hunt's devotion to Shelley was deep and passionate ;
he regarded him with a reverence that was almost
idolatrous, and would listen to no depreciation of his
genius or character. Such sentiments, however, were
no bar to absolute freedom of personal intercourse, the
give and take of true comradeship. Hunt could help
his friend in The Examiner, and cordial criticisms in
private were not wanting. Here, for instance, is his
welcome to The Cenci : — " What a noble book, Shelley,
have you given us ! What a true, stately, and yet affec-
tionate mixture of poetry, philosophy, and human nature,
and horror, and all redeeming sweetness of intention, for
there is an undersong of suggestion through it all, that
sings, as it were, after the storm is over, like a brook in
April." Hunt seems never tired of writing about Shelley
and his work, but his longest and most noteworthy
utterances are to be found in the Autobiography and
the eloquent preface to the Masque of Anarchy, 1832.



BIOGRAPHY. 35

Shelley's was indubitably the stronger spirit, and his
feelings towards Hunt, though equally affectionate, are
less absorbing. It is clear, however, that when the
occasion offered, he would speak with no faltering
tongue. The Cenci is dedicated to Leigh Hunt in these
striking words : — " Had I known a person more highly
endowed than yourself with all that it becomes a man to
possess, I had selected for this work the ornament of his
name. One more gentle, honourable, innocent, and
brave ; one of more exalted toleration for all who do
and think evil, and yet himself more free from evil ;
one who knows better how to receive and how to confer
a benefit, though he must ever confer far more than he
can receive ; one of simpler, and, in the highest sense of
the word, of purer life and manners, I never knew, and I
had already been fortunate in friendships when your
name was added to the list."

It was during this period that Hunt published, in Foliage,
those genial epistles to Byron, Thomas Moore, Hazlitt,
who was always quarrelling with him and with everybody,
and Charles Lamb who came " in all weathers, hail or
sunshine, in daylight and in darkness " : —

" You'll guess why I can't see the snow-covered streets
Without thinking of you and your visiting feats,
When you call to remembrance how you and one more,
When I wanted it most, used to knock at my door.
For when the sad winds told us rain would come down,
Or snow upon snow fairly clogged up the town,
And dun yellow fogs brooded over its white,
So that scarcely a being was seen towards night.



36 LEIGH HUNT.

Then, then said the lady y-clept near and dear,

' Now mind what I tell you — the L.'s will be here.'

So I poked up the flame, and she got out the tea,

And down we both sat, as prepared as could be ;

And there, sure as fate, came the knock of you two,

Then the lanthorn, the laugh, and the ' Well, how d'ye do ?' "

He had recently made the acquaintance also of Hogg,
Peacock, Charles Lloyd, and " a pleasant young man of
the name of Procter (Barry Cornwall), who was a little
boy at Harrow when Lord Byron was there." There
were circles, moreover, in which he was already re-
garded as an oracle. Charles Cowden Clarke had
followed the example of his parents, and "fell as pronely
in love with him as any girl in her teens falls in love with
her first-seen Romeo." INIary Clarke had been brought
up in the faith by the Vincent Novellos, among whose
friends were Charles Oilier, H. Robertson, and the
brothers Gattie. From Clarke's delightful Recollec-
tions of Writers we learn that " when, as was frequently
the case, he found himself left master of the field of talk
by his delighted hearers, only too glad to have him
recount, in his felicitous way, one of his good stories, or
utter some of his good things, he would go on in a strain
of sparkle, brilliancy, and freshness like a sunlit
stream in a spring meadow. Melodious in tone, allur-
ing in accent, eloquent in choice of words, Leigh
Hunt's talk was as delicious to listen to as rarest music."

Haydon's more discriminating praise is almost equally
strong: — "Though Leigh Hunt is not deep in know-
ledge, moral, metaphysical, or classical, yet he is intense



BIOGRAPHY. 37

in feeling, and has an intellect for ever on the alert. He
is like one of those instruments on three legs which,
throw it how you will, always pitches on two, and has a
spike striking for ever up, and ever ready for you. He
'sets' at a subject with a scent like a pointer. ... As
a man, I know none with such an affectionate heart, if
never opposed in his opinions. He has defects, of
course ; one of his great defects is getting inferior people
about him to listen, too fond of shining at any expense
in society, and a love of approbation from the darling
sex, bordering upon weakness."

Charles Lamb's testimony — to Southey, is unquali-
fied:— "He is one of the most cordial-minded men I
ever knew, and matchless as a fireside companion."

But there was a dark side to this cheery picture. The
strain of his journalistic responsibilities was telling upon
his strength, and his wife, on whom he had learned to
depend in all practical affairs, became a confirmed
invalid. The Examiner was not flourishing. Under
these circumstances, the ill-fated offer from Byron and
Shelley to join them in publishing a magazine for their
more daring effusions seemed to be peculiarly opportune.-^
Shelley wrote, on behalf of Byron, to offer Hunt the
editorship of tiie new paper, with a half share of the
profits, in which he himself did not care to participate.
Byron, meanwhile, sent him ^200 for the journey,
receiving a bond from Shelley for the amount. The

^ The statement that he undertook to continue editing The Ex-
amiuer while in Italy is quite unreasonable, and contradictory to
all the evidence.



^8 LEIGH HUNT.

sequel is well known. After a peculiarly disastrous
journey, Hunt settled in the ground-floor of Byron's
palace at Pisa, the Casa Lanfranchi, which the latter had
pretended to furnish for him, though again receiving a
bond from Shelley for the amount expended. In after
years, Hunt could hardly bear to speak of the first happy
days with his friend : — " In a day or two Shelley took
leave of us to return to Lerici for the rest of the season,
meaning, however, to see us more than once in the
interval. I spent one delightful afternoon with him,
wandering about Pisa, and visiting the cathedral. On
the night of the same day, he took a post-chaise for Leg-
horn, intending next morning to depart with his friend.
Captain Williams, for Lerici. I entreated him, if the
weather were violent, not to give way to his daring spirit
and venture to sea. He promised me he would not, and
it seems that he did set off later than he otherwise would
have done, apparently at a more favourable moment. I
never beheld him more."

That night there was a tremendous storm of thunder
and lightning. A few days later Trelawny came to Pisa
with the news that Shelley was missing, and, after a dread-
ful interval of more than a week, the body was washed
up near the town of Via Reggia, with a copy of Keats'
Lamia in the jacket pocket.



"The remains of Shelley and Mr. Williams were burnt after the
good ancient fashion, and gathered into coffers. Those of Mr.
Williams were subsequently taken to England. Shelley's were in-
terred at Rome, in the Protestant burial-ground, the place which



BIOGRAPHY. 39

he had so touchingly described in recording its reception of Keats.
The ceremony of the burning was ahke beautiful and distressing.
Trelavvny, who had been the chief person concerned in ascertaining
the fate of his friends, completed his kindness by taking the most
active part on this last mournful occasion. He and his friend,
Captain Shenley, were first upon the ground, attended by proper
assistants. Lord Byron and myself arrived shortly afterwards. His
lordship got out of his carriage, but wandered away from the spectacle,
and did not see it. I remained inside the carriage, now looking on,
now drawing back, with feelings that were not to be witnessed.

" None of the mourners, however, refused themselves the little
comfort of supposing that lovers of books and antiquity, like
Shelley and his companion — Shelley in particular, with his Greek
enthusiasm — would not have been sorry to foresee this part of their
fate. The mortal part of him, too, was saved from corruption ; not
the least extraordinary part of his history. Among the materials
for burning, as many of the gracefuller and more classical articles as
could be procured — frankincense, wine, etc. — were not forgotten ;
and to these Keats' volume was added. The beauty of the flame
arising from the funeral pile was extraordinary. The weather was
beautifully fine. The Mediterranean, now soft and lucid, kissed the
shore as if to make peace with it. The yellow sand and blue sky
were intensely contrasted with one another ; marble mountains
touched the air with coolness ; and the flame of the fire bore away
towards heaven in vigorous amplitude, waving and quivering with a
brightness of inconceivable beauty. It seemed as though it con-
tained the glossy essence of vitality. You might have expected a
seraphic countenance to look out of it, turning once more before it
departed, to thank the friends that had done their duty.

" Yet, see how extremes can appear to meet, even on occasions
the most overwhelming ; nay, even by reason of them ; for as cold
can perform the effect of fire and burn us, so can despair put on the
monstrous aspect of mirth. On returning from one of our visits to
this sea-shore we dined and drank — I mean Lord Byron and my-
self — dined little and drank too much. Lord Byron had not shone
that day, even in his cups, which usually brought out his best



4° LEIGH HUNT.

qualities. As to myself, I had bordered upon emotions which I
have never suffered myself to indulge, and which, foolishly as well
as impatiently, render calamity, as somebody termed it, 'an affront
and not a misfortune.' The barouche drove rapidly through the
forest of Pisa. We sang, we laughed, we shouted. I even felt a
gaiety the more shocking, because it was real and a relief. What
the coachman thought of us, God knows; but he helped to make
up a ghastly trio. He was a good-tempered fellow and an affection-
ate husband and father ; yet he had the reputation of having offered
his master to kill a man. I wish to have no such waking dream
again. It was worthy of a German ballad."

Hunt, in fact, was thoroughly unhinged, and Byron's
behaviour was ill-calculated to heal the wound. In
business relations, moreover, he was positively deceitful.
He had got tired of his own scheme, and was frightened
by the warnings of aristocratic friends in England against
having any dealings with the Radical journalist. He
told Hunt that his friends had been "at him," but dis-
tinctly implied that he was ?io< influenced by their advice,
and pretended to maintain his interest in the affair,
while persistently putting obstacles in the way of its
execution.

He wrote to his friends, meanwhile, that Hunt was an
honest fellow, and, though ^' The Liberal won't do, he
cannot desert him aftei' leing jJressed to engage in it."

Hunt, thus hindered in the work for which he had
been invited, without being freed from its responsibilities,
was compelled hy Byron to accept the latter's aid, doled
out to him through the degrading medium of a steward.
The two men were essentially incompatible, and found
great difficulty in living together. They had no apprecia-



BIOGRAPHY. 41

tion of each other's merits, and no tolerance for each
other's faults. To Byron, Hunt was a cockney and a vul-
gar coxcomb, at one time insufferably familiar, at another
affectedly formal. Hunt could only recognise the proper
natural Byron " when he had got wine in his head,"
a fact which he records as " a credit to his noble acquaint-
ance." With the ladies of the party it was even worse.
They refused to meet, and Mrs. Hunt, at least, had little
toleration for Byron, drunk or sober. " Trelawny, here,"
said the poet one day, " has been speaking against my
morals." "It is the first time I ever heard of them," she
replied.

Moreover, as he admits himself, Hunt had not a
proper admiration of Byron's genius, an indignity which
his lordship returned with interest. It was not many
years since he had vvritten to Moore of Hunt's
Foliage : —

" He sent out his FoHaye by Percy Shelley . . . and, of all the
ineffable centaurs that were ever begotten by self-love upon a night-
mare, I think this monstrous sagittary the most prodigious. He is
an honest charlatan, wlio has persuaded himself into a belief of his
own impostures, and talks Punch in pure simplicity of heart, taking
himself (as poor Fitzgerald said of hiinse/f in The Morninrj Post)
for vates in both senses, or nonsenses, of the word. Did you look
at the translations of his own which he prefers to Pope and Cowper,