John Forster | Page 4

a long
and profound criticism of many pages, which I believe was one of his
own old essays used again, fitted into the book. The hero is treated as
though he were some important historical personage. Everyone knew
Landor's story; his shocking violences and lack of restraint; his
malignity where he disliked. His life was full of painful episodes, but
Forster, like Podsnap, would see none of these things. He waved them
away with his "monstrous!" "intolerable!" and put them out of
existence.
According to him, not a word of the scandals was true. Landor was a
noble-hearted man; misjudged, and carried away by his feelings. The
pity of it was he could have made of it a most lasting, entertaining book
had he brought to it the pleasantly light touch he was later to bring to
his account of Dickens. But he took it all too solemnly. Landor's life
was full of grotesque scenes, and Forster might have alleviated the
harsh views taken of his friend by dealing with him as an impetuous,
irresponsible being, amusing even in his delinquencies. Boz gave a far
juster view of him in Boythorn. In almost the year of his death Forster
began another tremendous work, The Life of Swift, for which he had
been preparing and collecting for many years. No one was so fitted by
profound knowledge of the period. He had much valuable MS. material,
but the first volume, all he lived to finish, was leaden enough. Of
course he was writing with disease weighing him down, with nights
that were sleepless and spent in general misery. But even with all
allowance it was a dull and conventional thing.
It has been often noted how a mere trifle will, in an extraordinary way,
determine or change the whole course of a life. I can illustrate this by
my own case. I was plodding on contentedly at the Bar without getting
"no forrarder," with slender meagre prospects, but with a hankering

after "writing," when I came to read this Life of Goldsmith that I have
just been describing, which filled me with admiration. The author was
at the moment gathering materials for his Life of Swift, when it
occurred to me that I might be useful to him in getting up all the local
Swiftian relics, traditions, etc. I set to work, obtained them, made the
sketches, and sent them to him in a batch. He was supremely grateful,
and never forgot the volunteered trifling service. To it I owe a host of
literary friends and acquaintance with the "great guns," Dickens,
Carlyle, and the rest; and when I ventured to try my prentice pen, it was
Forster who took personal charge of the venture. It was long
remembered at the Household Words office how he stalked in one
morning, stick in hand, and, flinging down the paper, called out, "Now,
mind, no nonsense about it, no humbug, no returning it with a polite
circular, and all that; see that it is read and duly considered." That was
the turning-point. To that blunt declaration I owe some forty years of
enjoyment and employment--for there is no enjoyment like that of
writing--to say nothing of money in abundance.
He once paid a visit to Dublin, when we had many an agreeable
expedition to Swift's haunts, which, from the incuriousness of the place
at the time, were still existing. We went to Hoey's Court in "The
Liberties," a squalid alley with a few ruined houses, among which was
the one in which Swift was born. Thence to St. Patrick's, to Marsh's
Library, not then rebuilt, where he turned over with infinite interest
Swift's well-noted folios. Then on to Trinity College, where there was
much that was curious; to Swift's Hospital, where, from his office in the
Lunacy Commission, he was quite at home. He at once
characteristically assumed the air of command, introducing himself
with grave dignity to the authorities, by-and-bye pointing out matters
which might be amended, among others the bareness of the walls,
which were without pictures. In the grounds he received all the
confidences of the unhappy patients and their complaints (one young
fellow bitterly appealing to him on the hardship of not being allowed to
smoke, while he had a pipe in his mouth at the time). He would pat
others on the back and encourage them in quite a professional manner.
Of all these Swift localities I had made little vignette drawings in
"wash," which greatly pleased him and were to have been engraved in

the book. They are now duly registered and to be seen in the collection
at South Kensington. Poor dear Forster! How happy he was on that
"shoemaker's holiday" of his, driving on outside cars (with infinite
difficulty holding on), walking the streets, seeing old friends,