ROSCOMMON
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entworth Dillon, earl of Roscommon, was the son of James Dillon andElizabeth Wentworth, sister to the earl of Strafford. He was born inIreland[70], during the lieutenancy of Strafford, who, being both hisuncle and his godfather, gave him his own surname. His father, thethird earl of Roscommon, had been converted by Usher to the protestantreligion[71]; and when the popish rebellion broke out, Strafford,thinking the family in great danger from the fury of the Irish, sent forhis godson, and placed him at his own seat in Yorkshire, where he wasinstructed in Latin; which he learned so as to write it with purity andelegance, though he was never able to retain the rules of grammar. Such is the account given by Mr. Fenton, from whose notes on Waller mostof this account must be borrowed, though I know not whether all that herelates is certain. The instructer whom he assigns to Roscommon is oneDr. Hall, by whom he cannot mean the famous Hall, then an old man and abishop. When the storm broke out upon Strafford, his house was a shelter nolonger; and Dillon, by the advice of Usher, was sent to Caen, where theprotestants had then an university, and continued his studies underBochart. Young Dillon, who was sent to study under Bochart, and who is representedas having already made great proficiency in literature, could not be morethan nine years old. Strafford went to govern Ireland in 1633, andwas put to death eight years afterwards. That he was sent to Caen, iscertain: that he was a great scholar, may be doubted. At Caen he is saidto have had some preternatural intelligence of his father's death. "The lord Roscommon, being a boy of ten years of age, at Caen inNormandy, one day was, as it were, madly extravagant in playing, leaping,getting over the tables, boards, &c. He was wont to be sober enough;they said, God grant this bodes no ill luck to him! In the heat of thisextravagant fit, he cries out, 'My father is dead.' A fortnight after,news came from Ireland that his father was dead. This account I had fromMr. Knolles, who was his governour, and then with him,--since secretaryto the earl of Strafford; and I have heard his lordship's relationsconfirm the same." Aubrey's Miscellany. The present age is very little inclined to favour any accounts of thiskind, nor will the name of Aubrey much recommend it to credit: it oughtnot, however, to be omitted, because better evidence of a fact cannoteasily be found, than is here offered; and it must be by preserving suchrelations that we may, at last, judge how much they are to be regarded.If we stay to examine this account, we shall see difficulties on bothsides: here is the relation of a fact given by a man who had no interestto deceive, and who could not be deceived himself; and here is, on theother hand, a miracle which produces no effect; the order of nature isinterrupted to discover not a future, but only a distant event, theknowledge of which is of no use to him to whom it is revealed. Betweenthese difficulties, what way shall be found? Is reason or testimony to berejected? I believe, what Osborne says of an appearance of sanctity maybe applied to such impulses or anticipations as this: "Do not whollyslight them, because they may be true; but do not easily trust them,because they may be false." The state both of England and Ireland was, at this time, such, that hewho was absent from either country had very little temptation to return;and, therefore, Roscommon, when he left Caen, travelled into Italy, andamused himself with its antiquities, and, particularly, with medals, inwhich he acquired uncommon skill. At the restoration, with the otherfriends of monarchy, he came to England, was made captain of the band ofpensioners, and learned so much of the dissoluteness of the court, thathe addicted himself immoderately to gaming, by which he was engaged infrequent quarrels, and which, undoubtedly, brought upon him its usualconcomitants, extravagance and distress. After some time, a dispute about part of his estate forced him intoIreland, where he was made, by the duke of Ormond, captain of the guards,and met with an adventure thus related by Fenton: "He was at Dublin, as much as ever, distempered with the same fatalaffection for play, which engaged him in one adventure, that welldeserves to be related. As he returned to his lodgings from agaming-table, he was attacked, in the dark, by three ruffians, who wereemployed to assassinate him. The earl defended himself with so muchresolution, that he despatched one of the aggressors; whilst a gentleman,accidentally passing that way, interposed, and disarmed another; thethird secured himself by flight. This generous assistant was a disbandedofficer, of a good family and fair reputation; who, by what we call thepartiality of fortune, to avoid censuring the iniquities of the times,wanted even a plain suit of clothes to make a decent appearance at thecastle. But his lordship, on this occasion, presenting him to the duke ofOrmond, with great importunity prevailed with his grace, that he mightresign his post of captain of the guards to his friend; which, forabout three years, the gentleman enjoyed, and, upon his death, the dukereturned the commission to his generous benefactor." When he had finished his business, he returned to London; was made masterof the horse to the dutchess of York; and married the lady Frances,daughter of the earl of Burlington, and widow of colonel Courteney[72]. He now busied his mind with literary projects, and formed the plan of asociety for refining our language and fixing its standard;"in imitation," says Fenton, "of those learned and polite societies withwhich he had been acquainted abroad." In this design his friend Dryden issaid to have assisted him. The same design, it is well known, was revived by Dr. Swift, in theministry of Oxford; but it has never since been publickly mentioned,though, at that time, great expectations were formed, by some, of itsestablishment and its effects. Such a society might, perhaps, withoutmuch difficulty, be collected; but that it would produce what is expectedfrom it, may be doubted. The Italian academy seems to have obtained its end. The language wasrefined, and so fixed that it has changed but little. The French academythought they had refined their language, and, doubtless, thought rightly;but the event has not shown that they fixed it; for the French of thepresent time is very different from that of the last century. In this country an academy could be expected to do but little. If anacademician's place were profitable, it would be given by interest; ifattendance were gratuitous, it would be rarely paid, and no man wouldendure the least disgust. Unanimity is impossible, and debate wouldseparate the assembly. But suppose the philological decree made and promulgated, what would beits authority? In absolute governments, there is, sometimes, a generalreverence paid to all that has the sanction of power, and the countenanceof greatness. How little this is the state of our country needs not to betold. We live in an age in which it is a kind of publick sport to refuseall respect that cannot be enforced. The edicts of an English academywould, probably, be read by many, only that they might be sure to disobeythem. That our language is in perpetual danger of corruption cannot be denied;but what prevention can be found? The present manners of the nation wouldderide authority; and, therefore, nothing is left but that every writershould criticise himself. All hopes of new literary institutions werequickly suppressed by the contentious turbulence of king James's reign;and Roscommon, foreseeing that some violent concussion of the state wasat hand, purposed to retire to Rome, alleging, that "it was best to sitnear the chimney when the chamber smoked;" a sentence, of which theapplication seems not very clear. His departure was delayed by the gout; and he was so impatient either ofhinderance or of pain, that he submitted himself to a French empirick,who is said to have repelled the disease into his bowels. At the moment in which he expired, he uttered, with an energy of voice,that expressed the most fervent devotion, two lines of his own version ofDies Irae: My God, my father, and my friend,Do not forsake me in my end. He died in 1684; and was buried, with great pomp, in Westminster Abbey.
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