File:Benjamin Robert Haydon - correspondence and table-talk; with a memoir by his son Frederic Wordsworth Haydon (1876) (14760162531).jpg

Identifier: benjaminroberth01hayd (find matches)
Title: Benjamin Robert Haydon : correspondence and table-talk ; with a memoir by his son Frederic Wordsworth Haydon
Year: 1876 (1870s)
Authors: Haydon, Benjamin Robert, 1786-1846 Haydon, Frederic Wordsworth, 1827-1886
Subjects: Haydon, Benjamin Robert, 1786-1846
Publisher: London : Chatto and Windus
Contributing Library: Robarts - University of Toronto
Digitizing Sponsor: University of Toronto

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erable stories. Wordsworth added to the stock by one (ofHazlitts evening amusements at the lakes,) which combinedsuch an union of the fiendish, the ludicrous, and the sublimeas not to be surpassed by any story ever told of Hazlitt. OfColeridge, I have heard him say that he did not always talk,but would sometimes sit silent, apparently taking no notice ofthe conversation, when suddenly, like the locutus bos ofLivy, he would come out with something so prodigiously wiseeverybody became silent, and then he would pour forth for anhour, as the humour took him. The story of Lamb, on hisway to the India House, leaving Coleridge at 10 a.m. in adoorway talking with his eyes shut, and coming back at 4 p.m.to find Coleridge still there with his eyes shut, talking away,as he thought, to Lamb; I have heard my father declare, thoughonly on Lambs authority, to be strictly true; but then Lambdelighted in such fictions about his friends. Byron he nevermet. They were to have met, but something prevented
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Mmria, FootB, B. R. HA YDON. 111 Byron from coming, and the opportunity never occurred again ;Haydon regretted it all his life. Shelley he met occasionally.His account of their first meeting, in 1816, is characteristic;it was at a dinner—one of the last he went to at LeighHunts. Haydon arrived late and took his place at the table.Opposite to him sat a hectic, spare, intellectual-looking crea-ture, carving a bit of brocoli on his plate as if it were thesubstantial wing of a chicken. This was Shelley. Suddenly,in the most feminine and gentle voice, Shelley said, As tothat detestable religion, the Christian— Haydon looked up.But says he in his diary, On casting a glance round the table,I easily saw by Leigh Hunts expression of ecstasy and thesimper of the women, I was to be set at that evening * vi etarmis. I felt exactly like a stag at bay, and I resolved togore without mercy. The result was a heated and passionateargument, and the resolution on tlie part of Haydon to subjecthimself

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