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Updated: May 24, 2025
Thus fools, when they are young enough, rush in where wise men fear to tread! I had entirely forgotten, but find from my diary that it was our pleasant friend but indifferent preacher, Dr. Dibdin, who on the 11th of February, 1839, married my sister, Cecilia, to Mr., now Sir John, Tilley.
But though material conditions have changed, the moral forces are the same as ever, and courage, daring, skill, and endurance are the same in ships of oak or of iron: These are words from one of the "Songs for Sailors," by W.C. Bennett, who has written better naval poems for popular use than any one since the days of Dibdin. The same idea concludes a rattling ballad on old Admiral Benbow:
Landsmen might volunteer by scores through the influence of such stirring, patriotic ditties; but seamen, who 'knew the ropes, would never be induced to ship through their agency. Dibdin does ample justice to the bravery, the generosity, the good-humour, the kind-heartedness of sailors; and, as a class, they deserve his encomiums.
He hoped, with his curious insistance on the point, that there were 'some few copies on large paper. It is a mark of the changes in book-collecting that Dibdin praised the index as excellent, 'enabling us to discover any work of which we may be in want'; but it is now regarded as remarkable for its poverty, and especially for the extraordinary carelessness that left eight noble specimens from Grolier's library without the slightest mark of distinction.
Dibdin comes pretty near going into rhetorical hysterics in reporting a conversation of Coleridge's to which he listened: "The auditors seemed to be wrapt in wonder and delight, as one observation more profound, or clothed in more forcible language, than another fell from his tongue.... As I retired homeward I thought a SECOND JOHNSON had visited the earth to make wise the sons of men."
Poor Joe was buried in the burying-ground of St. James' Chapel, on Pentonville Hill, and in a grave next to his friend, Charles Dibdin. May the earth lie lightly over him!
In Wyndham Place is the Church of St. Mary's, Bryanston Square, in the style of Grecian architecture so much affected in this parish. The architect was R. Smirke. Dibdin, the bibliographer, was the first incumbent of this church, and the poetess L. E. Landon was married here June 7, 1838. Bryanston and Montagu Squares are almost duplicates.
When Dibdin protested against the publication of this record, he described it a great deal too attractively when he called it "the concoction of one in his gayer and unsuspecting moments the repository of private confidential communications a mere memorandum-book of what had passed at convivial meetings, and in which 'winged words' and flying notes of merry gentlemen and friends were obviously incorporated."
But then, Nigel, poetry in your mother is poetry, an' she can do it, lad screeds of it equal to anything that Dibdin, or, or, that other fellow, you know, I forget his name ever put pen to why, your mother is herself a poem! neatly made up, rounded off at the corners, French-polished and all shipshape.
You cannot make any use of cars, I will suppose; you have no occasion to talk about scars; "the red planet Mars" has been used already; Dibdin has said enough about the gallant tars; what is there left for you but bars? So you give up your trains of thought, capitulate to necessity, and manage to lug in some kind of allusion, in place or out of place, which will allow you to make use of bars.
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