Vol. II.--53.
[Illustration: ~George Bloomfield.~]
This portrait of the elder brother of Robert Bloomfield, “the Farmer’s
Boy,” is here presented from a likeness recently drawn in water colours
from the life, and communicated to the _Table Book_ for the purpose of
the present engraving.
The late Mr. Capel Llofft, in a preface to Robert Bloomfield’s “Farmer’s
Boy,” relates Robert’s history, from a narrative drawn up by George
Bloomfield. It appears from thence, that their father died when Robert
was an infant under a year old; that their mother had another family by
John Glover, a second husband; and that Robert, at eleven years old, was
taken by a kind farmer into his house, and employed in husbandry work.
Robert was so small of his age, that his master said he was not likely
to get his living by hard labour; his brother George informed his
mother, if she would let him have Robert, he would take him and teach
him his own trade, shoemaking; another brother, Nathaniel, offered to
clothe him; and the mother and Robert, who was then fifteen years old,
took coach, and came to London to George Bloomfield. “I have him in my
mind’s eye,” says George; “a little boy; not bigger than boys generally
are at twelve years old. When I met him and his mother at the inn, (in
Bishopsgate-street,) he strutted before us, dressed just as he came from
keeping sheep, hogs, &c.--his shoes filled full of stumps in the heels.
He, looking about him, slipt up--his nails were unused to a flat
pavement. I remember viewing him as he scampered up--how small he
was--little thought that little fatherless boy would be one day known
and esteemed by the most learned, the most respected, the wisest, and
the best men of the kingdom.” Robert developed his talents under the
fostering of George, to whose protection he was left by their mother.
“She charged me,” says George, “as I valued a mother’s blessing, to
watch over him, to set good examples for him, and never to forget that
he had lost his father.” Her injunctions were strictly observed till
Robert was eighteen, when George, having housed him, and taught him his
trade, quitted London, and left Robert to pursue shoemaking and playing
on the violin. “Robert told me in a letter,” says George, “‘that he had
sold his fiddle, and got a wife.’ Like most poor men, he got a wife
first, and had to get household stuff afterward. It took him some years
to get out of ready furnished lodgings. At length, by hard working, &c.
he acquired a bed of his own, and hired the room up one pair of stairs,
at No. 14, Bell-alley, Coleman-street. The landlord kindly gave him
leave to sit and work in the light garret, two pair of stairs higher. In
this garret, amid six or seven other workmen, his active mind employed
itself in composing the _Farmer’s Boy_.” George, with filial piety and
fondness, tells of his mother’s pains to imbue Robert’s mind in infancy
with just principles. “As his reason expanded,” continues George, “his
love of God and man increased with it. I never knew his fellow for
mildness of temper and goodness of disposition; and since I left him,
universally is he praised by those who know him best, for the best of
husbands, an indulgent father, and quiet neighbour.”
The progress and melancholy termination of Robert Bloomfield’s life are
familiar to most readers of sensibility: they may not know, perhaps,
that his brother George has long struggled with poverty, and is now an
aged man, overwhelmed by indigence.
Two letters, written to a friend by a gentleman of Thetford, Mr. Faux,
and some manuscripts accompanying them in George Bloomfield’s
hand-writing, are now before me. They contain a few particulars
respecting George Bloomfield and his present situation, which are here
made known, with the hope of interesting the public in the behalf of a
greatly distressed and very worthy man. The following extract from one
of Mr. Faux’s letters introduces George Bloomfield’s circumstances, and
conveys an idea of his character: it will be seen that he, too, is a
versifier.
“_Thetford, Oct. 15, 1827._
“I have found the letter you allude to, regarding his _application to
the overseers_ of St. Peter’s. I was rather inclined to send you a
bundle of his letters and poetry, but I hardly think it fair without
first consulting poor old George, and obtaining his permission. The
letter enclosed, in answer to my invitation to him to be present on the
day the duke of Grafton laid the first stone of the Pump-room, will show
you what a _shy_ bird he is. His presence on that occasion would have
been highly beneficial to him; but his extreme modesty has been a
drawback upon him through life, leaving him generally with a coat
‘scarcely visible.’ I believe he has been always poor, and yet a more
temperate man never lived.”----
The following is the note above referred to.
_From_ GEORGE BLOOMFIELD _to_ MR. FAUX.
“_Wednesday_, 3 o’clock.
“I was just folding the papers to take them to Stone, when the Master
Fauxes came in, with great good nature in their countenances, and
delivered their father’s very kind invitation. I feel truly grateful for
the kindness: but when I can, without offence, avoid being seen, I have,
through life, consulted my sheepish feelings. I have been accused of
‘making myself scarce,’ and been always considered an ‘unsocial’ fellow:
it is a task to me to go into a situation where I am likely to attract
attention, and the observation of men. In childhood I read of an
invisible coat--I have sometimes worn a coat _scarcely visible_; but I
want a coat that would render me _invisible_. I hope to be excused
without giving offence, as I should be very ill at ease.
“Mr. Faux would have been presented with the enclosed papers a fortnight
back, but I waited a favourable opportunity. This week I had but little
work to do.--Lo, lo! here they are.”
A poem by George Bloomfield, called “The Spa,” which, being of local
interest, has scarcely passed beyond provincial circles, induced the
following public testimonial to his talents and virtues.
LINES ADDRESSED TO GEORGE BLOOMFIELD, BY THE REV. MR. PLUMTREE, LATE
FELLOW OF CLARE HALL, CAMBRIDGE.
Hail, aged minstrel! well thine harp thou’st strong,
Tuneful and pleasingly of Thetford sung;
Her abbey nunnery, and her mounds of war,
Her late discovered, healing, blessed, Spa;
And with a skilful hand, and master’s art,
Hast poured the tribute of a grateful heart.
Thy talent must not sleep. Resume thy lyre,
And bid it in some deeper notes respire.
Thy great Creator and thy Saviour claim
The emanations of a poet’s flame.
Poets and prophets once were names entwin’d:
Ah, why was virtue e’er from verse disjoin’d?
Ah, why have Christians lent a willing ear
To strains ’twas sin to sing, ’twas sin to hear?
Will Christians listen to a Byron’s lay?
To Bloomfield, rather, admiration pay.
His simple verse, with piety enjoin’d,
More grateful steal on my attentive mind;
And if it thrills with less tumultuous joy,
It is a pleasure free from all alloy.
Then, aged minstrel, strike thy lyre again,
And o’er the land be heard thy pleasing strain.
And, oh! may Britain’s sons thy lay regard,
And give the aged minstrel his reward:
Not the cheap recompense of empty praise,
Nor e’en the crown of never-fading bays;
But such as may effectually assuage
The wants and cares of thy declining age;
And the last lay that shall thy lyre employ,
Accompany a “heart” that sings for joy.
The hand of the “aged minstrel” is now too weak to strike the lyre; nor
will his voice again be heard. Mr. James Burrell Faux, of Thetford,
Norfolk, is anxious for immediate assistance in George Bloomfield’s
behalf; and to that gentleman communications and contributions should be
addressed. All that the _Table Book_ can do, is thus to make known the
_necessity_ of the case, and to entreat pecuniary relief from those who
have hearts to feel, and ability to give.
* * * * *
~Garrick Plays.~
No. XLVI.