HAVING, from the time that I was a school-boy, been displeased with most
of the figures in children’s books, and particularly with those of the
“Three Hundred Animals,” the figures in which, even at that time, I
thought I could depicture much better; and having afterwards very often
turned the matter over in my mind, of making improvements in that
publication—I at last came to the determination of making the attempt.
The extreme interest I had always felt in the hope of administering to
the pleasure and amusement of youth, and judging from the feelings I had
experienced myself that they would be affected in the same way as I had
been, whetted me up and stimulated me to proceed. In this, my only
reward besides was the great pleasure I felt in imitating nature. That I
should ever do anything to attract the notice of the world, in the
manner that has been done, was the farthest thing in my thoughts, and so
far as I was concerned myself at that time, I minded little about any
self-interested considerations. These intentions I communicated to my
partner; and, though he did not doubt of my being able to succeed, yet,
being a cautious and thinking man, he wished to be more satisfied as to
the probability of such a publication paying for the labour. On this
occasion, being little acquainted with the nature of such undertakings,
we consulted Mr. Solomon Hodgson, bookseller and editor of the
“Newcastle Chronicle,” as to the probability of its success, &c., when
he warmly encouraged us to proceed.
Such animals as I knew, I drew from memory on the wood; others which I
did not know were copied from “Dr. Smellie’s Abridgement of Buffon,” and
other naturalists, and also from the animals which were from time to
time exhibited in itinerant collections. Of these last, I made sketches
first from memory, and then corrected and finished the drawings upon the
wood from a second examination of the different animals. I began this
business of cutting the blocks with the figure of the dromedary, on the
15th November, 1785, the day on which my father died. I then proceeded
in copying such figures as above named as I did not hope to see alive.
While I was busied in drawing and cutting the figures of animals, and
also in designing and engraving the vignettes, Mr. Beilby, being of a
bookish or reading turn, proposed, in his evenings at home, to write or
compile the descriptions. With this I had little more to do than
furnishing him, in many conversations and by written memoranda, with
what I knew of animals, and blotting out, in his manuscript, what was
not truth. In this way we proceeded till the book was published in 1790.
The greater part of these wood cuts were drawn and engraved at night,
after the day’s work of the shop was over. In these evenings, I
frequently had the company of my friend the Rev. Richard Oliphant,[25]
who took great pleasure in seeing me work, and who occasionally read to
me the sermons he had composed for the next Sunday. I was also often
attended, from a similar curiosity, by my friend, the Rev. Thomas
Hornby,[26] lecturer at St. John’s Church. He would not, like my friend
Oliphant, adjourn to a public house, and join in a tankard of ale, but
he had it sent for to my workplace. We frequently disagreed in our
opinions as to religious matters, he being, as I thought, an intolerant,
high churchman; but, notwithstanding this, he was a warm well-wisher and
kind friend, and was besides of so charitable a disposition that his
purse was ever open to relieve distress, and he would occasionally
commission me to dispose of a guinea anonymously to persons in want.
Footnote 25:
Afterwards curate of Longhorsley.
Footnote 26:
The Rev. Thomas Hornby, son of Alderman Hornby, died in the prime of
life, on the 28th August, 1798, and was buried at Gosforth.
As soon as the “History of Quadrupeds” appeared, I was surprised to find
how rapidly it sold. Several other editions quickly followed, and a glut
of praises was bestowed upon the book. These praises however, excited
envy, and were visibly followed by the balance of an opposite feeling
from many people at home; for they raked together, and blew up, the
embers of envy into a transient blaze; but the motives by which I was
actuated stood out of the reach of its sparks, and they returned into
the heap whence they came, and fell into dust. I was much more afraid to
meet the praises which were gathering around than I was of the sneers
which they excited; and a piece of poetry appearing in the newspaper, I
was obliged, for some time, to shun “Swarley’s Club,” of which the
writer, George Byles,[27] was a member, to avoid the warm and sincere
compliments that awaited me there.
Footnote 27:
George Byles came from one of the southern counties, and commenced as
a teacher in Newcastle. He was gentlemanly in his manners and
conversation, and of a most lively and animated cast of character.
I had long made up my mind not to marry whilst my father and mother
lived, in order that my undivided attention might be bestowed upon them.
My mother had, indeed, recommended a young person in the neighbourhood
to me as a wife. She did not know the young lady intimately, but she
knew she was modest in her deportment, handsome in her person, and had a
good fortune; and, in compliance with this recommendation, I got
acquainted with her, but was careful not to proceed further, and soon
discovered that, though her character was innocence itself, she was
mentally one of the weakest of her sex. The smirking lasses of Tyneside
had long thrown out their jibes against me, as being a woman-hater, but
in this they were greatly mistaken. I had, certainly, been very guarded
in my conduct towards them, as I held it extremely wrong and cruel to
sport with the feelings of any one. In this, which was one of my
resolves, sincerity and truth were my guides. As I ever considered a
matrimonial connection as a business of the utmost importance, and which
was to last till death made the separation, while looking about for a
partner for life, my anxious attention was directed to the subject. I
had long considered it to be the duty of every man, on changing his
life, to get a healthy woman for his wife, for the sake of his children,
and a sensible one, as a companion, for his own happiness and
comfort,—that love is the natural guide in this business, and much
misery is its attendant when that is wanting. This being the fixed state
of my mind, I permitted no mercenary considerations to interfere.
Impressed with these sentiments, I had long, my dear Jane, looked upon
your mother as a suitable helpmate for me. I had seen her in prosperity
and in adversity; and in the latter state she appeared to me to the
greatest advantage. In this she soared above her sex, and my
determination was fixed. In due time we were married, and from that day
to this no cloud, as far as concerned ourselves, has passed over us, to
obscure a life-time of uninterrupted happiness.
MY DEAR ISABELLA DIED,
AFTER A LONG AND PAINFUL ILLNESS,
ON THE 1ST OF FEBRUARY, 1826,
AGED 72;
THE BEST OF WIVES AND VERY BEST
OF MOTHERS.
During the time I was busied with the figures of the “History of
Quadrupeds,” many jobs interfered to cause delay; one of which was the
wood cut of the Chillingham wild bull, for the late Marmaduke Tunstal,
Esq., of Wycliffe. This very worthy gentleman and good naturalist
honoured me with his approbation of what I had done, and was one of our
correspondents. He, or my friend George Allan, Esq., employed me to
undertake the job; and, on Easter Sunday, 1789, I set off, accompanied
by an acquaintance, on foot to Chillingham on this business. After
tarrying a little with friends at Morpeth and Alnwick, we took Huln
Abbey on our way across the country to the place of our destination.
Besides seeing the various kinds of pheasants, &c., at the last-named
place, little occurred to attract attention, except our being
surrounded, or beset, in passing over a moor, by burning heather, and
afterwards passing over the surface of immense old winter wreaths of
frozen snow. Arrived at Chillingham, we took up our abode with my kind
old friend John Bailey, and spent a cheerful evening with him after our
fatigue. Next day, Mr. B. accompanied me to the park, for the purpose of
seeing the wild cattle. This, however, did not answer my purpose; for I
could make no drawing of the bull, while he, along with the rest of the
herd, was wheeling about, and then fronting us, in the manner described
in the “History of Quadrupeds.” I was therefore obliged to endeavour to
see one which had been conquered by his rival, and driven to seek
shelter alone, in the quarryholes or in the woods; and, in order to get
a good look at one of this description, I was under the necessity of
creeping on my hands and knees, to leeward, and out of his sight; and I
thus got my sketch or memorandum, from which I made my drawing on the
wood. I was sorry my figure was made from one before he was furnished
with his curled or shaggy neck and mane.
On our return home, my companion and I took up our abode for two days
and nights, at Eslington, in the apartments of our kind and hearty
friend, John Bell, then steward to Sir Harry Liddell, Bart., and
afterwards a merchant at Alnmouth. Having made a drawing from the large
Newfoundland dog kept there, and rambled about visiting some of Mr.
Bell’s friends, we then bent our way homewards, highly gratified with
the journey, crowned as it was with hospitality and kindness which could
not be surpassed.
In the year 1790, I was employed much in the same way as I had been in
other years about that period; but this was besides marked by an event
which enwarped and dwelt on my mind. No doubt all thinking men in their
passage through life must have experienced feelings of a similar kind.
My old and revered preceptor, the Rev. Christopher Gregson, died this
year. No sooner did the news of his extreme illness reach me, than I set
off, in my usual way, and with all speed, to Ovingham. I instantly
rushed into his room, and there I found his niece in close attendance
upon him. With her, being intimately acquainted, I used no ceremony, but
pulled the curtain aside, and then beheld my friend, in his last
moments. He gave me his last look, but could not speak. Multitudinous
reflections of things that were passed away, hurried on my mind, and
these overpowered me. I knew not what to say, except “Farewell for ever,
farewell!” Few men have passed away on Tyneside so much respected as Mr.
Gregson. When he was appointed to the curacy of Ovingham, I understand
his income was not more than thirty pounds per annum. Thus set down, he
began by taking pupils to board and educate, chiefly as Latin scholars;
and Mrs. Gregson, after my mother left him, did everything in her power
to make the seminary respectable. He afterwards, however, commenced
teaching on a more extended scale, by taking in scholars of all kinds,
from their A, B, C’s, to the classics. In this, his task must have been
of the most arduous description, which he got through without any usher
or assistant. His assiduity must have attracted the notice of the late
Thomas Charles Bigge, Esq., of Benton, the lay rector, for he added some
land to the glebe, by way of bettering his condition. Little as this
farm was, as to its magnitude, it enabled him, by his good management
and unceasing industry, to show himself a good farmer, and he was not a
little vain on being complimented on this score. As a clergyman, he was
not one of the fittest for that very important office; but this was
chiefly owing to his defective voice, which was so low and raucous, that
his hearers could not so well profit by his sensible discourses. In
another way—I mean as a village lawyer—he stood pre-eminent. His pen was
ever ready at the service of his parishioners, and whatever dispute
arose amongst them there was never any objection to leave the matter to
the decision of Mr. Gregson; and, I have often heard it asserted that
there was not one lawsuit in the parish while he was minister there. He
set out in life on this poor curacy, upon a system of great economy, and
perhaps, like other frugal people, it grew upon him till he was accused
of “nearness;” but, be this as it may, he accumulated, after a life of
great good management, a sum of about nine hundred pounds. If his pen
was ever ready to serve his parishioners, so, on certain occasions was
his purse; for he eyed with great attention the situation of such of his
neighbours as were industrious; and, when he found these were struggling
under untoward circumstances, or unforseen losses, without being
solicited, he lent them money to ward off the evil, and to serve their
need.
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------