(Vol. v., pp. 248. 309.)
Seeing a fresh notice of this great book in No. 124. of "N. & Q.," I
venture to forward a few particulars concerning Bowyer, who was an old
friend, even of between thirty and forty years' standing. He is long
since gone to his rest; he has left neither widow nor child, scarcely a
distant relative, so that the following can neither "give offence nor
grieve." He has often told me particulars of his early career. Being a
poor youth in search of employment, and withal moody enough at his
prospects, he was one day walking down Newgate Street, and pausing to
look at a print or two in a shop-window, it struck him he could take a
likeness; so he went home to his indifferent lodging, having procured
implements suitable, seated himself before a glass, and took his own
portrait, which he considered was as successful as a first effort could
be. Encouraged thereby, he was soon employed to paint others, and such
note did he acquire that his miniatures were carried into court-circles,
so that he became a sort of celebrity in that line, and Queen Charlotte
appointed him her official miniature-painter--if such be the proper
term.
He soon struck out much more important occupation, planning various
publications, the most promising of which was his large edition of
Hume's _History of England_; and this was so ponderous an undertaking
that it was only at last disposed of by a lottery. His fondness for
taking portraits never left him, and a very few years before his death
he gratified my family by volunteering to paint a miniature of my
father, and a capital likeness it was. He was much pleased with one of
his successes, of which he has more than once told me with great glee.
Just before George III. was secluded finally from public view, he and
another artist, an old acquaintance, went one Sunday together to the
Chapel-Royal at Windsor, and during the service each sketched the King
on _one of his nails_: they adjourned to an inn, and while the
impression was yet fresh, transferred to a sheet of paper the likeness
of the venerable monarch. On returning with it to London, Bowyer sent it
for the inspection of the Prince Regent, who was so pleased with this
rough pencil-drawing, that he sent word back he would never part with
it, and begged to know Bowyer's price. The latter said 105_l._, which
the Prince Regent immediately forwarded.
I once found Bowyer drawing at a table, a wig placed on a stick before
him, and he was taking the likeness of a very old friend, who was dead
and gone, from memory. In this attempt he entirely succeeded, even to
the surprise of all who knew the deceased.
About ten years ago a little book, called _Henry VIII. and his
Contemporaries_, by B. Bensley, contained, concerning the earlier
impressions of the Bible, the following note:--
"I trust to be pardoned for introducing a little anecdote relative
to the Bible, exactly three hundred years after the period about
which I am writing, that is not the less appropriate for being
likewise illustrative of _episcopal shrewdness_. [The text is
recording an instance of the then Bishop of London being bitten in
an arrangement with a bookseller.] The most splendid Bible ever
issued was that published by Macklin, printed by my late father,
and the execution of which even his son may say, would alone hand
down his name to posterity. _Bowyer_, publisher of another great
national work--the folio edition of Hume's _History of England_,
also a splendid specimen of my father's typography--had a copy of
Macklin's Bible, which he employed his leisure during many years
to illustrate, having the best opportunities, from his pursuits as
an artist, publisher of prints, &c. On the completion of his
labours, he valued the massy product, consisting of an immense
number of prints, at 2500_l._; and, after unsuccessful efforts to
procure a purchaser, he put it up to be raffled for, issuing
proposals to the nobility and gentry, &c. Among others, an aged
_bishop_ sent his name as a subscriber to this kind of lottery,
and shortly after called at the rooms in Pall Mall to pay the two
guineas; but, before he did so, he drew Mr. Bowyer apart, and
gravely told him he could not quite make out how, by paying that
sum, he could _ensure_ possession of the great work. Upon its
being explained to his lordship, that he could only take a chance
with 1249 others, he expressed surprise and vexation, and declined
to pay two guineas for the chance, which he _then_, probably, saw
was objectionable in a moral point of view, as a species of
gambling! The parties are all long since dead."