WATTS.

The poems of Dr. Watts were, by my recommendation, inserted in the late

collection; the readers of which are to impute to me whatever pleasure

or weariness they may find in the perusal of Blackmore, Watts, Pomfret,

and Yalden.

Isaac Watts was born July 17, 1674, at Southampton, where his father, of

the same name, kept a boarding-school for young gentlemen, though common

report makes him a shoemaker. He appears, from the narrative of Dr.

Gibbons, to have been neither indigent nor illiterate.

Isaac, the eldest of nine children, was given to books from his infancy;

and began, we are told, to learn Latin when he was four years old, I

suppose, at home. He was afterwards taught Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, by

Mr. Pinhorn, a clergyman, master of the free-school at Southampton, to

whom the gratitude of his scholar afterwards inscribed a Latin ode.

His proficiency at school was so conspicuous, that a subscription was

proposed for his support at the university; but he declared his

resolution of taking his lot with the dissenters. Such he was as every

Christian church would rejoice to have adopted.

He, therefore, repaired, in 1690, to an academy taught by Mr. Rowe,

where he had for his companions and fellow-students Mr. Hughes the poet,

and Dr. Horte, afterwards archbishop of Tuam. Some Latin essays,

supposed to have been written as exercises at this academy, show a

degree of knowledge, both philosophical and theological, such as very

few attain by a much longer course of study.

He was, as he hints in his Miscellanies, a maker of verses from fifteen

to fifty, and, in his youth, appears to have paid attention to Latin

poetry. His verses to his brother, in the _glyconick_ measure, written

when he was seventeen, are remarkably easy and elegant. Some of his

other odes are deformed by the Pindarick folly then prevailing, and are

written with such neglect of all metrical rules, as is without example

among the ancients; but his diction, though, perhaps, not always exactly

pure, has such copiousness and splendour, as shows that he was but a

very little distance from excellence.

His method of study was to impress the contents of his books upon his

memory by abridging them, and by interleaving them to amplify one system

with supplements from another.

With the congregation of his tutor Mr. Rowe, who were, I believe,

independents, he communicated in his nineteenth year.

At the age of twenty he left the academy, and spent two years in study

and devotion at the house of his father, who treated him with great

tenderness; and had the happiness, indulged to few parents, of living to

see his son eminent for literature, and venerable for piety.

He was then entertained by sir John Hartopp five years, as domestick

tutor to his son: and in that time particularly devoted himself to the

study of the holy scriptures; and, being chosen assistant to Dr.

Chauncey, preached the first time on the birthday that completed his

twenty-fourth year; probably considering that as the day of a second

nativity, by which he entered on a new period of existence.

In about three years he succeeded Dr. Chauncey; but, soon after his

entrance on his charge, he was seized by a dangerous illness, which sunk

him to such weakness, that the congregation thought an assistant

necessary, and appointed Mr. Price. His health then returned gradually;

and he performed his duty till, 1712, he was seized by a fever of such

violence and continuance, that from the feebleness which it brought upon

him he never perfectly recovered.

This calamitous state made the compassion of his friends necessary, and

drew upon him the attention of sir Thomas Abney, who received him into

his house; where, with a constancy of friendship and uniformity of

conduct not often to be found, he was treated for thirty-six years with

all the kindness that friendship could prompt, and all the attention

that respect could dictate. Sir Thomas died about eight years

afterwards; but he continued with the lady and her daughters to the end

of his life. The lady died about a year after him.

A coalition like this, a state in which the notions of patronage and

dependence were overpowered by the perception of reciprocal benefits,

deserves a particular memorial; and I will not withhold from the reader

Dr. Gibbon's representation; to which regard is to be paid, as to the

narrative of one who writes what he knows, and what is known likewise to

multitudes besides.

"Our next observation shall be made upon that remarkably kind providence

which brought the doctor into sir Thomas Abney's family, and continued

him there till his death, a period of no less than thirty-six years. In

the midst of his sacred labours for the glory of God, and good of his

generation, he is seized with a most violent and threatening fever,

which leaves him oppressed with great weakness, and puts a stop, at

least, to his publick services for four years. In this distressing

season, doubly so to his active and pious spirit, he is invited to sir

Thomas Abney's family, nor ever removes from it till he had finished his

days. Here he enjoyed the uninterrupted demonstrations of the truest

friendship. Here, without any care of his own, he had every thing which

could contribute to the enjoyment of life, and favour the unwearied

pursuits of his studies. Here he dwelt in a family, which for piety,

order, harmony, and every virtue, was an house of God. Here he had the

privilege of a country recess, the fragrant bower, the spreading lawn,

the flowery garden, and other advantages, to sooth his mind, and aid his

restoration to health; to yield him, whenever he chose them, most

grateful intervals from his laborious studies, and enable him to return

to them with redoubled vigour and delight. Had it not been for this most

happy event, he might, as to outward view, have feebly, it may be

painfully, dragged on through many more years of languor, and inability

for publick service, and even for profitable study, or, perhaps, might

have sunk into his grave under the overwhelming load of infirmities in

the midst of his days; and thus the church and world would have been

deprived of those many excellent sermons and works, which he drew up and

published during his long residence in this family. In a few years after

his coming hither, sir Thomas Abney dies; but his amiable consort

survives, who shows the doctor the same respect and friendship as

before, and most happily for him and great numbers besides; for, as her

riches were great, her generosity and munificence were in full

proportion; her thread of life was drawn out to a great age, even beyond

that of the doctor's; and thus this excellent man, through her kindness,

and that of her daughter, the present Mrs. Elizabeth Abney, who in a

like degree esteemed and honoured him, enjoyed all the benefits and

felicities he experienced at his first entrance into this family, till

his days were numbered and finished; and, like a shock of corn in its

season, he ascended into the regions of perfect and immortal life and

joy."

If this quotation has appeared long, let it be considered that it

comprises an account of six-and-thirty years, and those the years of Dr.

Watts.

From the time of his reception into this family, his life was no

otherwise diversified than by successive publications. The series of his

works I am not able to deduce; their number and their variety show the

intenseness of his industry, and the extent of his capacity.

He was one of the first authors that taught the dissenters to court

attention by the graces of language. Whatever they had among them

before, whether of learning or acuteness, was commonly obscured and

blunted by coarseness, and inelegance of style. He showed them, that

zeal and purity might be expressed and enforced by polished diction.

He continued to the end of his life the teacher of a congregation; and

no reader of his works can doubt his fidelity or diligence. In the

pulpit, though his low stature, which very little exceeded five feet,

graced him with no advantages of appearance, yet the gravity and

propriety of his utterance made his discourses very efficacious. I once

mentioned the reputation which Mr. Foster had gained by his proper

delivery, to my friend Dr. Hawkesworth, who told me, that in the art of

pronunciation he was far inferiour to Dr. Watts.

Such was his flow of thoughts, and such his promptitude of language,

that in the latter part of his life he did not precompose his cursory

sermons, but having adjusted the heads, and sketched out some

particulars, trusted for success to his extemporary powers.

He did not endeavour to assist his eloquence by any gesticulations; for,

as no corporeal actions have any correspondence with theological truth,

he did not see how they could enforce it.

At the conclusion of weighty sentences he gave time, by a short pause,

for the proper impression.

To stated and publick instruction he added familiar visits, and personal

application, and was careful to improve the opportunities which

conversation offered of diffusing and increasing the influence of

religion.

By his natural temper he was quick of resentment; but, by his

established and habitual practice, he was gentle, modest, and

inoffensive. His tenderness appeared in his attention to children and to

the poor. To the poor, while he lived in the family of his friend, he

allowed the third part of his annual revenue, though the whole was not a

hundred a year; and for children he condescended to lay aside the

scholar, the philosopher, and the wit, to write little poems of

devotion, and systems of instruction, adapted to their wants and

capacities, from the dawn of reason, through its gradations of advance

in the morning of life. Every man acquainted with the common principles

of human action, will look with veneration on the writer, who is at one

time combating Locke, and at another making a catechism for children in

their fourth year. A voluntary descent from the dignity of science is,

perhaps, the hardest lesson that humility can teach.

As his mind was capacious, his curiosity excursive, and his industry

continual, his writings are very numerous, and his subjects various.

With his theological works I am only enough acquainted to admire his

meekness of opposition, and his mildness of censure. It was not only in

his book, but in his mind, that orthodoxy was united with charity.

Of his philosophical pieces, his Logick has been received into the

universities, and, therefore, wants no private recommendation; if he

owes part of it to Le Clerc, it must be considered that no man, who

undertakes merely to methodise or illustrate a system, pretends to be

its author.

In his metaphysical disquisitions, it was observed by the late learned

Mr. Dyer, that he confounded the idea of _space_ with that of _empty

space_, and did not consider, that though space might be without matter,

yet matter, being extended, could not be without space.

Few books have been perused by me with greater pleasure than his

Improvement of the Mind, of which the radical principles may, indeed, be

found in Locke's Conduct of the Understanding; but they are so expanded

and ramified by Watts, as to confer upon him the merit of a work, in the

highest degree, useful and pleasing. Whoever has the care of instructing

others, may be charged with deficience in his duty if this book is not

recommended.

I have mentioned his treatises of theology as distinct from his other

productions; but the truth is, that whatever he took in hand was, by his

incessant solicitude for souls, converted to theology. As piety

predominated in his mind, it is diffused over his works: under his

direction it may be truly said, "theologiae philosophia ancillatur,"

philosophy is subservient to evangelical instruction: it is difficult to

read a page without learning, or at least wishing, to be better. The

attention is caught by indirect instruction, and he that sat down only

to reason is, on a sudden, compelled to pray.

It was, therefore, with great propriety that, in 1728, he received from

Edinburgh and Aberdeen an unsolicited diploma, by which he became a

doctor of divinity. Academical honours would have more value, if they

were always bestowed with equal judgment.

He continued many years to study and to preach, and to do good by his

instruction and example: till at last the infirmities of age disabled

him from the more laborious part of his ministerial functions, and,

being no longer capable of publick duty, he offered to remit the salary

appendant to it; but his congregation would not accept the resignation.

By degrees his weakness increased, and at last confined him to his

chamber and his bed; where he was worn gradually away without pain, till

he expired, Nov. 25, 1748, in the seventy-fifth year of his age.

Few men have left behind such purity of character, or such monuments of

laborious piety. He has provided instruction for all ages, from those

who are lisping their first lessons, to the enlightened readers of

Malbranche and Locke; he has left neither corporeal nor spiritual nature

unexamined; he has taught the art of reasoning, and the science of the

stars.

His character, therefore, must be formed from the multiplicity and

diversity of his attainments, rather than from any single performance;

for it would not be safe to claim for him the highest rank in any single

denomination of literary dignity; yet, perhaps, there was nothing in

which he would not have excelled, if he had not divided his powers to

different pursuits.

As a poet, had he been only a poet, he would probably have stood high

among the authors with whom he is now associated. For his judgment was

exact, and he noted beauties and faults with very nice discernment; his

imagination, as the Dacian Battle proves, was vigorous and active, and

the stores of knowledge were large by which his fancy was to be

supplied. His ear was well-tuned, and his diction was elegant and

copious. But his devotional poetry is, like that of others,

unsatisfactory. The paucity of its topicks enforces perpetual

repetition, and the sanctity of the matter rejects the ornaments of

figurative diction. It is sufficient for Watts to have done better than

others what no man has done well.

His poems on other subjects seldom rise higher than might be expected

from the amusements of a man of letters, and have different degrees of

value as they are more or less laboured, or as the occasion was more or

less favourable to invention.

He writes too often without regular measures, and too often in blank

verse; the rhymes are not always sufficiently correspondent. He is

particularly unhappy in coining names expressive of characters. His

lines are commonly smooth and easy, and his thoughts always religiously

pure; but who is there that, to so much piety and innocence, does not

wish for a greater measure of sprightliness and vigour? He is, at least,

one of the few poets with whom youth and ignorance may be safely

pleased; and happy will be that reader whose mind is disposed, by his

verses or his prose, to imitate him in all but his nonconformity, to

copy his benevolence to man, and his reverence to God.