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No poet of the same pretensions has been so much known through his
residence as Shenstone. Without the Leasowes he would have been nothing.
His elegies and pastorals would have lain on the dustiest of
book-shelves, and his Schoolmistress, by far the best of his
productions, would hardly have retained vitality enough to make herself
noticeable in the crowd of poetical characters. The Leasowes was the
chief work of Shenstone's life, and it is the chief means of that
portion of immortality which he possesses. Into every quarter of the
kingdom the fame of this little domain has penetrated. Nature there
formed the grand sub-stratum of his art, and nature is always beautiful.
But I do confess, that in the Leasowes I have always found so much ado
about nothing; such a parade of miniature cascades, lakes, streams
conveyed hither and thither; surprises in the disposition of woods and
the turn of walks, with a seat placed here, and another there; with
inscriptions, Latin and English; and piping Fauns _fauning_ upon you in
half a dozen places, that I have heartily wished myself out upon a good
rough heath, with the winds blowing away the cobwebs of so many conceits
from my brain.
In the days of Shenstone there prevailed the falsest notions of life and
poetry. If poetry be indeed "the eloquence of truth," as Campbell
beautifully pronounced it--if great passions, great sentiments, great
wrestlings with our destinies, and conflicts for the good of others--if
these constitute the sublimity of duty, and give occasion for the
sublimity of poetry, how poor a delusion was that which led one to dream
and drone in some fantastic retirement; to whimper over petty troubles,
and waste the intellect on petty themes; exalting mole-hills into
mountains, and the stings of a morbid selfishness into picturesque
sorrows, when they should have been up and doing, dragging out to the
light of day, like Crabbe, all the wretchedness and the wrong of social
life, or breathing into the trumpet of a generous indignation the notes
that rouse the world to a higher tone and task.
The remarks of Dr. Johnson appear to me, in the case of Shenstone, who
was amiable but trifling, as very just: "Now was excited his delight in
rural pleasures and his ambition of rural elegance. He began, from the
time of occupying his own estate, to point his prospects, to diversify
his surface, to entangle his walks, and to wind his waters, which he did
with such judgment and such fancy as made his little domain the envy of
the great and the admiration of the skillful; a place to be visited by
travelers, and copied by designers. Whether to plant a walk in
undulating curves, and to place a bench at every turn where there is an
object to catch the view; to make water run where it will be heard, and
to stagnate where it will be seen; to leave intervals where the eye will
be pleased, and to thicken the plantation where there is something to be
hidden, demand any great powers of mind, I will not inquire; perhaps a
sullen and surly spectator may think such performances rather the sport
than the business of human reason. But it must be at least confessed
that to embellish the form of nature is an innocent amusement, and some
praise must be allowed by the most supercilious observer to him who does
best what such multitudes are contending to do well."
This seems to me the precise merit of Shenstone. He introduced a better
taste in landscape gardening, though _his_ taste was often questionable,
and may be ranked with Browne and Kent. He was a man of taste rather
than of genius, and may claim a full alliance with the lovers of nature,
but is as far from the association with great poets--with such men as
Milton or Shakspeare, Burns or Elliott, as the glow-worm is with the
comet. Poetry is not only the highest art, but, next to religion itself,
the most divine principle on earth. It is a religion itself, or, rather,
forms part and parcel of that of Christ; for its object is to stimulate
virtue, abash vice, raise the humble, abase the proud, call forth the
most splendid qualities of the soul, and pour love like a river over the
earth till it fills every house, and leaves behind it a fertility like
that which follows the inundations of the Nile. We do injustice to
Shenstone when we place him beside the giants, and thus provokingly
display his true proportions.
"The pleasure of Shenstone," continues Johnson, "was all in his eye; he
valued what he valued merely for its looks; nothing raised his
indignation more than to ask if there were any fishes in his water.
"His house was mean, and he did not improve it; his care was of his
grounds. When he came home from his walks, he might find his floors
flooded by a shower through the broken roof, but could spare no money
for its reparation. In time, his expenses brought clamors about him that
overpowered the lamb's bleat and the linnet's song, and his groves were
haunted by beings very different to fauns and fairies. He spent his
estate in adorning it, and his death was probably hastened by his
anxieties. He was a lamp that spent its oil in blazing. * * * He died at
the Leasowes, of a putrid fever, in 1763, and was buried by the side of
his brother in Halesowen churchyard.
"He was never married, though he might have obtained the lady, whoever
she was, to whom his Pastoral Ballad was addressed. He is represented by
his friend Dodsley as a man of great tenderness and generosity, kind to
all that were within his influence, but if once offended, not easily
appeased; inattentive to economy, and careless of his expenses. In his
person he was larger than the middle size, with something clumsy in his
form; very negligent of his clothes, and remarkable for wearing his gray
hair in a particular manner; for he held that the fashion was no rule of
dress, and that every man was to suit his appearance to his natural
form. His mind was not very comprehensive, nor his curiosity active; he
had no value for those parts of knowledge which he had not himself
cultivated."
Gray visited the Leasowes, and his opinion of Shenstone was very similar
to that of Johnson. "I have read, too, an octavo volume of Shenstone's
letters. Poor man! he was always wishing for money, for fame, and other
distinctions; and his whole philosophy consisted in living against his
will in retirement, and in a place which his taste had adorned, but
which he only enjoyed when people of note came to see and commend it.
His correspondence is about nothing else but this place and his own
writings, with two or three neighboring clergymen, who wrote verses
too."
I have ascertained the present condition of the Leasowes through an
intelligent friend who visited it the other day at my request. The
Leasowes is about six or seven miles distant from Birmingham, on the
road to Kidderminster, and about four miles from Hagley, in the parish
of Halesowen. Arriving at Halesowen, you have to descend a long and
steep hill, from the top of which you have a view of the
Bromsgrove, Clent, and Dudley hills, which are in the immediate
neighborhood--Hagley Park being situated on one of the Clent hills--and
of the Clee hills in the distance; these form a boundary between the
counties of Hereford and Salop. About half way down this descent, which
is a mile long, you turn to the left down a shady lane; this leads to
the Leasowes, and in some degree partakes of the character of the place;
winding continually, yet still presenting a beautiful archway of trees,
of nearly all descriptions. From this lane you enter the Leasowes, and,
crossing a bridge, pass on to the lawn. On your left lies a beautiful
piece of still water, overshadowed with evergreens, and conveying the
idea of infinite depth. This is nearly the lowest part of the grounds,
which here begin to ascend toward the house, commanding, not an
extensive, but a beautifully condensed prospect. Going round the house
to the right, and still ascending, you gain another prospect equally
beautiful, yet different, and in both cases must be surprised by the
skill which presents to the eye the artificial depth of forest which
there strikes it. A canal which has been cut through the valley, between
the house and Halesowen, so far from injuring the prospect, as many of
these things are apt to do, rather improves it than otherwise, giving a
rest to the eye, and shutting out, by its embankment, sundry forges
which would otherwise be visible. In order to discover, however, the
true spirit of the place, you must cross the lawn at the back of the
house, where you are reminded of passages in Shenstone's pastorals.
Let us now suppose the grounds lying in the shape of a Y; the house not
standing at the top, but near the center of the fork, and the lowest
part of the scene, the stem. The lines forming the fork of the Y are
beautifully wooded ravines or dells, down which flow small streamlets,
meeting at the bottom of the hill, and in their progress forming
numerous small pools, which may well represent "the fountains all
bordered with moss." The walks along the sides of these streams are now
neglected, but they still conduct you to the natural beauties of the
scene. There is one spot which commands the view of the whole grounds,
and all the poetry of them. Following the course of one of the streams,
you arrive at that part of the scene which was Shenstone's favorite
spot, still marked by the remnants of several fallen statues. Still
advancing along the brook side, you come to a pool. This may be called
the tail or stem of the Y; and at dusk, on a November day, it gives you
no bad idea of the Lake of the Dismal Swamp in miniature. Indeed, the
feeling on quitting the place is, that you have been well deceived as to
the extent of it, so small a space really containing so much variety of
scenery.
The Leasowes now belongs to the Attwood family, and a Miss Attwood
resides there occasionally; but the whole place bears the impress of
desertion and neglect. The house has a dull look; the same heavy spirit
broods over the lawns and glades; and it is only when you survey it from
a distance, as when approaching Halesowen from Hagley, that the whole
presents an aspect of unusual beauty. It is said to be a favorite resort
of the members of the Society of Friends, as, halting for tea at
Halesowen, on their return from their meetings at Stourbridge to
Birmingham, they are fond of a stroll in the Leasowes, no doubt the
quiet character of the poetry of Shenstone according well with their own
habits.