Production of Silk, the Preservation of Fruits. Written at the request
of the Earl of Shaftesbury; now first printed from the original
manuscript in the possession of the present Earl of Shaftesbury, 1s. 6d.
Sandby, 1766." Among the many portraits we have of this learned man, the
public are indebted to Lord King, for having prefixed to his Life of Mr.
Locke, a very fine portrait of him, from after Greenhill. This great and
good man possessed, in the highest degree, those virtues that have
given him a claim to the highest rank in the admiration of posterity. In
Rutter's delineations of a part of Somersetshire, he gives a neat
wood-cut of the cottage at Wrington, wherein Locke was born, and he
informs us, that in the garden belonging to Mrs. Hannah More, near that
village, she has placed an urn commemorative of Locke, which was a gift
to her from the justly celebrated Mrs. Montague. He was drawn also by
Kneller. Bromley gives a list of many of his engraved portraits.
Houbraken engraved one for Birch's Lives. Vertue gave two engravings
from Kneller.
WILLIAM FLEETWOOD, successively Bishop of St. Asaph and Ely, and who
died in 1723, was author of "Curiosities of Nature and Art in Husbandry
and Gardening," 8vo. 1707. His portrait is prefixed to his "Sermons on
the Relative Duties," 8vo. 1716; and also to his "Essay on the
Miracles." His works were published in a collected form in 1 vol. folio,
1737. He was incontestibly the best preacher in his time. Dr. Doddridge
calls him "silver tongued." Pope's line of
_The gracious dew of pulpit eloquence_,
might, no doubt, have been justly applied to him. Dr. Drake, in the
third volume of his Essays, to illustrate the Tatler, Spectator, and
Guardian, has some interesting pages respecting him. His benevolent
heart and exemplary life, added great effect to his persuasive eloquence
in the pulpit. "His sermons (says Lempriere), and divinity tracts, were
widely circulated; but the firmness of his opinions drew upon him the
censure of the House of Commons. His preface to his sermons on the
deaths of Mary, the Duke of Gloucester, and of William, and on the
accession of Anne, gave such offence to the ministry, that the book was
publicly burnt in 1712; but it was more universally read, and even
appeared in the Spectator, No. 384." As to this burning, Dr. Johnson
remarked, that fire is a conclusive, but not a convincing argument; it
will certainly destroy any book, but it refutes none.[71] In an
_Obituary_, preserved in Peck's Desid. Curiosa, it thus mentions the
death of a Jeffery Fleetwood, "leaving a wife and six little children
behind him. God bless them. One of these little children was the famous
William Fleetwood, Bishop of Ely."
JOSEPH ADDISON, Esq. There is an original portrait of this eminent man,
at Holland House. Another at Oxford. Noble's continuation of Granger
enumerates several engravings of him, from Kneller's portraits. Dayl,
the painter, also drew him. His portrait appears in the Kit Cat Club. In
Ireland's "Picturesque Views on the River Avon," he gives an interesting
description of Mr. Addison's house at Bilton, near Rugby, two miles from
Dunchurch; with a view of the same. The house "remains precisely in the
state it was at the decease of its former possessor, nor has the
interior suffered much change in its former decoration. The furniture
and pictures hold their places with an apparent sacred attention to his
memory. Among the latter, are three of himself, at different periods of
his life; in each of which is strongly marked with the pencil, the ease
of the gentleman, and the open and ingenuous character of the friend to
humanity." From Dr. Drake's Biographical Sketch of Addison, it appears,
that these portraits were still remaining in his house in 1797. A copy
of the above view is given in the Monthly Magazine for February, 1822,
and it there says, that "the spacious gardens retain the fashion of the
age of the Spectator." The origin of the modern style of landscape
gardening, or the first writers on that subject, were unquestionably Mr.
Addison, in Nos. 414 and 477 of the _Spectator_, and Mr. Pope in his
celebrated _Guardian_. The first artists who practised in this style,
were Bridgman and Kent.[72] Mr. Addison's pure taste on these subjects
is visible even where he prefers Fontainebleau to the magnificent
Versailles, in his paper in the _Guardian_, No. 101:--"It is situated
among rocks and woods, that give you a fine variety of savage prospects.
The king has humoured the genius of the place, and only made use of so
much art as is necessary to help and regulate nature, without reforming
her too much. The cascades seem to break through the clefts and cracks
of rocks that are covered over with moss, and look as if they were piled
upon one another by accident. There is an artificial wildness in the
meadows, walks, and canals; and the garden, instead of a wall, is fenced
on the lower end by a natural mound of rock-work that strikes the eye
very agreeably. For my part, I think there is something more charming in
these rude heaps of stone than in so many statues, and would as soon see
a river winding through woods and meadows, as when it is tossed up in so
many whimsical figures at Versailles." In No. 414 of his Spectator, he
says, "English gardens are not so entertaining to the fancy as those in
France, and Italy, where we see a large extent of ground covered over
with an agreeable mixture of garden, and forest, which represent every
where an artificial rudeness, much more charming than that neatness and
elegancy which we meet with in those of our own country." Mr. Murphy
thus compares Addison with Johnson:--"Addison lends grace and ornament
to truth; Johnson gives it force and energy. Addison makes virtue
amiable; Johnson represents it as an awful duty." Addison has been
called the English Fenelon. Johnson calls him the Raphael of essay
writers. The imposing and commanding attitude of the statue erected a
few years since in the Poets' Corner, seems to have arisen, and to have
been devoted to his memory, from his _Reflections on the Tombs in the
Abbey_. Those reflections I here subjoin; and I am sure my reader will
agree with me, that I could not offer a purer honour to his genius and
memory:--"No.26, Friday, March 30.
_Pallida mors aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas
Regumque turres, O beate sexti.
Vitae summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare longam,
Jam te premet nox, fabulaeque manes,
Et domus exilis Plutonia._--HOR.
With equal foot, rich friend, impartial fate
Knocks at the cottage, and the palace gate:
Life's span forbids thee to extend thy cares,
And stretch thy hopes beyond thy tender years:
Night soon will seize, and you must quickly go
To storied ghosts, and _Pluto's_ house below.--CREECH.
"When I am in a serious humour, I very often walk by myself in
Westminster Abbey; where the gloominess of the place, and the use to
which it is applied, with the solemnity of the building, and the
condition of the people who lie in it, are apt to fill the mind with a
kind of melancholy, or rather thoughtfulness, that is not disagreeable.
I yesterday passed a whole afternoon in the church-yard, the cloisters,
and the church, amusing myself with the tomb-stones and inscriptions
that I met with in those several regions of the dead. Most of them
recorded nothing else of the buried person, but that he was born upon
one day and died upon another: the whole history of his life being
comprehended in those two circumstances, that are common to all mankind.
I could not but look upon these registers of existence, whether of brass
or marble, as a kind of satire upon the departed persons; who had left
no other memorial of them, but that they were born and that they died.
They put me in mind of several persons mentioned in the battles of
heroic poems, who have sounding names given them, for no other reason
but that they may be killed, and are celebrated for nothing but being
knocked on the head.
_Glaucumque, Medontaque, Thersilochumque._--VIRG.
"The life of these men is finely described in holy writ by _the path of
an arrow_, which is immediately closed up and lost. Upon my going into
the church, I entertained myself with the digging of a grave; and saw in
every shovel-full of it that was thrown up, the fragment of a bone or
skull intermixed with a kind of fresh mouldering earth that some time or
other had a place in the composition of an human body. Upon this I began
to consider with myself what innumerable multitudes of people lay
confused together under the pavement of that ancient cathedral; how men
and women, friends and enemies, priests and soldiers, monks and
prebendaries, were crumbled amongst one another, and blended together in
the same common mass; how beauty, strength, and youth, with old age,
weakness, and deformity, lay undistinguished in the same promiscuous
heap of matter. After having thus surveyed this great magazine of
mortality, as it were in the lump; I examined it more particularly by
the accounts which I found on several of the monuments which are raised
in every quarter of that ancient fabrick. Some of them were covered with
such extravagant epitaphs, that if it were possible for the dead person
to be acquainted with them, he would blush at the praises which his
friends have bestowed upon him. There are others so excessively modest,
that they deliver the character of the person departed in _Greek_ or
_Hebrew_, and by that means are not understood once in a twelvemonth. In
the poetical quarter, I found there were poets who had no monuments, and
monuments which had no poets. I observed indeed that the present war had
filled the church with many of these uninhabited monuments, which had
been erected to the memory of persons whose bodies were buried in the
plains of _Blenheim_, or in the bosom of the ocean. I could not but be
very much delighted with several modern epitaphs, which are written with
great elegance of expression and justness of thought, and therefore do
honour to the living as well as to the dead. As a foreigner is very apt
to conceive an idea of the ignorance or politeness of a nation from the
turn of their public monuments and inscriptions, they should be
submitted to the perusal of men of learning and genius before they are
put in execution. Sir_Cloudesly Shovel's_ monument has very often given
me great offence: instead of the brave rough _English_ admiral, which
was the distinguishing character of that plain gallant man, he is
represented on his tomb by the figure of a beau, dressed in a long
periwig, and reposing himself upon velvet cushions under a canopy of
state. The inscription is answerable to the monument; for, instead of
celebrating the many remarkable actions he had performed in the service
of his country, it acquaints us only with the manner of his death, in
which it was impossible for him to reap any honour. The _Dutch_, whom we
are apt to despise for want of genius, shew an infinitely greater taste
of antiquity and politeness in their buildings and works of this nature,
than what we meet with in those of our own country. The monuments of
their admirals, which have been erected at the public expense, represent
them like themselves; and are adorned with rostral crowns and naval
ornaments, with beautiful festoons of sea-weed, shells, and coral. But
to return to our subject. I have left the repository of our English
kings for the contemplation of another day, when I shall find my mind
disposed for so serious an amusement. I know that entertainments of this
nature are apt to raise dark and dismal thoughts in timorous minds, and
gloomy imaginations; but, for my own part, though I am always serious,
I do not know what it is to be melancholy; and can therefore take a view
of nature in her deep and solemn scenes, with the same pleasure as in
her most gay and delightful ones. By this means I can improve myself
with those objects which others consider with terror. When I look upon
the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies in me; when I read
the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; when I
meet with the grief of parents upon a tomb-stone, my heart melts with
compassion; when I see the tomb of the parents themselves, I consider
the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow: When I see
kings lying by those who deposed them, when I consider rival wits placed
side by side, or the holy men that divided the world with their contests
and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little
competitions, factions, and debates of mankind. When I read the several
dates of the tombs, of some that died yesterday, and some six hundred
years ago, I consider that great day when we shall all of us be
contemporaries, and make our appearance together."[73]
REV. JOHN LAWRENCE published "The Clergyman's Recreation, shewing the
Pleasure and Profit of the Art of Gardening;" 8vo. 1714. Also a poem,
called "Paradise Regained, or the Art of Gardening;" 8vo. 1728. The
sixth edition of "The Clergyman's Recreation" has "the effigies of the
author, engraved by Vertue." I have seen eight copies of this sixth
edition, and in neither of them has this portrait been. No doubt the
collecting to form Granger's, has deprived each copy of its portrait.
This is an expressive portrait, ornamented with a vine wreath, and with
a rich cornucopia or clusters of ripe fruit. The original picture from
which Vertue's print was taken, was at Pallion, near Durham, the seat of
his grandson, John Goodchild, Esq. In Rodd's catalogue of engraved
portraits, printed a few years ago, was "John Lawrence, prebend of
Salisbury, _original drawing by Vertue_, price 5s." Mr. Lawrence
published also, in folio, in 1726, his System of Agriculture and
Gardening. Mr. Nichols, in vol. iv. of his Literary Anecdotes, has given
a list of all his works, has preserved a few particulars respecting him,
and pays a just tribute to him. A list of his works may also be seen in
Watts's Bibl. Brit., and in Mr. Johnson's work. The Encycl. of Gardening
informs us that he was "of a hospitable and benevolent disposition,
taking great pleasure in presenting a rich dessert of fruit to his
friends." He was presented to the rectory of Yelvertoft,
Northamptonshire, in 1703, "by the extraordinary uncommon bounty of a
generous patron." In 1721, he was presented to that of Bishop's
Wearmouth, Durham, where he died in 1732. He was also a prebend of
Salisbury.[74]
Mr. Lawrence thus enforces the pleasures of a garden, to his own
order:--"to make them happy by loving an innocent diversion, the
amusements of a garden being not only most delightful to those that love
them, but most wholesome to those that use them. A good man knows how to
recapitulate all his pleasures in a devout lifting up of his hands, his
eyes and his heart, to the great and bountiful author of nature, who
gives beauty, relish, and success to all our honest labours." His pen
likewise paints with "soft and tempting colours," the extreme beauty of
our fruit-trees, when clothed with their different coloured blossoms,
(what Lord Byron calls _the sweet and blooming fruits of
earth_):--"What a pleasing entertainment is it to the eye, to behold
the apricot in its full blossom, white as snow, and at the same time the
peach with its crimson-coloured blooms; both beginning to be
interspersed with green leaves! These are succeeded by the pear, the
cherry, and the plum, whose blossoms and leaves make a very beautiful
mixture in the spring; and it cannot be a less pleasant sight to see
clusters of swelling fruit all the summer, as the earnest of the full
gratification of another sense in autumn. And now we have come hither,
what painter can draw a landskip more charming and beautiful to the eye,
than an old Newington peach-tree laden with fruit in August, when the
sun has first begun to paint one side of the fruit with such soft and
tempting colours? The apricot, the pear, the cherry and plum, when they
appear in plenty as they ought, present themselves to the eye at the
time of ripening in very inviting blushes. In short, all the several
sorts of fruit trees have such pleasing varieties, that were there no
other sense to be gratified but the sight, they may vie with a parterre
even of the finest flowers." He thus mentions the month of _July_:--"How
beautiful and refreshing are the mornings and evenings of such days,
when the very air is perfumed with pleasant odours, and every thing that
presents itself to the eye gives fresh occasion to the devout admirer to
praise and adore the Great Creator, who hath given such wisdom and power
to man to diversify nature in such various instances, and (for his own
use, pleasure, and profit,) to assist her in all her operations." This
worthy clergyman might have applied to the delights of a garden, the
sacred words of scripture:--"her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all
her paths are peace."[75]
ALEXANDER POPE. Numerous are the engraved portraits of this graceful and
harmonious poet. Noble's continuation of Granger, gives all, or the
greater part of the engravings from his portraits, from which it will be
seen, that he was drawn by Kneller, by Richardson, by many others, and
particularly by his friend Jervas. As a portrait painter, Mr. Jervas
was far from eminent. Pope's attachment to him, however, has enshrined
his name in glowing lines to future generations. The portraits of Pope
which Jervas drew, were done _con amore_. Mr. Jennings, of Cheapside,
has prefixed to his elegant folio edition of the "Essay on Man," a
_whole-length_ of Mr. Pope, from after Jervas. In Dodsley's Collection
of Poems, vol. iii. is a very striking bust of Mr. Pope, as an
accompaniment to Mr. Dodsley's affecting poem to his memory, which he
entitles _The Cave of Pope_. Surely this bust must have strongly
resembled Pope, or Mr. Dodsley would not have inserted it. The profile
to Ruffhead's Life, in 4to. 1769, _must_ have been a likeness, or Bishop
Warburton would not have permitted its insertion. His age was then
twenty-four. It is finely engraved by Ravenet, from Kneller. It is a
striking portrait. A copy of this is admirably engraved in Bell's Poets,
richly ornamented. A copy from that by Richardson is prefixed to
Warton's edition. Among the portraits at _Hagley_, is that of Pope, and
his dog Bounce, by Richardson.[76] Lord Chesterfield thus speaks of
Pope:--"His poor, crazy, deformed body, was a mere Pandora's box,
containing all the physical ills that ever afflicted humanity. This,
perhaps, whetted the edge of his satire, and may, in some degree, excuse
it. I will say nothing of his works; they speak sufficiently for
themselves; they will live as long as taste and letters shall remain in
this country, and be more and more admired, as envy and resentment shall
subside. But I will venture this piece of classical blasphemy: which is,
that however he may be supposed to be obliged to Horace, Horace is more
obliged to him." Mr. Ruffhead (generally supposed to have had his
information from Dr. Warburton) thus states:--"Mr. Pope was low in
stature, and of a diminutive and misshapen figure, which no one
ridiculed more pleasantly than himself. His constitution was naturally
tender and delicate, and in his temper he was naturally mild and
gentle, yet sometimes betrayed that exquisite sensibility which is the
concomitant of genius. His lively perception and delicate feeling,
irritated by wretched ill health, made him too quickly take fire, but
his good sense and humanity soon rendered him placable. With regard to
the extent of his genius, it was so wide and various, that perhaps it
may not be too much to say, that he excelled in every species of
composition; and, beside his excellence as a poet, he was both an
antiquarian and an architect, and neither in an inferior degree.[77] No
man ever entertained more exalted notions of friendship, or was ever
more sincere, steady, warm, and disinterested, in all his attachments.
Every inch of his heart was let out in lodgings for his friends." Lord
Orrery thus speaks of him:--"His prose writings are little less
harmonious than his verse; and his voice, in common conversation, was so
naturally musical, that I remember honest Tom Southern used to call him
the Little Nightingale; his manners were delicate, easy, and engaging;
he treated his friends with a politeness that charmed, and a generosity
that was much to his honour. Every guest was made happy within his
doors; pleasure dwelt under his roof, and elegance presided at his
table." One may trace Mr. Pope's hospitality throughout his letters. I
will merely select one or two instances. In a letter to _Swift_, he
says, "My house is too large; my gardens furnish too much wood and
provision for _my_ use. My servants are sensible and tender of me. They
have intermarried, and are become rather low friends than servants.
Would to God you would come over with Lord Orrery, whose care of you in
the voyage I could so certainly depend on; and bring with you your old
housekeeper, and two or three servants. I have room for all, a heart for
all, and (think what you will) a fortune for all." In another letter to
Swift, he says, "I wish you had any motive to see this kingdom. I could
keep you; for I am rich, that is, I have more than I want. I can afford
room for yourself and two servants. I have, indeed, room enough, nothing
but myself at home: the kind and hearty housewife is dead! the agreeable
and instructive neighbour is gone! yet my house is enlarged, and the
gardens extend and flourish, as knowing nothing of the guests they have
lost. I have more fruit trees and kitchen garden than you have any
thought of; nay, I have good melons and pineapples of my own growth." In
a letter to _Mr. Allen_, he says, "Let me know your day for coming, and
I will have every room in my house as warm for you as the owner always
would be." Mr. Mathias, in his Pursuits of Literature, (besides
expatiating with fond delight, in numerous pages, on the genius of
Pope,) thus speaks of him:--"Familiar with the great, intimate with the
polite, graced by the attentions of the fair, admired by the learned, a
favourite with the nation, independent in an acquired opulence, the
honourable product of his genius, and of his industry; the companion of
persons distinguished for their virtue, birth, high fashion, rank, or
wit, and resident in the centre of all public information and
intelligence; every avenue to knowledge, and every mode of observation
were open to his curious, prying, piercing, and unwearied
intellect."[78]