celebrated anti-court paper called The Craftsman, was born in Marden in
Kent, but in what year we cannot be certain. Mr. Amhurst's grandfather
was a clergyman, under whose protection and care he received his
education at Merchant-Taylors school. Having received there the
rudiments of learning, he was removed to St. John's College, Oxford,
from which, on account of the libertinism of his principles, and some
offence he gave to the head of that college, it appears, he was ejected.
We can give no other account of this affair, than what is drawn from Mr.
Amhurst's dedication of his poems to Dr. Delaune, President of St.
John's College in Oxford. This dedication abounds with mirth and
pleasantry, in which he rallies the Dr. with very pungent irony, and
hints at the causes of his disgrace in that famous college. In page 10,
of his dedication, he says,
'You'll pardon me, good sir, if I think it necessary for your honour to
mention the many heinous crimes for which I was brought to shame. None
were indeed publicly alledged against me at that time, because it might
as well be done afterwards; sure old Englishmen can never forget that
there is such a thing as hanging a man for it, and trying him
afterwards: so fared it with me; my prosecutors first proved me, by an
undeniable argument, to be no fellow of St. John's College, and then to
be--the Lord knows what.
'My indictment may be collected out of the faithful annals of common
fame, which run thus,
'Advices from Oxford say, that on the 29th of June, 1719, one Nicholas
Amhurst of St. John's College was expelled for the following reasons;
'Imprimis, For loving foreign turnips and Presbyterian bishops.
'Item, For ingratitude to his benefactor, that spotless martyr, Sir
William Laud.
'Item, For believing that steeples and organs are not necessary to
salvation.
'Item, For preaching without orders, and praying without a commission.
'Item, For lampooning priestcraft and petticoatcraft.
'Item, For not lampooning the government and the revolution.
'Item, For prying into secret history.
'My natural modesty will not permit me, like other apologists, to
Vindicate myself in any one particular, the whole charge is so artfully
drawn up, that no reasonable person would ever think the better of me,
should I justify myself 'till doomsday.' Towards the close of the
dedication, he takes occasion to complain of some severities used
against him, at the time of his being excluded the college. 'But I must
complain of one thing, whether reasonable or not, let the world judge.
When I was voted out of your college, and the nusance was thereby
removed, I thought the resentments of the holy ones would have proceeded
no further; I am sure the cause of virtue and sound religion I was
thought to offend, required no more; nor could it be of any possible
advantage to the church, to descend to my private affairs, and stir up
my creditors in the university to take hold of me at a disadvantage,
before I could get any money returned; but there are some persons in the
world, who think nothing unjust or inhuman in the prosecution of their
implacable revenge.'
It is probable, that upon this misfortune happening to our author, he
repaired to the capital, there to retrieve his ruined affairs. We find
him engaged deeply in the Craftsman, when that paper was in its
meridian, and when it was more read and attended to than any political
paper ever published in England, on account of the assistance given to
it by some of the most illustrious and important characters of the
nation. It is said, that ten thousand of that paper have been sold in
one day.
The Miscellanies of Mr. Amhurst, the greatest part of which were written
at the university, consist chiefly of poems sacred and profane,
original, paraphrased, imitated, and translated; tales, epigrams,
epistles, love-verses, elegies, and satires. The Miscellany begins with
a beautiful paraphrase on the Mosaic Account of the Creation; and ends
with a very humorous tale upon the discovery of that useful utensil, A
Bottle-Screw.
Mr. Amhurst died of a fever at Twickenham, April 27, 1742. Our poet had
a great enmity to the exorbitant demands, and domineering spirit of the
High-Church clergy, which he discovers by a poem of his, called, The
convocation, in five cantos; a kind of satire against all the writers,
who shewed themselves enemies of the bishop of Bangor. He translated The
Resurrection, and some other of Mr. Addison's Latin pieces.
He wrote an epistle (with a petition in it) to Sir John Blount, Bart.
one of the directors of the South-Sea Company, 1726.
Oculus Britanniæ, an Heroi-panegyrical Poem, on the University of
Oxford, 8vo. 1724.
In a poem of Mr. Amhurst's, called, An Epistle from the Princess
Sobiesky to the Chevalier de St. George, he has the following nervous
lines, strongly expressive of the passion of love.
Relentless walls and bolts obstruct my way,
And, guards as careless, and as deaf as they;
Or to my James thro' whirlwinds I would, go,
Thro' burning deserts, and o'er alps of snow,
Pass spacious roaring, oceans undismay'd,
And think the mighty dangers well repaid.
* * * * *
Mr. GEORGE LILLO.
Was by profession a jeweller. He was born in London, on the 4th of Feb.
1693. He lived, as we are informed, near Moorgate, in the same
neighbourhood where he received his birth, and where he was always
esteemed as a person of unblemished character. 'Tis said, he was
educated in the principles of the dissenters: be that as it will, his
morals brought no disgrace on any sect or party. Indeed his principal
attachment was to the muses.
His first piece, brought on the stage, was a Ballad Opera, called
Sylvia; or, The Country Burial; performed at the Theatre Royal in
Lincoln's-Inn Fields, but with no extraordinary success, in the year
1730. The year following he brought his play, called The London
Merchant; or, The True Story of George Barnwell, to Mr. Cibber junior;
(then manager of the summer company, at the Theatre Royal in Drury-Lane)
who originally played the part of Barnwell.--The author was not then
known. As this was almost a new species of tragedy, wrote on a very
uncommon subject, he rather chose it should take its fate in the summer,
than run the more hazardous fate of encountering the winter criticks.
The old ballad of George Barnwell (on which the story was founded) was
on this occasion reprinted, and many thousands sold in one day. Many
gaily-disposed spirits brought the ballad with them to the play,
intending to make their pleasant remarks (as some afterwards owned) and
ludicrous comparisons between the antient ditty and the modern drama.
But the play was very carefully got up, and universally allowed to be
well performed. The piece was thought to be well conducted, and the
subject well managed, and the diction proper and natural; never low, and
very rarely swelling above the characters that spoke. Mr. Pope, among
other persons, distinguished by their rank, or particular publick merit,
had the curiosity to attend the performance, and commended the actors,
and the author; and remarked, if the latter had erred through the whole
play, it was only in a few places, where he had unawares led himself
into a poetical luxuriancy, affecting to be too elevated for the
simplicity of the subject. But the play, in general, spoke so much to
the heart, that the gay persons before mentioned confessed, they were
drawn in to drop their ballads, and pull out their handkerchiefs. It met
with uncommon success; for it was acted above twenty times in the summer
season to great audiences; was frequently bespoke by some eminent
merchants and citizens, who much approved its moral tendency: and, in
the winter following, was acted often to crowded houses: And all the
royal family, at several different times, honoured it with their
appearance. It gained reputation, and brought money to the poet, the
managers, and the performers. Mr. Cibber, jun. not only gave the author
his usual profits of his third days, &c. but procured him a
benefit-night in the winter season, which turned out greatly to his
advantage; so that he had four benefit-nights in all for that piece; by
the profits whereof, and his copy-money, he gained several hundred
pounds. It continued a stock-play in Drury-Lane Theatre till Mr. Cibber
left that house, and went to the Theatre in Covent-Garden. It was often
acted in the Christmas and Easter holidays, and judged a proper
entertainment for the apprentices, &c. as being a more instructive,
moral, and cautionary drama, than many pieces that had been usually
exhibited on those days, with little but farce and ribaldry to
recommend them.
A few years after, he brought out his play of The Christian Hero at the
Theatre Royal in Drury-Lane.
And another Tragedy called Elmerick.
His tragedy of three acts, called Fatal Curiosity, founded on an old
English story, was acted with success at the Hay-Market, in 1737.
He wrote another tragedy, never yet acted, called Arden of Feversham.
He was a man of strict morals, great good-nature, and sound sense, with
an uncommon share of modesty.
He died Sept. 3. 1739. and was buried in the vault of Shoreditch church.
* * * * *
Mr. CHARLES JOHNSON.
Mr. Charles Johnson was designed for the law; but being an admirer of
the muses, turned his thoughts to dramatic writing; and luckily being an
intimate of Mr. Wilks, by the assistance of his friendship, Mr. Johnson
had several plays acted, some of which met with success. He was a
constant attendant at Will's and Button's coffee houses, which were the
resort of most of the men of taste and literature, during the reigns of
queen Anne and king George the first. Among these he contracted intimacy
enough to intitle him to their patronage, &c on his benefit-nights; by
which means he lived (with oeconomy) genteelly. At last he married a
young widow, with a tolerable fortune, and set up a tavern in
Bow-street, which he quitted on his wife's dying, and lived privately on
the small remainder of his fortune.
He died about the year 1744. His parts were not very brilliant; but his
behaviour was generally thought inoffensive; yet he escaped not the
satire of Mr. Pope, who has been pleased to immortalize him in his
Dunciad.
His dramatic pieces are,
1. The Gentleman Cully, a Comedy: acted at the Theatre-Royal,
Covent-Garden, 1702.
2. Fortune in her Wits, a Comedy; 1705. It is a very indifferent
translation of Mr. Cowley's Naufragium Joculare.
3. The Force of Friendship, a Tragedy, 1710.
4. Love in a Chest, a Farce, 1710.
5. The Wife's Relief; or, the Husband's Cure; a Comedy. It is chiefly
borrowed from Shirley's Gamester, 1711.
6. The Successful Pirate, a Tragi-Comedy, 1712.
7. The Generous Husband; or, the Coffee-house Politician; a Comedy,
1713.
8. The Country Lasses; or, the Custom of the Manor; a Comedy, 1714.
9. Love and Liberty; a Tragedy, 1715.
10. The Victim; a Tragedy, 1715.
11. The Sultaness; a Tragedy, 1717.
12. The Cobler of Preston; a Farce of two Acts, 1717.
13. Love in a Forest; a Comedy, 1721. Taken from Shakespear's Comedy, As
you like it.
14. The Masquerade; a Comedy, 1723.
15. The Village Opera, 1728.
16. The Ephesian Matron; a Farce of one Act, 1730.
17. Celia; or, the Perjured Lovers; a Tragedy, 1732.
* * * * *
PHILIP FROWDE, Esq;
This elegant poet was the son of a gentleman who had been
post-master-general in the reign of queen Anne. Where our author
received his earliest instructions in literature we cannot ascertain;
but, at a proper time of life, he was sent to the university of Oxford,
where he had the honour of being particularly distinguished by Mr.
Addison, who took him under his immediate protection. While he remained
at that university, he became author of several poetical performances;
some of which, in Latin, were sufficiently elegant and pure, to intitle
them to a place in the Musæ Anglicanæ, published by Mr. Addison; an
honour so much the more distinguished, as the purity of the Latin poems
contained in that collection, furnished the first hint to Boileau of the
greatness of the British genius. That celebrated critick of France
entertained a mean opinion of the English poets, till he occasionally
read the Musæ Anglicanæ; and then he was persuaded that they who could
write with so much elegance in a dead language, must greatly excel in
that which was native to them.
Mr. Frowde has likewise obliged the publick with two tragedies; the Fall
of Saguntum, dedicated to sir Robert Walpole; and Philotas, addressed to
the earl of Chesterfield. The first of these performances, so far as we
are able to judge, has higher merit than the last. The story is more
important, being the destruction of a powerful city, than the fall of a
single hero; the incidents rising out of this great event are likewise
of a very interesting nature, and the scenes in many places are not
without passion, though justly subject to a very general criticism, that
they are written with too little. Mr. Frowde has been industrious in
this play to conclude his acts with similes, which however exceptionable
for being too long and tedious for the situations of the characters who
utter them, yet are generally just and beautiful. At the end of the
first act he has the following simile upon sedition:
Sedition, thou art up; and, in the ferment,
To what may not the madding populace,
Gathered together for they scarce know what,
Now loud proclaiming their late, whisper'd grief,
Be wrought at length? Perhaps to yield the city.
Thus where the Alps their airy ridge extend,
Gently at first the melting snows descend;
From the broad slopes, with murm'ring lapse they glide
In soft meanders, down the mountain's side;
But lower fall'n streams, with each other crost,
From rock to rock impetuously are tost,
'Till in the Rhone's capacious bed they're lost.
United there, roll rapidly away,
And roaring, reach, o'er rugged rocks, the sea.
In the third act, the poet, by the mouth of a Roman hero, gives the
following concise definition of true courage.
True courage is not, where fermenting spirits
Mount in a troubled and unruly stream;
The soul's its proper seat; and reason there
Presiding, guides its cool or warmer motions.
The representation of besiegers driven back by the impetuosity of the
inhabitants, after they had entered a gate of the city, is strongly
pictured by the following simile.
Imagine to thyself a swarm of bees
Driv'n to their hive by some impending storm,
Which, at its little pest, in clustering heaps,
And climbing o'er each other's backs they enter.
Such was the people's flight, and such their haste
To gain the gate.
We have observed, that Mr. Frowde's other tragedy, called Philotas, was
addressed to the earl of Chesterfield; and in the dedication he takes
care to inform his lordship, that it had obtained his private
approbation, before it appeared on the stage. At the time of its being
acted, lord Chesterfield was then embassador to the states-general, and
consequently he was deprived of his patron's countenance during the
representation. As to the fate of this play, he informs his lordship, it
was very particular: "And I hope (says he) it will not be imputed as
vanity to me, when I explain my meaning in an expression of Juvenal,
Laudatur & al-get." But from what cause this misfortune attended it, we
cannot take upon us to say.
Mr. Frowde died at his lodgings in Cecil-street in the Strand, on the
19th of Dec. 1738. In the London Daily Post 22d December, the following
amiable character is given of our poet:
"But though the elegance of Mr. Frowde's writings has recommended him to
the general publick esteem, the politeness of his genius is the least
amiable part of his character; for he esteemed the talents of wit and
learning, only as they were, conducive to the excitement and practice of
honour and humanity. Therefore,
"with a soul chearful, benevolent, and virtuous, he was in conversation
genteelly delightful; in friendship punctually sincere; in death
christianly resigned. No man could live more beloved; no private man
could die more lamented."
* * * * *
Mrs. MARY CHANDLER,
Was born at Malmsbury in Wiltshire, in the year 1687, of worthy and
reputable parents; her father, Mr. Henry Chandler, being minister, many
years, of the congregation of protestant dissenters in Bath, whose
integrity, candour, and catholick spirit, gained him the esteem and
friendship of all ranks and parties. She was his eldest daughter, and
trained up carefully in the principles of religion and virtue. But as
the circumstances of the family rendered it necessary that she should be
brought up to business, she was very early employed in it, and incapable
of receiving that polite and learned education which she often regretted
the loss of, and which she afterwards endeavoured to repair by
diligently reading, and carefully studying the best modern writers, and
as many as she could of the antient ones, especially the poets, as far
as the best translations could assist her.
Amongst these, Horace was her favourite; and how just her sentiments
were of that elegant writer, will fully appear from her own words, in a
letter to an intimate friend, relating to him, in which she thus
expresses herself: "I have been reading Horace this month past, in the
best translation I could procure of him. O could I read his fine
sentiments cloathed in his own dress, what would I, what would I not
give! He is more my favorite than Virgil or Homer. I like his subjects,
his easy manner. It is nature within my view. He doth not lose me in
fable, or in the clouds amidst gods and goddesses, who, more brutish
than myself, demand my homage, nor hurry me into the noise and confusion
of battles, nor carry me into inchanted circles, to conjure with witches
in an unknown land, but places me with persons like myself, and in
countries where every object is familiar to me. In short, his precepts
are plain, and morals intelligible, though not always so perfect as one
could have wished them. But as to this, I consider when and where he
lived."
The hurries of life into which her circumstances at Bath threw her, sat
frequently extremely heavy upon a mind so intirely devoted to books and
contemplation as hers was; and as that city, especially in the seasons,
but too often furnished her with characters in her own sex that were
extremely displeasing to her, she often, in the most passionate manner,
lamented her fate, that tied her down to so disagreeable a situation;
for she was of so extremely delicate and generous a soul, that the
imprudences and faults of others gave her a very sensible pain, though
she had no other connexion with, or interest in them, but what arose
from the common ties of human nature. This made her occasional
retirements from that place to the country-seats of some of her
peculiarly intimate and honoured friends, doubly delightful to her, as
she there enjoyed the solitude she loved, and could converse, without
interruption, with those objects of nature, that never failed to inspire
her with the most exquisite satisfaction. One of her friends, whom she
highly honoured and loved, and of whose hospitable house, and pleasant
gardens, she was allowed the freest use, was the late excellent Mrs.
Stephens, of Sodbury in Gloucestershire, whose feat she celebrated in a
poem inscribed to her, inserted in the collection she published. A lady,
that was worthy of the highest commendation her muse could bestow upon
her. The fine use she made of solitude, the few following lines me wrote
on it, will be an honourable testimony to her.
Sweet solitude, the Muses dear delight,
Serene thy day, and peaceful is thy night!
Thou nurse of innocence, fair virtue's friend,
Silent, tho' rapturous, pleasures thee attend.
Earth's verdant scenes, the all surrounding skies
Employ my wondring thoughts, and feast my eyes,
Nature in ev'ry object points the road,
Whence contemplation wings my soul to God.
He's all in all. His wisdom, goodness, pow'r,
Spring in each blade, and bloom in ev'ry flow'r,
Smile o'er the meads, and bend in ev'ry hill,
Glide in the stream, and murmur in the rill
All nature moves obedient to his will.
Heav'n shakes, earth trembles, and the forests nod,
When awful thunders speak the voice of God.
However, notwithstanding her love of retirement, and the happy
improvement she knew how to make of it, yet her firm belief that her
station was the appointment of providence, and her earnest desire of
being useful to her relations, whom she regarded with the warmest
affection, brought her to submit to the fatigues of her business, to
which, during thirty-five years, she applied herself with, the utmost
diligence and care.
Amidst such perpetual avocations, and constant attention to business,
her improvements in knowledge, and her extensive acquaintance with the
best writers, are truly surprising. But she well knew the worth of time,
and eagerly laid hold of all her leisure hours, not to lavish them away
in fashionable unmeaning amusements; but in the pursuit of what she
valued infinitely more, those substantial acquisitions of true wisdom
and goodness, which she knew were the noblest ornaments of the
reasonable mind, and the only sources of real and permanent happiness:
and she was the more desirous of this kind of accomplishments, as she
had nothing in her shape to recommend her, being grown, by an accident
in her childhood, very irregular in her body, which she had resolution
enough often to make the subject of her own pleasantry, drawing this
wise inference from it, "That as her person would not recommend her, she
must endeavour to cultivate her mind, to make herself agreeable."
And indeed this she did with the greatest care; and she had so many
excellent qualities in her, that though her first appearance could never
create any prejudice in her favour, yet it was impossible to know her
without valuing and esteeming her.
Wherever she professed friendship, it was sincere and cordial to the
objects of it; and though she admired whatever was excellent in them,
and gave it the commendations it deserved, yet she was not blind to
their faults, especially if such as she apprehended to be inconsistent
with the character of integrity and virtue. As she thought one of the
noblest advantages of real friendship, was the rendering it serviceable
mutually to correct, polish, and perfect the characters of those who
professed it, and as she was not displeased to be kindly admonished
herself for what her friends thought any little disadvantage to her
character, so she took the same liberty with others; but used that
liberty with such a remarkable propriety, tenderness, and politeness, as
made those more sincerely esteem her, with whom she used the greatest
freedom, and has lost her no intimacy but with one person, with whom,
for particular reasons, she thought herself obliged to break off all
correspondence.
Nor could one, who had so perfect a veneration and love for religion and
virtue, fail to make her own advantage of the admonitions and reproofs
she gave to others: and she often expressed a very great pleasure, that
the care she had of those young persons, that were frequently committed
to her friendship, put her upon her guard, as to her own temper and
conduct, and on a review of her own actions, lest she should any way
give them a wrong example, or omit any thing that was really for their
good. And if she at any time reflected, that her behaviour to others had
been wrong, she, with the greatest ease and frankness, asked the pardon
of those she had offended; as not daring to leave to their wrong
construction any action of hers, lest they should imagine that she
indulged to those faults for which she took the liberty of reproving
them. Agreeable to this happy disposition of mind, she gave, in an
off-hand manner, the following advice to an intimate friend, who had
several children, whom she deservedly honoured, and whom she could not
esteem and love beyond his real merits.
To virtue strict, to merit kind,
With temper calm, to trifles blind,
Win them to mend the faults they see,
And copy prudent rules from thee.
Point to examples in their sight,
T'avoid, and scorn, and to delight.
Then love of excellence inspire,
By hope their emulation fire,
You'll gain in time your own desire.