The Revd. Mr. JAMES MILLER.
This gentleman was born in the year 1703. He was the son of a clergyman, who possessed two considerable livings in Dorsetshire[1]. He received his education at Wadham-College in Oxford, and while he was resident in that university he composed part of his famous Comedy called the Humours of Oxford, acted in the year 1729, by the particular recommendation of Mrs. Oldfield.
This piece, as it was a lively representation of the follies and vices of the students of that place, procured the author many enemies.
Mr. Miller was designed by his relations to be bred to business, which he declined, not being able to endure the servile drudgery it demanded. He no sooner quitted the university than he entered into holy orders, and was immediately preferred to be lecturer in Trinity-College in Conduit-Street, and preacher of Roehampton-Chapel. These livings were too inconsiderable to afford a genteel subsistence, and therefore it may be supposed he had recourse to dramatic writing to encrease his finances. This kind of composition, however, being reckoned by some very foreign to his profession, if not inconsistent with it, was thought to have retarded his preferment in the church. Mr. Miller was likewise attached to the High-Church interest, a circumstance in the times in which he lived, not very favourable to preferment. He was so honest however in these principles, that upon a large offer being made him by the agents for the ministry in the time of a general opposition, he had virtue sufficient to withstand the temptation, though his circumstances at that time were far from being easy. Mr. Miller often confessed to some of his friends, that this was the fiery trial of his constancy. He had received by his wife a very genteel fortune, and a tenderness for her had almost overcome his resolutions; but he recovered again to his former firmness, when upon hinting to his wife, the terms upon which preferment might be procured, she rejected them with indignation; and he became ashamed of his own wavering. This was an instance of honour, few of which are to be met with in the Lives of the Poets, who have been too generally of a time-serving temper, and too pliant to all the follies and vices of their age. But though Mr. Miller would not purchase preferment upon the terms of writing for the ministry, he was content to stipulate, never to write against them, which proposal they rejected in their turn.
About a year before Mr. Miller's death, which happened in 1743, he was presented by Mr. Cary of Dorsetshire, to the profitable living of Upsun, his father had before possess'd, but which this worthy man lived not long to enjoy; nor had he ever an opportunity of making that provision for his family he so much sollicited; and which he even disdained to do at the expence of his honour.
Mr. Miller's dramatic works are,
I. Humours of Oxford, which we have already mentioned.
II. The Mother-in-Law, or the Doctor the Disease; a Comedy, 1733.
III. The Man of Taste, a Comedy; acted in the year 1736, which had a run of 30 nights[2].
IV. Universal Passion, a Comedy, 1736.
V. Art and Nature, a Comedy, 1737.
VI. The Coffee-House, a Farce, 1737.
VII. An Hospital for Fools, a Farce, 1739.
VIII. The Picture, or Cuckold in Conceit.
IX. Mahomet the Impostor, a Tragedy; during the run of this play the author died.
X. Joseph and his Brethren; a sacred Drama.
Mr. Miller was author of many occasional pieces in poetry, of which his Harlequin Horace is the most considerable. This Satire is dedicated to Mr. Rich, the present manager of Covent-Garden Theatre, in which with an ironical severity he lashes that gentleman, in consequence of some offence Mr. Rich had given him.
Mr. Miller likewise published a volume of Sermons, all written with a distinguished air of piety, and a becoming zeal for the interest of true religion; and was principally concerned in the translation of Moliere's comedies, published by Watts.
Our author left behind him a son, whose profession is that of a sea surgeon. Proposals for publishing his Poems have been inserted in the Gentleman's Magazine, with a specimen, which does him honour. The profits of this subscription, are to be appropriated to his mother, whom he chiefly supported, an amiable instance of filial piety.
[1] The account of this gentleman is taken from the information of his widow.
[2] These two pieces were brought on the stage, without the author's name being known; which, probably, not a little contributed to their success; the care of the rehearsals being left to Mr. Theo. Cibber, who played the characters of the Man of Taste, and Squire Headpiece.
* * * * *
Mr. NICHOLAS AMHURST.
This gentleman, well known to the world, by the share he had in the 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 NicholasAmhurst 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, SirWilliam 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 ofOxford, 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 theTheatre Royal in Drury-Lane.
And another Tragedy called Elmerick.
His tragedy of three acts, called Fatal Curiosity, founded on an oldEnglish 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 glideIn 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 spiritsMount in a troubled and unruly stream;The soul's its proper seat; and reason therePresiding, 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 beesDriv'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 hasteTo 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 skiesEmploy 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 rillAll 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.
She used frequently to complain of herself, as naturally eager, anxious, and peevish. But, by a constant cultivation of that benevolent disposition, that was never inwrought in any heart in a stronger and more prevailing manner than in hers, she, in a good measure, dispossest herself of those inward sources of uneasiness, and was pleased with the victory she had gained over herself, and continually striving to render it more absolute and complete.
Her religion was rational and prevalent. She had, in the former part of her life, great doubts about christianity, during which state of uncertainty, she was one of the most uneasy and unhappy persons living. But her own good sense, her inviolable attachment to religion and virtue, her impartial inquiries, her converse with her believing friends, her study of the best writers in defence of christianity, and the observations she made on the temper and conduct, the fall and ruin of some that had discarded their principles, and the irregularities of others, who never attended to them, fully at last released her from all her doubts, and made her a firm and established christian. The immediate consequence of this was, the return of her peace, the possession of herself, the enjoyment of her friends, and an intire freedom from the terror of any thing that could befall her in the future part of her existence. Thus she lived a pleasure to all who knew her, and being, at length, resolved to disengage herself from the hurries of life, and wrap herself up in that retirement she was so fond of, after having gained what she thought a sufficient competency for one of her moderate desires, and in that station that was allotted her, and settled her affairs to her own mind, she finally quitted the world, and in a manner agreeable to her own wishes, without being suffered to lie long in weakness and pain, a burthen to herself, or those who attended her: dying after about two days illness, in the 58th year of her age, Sept. 11, 1745.
She thought the disadvantages of her shape were such, as gave her no reasonable prospect of being happy in a married state, and therefore chose to continue single. She had, however, an honourable offer from a country gentleman of worth and large fortune, who, attracted merely by the goodness of her character, took a journey of an hundred miles to visit her at Bath, where he made his addresses to her. But she convinced him that such a match could neither be for his happiness, or her own. She had, however, something extremely agreeable and pleasing in her face, and no one could enter into any intimacy of conversation with her, but he immediately lost every disgust towards her, that the first appearance of her person tended to excite in him.
She had the misfortune of a very valetudinary constitution, owing, in some measure, probably to the irregularity of her form. At last, after many years illness, she entered, by the late ingenious Dr. Cheney's advice, into the vegetable diet, and indeed the utmost extremes of it, living frequently on bread and water; in which she continued so long, as rendered her incapable of taking any more substantial food when she afterwards needed it; for want of which she was so weak as not to be able to support the attack of her last disorder, and which, I doubt not, hastened on her death. But it must be added, in justice to her character, that the ill state of her health was not the only or principal reason that brought her to, and kept her fixed in her resolution, of attempting, and persevering in this mortifying diet. The conquest of herself, and subjecting her own heart more intirely to the command of her reason and principles, was the object she had in especial view in this change of her manner of living; as being firmly persuaded, that the perpetual free use of animal food, and rich wines, tends so to excite and inflame the passions, as scarce to leave any hope or chance, for that conquest of them which she thought not only religion requires, but the care of our own happiness, renders necessary. And the effect of the trial, in her own case, was answerable to her wishes; and what she says of herself in her own humorous epitaph,
That time and much thought had all passion extinguish'd,
was well known to be true, by those who were most nearly acquainted with her. Those admirable lines onTemperance, in her Bath poem, she penned from a very feeling experience of what she found by her own regard to it, and can never be read too often, as the sense is equal to the goodness of the poetry.
Fatal effects of luxury and ease!We drink our poison, and we eat disease,Indulge our senses at our reason's cost,Till sense is pain, and reason hurt, or lost.Not so, O temperance bland! when rul'd by thee,The brute's obedient, and the man is free.Soft are his slumbers, balmy is his rest,His veins not boiling from the midnight feast.Touch'd by Aurora's rosy hand, he wakesPeaceful and calm, and with the world partakesThe joyful dawnings of returning day,For which their grateful thanks the whole creation pay,All but the human brute. 'Tis he alone,Whose works of darkness fly the rising sun.'Tis to thy rules, O temperance, that we oweAll pleasures, which from health and strength can flow,Vigour of body, purity of mind,Unclouded reason, sentiments refin'd,Unmixt, untainted joys, without remorse,Th' intemperate sinner's never-failing curse.
She was observed, from her childhood, to have a fondness for poetry, often entertaining her companions, in a winter's evening, with riddles in verse, and was extremely fond, at that time of life, of Herbert's poems. And this disposition grew up with her, and made her apply, in her riper years, to the study of the best of our English poets; and before she attempted any thing considerable, sent many small copies of verses, on particular characters and occasions, to her peculiar friends. Her poem on the Bath had the full approbation of the publick; and what sets it above censure, had the commendation of Mr. Pope, and many others of the first rank, for good sense and politeness. And indeed there are many lines in it admirably penn'd, and that the finest genius need not to be ashamed of. It hath ran through several editions; and, when first published, procured her the personal acknowledgments of several of the brightest quality, and of many others, greatly distinguished as the best judges of poetical performances.
She was meditating a nobler work, a large poem on the Being and Attributes of God, which was her favourite subject; and, if one may judge by the imperfect pieces of it, which she left behind her in her papers, would have drawn the publick attention, had she liv'd to finish it.
She was peculiarly happy in her acquaintance, as she had good sense enough to discern that worth in others she justly thought was the foundation of all real friendship, and was so happy as to be honoured and loved as a friend, by those whom she would have wished to be connected with in that sacred character. She had the esteem of that most excellent lady, who was superior to all commendation, the late dutchess of Somerset, then countess of Hertford, who hath done her the honour of several visits, and allowed her to return them at the Mount of Marlborough. Mr. Pope favoured her with his at Bath, and complimented her for her poem on that place. Mrs. Rowe, of Froom, was one of her particular friends. 'Twould be endless to name all the persons of reputation and fortune whom she had the pleasure of being intimately acquainted with. She was a good woman, a kind relation, and a faithful friend. She had a real genius for poetry, was a most agreeable correspondent, had a large fund of good sense, was unblemished in her character, lived highly esteemed, and died greatly lamented,