Part 40

Countess. "The festivals in the country are never celebrated without garlands, and the entertainments of the polite are ushered in by a flower. If the winter denies them that gratification, they have recourse to art. A young bride, in all the magnificence of her nuptial array, would imagine she wanted a necessary part of her ornaments, if she did not improve them with a sprig of flowers. A queen, amidst the greatest solemnities, though she is covered with the jewels of the crown, has an inclination to this rural ornament; she is not satisfied with mere grandeur and majesty, but is desirous of assuming an air of softness and gaiety, by the mediation of flowers.

Prior. "Religion itself, with all its simplicity and abstraction, and amidst the abhorrence it professes to theatrical pomp, which rather tends to dissipate the heart, than to inspire it with a due reverence for sacred mysteries, and a sensibility of human wants, permits some of its festivals to be celebrated with boughs, and chaplets of flowers."

In his Diary is the following entry:--"1658, 27 Jan. After six fits of an ague, died my son Richard, five years and three days old onely, but, at that tender age, a prodigy for witt and understanding; for beauty of body, a very angel; for endowment of mind, of incredible and rare hopes. He was all life, all prettinesse. What shall I say of his frequent pathetical ejaculations uttered of himselfe: Sweete Jesus, save me, deliver me, pardon my sins, let thine angels receive me! So early knowledge, so much piety and perfection! Such a child I never saw! for such a child I blesse God in whose bosome he is!"

Nanteuil's portrait is prefixed to his Sylva, 1664; and a fine copy of the same, by Bartolozzi, is prefixed to Hunter's Sylva. Worlidge engraved a fine portrait of him, prefixed to his Sculptura. Gaywood engraved his portrait for the translation of Lucretius. In Walpole's Anecdotes is his portrait, by Bannerman.

In "A Picturesque Promenade round Dorking," are selected many interesting particulars of Mr. Evelyn.

Essex lost his head for having said that Elizabeth grew old and cankered, and that her mind was as crooked as her carcase. Perhaps the beauty of Mary galled Elizabeth.

The Quarterly Review of July, 1828, thus remarks:--"When Elizabeth's wrinkles waxed many, it is reported that an unfortunate master of the Mint incurred disgrace, by a too faithful shilling; the die was broken, and only one mutilated impression is now in existence. Her maids of honour took the hint, and were thenceforth careful that no fragment of a looking glass should remain in any room of the palace. In fact, the lion-hearted lady had not heart to look herself in the face for the last twenty years of her life."

It seems that Elizabeth was fond of executions. She loved Essex, of all men, best; and yet the same axe which murdered Anne Bulleyn, was used to revenge herself on him. The bloody task took three strokes, which so enraged the multitude, (who loved Essex) that they would have torn the executioner to pieces, had not the soldiers prevented them. Mr. Hutton, in his "Journey to London," observes, that "their vengeance ought to have been directed against the person who caused him to use it." What her reflections were on these two bloody acts when on her death-bed, we scarcely know. A modern writer on horticulture, nearly concludes a very pleasing work, by enumerating (with slight historical notices) the several plants cultivated in our gardens. He thus concludes his account of one:--"Queen Elizabeth, in her last illness, eat little but Succory Pottage." Mr. Loudon says it is used "as a fodder for cattle." The French call it Chicoree sauvage. Her taste must have been something like her heart. Poor Mary eat no supper the night previous to her last illness. Had it been possible for Elizabeth to have read those pages of Robertson, which paint the long succession of calamities which befel Mary, and the insolence and brutality she received from Darnley, and which so eloquently plead for her frailties, perhaps even these pages would not have softened her bloody disposition, which she seems to have inherited from that insolent monster, her father. "Mary's sufferings (says this enchanting historian) exceed, both in degree and duration, those tragical distresses which fancy has feigned, to excite sorrow and commiseration; and while we survey them, we are apt altogether to forget her frailties; we think of her faults with less indignation, and approve of our tears as if they were shed for a person who had attained much nearer to pure virtue. With regard to the queen's person, all contemporary authors agree in ascribing to Mary the utmost beauty of countenance, and elegance of shape, of which the human form is capable. Her hair was black, though, according to the fashion of that age, she frequently borrowed locks, and of different colours. Her eyes were a dark grey; her complexion was exquisitely fine, and her hands and arms remarkably delicate, both as to shape and colour. Her stature was of an height that rose to the majestic. She danced, she walked, and she rode with equal grace. She sung, and played upon the lute with uncommon skill."

I will merely give this brief extract as one out of many of great force and beauty, from his Salmonia:--"If we look with wonder upon the great remains of human works, such as the columns of Palmyra, broken in the midst of the desert, the temples of Pæstum, beautiful in the decay of twenty centuries, or the mutilated fragments of Greek sculpture in the Acropolis of Athens, or in our own Museum, as proofs of the genius of artists, and power and riches of nations now past away, with how much deeper feeling of admiration must we consider those grand monuments of nature, which mark the revolutions of the globe; continents broken into islands; one land produced, another destroyed; the bottom of the ocean become a fertile soil; whole races of animals extinct; and the bones and exuviæ of one class covered with the remains of another, and upon the graves of past generations--the marble or rocky tomb, as it were, of a former animated world--new generations rising, and order and harmony established, and a system of life and beauty produced, as it were, out of chaos and death; proving the infinite power, wisdom, and goodness, of the GREAT CAUSE OF ALL BEING!" I must trespass on my reader, by again quoting from Salmonia:--"I envy no quality of the mind or intellect in others; not genius, power, wit, or fancy; but if I could choose what would be most delightful, and I believe most useful to me, I should prefer a firm religious belief to every other blessing; for it makes life a discipline of goodness--creates new hopes, when all earthly hopes vanish; and throws over the decay, the destruction of existence, the most gorgeous of lights; awakens life even in death, and from corruption and decay calls up beauty and divinity: makes an instrument of torture and of shame the ladder of ascent to Paradise; and, far above all combinations of earthly hopes, calls up the most delightful visions of palms and amaranths, the gardens of the blest, the security of everlasting joys, where the sensualist and the sceptic view only gloom, decay, annihilation, and despair!"

In this delightful essay, he says, "the most exquisite delights of sense are pursued, in the contrivance and plantation of gardens, which, with fruits, flowers, shades, fountains, and the music of birds that frequent such happy places, seem to furnish all the pleasures of the several senses."

Mr. Johnson, in his History of English Gardening, admirably confirms this conflagration argument, by quoting the opinion or testimony of the celebrated Goëthe.

To this interesting subject is devoted, a part of Mr. Loudon's concise and luminous review "Of the Rise, Progress, and Present State of Gardening in the British Isles;" being chapter iv. of his Encyclopædia.

Perhaps there are few pages that more awfully paint the sacredness of this spot, than page 36 in the fifth edition of Dr. Alison's Essays on Taste.

I do not mean to apply to the hospitable table of this reverend gentleman, the lines of Peter Pindar:--

One cut from venison, to the heart can speak, Stronger than ten quotations from the Greek.

I cannot prevent myself from quoting a very small portion of the animated address of another clergyman, the Rev. J. G. Morris, as chairman to the Wakefield Horticultural Society. I am certain each one of my readers will blame me for not having inserted the whole of this eloquent appeal. I copy it from the Gardener's Magazine for August, 1828:--"Conscious that I possessed no qualifications to fit me for the task, and feeling that it ill became me to assume it, as I am as yet nearly a stranger amongst you; aware, too, that I should be surrounded by individuals so much more eligible, inasmuch as they are eminently gifted with botanical science and practical knowledge, the result of their horticultural pursuits and facilities, of which I am quite devoid; I wished and begged to decline the proffered honour. It appears, however, that my entreaties are not listened to, and that your kindness and partiality persist in selecting for your chairman one so inadequate to the situation. Gentlemen, I take the chair with much diffidence; but I will presume to say, that, in the absence of other qualities, I bring with me a passionate love for plants and flowers, for the sweets and beauties of the garden, and no inconsiderable fondness for its more substantial productions. Gardening, as a recreation and relaxation from severer studies and more important avocations, has exquisite charms for me; and I am ready, with old Gerarde, to confess, that 'the principal delight is in the mind, singularly enriched with the knowledge of these visible things; setting forth to us the invisible wisdom and admirable workmanship of Almighty God.' With such predilections, you will easily give me credit, gentlemen, for participating with this assembly in the sincerest wishes for the complete and permanent establishment of a society amongst us, whose object shall be to promote, in the surrounding district, the introduction of different sorts of flowers, culinary vegetables, fruits, improved culture and management generally, and a taste for botany as a science. These are pursuits, gentlemen, combining at once health and innocence, pleasure and utility. Wakefield and its vicinity appear to possess facilities for the accomplishment of such a project, inferior to no district within this great palatinate, indeed, little inferior to any in the kingdom. The country is beautiful and charmingly varied, and, from the diversity of soil, suited to varied productions; the whole thickly interspersed with seats and villas of persons of opulence, possessing their conservatories, hot-houses, and stoves, their orchards, flower and kitchen gardens: whilst few towns can boast (as Wakefield can) of so many gardens within its enclosure, cultivated with so much assiduity and skill, so much taste and deserved success. Seven years ago, I had the honour to originate a similar project in Preston, in Lancashire, and with the happiest success. In that borough, possessing far less advantages than Wakefield offers, a horticultural society was established, which, in its four annual meetings, assembles all the rank and fashion of a circuit of more than ten miles, and numbers more than a hundred and twenty subscribers to its funds. Those who have not witnessed the interesting sight, can form but a faint idea of the animating scene which is presented in a spacious and handsome room, tastefully adorned with the choicest exotics from various conservatories, and the more choice, because selected with a view to competition: decorated with the varied beauties of the parterre, vieing with each other in fragrance, hue, and delicacy of texture; whilst the tables groan under the weight of delicious fruits and rare vegetables in endless variety, the joint produce of hot-houses, stoves, orchards, and kitchen gardens. Figure to yourselves, gentlemen, this elysium, graced by some hundreds of our fair countrywomen, an absolute galaxy of animated beauty, and that music lends its aid, and you will agree with me that a more fascinating treat could hardly be devised. New flowers, new fruits, recent varieties of those of long standing and established character for excellence, are thus introduced, in lieu of those whose inferiority is no longer doubtful. New culinary vegetables, or, from superior treatment or mode of culture, rendered more salubrious and of exquisite flavour, will load the stalls of our market-gardeners. I call upon you, then, gentlemen, for your zealous support. Say not that you have no gardens, or that your gardens are inconsiderable, or that you are no cultivators; you are all interested in having good and delicious fruits, nutritious and delicate culinary vegetables, and in procuring them at a reasonable rate, which will be the results of improved and successful cultivation. At our various exhibitions, let each contribute that in which he excels, and our object will be attained. Gentlemen, I fear I have trespassed too long on your patience and indulgence. I will just urge one more motive for your warm support of our intended society; it is this: that, by diffusing a love of plants and gardening, you will materially contribute to the comfort and happiness of the laborious classes; for the pleasure taken in such pursuits forms an unexceptionable relaxation from the toils of business, and every hour thus spent is subtracted from the ale-house and other haunts of idleness and dissipation."

In the grounds of Hagley, were once inscribed these lines:--

Here Pope!--ah, never must that tow'ring mind To his loved haunts, or dearer friend return; What art, what friendships! oh! what fame resign'd: In yonder glade I trace his mournful urn.

At Holm-Lacey is preserved a sketch, in crayons, by Pope, (when on a visit there) of Lord Strafford by Vandyke. It is well known that Pope painted Betterton in oil colours, and gave it to Lord Mansfield. The noble lord regretted the loss of this memorial, when his house was consumed at the time of the disgraceful and ignorant riots.

Sir Joshua Reynolds used to tell the following anecdote relative to Pope.--"When Reynolds was a young man, he was present at an auction of very scarce pictures, which attracted a great crowd of connoisseurs and others; when, in the moment of a very interesting piece being put up, Mr. Pope entered the room. All was in an instant, from a scene of confusion and bustle, a dead calm. The auctioneer, as if by instinct, suspended his hammer. The audience, to an individual, as if by the same impulse, rose up to receive the poet; and did not resume their seats till he had reached the upper end of the room."

A similar honour was paid to the Abbé Raynal, whose reputation was such, that the Speaker of the House of Commons observing him among the spectators, suspended the business of the house till he had seen the eloquent historian placed in a more commodious seat. It is painful to relate, that this powerful writer, and good man, who narrowly escaped the guillotine, expired in a garret, in extreme poverty, at the age of eighty-four; the only property he left being one assignat of fifty livres, worth not threepence in ready money. Perhaps one might have applied the following anecdote (told by Dr. Drake in his Literary Hours) to Abbé Raynal:--"A respectable character, having long figured in the gay world at Paris, was at length compelled to live in an obscure retreat in that city, the victim of severe misfortunes. He was so indigent, that he subsisted only on an allowance from the parish. Every week bread was sent to him sufficient for his support, and yet at length, he demanded more. On this the curate sent for him. 'Do you live alone?' said the curate. 'With whom, sir, is it possible I should live? I am wretched, since I thus solicit charity, and am abandoned by all the world.' 'But, sir, if you live alone, why do you ask for more bread than is sufficient for yourself?' The other at last, with great reluctance, confessed that he had a dog. The curate desired him to observe, that he was only the distributor of the bread that belonged to the poor, and that it was absolutely necessary that he should dispose of his dog. 'Ah, sir!' exclaimed the poor man, weeping, 'and if I lose my dog, who is there then to love me?' The good pastor took his purse, and giving it to him, 'take this, sir,' said he; 'this is mine--this I can give.'"

How applicable are Gray's lines to Lord Byron himself, now!

Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire!--

Mr. Bowles, in some stanzas written since the death of Byron, thus feelingly apostrophizes his noble spirit:--

But I will bid th' Arcadian cypress wave, Pluck the green laurel from Peneus' side, And pray thy spirit may such quiet have That not one thought unkind be murmur'd o'er thy grave.

Perhaps one motive (no doubt there were numberless others) that might have induced Mr. Mason thus to honour the memory of Pope,

----letting cold tears bedew his silver urn,

might have been from the recollection of his attachment to what equally charmed Mr. Mason--the love of gardens.