DAVID LOVE.

For the Table Book.

Died, on Tuesday afternoon, June 12th, 1827, David Love; of whom there is a portrait, with a memoir, in the Every-Day Book, vol. ii. p. 225, with a further notice at p. 1575. He had nearly attained his seventy-seventh year; and, till within a few weeks of his death, pursued his avocation of “walking stationer” in Nottingham. It was unnecessary for him to take out an hawker’s license, as the commodities in which he dealt were entirely of his own manufacture.

According to the memoirs of David Love’s life, (a curious specimen of “autobiography,”) which he published in twenty-four penny numbers, in 1824, and which he sold very numerously, he was born near Edinburgh in the year 1750; at three years of age he was abandoned by his father, and his mother shortly afterwards became blind; he led her about, and was an “unlucky urchin;” when older grown he worked in a coal-pit, but broke his arm, and was discharged, and commenced hawking tracts and small books. At twenty-five he was worth upwards of three pounds. Then, thinking of settling in the world, he wooed, won, and married a young woman: a small shop was established, which succeeded at first; but finding his fortune wasting, he paid his first court to the Muses, by composing two songs, of which the titles only are now extant:—“The Pride and Vanity of Young Women, with Advice to Young Men, that they may take care who they marry;” and “The Pride and Vanity of Young men, with Advice to the Maids, to beware of being ensnared by their Flatteries and enticing Words.” These versifyings he printed, and first started at a distant fair. Their sale exceeded his expectations; he discontinued his shop, paid his debts, and soon after (during the American war) enlisted into the duke of Buccleugh’s regiment of South Fencibles. His wife quickly presented him with a son, which being “the first man child born in the regiment,” the duke accepted as his name-son. After experiencing the vicissitudes of a soldier’s life, and getting out of the “black hole” two or three times by his verses, he was discharged, in consequence of a weakness in his arm. He then had his soldier’s poems printed, resumed his old trade of walking stationer, turned his face to the south, and was the more successful the farther he went from home. After travelling for some years he settled at Gosport, commenced bookseller with his old stock of old books, and printed a fourpenny volume of original poems. He then lived for three years in London, and composed many poems. Bristol was his next place of residence, and there he performed several remarkable cures out of an old receipt-book, but was too conscientious to turn quack doctor. Here, he saw his father, who died shortly after, “a repenting sinner,” aged ninety-three. Still travelling, he reached Newbury, in Berkshire, where he tells us he was “converted,” and he dates his “new birth” on the 17th of April, 1796. Many pages of his work are occupied by his religious experience, and various texts of scripture, whence he derived consolation.

In 1804 David Love buried his wife, (aged fifty-one,) after a long illness, at Rugby, in Warwickshire. He journeyed to Leicester, and thence to Nottingham, where he from that time continued to reside, except at intervals, and where he married again. In eighteen months his second wife died suddenly, also at Rugby. The following is the commencement of a long elegy on the subject:—

“In this vain world my troubles still abound,
My two wives lie in Rugby burial ground;
Both of one name, and both of them one age,
And in one house both were called off the stage.”

These lines refer to a singular coincidence respecting his wives; both their maiden names were Mary Thompson, and both were aged fifty-one at their death. In 1810, May 21, he married his third and surviving wife at St. Mary’s church, Nottingham; and, excepting a journey to Edinburgh, and another to London, they lived in various parts of the town till his decease. David’s forte lay principally in religious acrostics and hymns, for which he had a good demand among the pious inhabitants. The following is inserted as being a short one:—

To Ann Short, Who said, “I am short of every thing.”
A	m short, O Lord, of praising thee,
N	othing I can do right;
N	eedy and naked, poor I be,
S	hort, Lord, I am of sight:
H	ow short I am of love and grace!
O	f every thing I’m short:
R	enew me, then I’ll follow peace
T	hrough good and bad report.

In person David was below the middle stature; his features were not unhandsome for an old man; his walk was exceedingly slow, deliberately placing one foot before the other, in order perhaps to give his customers time to hear what he had got; his voice was clear, and strongly marked with the Scotch accent. He possessed a readiness of wit and repartee, which is often united with aspiring talents in lower life. A tribute to Love’s memory, written on the day of his burial, may not be unacceptable

Elegy, written in
St Mary’s Church yard, Nottingham.

The sexton tolls the knell of David Love,
The funeral train treads slowly thro’ the street,
Old General,[307] wand in hand, with crape above,
Conducts the pageant with demeanour meet.

Now stops the mournful train beside the grave,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds;
Save when the clerk repeats his twanging stave,
And on the coffin fall the pattering moulds;

Save that from yonder grass-surrounded stone,
The whining schoolboy loudly does complain
Of such, as crowding round his mossy throne,
Invade his tottering transitory reign.

Beneath those rugged stones, that corner’s shade,
And trodden grass in rough mis-shapen heap,
(Unless by Friday’s art away convey’d,[308])
In order due, what various bodies sleep.

The call of “coals,” the cry of sooty sweep,
The twist machine [309] loud lumbering over head;
The jacks’ shrill whirring,[310] oft disturbing sleep—
No more shall rouse them from their well-flock’d bed.

For them no more the Indian weed shall burn,
Or bustling landlord fill his beverage rare;
No shopmates hail their comrade’s wish’d return,
Applaud his song, and in his chorus share.

Perhaps in this hard-beaten spot is laid
Some head once vers’d in the mechanic powers,
Hands that the bat at cricket oft have sway’d,
Or won the cup for gooseberries and flowers.

Slow through the streets on tottering footsteps borne,
Muttering his humble ditties he would rove,
Singing “Goose Fair,” [311] or “Tread Mill” where forlorn
Consign’d by Lincoln ’squires trod David Love.

One week I miss’d him from the market-place,
Along the streets where he was wont to be;
Strange voices came, but his I could not trace,
Before the ’Change, nor by Sheep-lane was he.

And now with honour due, in sad array
Slow through the church-yard paths we’ve seen him borne;
Approach and hear (if thou wilt hear) the lay
In which the bard’s departed worth we mourn.

Epitaph.

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth,
A minstrel old in Nottingham well known,
In Caledonia was his humble birth,
But England makes his aged bones her own.

Long were his verses, and his life was long,
Wide, as a recompense, his fame was spread;
He sold for halfpence (all he had) a song,
He earn’d by them (’twas all he wish’d) his bread.

No farther I his merits can disclose,
His widow dwells where David late abode;
Go, buy his life, wrote by himself, which shows
His service to his country, and his God.

Nottingham,
June 14, 1827.

[307] Old General. See Every-Day Book, vol. ii. col. 1570, for a memoir of this worthy.

[308] Old Friday. The nickname of the ex-deputy sexton of St. Mary’s parish, who was more than suspected of participating in resurrectioning. In Feb. 1827, a discovery was made of some bodies about to be removed to London; an examination ensued, when it was found that, for many months, the dissecting rooms of the metropolis were supplied wholesale from the various grounds of the parish; and for many days nothing was heard of but the opening of graves, which were discovered to be empty.

[309] Machines for making lace.

[310] Part of a stocking-frame, which makes a great noise in working.

[311] Goose fair. A great holiday fair at Nottingham, so called probably from its occurrence immediately after Michaelmas day, (viz. on October 2, 3, 4,) and the great quantity of geese slaughtered and eaten. One of David’s best songs is on this subject, but it is entirely local. Popular tradition, however, has assigned a far different origin to its name: a farmer who for some reason or other (whether grief for the loss of his wife, or her infidelity, or from mere curiosity, or dread of the fair sex, or some other reason equally unreasonable, according to various accounts) had brought up his three sons in total seclusion, during which they never saw woman. On their arriving at man’s estate, he brought them to the October fair, promising to buy each of them whatever he thought best. They gazed about them, asking the names of whatever they saw, when beholding some women walking, dressed in white, they demanded what they were; the farmer, somewhat alarmed at the eagerness of the question, replied, “Pho, those silly things are geese.” When, without waiting an instant, all three exclaimed, “Oh father, buy me a goose.”