George Bloomfield.
George Bloomfield.
This portrait of the elder brother of Robert Bloomfield, “the Farmer’s Boy,” is here presented from a likeness recently drawn in water colours from the life, and communicated to the Table Book for the purpose of the present [engraving].
The late Mr. Capel Llofft, in a preface to Robert Bloomfield’s “Farmer’s Boy,” relates Robert’s history, from a narrative drawn up by George Bloomfield. It appears from thence, that their father died when Robert was an infant under a year old; that their mother had another family by John Glover, a second husband; and that Robert, at eleven years old, was taken by a kind farmer into his house, and employed in husbandry work. Robert was so small of his age, that his master said he was not likely to get his living by hard labour; his brother George informed his mother, if she would let him have Robert, he would take him and teach him his own trade, shoemaking; another brother, Nathaniel, offered to clothe him; and the mother and Robert, who was then fifteen years old, took coach, and came to London to George Bloomfield. “I have him in my mind’s eye,” says George; “a little boy; not bigger than boys generally are at twelve years old. When I met him and his mother at the inn, (in Bishopsgate-street,) he strutted before us, dressed just as he came from keeping sheep, hogs, &c.—his shoes filled full of stumps in the heels. He, looking about him, slipt up—his nails were unused to a flat pavement. I remember viewing him as he scampered up—how small he was—little thought that little fatherless boy would be one day known and esteemed by the most learned, the most respected, the wisest, and the best men of the kingdom.” Robert developed his talents under the fostering of George, to whose protection he was left by their mother. “She charged me,” says George, “as I valued a mother’s blessing, to watch over him, to set good examples for him, and never to forget that he had lost his father.” Her injunctions were strictly observed till Robert was eighteen, when George, having housed him, and taught him his trade, quitted London, and left Robert to pursue shoemaking and playing on the violin. “Robert told me in a letter,” says George, “‘that he had sold his fiddle, and got a wife.’ Like most poor men, he got a wife first, and had to get household stuff afterward. It took him some years to get out of ready furnished lodgings. At length, by hard working, &c. he acquired a bed of his own, and hired the room up one pair of stairs, at No. 14, Bell-alley, Coleman-street. The landlord kindly gave him leave to sit and work in the light garret, two pair of stairs higher. In this garret, amid six or seven other workmen, his active mind employed itself in composing the Farmer’s Boy.” George, with filial piety and fondness, tells of his mother’s pains to imbue Robert’s mind in infancy with just principles. “As his reason expanded,” continues George, “his love of God and man increased with it. I never knew his fellow for mildness of temper and goodness of disposition; and since I left him, universally is he praised by those who know him best, for the best of husbands, an indulgent father, and quiet neighbour.”
The progress and melancholy termination of Robert Bloomfield’s life are familiar to most readers of sensibility: they may not know, perhaps, that his brother George has long struggled with poverty, and is now an aged man, overwhelmed by indigence.
Two letters, written to a friend by a gentleman of Thetford, Mr. Faux, and some manuscripts accompanying them in George Bloomfield’s hand-writing, are now before me. They contain a few particulars respecting George Bloomfield and his present situation, which are here made known, with the hope of interesting the public in the behalf of a greatly distressed and very worthy man. The following extract from one of Mr. Faux’s letters introduces George Bloomfield’s circumstances, and conveys an idea of his character: it will be seen that he, too, is a versifier.
“Thetford, Oct. 15, 1827.
“I have found the letter you allude to, regarding his application to the overseers of St. Peter’s. I was rather inclined to send you a bundle of his letters and poetry, but I hardly think it fair without first consulting poor old George, and obtaining his permission. The letter enclosed, in answer to my invitation to him to be present on the day the duke of Grafton laid the first stone of the Pump-room, will show you what a shy bird he is. His presence on that occasion would have been highly beneficial to him; but his extreme modesty has been a drawback upon him through life, leaving him generally with a coat ‘scarcely visible.’ I believe he has been always poor, and yet a more temperate man never lived.”——
The following is the note above referred to.
From George Bloomfield to Mr. Faux.
“Wednesday, 3 o’clock.
“I was just folding the papers to take them to Stone, when the Master Fauxes came in, with great good nature in their countenances, and delivered their father’s very kind invitation. I feel truly grateful for the kindness: but when I can, without offence, avoid being seen, I have, through life, consulted my sheepish feelings. I have been accused of ‘making myself scarce,’ and been always considered an ‘unsocial’ fellow: it is a task to me to go into a situation where I am likely to attract attention, and the observation of men. In childhood I read of an invisible coat—I have sometimes worn a coat scarcely visible; but I want a coat that would render me invisible. I hope to be excused without giving offence, as I should be very ill at ease.
“Mr. Faux would have been presented with the enclosed papers a fortnight back, but I waited a favourable opportunity. This week I had but little work to do.—Lo, lo! here they are.”
A poem by George Bloomfield, called “The Spa,” which, being of local interest, has scarcely passed beyond provincial circles, induced the following public testimonial to his talents and virtues.
Lines addressed to George Bloomfield, by the Rev. Mr. Plumtree, late Fellow of Clare Hall, Cambridge.
Hail, aged minstrel! well thine harp thou’st strong,
Tuneful and pleasingly of Thetford sung;
Her abbey nunnery, and her mounds of war,
Her late discovered, healing, blessed, Spa;
And with a skilful hand, and master’s art,
Hast poured the tribute of a grateful heart.
Thy talent must not sleep. Resume thy lyre,
And bid it in some deeper notes respire.
Thy great Creator and thy Saviour claim
The emanations of a poet’s flame.
Poets and prophets once were names entwin’d:
Ah, why was virtue e’er from verse disjoin’d?
Ah, why have Christians lent a willing ear
To strains ’twas sin to sing, ’twas sin to hear?
Will Christians listen to a Byron’s lay?
To Bloomfield, rather, admiration pay.
His simple verse, with piety enjoin’d,
More grateful steal on my attentive mind;
And if it thrills with less tumultuous joy,
It is a pleasure free from all alloy.
Then, aged minstrel, strike thy lyre again,
And o’er the land be heard thy pleasing strain.
And, oh! may Britain’s sons thy lay regard,
And give the aged minstrel his reward:
Not the cheap recompense of empty praise,
Nor e’en the crown of never-fading bays;
But such as may effectually assuage
The wants and cares of thy declining age;
And the last lay that shall thy lyre employ,
Accompany a “heart” that sings for joy.
The hand of the “aged minstrel” is now too weak to strike the lyre; nor will his voice again be heard. Mr. James Burrell Faux, of Thetford, Norfolk, is anxious for immediate assistance in George Bloomfield’s behalf; and to that gentleman communications and contributions should be addressed. All that the Table Book can do, is thus to make known the necessity of the case, and to entreat pecuniary relief from those who have hearts to feel, and ability to give.
Garrick Plays.
No. XLVI.
SERIOUS FRAGMENTS.
1.
Misery lays stronger bonds of love than Nature; and they are more one, whom the same misfortune joined together, than whom the same womb gave life. H. Killigrew.
2.
Dying Person.
————— my soul
The warm embraces of her flesh is now,
Ev’n now forsaking; this frail body must
Like a lost feather fall from off the wing
Of Vanity—
W. Chamberlain.
3.
——————eternity:
Within whose everlasting springs we shall
Meet with those joys, whose blasted embryos were
Here made abortive—
W. Chamberlain.
4.
Crown declined by a Spiritual person.
I know no more the way to temporal rule,
Than he that’s born, and has his years come to him,
On a rough desart—
Middleton.
5.
To a Votaress.
Keep still that holy and immaculate fire,
You chaste lamp of eternity; ’tis a treasure
Too precious for death’s moment to partake,
The twinkling of short life.—
Middleton.
6.
The fame that a man wins himself is best;
That he may call his own: honours put to him
Make him no more a man than his clothes do,
Which are as soon ta’en off; for in the warmth
The heat comes from the body, not the weeds;
So man’s true fame must strike from his own deeds.
Middleton.
7.
Adventurers.
The sons of Fortune, she has sent us forth
To thrive by the red sweat of our own merits.—
Middleton.
8.
New made Honour.
————— forgetfulness
Is the most pleasing virtue they can have.
That do spring up from nothing; for by the same.
Forgetting all, they forget whence they came.
Middleton.
9.
Œnone forsaken.
Beguil’d, disdain’d, and out of love, live long, thou Poplar tree,
And let thy letters grow in length to witness this with me.
Ah Venus, but for reverence unto thy sacred name,
To steal a silly maiden’s love I might account it blame.—
And if the tales I hear be true, and blush for to recite,
Thou dost me wrong to leave the plains, and dally out of sight,
False Paris! this was not thy vow, when thou and I were one,
To range and change old love for new; but now those days be gone.
Peel.
10.
Epilepsy.
—your [Cæsar’s] disease the Gods ne’er gave to man,
But such a one as had a spirit too great
For all his body’s passages to serve it;
Which notes the excess of your ambition.
Chapman.
11.
We are not tried but in our misery. He is a cunning coachman, that can turn well in a narrow room. Anon.
12.
Gray hairs.
—— upon whose reverend head
The milk-white pledge of wisdom sweetly spreads.—
Lodge.
13.
Ladies Dancing.
—— a fine sweet earthquake, gently moved
By the soft wind of whispering silks.—
Decker.
14.
—— sharp witted Poets; whose sweet verse
Makes heav’nly Gods break off their nectar draughts.
And lay their ears down to the lowly earth—
Anon.
15.
Grandsires’ Love.
Old men do never truly doat, untill
Their children bring them babies.
Shirley.
16.
To a false Mistress.
——— thy name,
sweeten’d once the name of him that spake it.—
Shirley.
17.
Herod, jealous, to Mariamne.
Hast thou beheld thyself, and could’st thou stain
So rare perfection?—ev’n for love of thee
I do profoundly hate thee.
Lady Elizabeth Carew.
18.
Cleopatra.
The wanton Queen, that never loved for Love.—
Lady E. Carew.
19.
Conceit of a Princess’ love.
’Twas but a waking dream,
Wherein thou madest thy wishes speak, not her;
In which thy foolish hopes strive to prolong
A wretched being: so sickly children play
With health-loved toys, which for a time delay,
But do not cure the fit.
Rowley.
20.
Changing colour at sudden news.
Why look’st thou red, and pale, and both, and neither?—
Chapman.
21.
Rich Usurer to his Mistress.
I will not ’joy my treasure but in thee,
And in thy looks I’ll count it every hour;
And thy white arms shall be as bands to me,
Wherein are mighty lordships forfeited.—
Then triumph, Leon, richer in thy love.
Than all the hopes of treasure I possess.
Never was happy Leon rich before;
Nor ever was I covetous till now,
That I see gold so ’fined in thy hair.
Chapman.
22.
Puritan.
——— his face demure, with hand
On breast, as you have seen a canting preacher.
Aiming to cheat his audience, wanting matter.
Sigh, to seem holy, till he thought on something.—
Anon.
23.
Sects.
Eternity, which puzzles all the world
To name the inhabitants that people it;
Eternity, whose undiscover’d country
We fools divide before we come to see it,
Making one part contain all happiness,
The other misery, then unseen fight for it.
All sects pretending to a right of choice,
Yet none go willingly to take a part.
Anon.
24.
Man is a vagabond both poor and proud,
He treads on beasts who give him clothes and food;
But the Gods catch him wheresoe’er he lurks,
Whip him, and set him to all painful works:
And yet he brags he shall be crown’d when dead.
Were ever Princes in a Bridewell bred?
Nothing is sinfully begot but he:
Can base-born Bastards lawful Sovereigns be?
Crowne.
25.
Wishes for Obscurity.
How miserable a thing is a Great Man!—
Take noisy vexing Greatness they that please;
Give me obscure and safe and silent ease.
Acquaintance and commerce let me have none
With any powerful thing but Time alone:
My rest let Time be fearful to offend,
And creep by me as by a slumbering friend;
Till, with ease glutted, to my bed I steal,
As men to sleep after a plenteous meal.
Oh wretched he who, call’d abroad by power,
To know himself can never find an hour!
Strange to himself, but to all others known,
Lends every one his life, but uses none;
So, e’er he tasted life, to death he goes;
And himself loses, e’er himself he knows.
Crowne.
26.
Mind constituted to Goodness.
—— you may do this, or any thing you have a mind to; even in your fantasy there is a secret counsel, seeing that all your actions, nay all your pleasures, are in some exercise of virtue— H. Killigrew.
27.
Returned Pilgrim.
To man how sweet is breath! yet sweetest of all
That breath, which from his native air doth fall.
How many weary paces have I measured,
How many known and unknown dangers past,
Since I commenced my tedious pilgrimage,
The last great work of my death-yielding age!
Yet am I blest, that my returning bones
Shall be rak’t up in England’s peaceful earth.
Anon.
28.
Usury.
Nature in all inferior things hath set
A pitch or term, when they no more shall get
Increase and offspring. Unrepaired houses
Fall to decay; old cattle cease to breed;
And sapless trees deny more fruit or seed:
The earth would heartless and infertile be.
If it should never have a jubilee.
Only the Usurer’s Money ’genders still;
The longer, lustier; age this doth not kill.
He lives to see his Money’s Money’s Money
Even to a hundred generations reach.
Anon.
29.
Love defined by contraries.
Fie, fie, how heavy is light Love in me!—
How slow runs swift Desire!—this leaden air,
This ponderous feather, merry melancholy;
This Passion, which but in passion
Hath not his perfect shape.—
Day.
30.
Good Faith.
What are we but our words? when they are past,
Faith should succeed, and that should ever last.
31.
Weeping for good news.
I knew your eye would be first served;
That’s the soul’s taster still for grief or joy.
Rowley
32.
Forsaken Mistress.
I thought the lost perfection of mankind
Was in that man restored; and I have grieved,
Lost Eden too was not revived for him;
And a new Eve, more excellent than the first,
Created for him, that he might have all
The joys he could deserve: and he fool’d me
To think that Eve and Eden was in me:
That he was made for me, and I for him.
Crowne.
33.
Love surviving Hope.
’Tis a vain glory that attends a Lover,
Never to say he quits; and, when Hope dies,
The gallantry of Love still lives, is charm’d
With kindness but in shadow.
Browne.
34.
Warriors.
I hate these potent madmen, who keep all
Mankind awake, while they by their great deeds
Are drumming hard upon this hollow world,
Only to make a sound to last for ages.
Crowne.
35.
Life.
What is’t we live for? tell life’s finest tale—
To eat, to drink, to sleep, love, and enjoy,
And then to love no more!
To talk of things we know not, and to know
Nothing but things not worth the talking of.
Sir R. Fane, jun.
36.
Brother, supposed dead, received by a Sister: she shews him a letter, disclosing an unworthy action done by him; at which he standing abashed, she then first congratulates him:
—— now I meet your love. Pardon me, my brother; I was to rejoyce at this your sadness, before I could share with you in another joy. H. Killigrew.
37.
Person just dead.
’Twas but just now he went away;
I have not yet had time to shed a tear;
And yet the distance does the same appear,
As if he had been a thousand years from me.
Time takes no measure in eternity.
Sir Robert Howard.
38.
French Character.
The French are passing courtly, ripe of wit;
Kind, but extreme dissemblers: you shall have
A Frenchman ducking lower than your knee,
At the instant mocking ev’n your very shoe-tyes.
Ford.
39.
Love must die gently.
I hoped, your great experience, and your years,
Would have proved patience rather to your soul,
Than to break off in this untamed passion.
Howe’er the rough hand of the untoward world
Hath molded your proceedings in this matter,
Yet I am sure the first intent was love.
Then since the first spring was so sweet and warm,
Let it die gently; ne’er kill it with a scorn.
Anon.
40.
Poetic Diction.
——— worthiest poets
Shun common and plebeian forms of speech,
Every illiberal and affected phrase,
To clothe their matter; and together tye
Matter and form with art and decency.
Chapman.
41.
Author Vanity.
———the foolish Poet, that still writ
All his most self-loved verse in paper royal,
Or parchment ruled with lead, smooth’d with the pumice,
Bound richly up, and strung with crimson strings;
Never so blest as when he writ and read
The ape-loved issue of his brain; and never
But joying in himself, admiring ever—
Chapman.
42.
Good wit to be husbanded.
——— as of lions it is said, and eagles,
That when they go, they draw their seres and talons
Close up, to shun rebating of their sharpness:
So our wit’s sharpness, which we should employ
In noblest knowledge, we should never waste
In vile and vulgar admirations.
Chapman.
43.
Impossibility of attaining, a bar to desire.
Nothing is more ordinary, than for my Lady to love her Gentleman; or Mistress Anne, her father’s man. But if a country clown coming up hither, and seeking for his lawyer in Gray’s Inn, should step into the walks, and there should chance to spy some mastership of nature; some famed Beauty, that for a time hath been the name; he would stand amazed, perhaps wish that his Joan were such, but further would not be stirred. Impossibility would
stop more bold desires,
And quench those sparks that else would turn to fires.
Edmund Prestwick.
44.
Theory of men’s choice in a Beauty.
1.—She has a most complete and perfect beauty; nor can the greatest critic in this sort find any fault with the least proportion of her face, but yet methought I was no more taken with it, than I should be with some curious well-drawn picture.
2.—That is somewhat strange.
1.—In my mind, not at all; for it is not always that we are governed by what the general fancy of the world calls beauty; for each soul hath some predominant thoughts, which when they light on ought that strikes on them, there is nothing does more inflame. And as in music that pleaseth not most, which with the greatest art and skill is composed; but those airs that do resemble and stir up some dormant passion, to which the mind is addicted; so, I believe, never yet was any one much taken with a face, in which he did not espy ought that did rouse and put in motion some affection that hath ruled in his thoughts, besides those features which, only for the sake of common opinion, we are forced to say do please. E. Prestwick.
C. L.
GENERAL REMINISCENCES
OF
THREE, THIRD, and THRICE.
“Thrice the brindled rat hath mewed—
Thrice to thine and thrice to mine,
And thrice again to make up nine.”—Shakspeare.
The ordinal, cardinal, or numeral, Three, possesses stronger power of associating application than any other figure in history, or literature. From the first notice of the Creation, Ælohim is understood to signify the Trinity. When the third day was created, the sun, moon, and stars, were set in the firmament. Christ’s resurrection was on the third day, and his crucifixion between two thieves. Noah’s sons were Shem, Ham, and Japheth. Job’s daughters were Keziah, Jemima, and Kerenhappuck; his comforters were Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar. Time is divided into three parts. The ancients rose at the third hour. The Brahmins have their Birmah, Vishnu, and Siva; the Persians their Oromanes, Mithra, and Mithras; the Egyptians their Osiris, Isis, and Orus; the Arabians their Allah, Al Uzza, and Manah; the Phœnicians and Tyrians their Belus, Urania, and Adonis; the Greeks their Jupiter, Neptune, and Pluto. Aristotle, Plutarch, and Macrobius, wrote on the doctrine of numbers. Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, were three Fates. The children that endured the fiery furnace were Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. Jupiter’s thunderbolt had three forks; Neptune’s trident, three prongs; Cerberus three heads. The Pythian priestess sat on a tripod.[512] There were the three Parcæ; the three Furies; three attributes of the sun, Sol, Apollo, and Liber; of the moon, Hecate, Diana, and Luna. David prayed three times a day. The Hindoos make three suppressions of the breath when meditating on the triliteral syllable O’M. The Sabians prayed morning, noon, and night. Three bows of the head, and three prostrations are peculiar to some nations. In England, are king, lords, and commons. The ancients washed their eyes three times; drunk potions out of three cups. The Salians beat the ground three times in their dance. Three times were allowed for execrations, for spitting on the ground and sneezing. Juno Lucina was invoked three times in favour of childbirth. Three steps were allowed to ascend the throne or the altar. Persons dipped thrice into wells for cure. Persons were touched thrice for the king’s evil. Three parts of the old world only were known. The three professions are law, divinity, and physic. Three chirps of a cricket is said to be a sign of death. Coleridge makes his mastiff bitch howl three times for his Lady Christabel. The papist crosses himself three times. The raven’s croak, or the owl’s triad screech, indicates (it is said) ill omens. Three crows in a gutter betoken good to the beholder. The funeral bell is tolled thrice for the death of a man. The third attack of apoplexy is thought fatal. The third finger of the left hand bears the marriage ring. A Latin motto is tria una in juncta. The witches in Macbeth ask, “When shall we three meet again?” There are signs of the Three Crowns, Three Pigeons, Three Cups, Three Tuns, Three Brewers, Three Johns, Three Bells, and others, to an infinite degree. In the church service are the clerk, curate, and preacher; three priests serve at the papal shrine. In the courts of justice are the judge, the jury, and the culprit. In physic, the physician’s consultation is three. An arbitration is three. A dual public-house sign is, with the gazer added quaintly, “We three loggerheads be.” The three warnings are celebrated. The Jews boasted of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. The United Kingdom is England, (Wales included,) Ireland, and Scotland. Who has not read of Three-fingered Jack? of Octavius, Lepidus, and Anthony? A nest of chests is three. The British toast is echoed by hip! hip! huzzah! Three signals decided the fate of Lucius Junius. In the third year of Cyrus the name of Belteshazzar was revealed to Daniel: his prophecy was, that “three kings should stand up in Persia;” and Daniel mourned three weeks by reason of his vision. The beast that he saw, had three ribs in the mouth of it. The householder went about the third hour, and saw others standing idle in the market-place. Daniel’s petition was made three times. In the Revelations, the third part of the creatures which were in the sea and had life, died. Faith, Hope, and Charity, are three virtues. The priests’ abodes in Eziekel were three chambers. In the prophecy it says, “A third part of the hair shall be burnt; a third part fall by the sword; a third part scattered by the wind.” Demosthenes says, “Three years after, he met with the same fate as Æschines, and was also banished from Athens.” History unites an Aristides, a Cimon, and a Phocion. Peter’s denial was given by the cock crowing thrice. Homer, in his Frogs and Mice, says,
“Three warlike sons adorned my nuptial bed,
Three sons, alas! before their father, dead.”
Pope Alexander III., 1182, compelled the kings of England and France to hold the stirrups of his saddle when he mounted his horse. King Richard III. put an end to the civil wars between the houses of York and Lancaster, 1483. Peter III. was deposed 1762. Virgil, 565, lib. viii. says, Nascenti cui tres animas Feronia mater—ter letho sternendus erat: and again, tres ulnas—tribus nodis. Milton’s three fierce spirits were Ariel, Arioch, and Ramiel. Lord Nelson’s ship, the Victory, attacked the Trinidad.[513] Fairs are usually chartered for three days. Persons used to walk three times round Horn church. The pawnbroker has three balls. A hearth has a poker, tongs, and shovel.[514] The sentinel asks—“Who comes there?” thrice, before he dares level his firelock at the intruder. Three candles in a room are said to indicate death in the family. The bashaw wears three tails. The passion flower has three spires.
Thus, it will be readily seen, how intimately the number three has been, and is, connected with events and circumstances, hypothetical and absolute. Were the subject worth tracing further, scarcely a poetic or prose writer, but is liberal in the use of this number. Considering, however, that the adductions already given are such as to satisfy the most fastidious disciples of the square root, need I perform a triple evolution in this threefold science of pure and mixed numbers? I conclude by apologising for not having treated the subject like a lexicographer, in technical and alphabetical routine. J. R. P.
December, 1827.
[512] A milking-stool has three legs. It is superstitiously left in the field to keep witches from injuring the cattle.
[513] The Tres Horas are explained in the Every-Day Book.
[514] For the use of which threepence, hearth money, was formerly paid.
For the Table Book.