Part 8

“Tuesday, 24th August, (1773) set out for Dr. Majendie’s at Kew Green. The Doctor told me that he had not seen the king yesterday, but had left a note in writing, to intimate, that I was to be at his house to-day; and that one of the king’s pages had come to him this morning, to say, ‘that his Majesty would see me a little after twelve.’ At twelve, the Doctor and I went to the king’s house at Kew. We had been only a few minutes in the hall, when the king and queen came in from an airing; and as they passed through the hall, the king called to me by name, and asked how long it was since I came from town? I answered about an hour. ‘I shall see you,’ says he, ‘in a little.’ The Doctor and I waited a considerable time, for the king was busy, and then we were called into a large room, furnished as a library, where the king was walking about, and the queen sitting in a chair. We were received in the most gracious manner possible, by both their Majesties. I had the honour of a conversation with them, nobody else being present but Dr. Majendie, for upwards of an hour on a great variety of topics; in which both the king and queen joined, with a degree of cheerfulness, affability, and ease, that was to me surprising, and soon dissipated the embarrassment which I felt at the beginning of the conference. They both complimented me in the highest terms on my ‘Essay,’ which they said was a book they always kept by them; and the king said he had one copy of it at Kew, and another in town, and immediately went and took it down from a shelf. I found it was the second edition. ‘I never stole a book, but one,’ said his Majesty, ‘and that was your’s (speaking to me) I stole it from the queen, to give it to Lord Hertford to read.’ He had heard that the sale of Hume’s ‘Essays’ had failed, since my book was published; and I told him what Mr. Strahan had told me, in regard to that matter. He had even heard of my being in Edinburgh last summer, and how Mr. Hume was offended on the score of my book. He asked many questions about the second part of the ‘Essay,’ and when it would be ready for the press. I gave him, in a short speech, an account of the plan of it; and said my health was so precarious, I could not tell when it might be ready, as I had many books to consult before I could finish it; but, that if my health were good, I thought I might bring it to a conclusion in two or three years. He asked how long I had been in composing my Essay? praised the caution with which it was written; and said he did not wonder that it had employed me five or six years. He asked, about my Poems. I said there was only one poem of my own, on which I set any value (meaning the ‘Minstrel’) and that it was first published about the same time with the ‘Essay.’ My other poems, I said were incorrect, being but juvenile pieces, and of little consequence, even in my own opinion. We had much conversation on moral subjects; from which both their Majesties let it appear, that they were warm friends to Christianity; and so little inclined to infidelity, that they could hardly believe that any thinking man could really be an Atheist, unless he could bring himself to believe, that he made himself; a thought which pleased the king exceedingly; and he repeated it several times to the queen. He asked whether any thing had been written against me. I spoke of the late pamphlet, of which I gave an account, telling him, that I had never met with any man who had read it, except one quaker. This brought on some discourse about the quakers, whose moderation, and mild behaviour the king and queen commended. I was asked many questions about the Scots Universities: the revenues of the Scots Clergy; their mode of praying and preaching; the medical college of Edinburgh; Dr. Gregory, of whom I gave a particular character, and Dr. Cullen; the length of our vacation at Aberdeen, and the closeness of our attendance during the winter; the number of students that attend my lectures; my mode of lecturing, whether from notes, or completely written lectures; about Mr. Hume, and Dr. Robertson, and Lord Kinnoul, and the Archbishop of York, &c. &c.

His Majesty asked what I thought of my new acquaintance, Lord Dartmouth? I said there was something in his air and manner, which I thought not only agreeable, but enchanting, and that he seemed to me to be one of the best of men; a sentiment in which both their Majesties heartily joined. “They say that Lord Dartmouth is an enthusiast,” said the king, “but surely he says nothing on the subject of religion, but what every Christian may, and ought to say.” He asked whether I did not think the English language on the decline at present; I answered in the affirmative; and the king agreed, and named the “Spectator” as one of the best standards of the language. When I told him that the Scots clergy sometimes prayed a quarter, or even half an hour at a time, he asked, whether that did not lead them into repetitions? I said it often did. “That” said he, “I don’t like in prayers; and excellent as our liturgy is, I think it somewhat faulty in that respect.” “Your Majesty knows,” said I, “that three services are joined in one, in the ordinary church service, which is one cause of those repetitions.” “True,” he replied, “and that circumstance also makes the service too long.” From this he took occasion to speak of the composition of the church liturgy; on which he very justly bestowed the highest commendation. “Observe,” his Majesty said, “how flat those occasional prayers are, that are now composed, in comparison with the old ones.” When I mentioned the smallness of the church livings in Scotland, he said, “he wondered how men of liberal education would chuse to become clergymen there,” and asked, “whether in the remote parts of the country, the clergy, in general were not very ignorant?” I answered, no, for that education was very cheap in Scotland, and that the clergy, in general, were men of good sense, and competent learning. He asked whether we had any good preachers at Aberdeen? I said, yes, and named Campbell and Gerard, with whose names, however, I did not find that he was acquainted. Dr. Majendie mentioned Dr. Oswald’s “Appeal,” with commendation; I praised it too and the queen took down the name, with a view to send for it. I was asked, whether I knew Dr. Oswald? I answered, I did not; and said that my book was published before I read his; that Dr. Oswald was well known to Lord Kinnoul, who had often proposed to make us acquainted. We discussed a great many other topics; for the conversation, as before observed, lasted for upwards of an hour, without any intermission. The queen bore a large share in it. Both the king and her Majesty showed a great deal of good sense, acuteness, and knowledge, as well as of good nature and affability. At last, the king took out his watch (for it was now almost three o’clock, his hour of dinner) which Dr. Majendie and I took as a signal to withdraw. We accordingly bowed to their Majesties, and I addressed the king in these words: “I hope, Sir, your Majesty will pardon me, if I take this opportunity to return you my humble and most grateful acknowledgments for the honour you have been pleased to confer upon me.” He immediately answered, “I think I could do no less for a man, who has done so much service to the cause of Christianity. I shall always be glad of an opportunity to show the good opinion I have of you.” The queen sate all the while, and the king stood, sometimes walking about a little. Her Majesty speaks the English language with surprising elegance, and little or nothing of a foreign accent. There is something wonderfully captivating in her manner; so that if she were only of the rank of a private gentlewoman, one could not help taking notice of her as one of the most agreeable women in the world. Her face is much more pleasing than any of her pictures; and in the expression of her eyes, and in her smile, there is something peculiarly engaging.

When the Doctor and I came out, “Pray,” said I, “how did I behave? Tell me honestly, for I am not accustomed to conversations of this kind.” “Why perfectly well,” answered he, “and just as you ought to do.”—“Are you sure of that?” said I.—“As sure,” he replied, “as of my own existence; and you may be assured of it too, when I tell you, that if there had been any thing in your manner or conversation, which was not perfectly agreeable, your conference would have been at an end in eight or ten minutes at most.” The Doctor afterwards told me that it was a most uncommon thing for a private man, and a commoner, to be honoured with so long an audience. I dined with Dr. and Mrs. Majendie and their family, and returned to town in the evening, very much pleased with the occurrences of the day.

SACRED GARDENS.

The origin of sacred gardens among the heathen nations may be traced up to the garden of Eden. The gardens of the Hesperides, of Adonis, of Flora, were famous among the Greeks and Romans. “The garden of Flora,” says Mr. Spence, (Polymetis, p. 251) “I take to have been the Paradise in the Roman Mythology. The traditions and traces of Paradise among the ancients must be expected to have grown fainter and fainter in every transfusion from one people to another. The Romans probably derived their notions of it from the Greeks, among whom this idea seems to have been shadowed out under the stories of the gardens of Alcinous. In Africa they had the gardens of the Hesperides, and in the East those of Adonis, or the _Horti Adonis_, as Pliny calls them. The term _Horti Adonides_ was used by the ancients to signify _gardens of pleasure_, which answers to the very name of Paradise, or the garden of Eden, as _Horti Adonis_ does to the _garden of the LORD_.”

SIR THOMAS WYAT. [DIED 1541.]

The story of this eminent person, probably one of the principal ornaments of an age unable to discern his merits, or unwilling to record them, has been very imperfectly related. He was born at Allington Castle, in Kent, the ancient seat of his family, in 1503, and was the son of Sir Henry Wyat. He may be said to have finished his education in the society of that eminent character Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, with whom he travelled abroad, and with whom he “tasted in Italy,” says Wood, “the sweet and stately measures of the Italian poesy.” These, as far as the rude state of our language, and the still ruder taste of the times, would allow, he applied to English verse. His poems were printed at London in 1565, and have since been frequently republished, in conjunction with those of his noble friend; but here, as in other points of view, we have but glimpses of him; for through the ignorance or carelessness of the original editor, his pieces are so confusedly blended with the Earl’s, that not many of them can be positively ascertained.[32]

Having been introduced at Court, where his endowments both of body and mind, recommended him to the favour of king Henry the Eighth, he was employed in several foreign embassies, which he discharged with great ability. His influence with the king was proverbial. Lloyd tells us that “when a man was newly preferred, they said he had been in Sir Thomas Wyat’s closet.”

We are informed by Wood (_Athen. Oxon._) that Sir Thomas was sent by the king to Falmouth, for the purpose of conducting a Spanish Minister from thence to London. Being desirous of making great expedition, he fatigued himself so much that he was thrown into a fever, and was obliged to stop at Sherborne, in Dorsetshire, where he died a few days after, in the 38th year of his age, “to the great reluctancy,” says Wood, “of the king, kingdom, his friends, and all that knew the great worth and virtues of the person.” He was buried in Sherborne Church.[33]

He left behind him a son of the same name, who lost his head for exciting a rebellion in the reign of queen Mary, from whom our poet is commonly distinguished by the appellation of Sir Thomas Wyat the elder.

Footnote 32:

There is an engraving of Sir Thomas in the collection of Holbein Heads, published by Mr. Chamberlaine.

An original picture of him, which has been frequently copied, is in the collection of the Earl of Romney. It is nearly a profile, and bears a strong resemblance to Holbein’s drawing.

There is a print of Sir Thomas Wyat, from an engraving on wood, after a painting by Holbein; it is the frontispiece to the book of verses, written on his death, by Leland, entitled “Næniæ in Mortem Thomæ Viati Equitis incomparabilis,” an Elegy on the death of Sir Thomas Wyat, Knt. London, 1542, _quarto_. This book was reprinted by Hearne, at the beginning of the second volume of Leland’s Itinerary. Under the head is the following inscription:—

“Holbenus nitida pingendi maximus arte, ”Effigiem expressit graphice, sed nullus Apelles “Exprimet ingenium felix, animumque Viati.”

This print has been copied by Michael Burghers and Mr. Tyson. _Granger_ i. 110.

Footnote 33:

The first printed Poetical Miscellany, in the English language, is the Collection of Poems, edited and published by Tottel, entitled “Songes and Sonnettes of Surrey, Wyat, and of uncertain Auctors, London, 1557.”—Another edition, 1565—others in 1574, 1585, 1587. The last edition was edited by Dr. George Sewell, in 1717.—This Dr. Sewell was a physician in London; he received his early education at Eton, which he afterwards completed at Cambridge, where he took the degree of Bachelor of Physic in 1709. From thence he went to Leyden, where he studied under the celebrated Boerhaave. Not being successful in the metropolis, he removed to Hampstead, where he died on the 8th of February, 1726. As an author he possessed a considerable share of genius, and wrote in concert with several of his contemporaries, particularly in the Spectator and Tatler; he was principally concerned in the ninth volume of the former, and in the fifth of the latter, as he was also in a translation of Ovid’s Metamorphoses, and an edition of Shakespeare’s Poems. He was the author of a Tragedy, entitled “Sir Walter Raleigh,” published at London in 1719, and also of another, which he left unfinished, entitled “King Richard the First,” the fragments of which were printed in 1728.

THE HAND A SYMBOL OF POWER.

In Parkhurst’s Hebrew Lexicon we have the following remarks on the Hand as an emblem of strength and power. “The hand was used by the Jews, as a trophy or monument of victory, and placed on the top of a pillar. Thus Saul, after smiting the Amalekites, in the pride of his heart erected to or for himself (not for Jehovah) a hand, 1 Samuel xv. 12. And David smote Hadadezer, king of Zobah, when he was going to erect his hand or trophy, by the river Euphrates, 2 Sam. viii. 3, and 1 Chronicles, xviii. 3.—And this appears to be the most ancient use of these memorial hands; whence Absalom seems to have taken the hint of erecting one, merely to keep his name in remembrance, 2 Sam. xviii. 18, where it may be observed that this monument is expressly called not only a _hand_, but _a pillar_, which shews that the hand was wont to be put on a pillar.

“Neibuhr (Voyage in Arabia, tom. 2. p. 211. French edition) speaking of Ali’s mosque at Mesched Ali, says, that ‘at the top of the dome’ where one generally sees on the Turkish mosques a crescent, or only a pole, there is here _a hand stretched out_, to represent that of Ali.” And another writer informs us, that at the Alhambra, or red palace of the Moorish kings in Granada, “on the key-stone of the outward arch [of the present principal entrance] is sculptured the figure of an _arm_, the symbol of strength and dominion.”

“It may not be amiss to observe, that to this day in the East Indies the picture of a _hand_ is the emblem of power or authority. Thus I am assured, says Parkhurst, by a gentleman of undoubted veracity, who resided many years on the coast of Coromandel, that when the Nabob of Arcot, who in his time was governor of _five provinces_, appeared on public occasions, several small flags, with each _a hand_ painted upon them, and one of a large size with _five hands_, were solemnly carried before him.”

The hand was used as an ensign of royalty by the kings of France and England. In Sandford’s Genealogical History, there is the following note on the counter-seal of king Edward the third: “In the margin of this counter-seal, near the point of the king’s sword, is represented the _hand of justice_, being an ensign of royalty peculiar only to the kings of France, for though they in common with other princes carry in their right hand a sceptre of gold, yet in the other they bear the _hand of justice_, being a short rod, and having on the top of it a _left hand_, wide open, made of ivory, on account of the elephant being the only quadruped observable for his devotion, love of his governors, and for his equity. The left hand it is said, is preferred to the right for this purpose, because not being employed in working so many wicked actions as the right, it became more proper than the other to represent the symbol of justice. This hand is also placed in the counter-seals of his successors Richard the second, and Henry the fourth; king Henry the fifth omitted it in his seal, and conquering France both placed that crown on the head, and the French sceptre and _hand of justice_ in the hands of his son, king Henry the sixth.”

Queen Elizabeth used the hand as one of her mint marks.

HENRIETTA MARIA, QUEEN OF CHARLES THE FIRST.

“Our royal martyr,” says Dr. Kennet, “by taking a consort from the Bourbon family, did apparently bring over some evils and mischiefs that disturbed his whole reign. For within less than one year, the French servants of that queen grew so imperious and insolent, that the king was forced to discharge them, and to humble them by a return into their own country.”

“A very sad doom it was certainly to the French,” says L’Estrange in his annals of king Charles, “but as the animadversion was extremely severe, so their offences were in like degree heinous. The bishop of Mende, the queen’s almoner, stood charged for putting intolerable scorn upon, and making religion itself do penance, by enjoining her Majesty, under the notion of penance, to go barefoot, to spin, and to wait upon her family servants at their ordinary repasts, to walk on foot in the mire on a rainy morning, from Somerset House to St. James’s; her confessor, mean while, like Lucifer himself, riding by her in his coach; but, which is worst of all, to make a progress to Tyburn, there to present her devotions for the departed souls of the Papists, who had been executed at that place, on account of the Gunpowder Treason, and other enormous crimes. A most impious piaculary, whereof the king said acutely, that the action can have no greater invective than the relation. The other sex were accused of crimes of another nature, whereof Madam St. George was, as in dignity of office, so in guilt, the principal; culpable she was in many particulars, but her most notorious and unpardonable fault was, her being an accursed instrument of some unkindness between the king and queen. These incendiaries were cashiered, the queen, who formerly shewed so much waspish protervity, soon fell into a mode of loving compliance. But though this renvoy of her Majesty’s servants, imported domestic peace, yet was it attended with an ill aspect from France, though our king, studying to preserve fair correspondence with his brother, sent the Lord Carleton with instructions to represent a true account of the action, with all the motives to it; but his reception was very coarse, being never admitted to audience. Louis despatched Monsieur the Marshal de Bassompierre, as Extraordinary Ambassador to our king, to demand the restitution of the queen’s domesticks: which he at last obtained for most of them.”

“It was this match,” adds Dr. Kennet, “that began to corrupt our nation with French modes and vanities; which gave occasion to Mr. Prynne to write that severe invective, called Histriomastix, against stage plays; to betray our councils to the French court; to weaken the poor Protestants in France, by rendering ineffectual the relief of Rochelle; nay, and to lessen our own trade and navigation. These ill effects, beyond the king’s intention, raised such a jealousy, and spread such a damp upon the English subjects, that it was unhappily turned into one of the unjust occasions of civil war, which indeed began more out of hatred to that party, than out of any disaffection to the king. The people thought themselves too much under French counsels, and a French ministry, or else, they could never have been drawn aside into that great rebellion. This interest when suspected to prevail, brought the king into urgent difficulties; and in the midst of them the aid and assistance, which that interest offered him, did but the more effectually weaken him. On this side the water the French services betrayed him; and on the other side, the French policies were at work to betray him.”

And, indeed, as queen Henrietta had a mighty, if not a supreme sway over King Charles’s councils, so did her mother, Mary de Medicis, who came over by her invitation, administer great cause of jealousy to this nation. “The people,” says L’Estrange, “were generally malecontent at her coming, and wished her farther off. For they did not like her train and followers, which had often been observed to be the sword of pestilence, so that she was beheld as some meteor of evil signification. Nor was one of these calamities thought more the effect of her fortune than inclination; for her restless and unconstant spirit was prone to embroil all wheresoever she came. And besides, as queen Henrietta was extraordinary active in raising money among the Roman Catholics of this kingdom, to enable King Charles to make war against his subjects of Scotland, so was she extreme busy in fomenting the unhappy differences between his Majesty and his English Parliament.”

Sir John Reresby, in his Memoirs, asserts that queen Henrietta Maria was married after the king’s death to Lord St. Alban’s. “The abbess of an English college in Paris, whither the queen used to retire, would tell me,” says Sir John, “that Lord Jermyn, since St. Alban’s, had the queen greatly in awe of him, and indeed it was obvious that he had great interest with her concerns; but that he was married to her, or _had children by her, as some have reported_, I did not then believe, _though the thing was certainly so_.”

Madame Baviere, in her letters, says, “Charles the First’s widow made a clandestine marriage, with her _Chevalier d’ Honneur_, Lord St. Alban’s, who treated her extremely ill, so that whilst she had not a faggot to warm herself, he had in his apartment a good fire, and a sumptuous table. He never gave the queen a kind word, and when she spoke to him, he used to say, _Que me veut cette femme?_”