At length arose Mr. John Harrison, bred to the business of a carpenter, in an obscure country village, with no instructions in the art, and without those helps, advantages, and incitements which arise amongst ingenious artists, from a mutual communication of their sentiments. We cannot give a more just character of Mr. Harrison than one similar to that commonly applied to Shakespear, viz. that he was nature's poet: with great natural abilities, a happy turn of genius, indefatigable industry, and inflexible perseverance, this artist may justly be called nature's mechanic;[1] for he has produced and completed Timekeepers, both with pendulums and balances, that keep time to an amazing degree of exactness,—far beyond whatever had been done before, or perhaps hoped for.—Monthly Review for July, 1766.
This high praise of nature's mechanic, be it observed, was conceded in his life-time—ten years before the mortal scene closed on him: and it directs attention to the national Mausoleum of St. Peter's, Westminster, which the current belief supposes appropriated to the remains of men and women of uncommon merit and distinguished fame (with the exception of some few of very high rank:) but we look in vain amongst the statues, the relievos and mural records of this sacred fane, for the genius who first enabled the mariner to explore the trackless deep with a confidence unknown to all preceding ages, and forming an important new aera in navigation, since
- ↑ John Harrison would not have been sensible of the magnitude of this compliment, if it reached him in his seclusion; for among his harmless peculiarities, was a slight cast of the puritan, derived from the obscure notions of those about him in his youth, which made him, like those people, regard Shakespear as a very wicked fellow. And even William Harrison, though he mixed with the world, not being of a cast of mind to understand Nature's poet, evinced the same prejudice, as the following untoward incident may show.—A Gentleman (of the Society of Friends, named Robinson) having made his Son, a youth of sixteen, who was entirely deaf, a present of a handsome edition of Shakespear, the Father sent it back with some resentment; and the books being entrusted to a simple lad, who was intercepted by a prowling sharper, were lost.
