undoubted talents and pleasing poetry of the latter have never recovered. He has, however, still many admirers, myself amongst the number; and it shall be my endeavour to try to rescue his memory from the unmerited criticism of a man who, I cannot but think, had little taste for the sweet pastorals of Shenstone. I am the better able to do this, since a kind friend has recently presented to me a box full of unpublished letters and manuscripts and some poems of the Poet which have never seen the light, together with some views of the Leasowes, and sketches of the various objects which he placed in it, all drawn by the author's hand. It is certain that his life was spent in the decoration of this favourite place, which nothing but the want of money prevented his carrying out to a much greater extent. As it was, however, it became much celebrated for its beauty, and was much resorted to both by strangers, as well as persons living in the neighbourhood; and one of Shenstone's great pleasures lay in hearing the praises bestowed upon it by the courtly visitors who sought him out at the Leasowes. For this Dr. Johnson would appear to blame him as a proof of his vanity; but surely it was a vanity of the most innocent kind, equally harmless and defensible. The Leasowes was his own creation—the offspring of his taste; and under such circumstances, who could be insensible to the applause bestowed upon it?
Shenstone inherited the Leasowes from his father when he was a very young man. It was then a farm with a very old house upon it, which be altered into a tolerably comfortable dwelling, and there he resided for the rest of his life. His income was not more than 300l. a year. Still, with this he made those cascades, those seats and temples—opened up those views and vistas—planned those grottos—put up those tablets with classical inscriptions, and introduced those statues and urns which have made the Leasowes classic ground. He also made excavations as receptacle for water, to produce a good effect as it trickled down from the higher grounds. These occupied his time and thoughts, and thus the Leasowes, at last, became one of the most admired places in England.
As Shenstone never married, and seldom left his home except on occasional visits, his life must have been sedentary, and probably indolent, and consequently little is known of him. I find the the following notice of him on a scrap of paper:
"I stirred up my wife's friends to inquire about Shenstone's literary remains, but to no purpose. Forty years had elapsed since my wife burnt the letters which she had obtained from the daughter of Shenstone's cook and dairymaid. She was dead, and had not left a wreck, that I could discover, behind."
More, however, may be known of Shenstone from his correspondence with his friend John Scott Hylton, Esq., which is now before me, and in which he calls himself a "rural enthusiast." And such he was, throughout life. Fond of country scenes and rural enjoyments, thoroughly English in his tastes and habits, and gifted with an exquisite ear for melody, and with a wondrous acquaintance with the pastoral poetry of the ancients, both Greek and Latin, it is a sad pity that his elegant muse is so little known to the public; and whoever shall attempt to roll back the stone of prejudice which Dr. Johnson contrived to place at the entrance to the Leasowes, will be a real benefactor to the present age.
WIFE AND I.
I.
We were out of temper, and scarce knew why,
Though the cause was trivial and common;
But to look in our eyes, you'd have sworn that we both
Were a couple of enemies spiteful and wroth,—
Not a wedded man and woman.
II.
Tossed her sweet little head in as lofty a way
As so little a woman was able;
She clenched her lips with a sneer and a frown,
While I, being rougher, stamped up and down,
Like a careless groom in a stable.
III.
Of little women and little men,
You'd have laughed at our spite and passion;
And would never have dreamed that a storm like this
Would be rainbow'd to tears by that sunlight, a kiss,
Till we talked in the old fond fashion.
IV.
And was followed soon by a sunny shower,
And that again by embraces;
Yet so little the meaning was understood
That we almost felt ashamed to be good,
And wore a blush on our faces.
V.
And tried to bear the whole weight of the blame,
By her kindness herself reproving;
When, seeing her humble, and knowing her true,
I all at once became humble too,
And very contrite and loving.
VI.
She laughed outright with a frolic heart,—
A laugh as careless as Cupid;
And the laughter wrangled along my brain
Till I almost felt in a passion again,
And became quite stubborn and stupid.
VII.
Around this stubbornest neck of mine,
Like the arms of a maid round a lover;
And, feeling them there, with their warmth, you know,
I laughed quite a different laugh,—and so
The storm (as I called it) was over.
VIII.
And though the passing of storms like these
Leaves a certain fond facility
Of getting easily angry again,
Yet they free the heart and rebuke the brain,
And teach us a rough humility.
