The Lives of the Poets of Great Britain and Ireland (1753) Volume V Part 30

Mr. CHARLES JOHNSON.

Mr. Charles Johnson was designed for the law; but being an admirer of the muses, turned his thoughts to dramatic writing; and luckily being an intimate of Mr. Wilks, by the a.s.sistance of his friends.h.i.+p, Mr. Johnson had several plays acted, some of which met with success. He was a constant attendant at Will's and b.u.t.ton's coffee houses, which were the resort of most of the men of taste and literature, during the reigns of queen Anne and king George the first. Among these he contracted intimacy enough to int.i.tle him to their patronage, &c on his benefit-nights; by which means he lived (with oeconomy) genteelly. At last he married a young widow, with a tolerable fortune, and set up a tavern in Bow-street, which he quitted on his wife's dying, and lived privately on the small remainder of his fortune.

He died about the year 1744. His parts were not very brilliant; but his behaviour was generally thought inoffensive; yet he escaped not the satire of Mr. Pope, who has been pleased to immortalize him in his Dunciad.

His dramatic pieces are,

1. The Gentleman Cully, a Comedy: acted at the Theatre-Royal, Covent-Garden, 1702.

2. Fortune in her Wits, a Comedy; 1705. It is a very indifferent translation of Mr. Cowley's Naufragium Joculare.

3. The Force of Friends.h.i.+p, a Tragedy, 1710.

4. Love in a Chest, a Farce, 1710.

5. The Wife's Relief; or, the Husband's Cure; a Comedy. It is chiefly borrowed from s.h.i.+rley's Gamester, 1711.

6. The Successful Pirate, a Tragi-Comedy, 1712.

7. The Generous Husband; or, the Coffee-house Politician; a Comedy, 1713.

8. The Country La.s.ses; or, the Custom of the Manor; a Comedy, 1714.

9. Love and Liberty; a Tragedy, 1715.

10. The Victim; a Tragedy, 1715.

11. The Sultaness; a Tragedy, 1717.

12. The Cobler of Preston; a Farce of two Acts, 1717.

13. Love in a Forest; a Comedy, 1721. Taken from Shakespear's Comedy, As you like it.

14. The Masquerade; a Comedy, 1723.

15. The Village Opera, 1728.

16. The Ephesian Matron; a Farce of one Act, 1730.

17. Celia; or, the Perjured Lovers; a Tragedy, 1732.

PHILIP FROWDE, Esq;

This elegant poet was the son of a gentleman who had been post-master-general in the reign of queen Anne. Where our author received his earliest instructions in literature we cannot ascertain; but, at a proper time of life, he was sent to the university of Oxford, where he had the honour of being particularly distinguished by Mr.

Addison, who took him under his immediate protection. While he remained at that university, he became author of several poetical performances; some of which, in Latin, were sufficiently elegant and pure, to int.i.tle them to a place in the Musae Anglicanae, published by Mr. Addison; an honour so much the more distinguished, as the purity of the Latin poems contained in that collection, furnished the first hint to Boileau of the greatness of the British genius. That celebrated critick of France entertained a mean opinion of the English poets, till he occasionally read the Musae Anglicanae; and then he was persuaded that they who could write with so much elegance in a dead language, must greatly excel in that which was native to them.

Mr. Frowde has likewise obliged the publick with two tragedies; the Fall of Saguntum, dedicated to sir Robert Walpole; and Philotas, addressed to the earl of Chesterfield. The first of these performances, so far as we are able to judge, has higher merit than the last. The story is more important, being the destruction of a powerful city, than the fall of a single hero; the incidents rising out of this great event are likewise of a very interesting nature, and the scenes in many places are not without pa.s.sion, though justly subject to a very general criticism, that they are written with too little. Mr. Frowde has been industrious in this play to conclude his acts with similes, which however exceptionable for being too long and tedious for the situations of the characters who utter them, yet are generally just and beautiful. At the end of the first act he has the following simile upon sedition:

Sedition, thou art up; and, in the ferment, To what may not the madding populace, Gathered together for they scarce know what, Now loud proclaiming their late, whisper'd grief, Be wrought at length? Perhaps to yield the city.

Thus where the Alps their airy ridge extend, Gently at first the melting snows descend; From the broad slopes, with murm'ring lapse they glide In soft meanders, down the mountain's side; But lower fall'n streams, with each other crost, From rock to rock impetuously are tost, 'Till in the Rhone's capacious bed they're lost.

United there, roll rapidly away, And roaring, reach, o'er rugged rocks, the sea.

In the third act, the poet, by the mouth of a Roman hero, gives the following concise definition of true courage.

True courage is not, where fermenting spirits Mount in a troubled and unruly stream; The soul's its proper seat; and reason there Presiding, guides its cool or warmer motions.

The representation of besiegers driven back by the impetuosity of the inhabitants, after they had entered a gate of the city, is strongly pictured by the following simile.

Imagine to thyself a swarm of bees Driv'n to their hive by some impending storm, Which, at its little pest, in cl.u.s.tering heaps, And climbing o'er each other's backs they enter.

Such was the people's flight, and such their haste To gain the gate.

We have observed, that Mr. Frowde's other tragedy, called Philotas, was addressed to the earl of Chesterfield; and in the dedication he takes care to inform his lords.h.i.+p, that it had obtained his private approbation, before it appeared on the stage. At the time of its being acted, lord Chesterfield was then emba.s.sador to the states-general, and consequently he was deprived of his patron's countenance during the representation. As to the fate of this play, he informs his lords.h.i.+p, it was very particular: "And I hope (says he) it will not be imputed as vanity to me, when I explain my meaning in an expression of Juvenal, Laudatur & al-get." But from what cause this misfortune attended it, we cannot take upon us to say.

Mr. Frowde died at his lodgings in Cecil-street in the Strand, on the 19th of Dec. 1738. In the London Daily Post 22d December, the following amiable character is given of our poet:

"But though the elegance of Mr. Frowde's writings has recommended him to the general publick esteem, the politeness of his genius is the least amiable part of his character; for he esteemed the talents of wit and learning, only as they were, conducive to the excitement and practice of honour and humanity. Therefore,

"with a soul chearful, benevolent, and virtuous, he was in conversation genteelly delightful; in friends.h.i.+p punctually sincere; in death christianly resigned. No man could live more beloved; no private man could die more lamented."

Mrs. MARY CHANDLER,

Was born at Malmsbury in Wilts.h.i.+re, in the year 1687, of worthy and reputable parents; her father, Mr. Henry Chandler, being minister, many years, of the congregation of protestant dissenters in Bath, whose integrity, candour, and catholick spirit, gained him the esteem and friends.h.i.+p of all ranks and parties. She was his eldest daughter, and trained up carefully in the principles of religion and virtue. But as the circ.u.mstances of the family rendered it necessary that she should be brought up to business, she was very early employed in it, and incapable of receiving that polite and learned education which she often regretted the loss of, and which she afterwards endeavoured to repair by diligently reading, and carefully studying the best modern writers, and as many as she could of the antient ones, especially the poets, as far as the best translations could a.s.sist her.

Amongst these, Horace was her favourite; and how just her sentiments were of that elegant writer, will fully appear from her own words, in a letter to an intimate friend, relating to him, in which she thus expresses herself: "I have been reading Horace this month past, in the best translation I could procure of him. O could I read his fine sentiments cloathed in his own dress, what would I, what would I not give! He is more my favorite than Virgil or Homer. I like his subjects, his easy manner. It is nature within my view. He doth not lose me in fable, or in the clouds amidst G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses, who, more brutish than myself, demand my homage, nor hurry me into the noise and confusion of battles, nor carry me into inchanted circles, to conjure with witches in an unknown land, but places me with persons like myself, and in countries where every object is familiar to me. In short, his precepts are plain, and morals intelligible, though not always so perfect as one could have wished them. But as to this, I consider when and where he lived."

The hurries of life into which her circ.u.mstances at Bath threw her, sat frequently extremely heavy upon a mind so intirely devoted to books and contemplation as hers was; and as that city, especially in the seasons, but too often furnished her with characters in her own s.e.x that were extremely displeasing to her, she often, in the most pa.s.sionate manner, lamented her fate, that tied her down to so disagreeable a situation; for she was of so extremely delicate and generous a soul, that the imprudences and faults of others gave her a very sensible pain, though she had no other connexion with, or interest in them, but what arose from the common ties of human nature. This made her occasional retirements from that place to the country-seats of some of her peculiarly intimate and honoured friends, doubly delightful to her, as she there enjoyed the solitude she loved, and could converse, without interruption, with those objects of nature, that never failed to inspire her with the most exquisite satisfaction. One of her friends, whom she highly honoured and loved, and of whose hospitable house, and pleasant gardens, she was allowed the freest use, was the late excellent Mrs.

Stephens, of Sodbury in Gloucesters.h.i.+re, whose feat she celebrated in a poem inscribed to her, inserted in the collection she published. A lady, that was worthy of the highest commendation her muse could bestow upon her. The fine use she made of solitude, the few following lines me wrote on it, will be an honourable testimony to her.

Sweet solitude, the Muses dear delight, Serene thy day, and peaceful is thy night!

Thou nurse of innocence, fair virtue's friend, Silent, tho' rapturous, pleasures thee attend.

Earth's verdant scenes, the all surrounding skies Employ my wondring thoughts, and feast my eyes, Nature in ev'ry object points the road, Whence contemplation wings my soul to G.o.d.

He's all in all. His wisdom, goodness, pow'r, Spring in each blade, and bloom in ev'ry flow'r, Smile o'er the meads, and bend in ev'ry hill, Glide in the stream, and murmur in the rill All nature moves obedient to his will.

Heav'n shakes, earth trembles, and the forests nod, When awful thunders speak the voice of G.o.d.

However, notwithstanding her love of retirement, and the happy improvement she knew how to make of it, yet her firm belief that her station was the appointment of providence, and her earnest desire of being useful to her relations, whom she regarded with the warmest affection, brought her to submit to the fatigues of her business, to which, during thirty-five years, she applied herself with, the utmost diligence and care.

Amidst such perpetual avocations, and constant attention to business, her improvements in knowledge, and her extensive acquaintance with the best writers, are truly surprising. But she well knew the worth of time, and eagerly laid hold of all her leisure hours, not to lavish them away in fas.h.i.+onable unmeaning amus.e.m.e.nts; but in the pursuit of what she valued infinitely more, those substantial acquisitions of true wisdom and goodness, which she knew were the n.o.blest ornaments of the reasonable mind, and the only sources of real and permanent happiness: and she was the more desirous of this kind of accomplishments, as she had nothing in her shape to recommend her, being grown, by an accident in her childhood, very irregular in her body, which she had resolution enough often to make the subject of her own pleasantry, drawing this wise inference from it, "That as her person would not recommend her, she must endeavour to cultivate her mind, to make herself agreeable."

And indeed this she did with the greatest care; and she had so many excellent qualities in her, that though her first appearance could never create any prejudice in her favour, yet it was impossible to know her without valuing and esteeming her.