Isaac Watts; his life and writings, his homes and friendsHood, Edwin Paxton
Religion
Isaac Watts; his life and writings, his homes and friends
Hood, Edwin Paxton
Watts, Isaac, 1674-1748
It was a house full of daughters and two sons. Two had already gone
to the family vault, and one—born the year of Watts’ entrance into
the family—was soon to follow. But there were nine daughters in the
household; of these two had died before the days of Watts’ residence,
seven survived; these were Helen, and Mary, and Martha, and Elizabeth,
and a second Anne, and Bridget, and Dorothy, and Frances. Was Watts their
tutor? It was a dangerous neighbourhood for a young man, amidst all those
bright glances and radiant young faces in the Puritan household; perhaps
the danger had been greater had there been fewer of them. Fancy indulges
herself in picturing the life of the young student there. As we have
seen, Frances married Sir Nathaniel Gould, and died in 1711, six days
after her mother, Lady Hartopp. The other six daughters all lived and
died unmarried in the family home. How solitary, one thinks, the last of
that bright circle must have felt, dying there in 1764, sixty-two years
after Watts first took up his abode among them.
Isaac Watts entered the family as the tutor of the future baronet, and
many of those pieces which he afterwards gave to the world were the
productions of this time, many of his “Miscellaneous Thoughts,” the
chief portions of his “Logic,” and probably much of his “Improvement
of the Mind.” We have said already he furnishes, like John Calvin and
some others, an instance of a singular prematurity of intelligence, not
however interfering, as is so frequently the case, with future eminence,
usefulness, and advancement.
Here, then, was for some time Watts’ home. He studied hard and
diligently, drawing forth and putting into shape the results of previous
years of scholarship. Behind the house there were extensive gardens and
remarkably fine trees, and especially a noble cedar, said to have been
planted by General Fleetwood, concerning which Robinson tells a singular
story: That long years ago a scythe had been hung up in the fork of the
tree, and was left there unnoticed and untouched until years after it
was discovered, the body of the tree having completely overgrown it and
enclosed the blade so fast that it could not be removed. “And,” says
Robinson, “it is at this day to be seen, the point of the blade on the
one side, and the end on the other.”[8]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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