SOURCE: Eland, George. “Molly Leapor—Poetess.” Northhampton County Magazine 5 (1932): 116-19.

[In the following essay, Eland evaluates Leapor's accomplishments as a poet and notes her indebtedness to her male contemporaries, especially Alexander Pope.]

In spinning the thread of Molly Leapor's life, the Fates by no means used their softest and their whitest wool; but they allowed her to be born at a pleasant spot, Marston St. Lawrence, Northamptonshire, on February 26th, 1724, daughter of Philip Leapor, the gardener to Sir John Blencowe, who had retired from the Bench two years before, aged 82. Beside being a sound judge he was a kind master, for when his wife proposed that they should retire a nonagenarian retainer at his full wage of 8d. a day, because he could not even break stones properly, the Judge said: “No, no, let him spoil on; he has a pleasure in thinking he earns his bread at four score years and ten; but if you turn him off he will soon die of grief.” (Baker, “Northamptonshire,” II., 639.)

The Judge himself was called to a higher tribunal in 1726. Perhaps his son and successor proved less kind a master, for Leapor left Marston next year and went to live at Brackley, working as a jobbing gardener and carrying on what we should call a market-garden on the spot where the Castle (which had disappeared wholly in Leland's day) stood. (Purefoy Letters, I., 92). The site is a kind of peninsula, nearly surrounded by the infant Ouse, and is devoted to allotments to-day, though the mound on which was the keep can still be traced.

Philip Leapor's only child, Mary, or Molly, learned to write when about 10 or 11 years old, and from that time “she would often be scribbling, and sometimes in Rhyme.” (Introduction, vol. II., p. xxx). Later on “her thoughts seem to flow as fast as she could put them upon paper.” She was sent to work as a cook-maid “to a gentleman's family in the neighbourhood,” (Gentleman's Magazine, 1784), but her early attraction to poetry made her neglect her duties somewhat, and her parents had the sense to relieve her of this drudgery, and keep her at home. Even then the “quickness of her genius” was noticed “especially when it is consider'd how much she was engaged in her Father's affairs, and the Business of his House, in which she had nobody to assist her.” (Introduction, vol. II., xxii, xxix). This was because she lost her mother in 1742.

Her entire library “consisted of about sixteen or seventeen single volumes, among which were Part of Mr. Pope's Works, Dryden's Fables, some Volumes of plays, etc.” (xxxii). With such few opportunities for acquiring knowledge the wonder grows that she was able to gain so much culture and such power of expressing herself in the short time allowed her, for on November 14th, 1746, she died of measles and her burial “in woollen” is recorded in the Brackley register. According to Baker a stone formerly commemorated her in the churchyard: “In memory of Mary Leapor, daughter of Philip and Ann Leapor, who departed this life Novr ye 26th [sic] 1746. Aged 24.” This stone is either illegible now, or is one of those which, upside down, pave the churchyard walks.

Although the Introduction to the second volume of her poems invites “some ingenious gentleman to be so good as to write a few lines to put upon” the gravestone, this was not done—perhaps in accordance with the wish expressed by Molly herself in “The Consolation”:

Then some kind Friend (when they shall lay
This body in its destin'd clay)
Around my grave shall twist a Briar;
No lying Marble I desire.

The unfortunate rhyme of the last two lines will be noticed. A footnote by the editor notes that “Mrs. Leapor frequently writes the words Sire, Fire, Spire, Hour, & c., each as if two syllables.” (x). In some places he found imperfect rhymes of this kind marked in the MS. with a pin, and no doubt they would have disappeared if the poor girl has lived to correct them for the press. Apparently there was a question of publishing some of her poems shortly before her death, but the “Proposalls” (said to have been drafted by Garrick), bear the date January 1st, 1746-7. (Purefoy Letters, II., 279). That they were successful is proved by the fact that 645 copies are covered by the “List of Subscribers' Names”—amongst them one is glad to see that the Blencowes occur eight times. It is all the more strange, therefore, that it is a rare book, of which the British Museum appears to have no copy, though there is one in the Bodleian. The public library at Northampton has a nice copy.

It was offered as “a handsome volume in octavo” for five shillings. The editor is said to have been Isaac Hawkins Browne, the elder. The title was Poems upon Several Occasions. By Mrs. Leapor, of Brackley, in Northamptonshire. London. Printed: And sold by J. Roberts in Warwick-Lane. MDCCXLVIII.”

The “Second and Last Volume” appeared in 1751. The subscribers for this only account for 320 copies, and there are far fewer local names, though the Blencowes are still faithful.

Shortly before her death she alluded to the publication of her poems, for the benefit of her father who “is growing into years.” (xxviii). As a matter of fact he lived for another quarter of a century, the burgess roll of Brackley Corporation proves that he was admitted in 1753, and died in 1771.

Apparently Molly's appearance was not attractive. In “Mira's Picture” she gives an admitted caricature of herself. After declaring

                                                                      her Brows
                    So like a dry Furze-faggot; and, beside,
                    No quite so even as a Mouse's hide.
she goes on to describe her shape:
                                        where Mountains upon Mountains rise,
          And, as they fear'd some Treachery at hand,
          Behind her Ears her list'ning Shoulders stand.

A postscript to the Introduction thinks “it may give the Reader a worse Idea of her Person than it deserv'd, which was very far from being shocking; tho' there was nothing extraordinary in it” (xxxii); but an ungallant writer in the Gentleman's Magazine (1784) repeats the description of her given by her master when she was in service as “extremely swarthy,” “quite emaciated,” “with a long crane-neck and a short body.”

Coming to the poems themselves it must be owned that the “local colour” is scanty, as might be expected from one who sought to echo Pope, but one pastoral at least, “The Month of August,” betrays the gardener's daughter. Sylvanus, a courtier, says: (I., 35)

But see, to emulate those Cheeks of thine,
On yon fair Tree the blushing Nect'rins shine;
Beneath their Leaves the ruddy Peaches glow,
And the plump Figs compose a gallant show.
With gaudy Plumbs see yonder Boughs recline,
And ruddy Pears in yon Espalier twine.
There humble Dwarfs in pleasing Order stand,
Whose golden Product seems to court thy Hand.

The modest Phillis replies:

In vain you tempt me while our Orchard bears
Long-keeping Russets, lovely Cath'rine Pears,
Permains and Codlings, wheaten Plumbs enough,
And the black Damsons load the bending Bough.

In the poem “To Lucinda,” dated August, 1746, but a few months before her death, come the lines: (II., 59)

Whilst in laborious Toils I spent my Hours,
Employ'd to cultivate the springing Flow'rs.

Another part of her experience is used in one of the best descriptive poems, “Crumble Hall”: (II., 119)

For thee these Hands wind up the whirling Jack,
Or place the Spit across the sloping Rack—
I baste the Mutton with a chearful Heart,
Because I know my Roger will have Part.

The only topical allusion is to “The '45”; in an eclogue Cicely laments that her Colin has enlisted, and is comforted by Joan with the words:

They say the Duke is to his soldiers kind.

Another character enters with a quart of beer to celebrate a rumoured victory with the toast:

'Tis a brave Man, and has a lucky Hand,
The Duke of what d'ye call it—Cumberland.
Heav'n bless the Duke, and all his Train! say I.
Let's pledge thee, Cicely; for I'm deadly dry.

(II. 86).

The sentiment rises above the versification admittedly.

In view of Pope's often-quoted rhyme of “tea” and “obey,” it is interesting to notice lines which end with “tea—Bohea,” “play—tea,” “obey—tea,” and “pray—tea.” (II., 105-8).

At the end of the second volume are a few letters, without date or names; they show a curious command of the language even though their thoughts are trite. One is concerned with the dispatch of her verses to London and concludes thus: (II., 312)

“Yet, after all, Mira has her gay Intervals, and an excellent Knack at Castle-building. In short, if our Scheme succeeds, I intend to shew my Public Spirit; As, first, I shall open two or three more windows in the College-Chapel, and perhaps add another Isle to it. I shall erect a few Alms-houses; and have some Thoughts of founding an Hospital for indigent or distracted Poets. I presume this will take up as much of my superfluous Wealth as I can spare from the Extravagance of a gay Retine and splendid Equipage, in which I intend to abound. Amidst all this I shall not be ingrateful, tho' perhaps somewhat haughty. Yet my Chariot or Landau shall be ever at your Service, and ready to convey you to my Country-seat, or to my House in Hanover-square. But, till all this shall happen, I am proud to subscribe myself

Your humble Servant

Mira.

The “College Chapel,” Brackley, was attached to a Hospital founded by Robert le Bossu, Earl of Leicester, about 1150. Since the Dissolution it has belonged to Magdalen College, Oxford, but the Chapel had fallen into disrepair until restored in 1740 by a Brackley lawyer, named Welchman, who is buried in the Chapel, which serves as the chapel of the school maintained by Magdalen on the site, and in one of the buildings, of the Hospital. It is, perhaps, as well that poor Molly was unable to carry out her scheme.

There seems no evidence that Molly was ever away from Brackley in her life, and the London scenes in her narrative poem, “Mopsus,” are of a somewhat conventional kind. With her small opportunities for gaining experience, and without that insight which, in genius, seems to transcend experience, she had to echo the song of others. Occasionally the original note sounds like Swift's, as in “The Ten-Penny Nail”:

To Jeff'ry Bouze I next belong
Where sparkling Ale was clear and strong,
One Vault, more precious than the rest,
Was stor'd with Hogsheads of the best:
And having lately lost the Key
He fast'ned up the Door with me:
I stood a faithful Centry there,
To guard the choice inspiring Beer
From thirsty Bacchanalian Rage,
Till his son Guzzle was of Age.—etc., etc.

But Pope was Molly's chief model; as Leslie Stephen pointed out: “One ten-syllabled rhyming couplet, with the whole sense strictly confined within its limits, is undoubtedly very much like another. And, accordingly, one may read in any collection of British poets innumerable pages of versification which—if you do not look too close—are exactly like Pope.” (English Men of Letters, p198).

Molly's “Advice to Myrtillo” gives such an impression:

Do you the Levee of his Grace attend,
And (like most Poets) shou'd you want a Friend,
Make not his Worth the Measure of your Song;
But learn his Humour, and you can't be wrong;
Perhaps this Maxim may offend the wise,
But you must flatter if you mean to rise;
Observe what Passions in his Bosom roll,
And watch the Secret Motions of his Soul.

Some lines “To Lucinda” prove Molly's constancy to Pope:

'Tis not your Pomp, your Titles, or your State
That move my Envy, O ye Rich and Great!
The noblest gift God can on Man bestow
Is teaching him his sacred Will to know
The Almighty's sacred Will 's to you reveal'd
But from the Ignorant in Clouds conceal'd.

The workmanship in these lines, and there are hundreds of them, is very crude, and one is forced back on the verdict which called Pope's

                                                                                a mere mechanic art
And every warbler had his tune by heart.

There are few narrative poems, of which we would gladly have found more, containing what is obviously a first-hand picture. Of these “Crumble Hall” is the best:

See! yon brown Parlour on the Left appears
For nothing famous, but its leathern Chairs,
Whose shining Nails like polish'd Armour glow,
And the dull Clock beats audible and slow,
But on the right we spy a Room more fair;
The Form—'tis neither long, nor round, nor square;
The Walls how lofty and the Floor how wide,
We leave for learned Quadrus to decide.
Gay China bowls o'er the broad Chimney shine.—etc., etc.

The attics are described later:

Thro' yon dark Room—be careful how you tread
Up these steep Stairs—or you may break your Head.
These rooms are furnish'd amiably, and full:
Old Shoes, and Sheep-ticks bred in Stacks of Wool;
Grey Dobbin's Gears, and Drenching-Horns enow;
Wheel-spokes—the Irons of a tatter'd Plough

This strikes a note for which the world had three-score years to wait—until it could listen to Crabbe.

Although Brackley is at one end of a county which includes Helpstone at the other, Molly was not Clare, and he must retain the title of Northamptonshire peasant poet. It is only when one remembers all that Molly Leapor accomplished in spite of great difficulties and discouragement that one feels she well earned the small niche in the Temple of Fame afforded by some thirty lines in the Dictionary of National Biography.