In the year 1727 there was born in Sudbury, and baptized in the Independent Meeting there, Thomas Gainsborough, one of the earliest and the greatest of English painters. The family were Dissenters, and in the meeting-house, now under the care of the Rev. Ira Bosely, who seems very happy and successful in his new sphere of labour, are the memorials of two of them who were buried in the graveyard attached. There are two bequests of the Gainsborough family for the support of the minister for the time being, of which the present incumbent made favourable mention when I saw him the other day, in the comfortable manse attached to the meeting-house. One of the items in the ancient account-book seemed to be curious. It was as follows: “Four shillings for tobacco.” I have only to assume in the good old times our pious ancestors had an idea of Pleasant Sunday Afternoon Services, and for that purpose possibly the tobacco had been acquired. Be that as it may, we may be sure the Gainsborough family were as remarkable as any that then attended on the means of grace. In person, Mr. Gainsborough’s father is represented as a fine old man, who wore his hair carefully parted, and was remarkable for the whiteness and regularity of his teeth. According to the custom of the last century he always wore a sword and was an adroit fencer, possessing the fatal facility of using the weapon in either hand. He introduced into Sudbury the straw trade from Coventry, and he managed to keep it in his own hands. He had a large family of five sons and four daughters. One of the latter married a Dissenting Minister at Bath. One son, John, was a great mechanical genius, and invented wings, by means of which he essayed to fly, but, to the amusement of the spectators, found himself, instead of soaring into the air, dropped in a ditch by the way. Humphrey Gainsborough, the painter’s second brother, settled as a Dissenting Minister at Henley-on-Thames. Of him, the celebrated Edgeworth, the father of the equally celebrated daughter, says he had never known a man of a more inventive mind. Thomas, the artist, must have inherited something of his artistic skill from his mother, for she herself loved to paint fruit and flowers, but with the boy, painting became the one great object of his life, and he was always at it, even when he should have been studying at the ancient grammar school where he was a pupil; and thus it is Sudbury has two great men to boast of—Thomas Gainsborough, the artist, and Simon de Sudbury, Archbishop of Canterbury, who was beheaded by the populace in Wat Tyler’s rebellion, and whose skull is still shown you in St. Gregory’s Church. I have known many thick skulls in East Anglia, but surely that of the martyred Archbishop must have been one of the thickest to have lasted all this time.

Sudbury was the painter’s studio. It is now a clean, well-built, and slightly uninteresting provincial town, with a population of about eight thousand. But, said a commercial traveller to me, as I was deploring the barrenness of the land, “It is a good place for business.” It lies in the flat country of the valley of the Stour, a river which expands into a lake when the waters are out. When Gainsborough was a boy it was ancient and picturesque—and dirty. At any rate it is thus described in a poem written by Daniel Herbert, one of the old Noncons., a bunting manufacturer, and occasional preacher in the old meeting-house, who tells us

I live at Sudbury, that dirty place,
Where are a few poor sinners saved by grace.

—Well, the dirt is gone; but when as late as the disfranchisement of the burgh, for bribery and corruption, which took place early in the reign of Queen Victoria, when the free and independent returned to Parliament a gentleman of colour, renowned for his vanity and wealth, it was evident that a good many poor sinners remained who had not been saved by grace.

Allan Cunningham treats the marriage of Gainsborough as all conventional writers do. The lady—her name was Margaret Burr, and she had £200 a year of her own—made Gainsborough “a prudent, a kind, and a submissive wife.” As the lady was but sixteen, and her husband was eighteen, at the time of their wedding, one cannot be surprised to find at a later period Gainsborough looking upon his wife as a somewhat unsuitable companion. Cunningham writes, “The courtship was short. The young pair left Sudbury, leased a small house at a rent of £24 a year in Ipswich, and, making themselves happy in mutual love, conceived they were settled for life.”

Sudbury was the birth-place of Enfield, whose Speaker was a well-known text book in the past generation. Then our William Durbyn, author of the well-known Commentary on the Epistle of Jude, was also born there. He died a martyr for the truth’s sake in Newgate in 1685. The Grammar School of Sudbury dates as far back as 1591. Protestant as the town was, the Sudbury burghers marched to Framlingham to defend Mary’s rights against the attempted usurpation of Northumberland and his faction, she assuring them of her protection in the observance of their religion—a promise she shamefully failed to keep. It seems that Wilson, the Sudbury lecturer and preacher, was so harassed by the Bishop and Archbishop, that with Winthrop, afterwards Governor of Massachusetts, he went over with a large band of the later Pilgrim Fathers to New England. Sudbury itself at one time seems to have rejoiced in a Christian toleration as refreshing as it was rare. In 1670, or thereabouts, it was the practice of the Nonconformists to preach in All Saints Church, while one of the early pastors of the Congregational Church lived with his family in All Saints Vicarage for eleven years. It appears from the town records that this church was without a regular incumbent for a long time, and that after the Dutch war, the church was used as a prison for the Dutch prisoners, there being at one time 500 of them quartered in the town.

The country round the old town—the town of Gainsborough’s boyhood—must have been singularly picturesque. The boy painter saw in it a beauty which he never forget; he told Thicknesse, his first patron, that “there was not a picturesque clump of trees, nor even a single tree of any beauty; no, nor hedge-row, stem or root,” in or around his native town, which was not from his earliest years treasured in his memory. It is interesting to note the painter’s progress. As you walk from the railway you come to Friar Street, where the painter married and took a house for a short while. A few steps further on bring you to Sepulchre Street, and you see the site of the house where he was born, opposite which is now the Christopher Inn. There was a large garden behind the house; and it was there the young artist sketched the face of the culprit whom he watched steal his father’s pears. That was his first attempt at portrait-painting, and a very successful one, as it led to the conviction of the culprit. The Pear Tree is still shown. Apparently Sudbury is famous for its pears. I saw many of them in the gardens belonging to some of the better houses. It was a pleasure for me to attempt to follow in the artist’s steps. For instance, I made my way to Brandon Wood, where the poet loved to go sketching. If the town is improved so as to be almost unrecognisable, the features of the country remain the same; nature builds more enduringly than man. There are trees in Brandon Wood that might have been there in Gainsborough’s time. Over the Essex border, a couple of miles off, is a landscape which still remains as it is drawn in our National Gallery. His paintings of a view near Sudbury and a neighbouring church are more or less still true to life.

Modern Sudbury seems to know but little of her most distinguished son. It is true that he left it at the age of eighteen to take up his residence at Ipswich, then at Bath, and afterwards in London, where he was somewhat of a rival to Sir Joshua Reynolds, and where he achieved fame and fortune as one of the founders of the Royal Academy. It is true that he sleeps not on the banks of the Stour, but on those of the Royal Thames at Kew, the village dear to his patron, George III. But Sudbury is singularly careless of the artist’s memory. As I passed the Liberal Club I accosted a respectable individual—I assume he was such, as he was evidently a member of the club—and in answer to my enquiries (he was an elderly man) he said, “I have lived in Sudbury all my life, and have no idea where Gainsborough was born,” but he did point me out the residence of Mr. Duport, a relative of the artist’s, and where some of his family portraits were preserved; but I am unable to state whether they are there now, as the house was shut up. There ought to be a good many of Gainsborough’s early attempts to be found in Sudbury, as he was very liberal in giving them to his friends. It is not too late for Sudbury to wipe off the reproach of her neglect. It is not too late to mark the sites illustrated by his genius; or to do honour to the memory of her greatest glory; or to show to the lads of the Grammar School there what one of its alumni did, and how he did it, and what he became. In these days culture and education are supposed to work wonders. In the career of Gainsborough, we note the success of one who had little of either, but who did wonders, nevertheless, by his industry and genius alone. We may note that after Gainsborough left his native town he rarely seems to have visited the place, only occasionally to give his vote on the Tory side.

There may yet be letters of Gainsborough to appear, to interest the reading public. The latest published is that which Mr. Redgrave has reprinted. It bears the date of 1776. It was written to his sister in what Mr. Redgrave describes as a clear, graceful hand. It throws a little light on his character.

“What will become of me, time must show; I can only say that my present position with regard to encouragement is all that heart can wish; but as all worldly success is precarious, I don’t build happiness or the expectation of it upon present appearances. I have built upon sandy foundations all my life long. All I know is that I live at a full thousand a year’s expense, and will work hard and do my best to get through withal; and if that will not do let them take their lot of blame and suffering that fall short of their duty both towards me and themselves. Had I been blessed with your penetration and blind eyes towards foolish pleasures, I had steered my course better; but we are born with different passions and gifts, and I have only to hope that the great Giver of all will make better allowances for us than we make for one another.”

So far it is clear Gainsborough feels the helpless and unsatisfactory character of his past life. We then have an insight—not very pleasant—into his family relationships. He speaks of his wife as “weak and good, and never much forward to humour his happiness.” His eldest daughter, Peggy, “is a sensible good girl, but insolent and proud in her behaviour to me at times.” Then his second daughter, Molly, he detects apparently writing letters to a Mr. Fischer, against whom the painter had long been on his guard. “I have never suffered that worthy gentleman ever to be in their company since I came to London, and behold, while I had my eye upon Peggy, the other slyboots has, I suppose, been the object all along.” And Molly wins the day and marries Mr. Fischer after all. Of domestic felicity the great artist seems to have had but a small share. Perhaps that was his own fault.

Sudbury ought to be more patronised than it is. Its river affords ample opportunities for boating; and it has a Temperance Hotel—perhaps the best in all Suffolk—where the tourist may rest and be thankful.