by his apprenticeship at the scriveners.

This

sets the young poet's blood on fire; he will go to London; he will win his way; he will smite the Philistines hip and thigh. And as I have told you - he did go; did work; did struggle. But it is a great self-seeking world he has to face, full throughout of thwarting circumstance. Yet courage and pride hold him up-hold him up for months against terrific odds; at least he will tell nothing of his griefs. Thus his last pennies, which should have gone for bread, go to carry little love-tokens to the dear ones he has left. So lost is he in his little Holborn chamber, in that great seething, turbulent whirl of London, that he thinks- even as he mixes his death potion - they will never know; they will never hear : "Gone" - that is all! But they do know and for them it is to chant broken-hearted the refrain of his own roundelay,

My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed

All under the willow tree.

It is not alone for reason of the romantic aspects of the story that I have given you this glimpse of the boy Chatterton, but because there was really. III.-14

much literary merit and great promise in his work; in some respects, he reminds us of our American Poethe same disposition to deal with mysteries, the same uncontrolled ardors, the same haughty pride; and although Chatterton's range in all rhythmic art was far below that of Poe, and although he did not carry so bold and venturous a step as the American into the region of diableries, he had perhaps more varied fancies and more homely tendernesses. The antique gloss which he put upon his work was unworthy his genius; helping no way save to stimulate curiosity, and done with a crudeness which, under the light of modern philologic study, would have deceived no one. But under this varnish of archæologic fustian and mould, there is show of an imaginative power and of a high poetic instinct, which will hold critical respect * and regard as long as English poetry shall be read.

* Dr. Skeat -as a philologist-is naturally severe upon a thief of archaisms, whose robberies and arrogance did puzzle for a while even the archæologists.

Per contra- there is a disposition among many recent critics to rank him high among the pioneers of the "New

Laurence Sterne.

Just two years before Chatterton died in Hol

born, another noted literary character — Laurence

A

Sterne *- died in Old Bond Street, at what were fashionable lodgings then, and what is now a fashionable tailor's shop; died there almost alone; for he was not a man who wins such friendships as hold through all weathers. well known friend of the sick man Mr. Crawford—was giving a dinner that day a few doors off; and Garrick was a guest at his table; so was David Hume, the historian; half through the dinner, the host told his footman to go over and ask after the sick man; and this is the report the footman gave to outsiders: "I went to the gentleman's lodgings, and the mistress opened the door. Says I-'How is Mr. Sterne to-day?' She told me to go up to the nurse; so I went, and he was just a-dying; I waited a while; but in

Romantic" movement in England; Vid. Rodin NoelEssays on the Poets; also, Athenæum, No. 3073.

* Sterne : b. 1713; d. 1768. Life, by H. D. Traill; a fuller one by Percy Fitzgerald.

five minutes he said, 'Now it's come.'

Then he

put up his hand, as if to stop a blow, and died in a minute. The gentlemen were all very sorry." And all the sorrow anywhere-save in the heart of his poor daughter Lydia-was, I suspect, of the same stamp. His wife certainly would get on very well without him: she had for a good many years already.

You know the name of Mr. Sterne, I daresay, a great deal better than his works; and it is well enough that you should. A good many fragments drift about in books of miscellany which you are very likely to know and to admire; for some of them are surely of most exquisite quality. Take for instance that talk of Corporal Trim with Uncle Toby about the poor lieutenant, and of his ways and times of saying his prayers :

"When the Lieutenant had taken his glass of sack and toast he felt himself a little revived, and sent down into the kitchen to let me know that in about ten minutes he would be glad if I would step upstairs. 'I believe,' said the landlord, ‘he is going to say his prayers, for there was a book laid on the chair by the bedside, and as I shut the door I saw him take up a cushion.'

"I thought,' said the curate, 'that you gentlemen of the army, Mr. Trim, never said your prayers at all.'

“‘A soldier, an' please your Reverence,' said I, ‘prays as often as a parson; and when he is fighting for his king and for his own life, and for his honor too, he has the most reason to pray to God of any one in the whole world.'

"""Twas well said of thee, Trim!' said my Uncle Toby. "But when a soldier,' said I, 'an' please your Reverence, has been standing for twelve hours together in the trenches, up to his knees in cold water, or engaged for months together in long and dangerous marches — detached here- countermanded there; benumbed in his joints; —perhaps without straw in his tent to kneel on, he must say his prayers how and when he can.' 'I believe', said I, for I was piqued, quoth the Corporal, 'for the reputation of the army-I believe, an't please your Reverence — that when a soldier gets time to pray he prays as heartily as a Parson—though not with all his fuss and hypocrisy.'

"Thou should'st not have said that, Trim,' said my uncle Toby; 'for God only knows who is a hypocrite and who is not. At the great and general review of us all, Corporal, at the day of judgment (and not till then) it will be seen who have done their duties in this world and who have not, and we shall be advanced, Trim, accordingly.'

"I hope we shall,' said Trim.

"It is the Scripture,' said my uncle Toby,' and I will show it thee in the morning.'"

Now this beautiful naturalness, this delightful, artistic abstention from all rant or extravagance, makes us wish overmuch that the whole guileless character of my uncle Toby had been as charm