genius, when in fact I had only the longing, with- terms, of what he had suffered from the unfeeling out the afflatus. I mustered resolution enough, and iniquitous criticism: however, to write spiritedly to them: their an- "The unfavorable review (in the 'Monthly") swer in the ensuing number was a tacit acknow- of my unhappy work, has cut deeper than you ledgment that they had been somewhat too un- could have thought; not in a literary point of view, sparing in their correction. It was a poor attempt but as it affects my respectability. It represents to salve over a wound wantonly and most ungenerously inflicted. Still I was damped, because I knew the work was very respectable; and therefore could not, I concluded, give a criticism grossly deficient in equity-the more especially, as I knew of no sort of inducement to extraordinary severity. Your letter, however, has revived me, and I do again venture to hope that I may still produce something which will survive me. In a short time this will be determined; and when it is, I shall take the liberty of writing to you at Keswick, to make you acquainted with the result. me actually as a beggar, going about gathering money to put myself at college, when my work is worthless; and this with every appearance of candor. They have been sadly misinformed respecting me: this review goes before me wherever I turn my steps: it haunts me incessantly; and I am persuaded it is an instrument in the hands of Satan to drive me to distraction. I must leave Nottingham." "With regard to your advice and offers of as- It is not unworthy of remark, that this very sistance, I will not attempt, because I am unable, reviewal, which was designed to crush the hopes to thank you for them. To-morrow morning I de- of Henry, and suppress his struggling genius, has part for Cambridge; and I have considerable been, in its consequences, the main occasion of hopes that, as I do not enter into the University bringing his Remains to light, and obtaining for with any sinister or interested views, but sincere him that fame which assuredly will be his porly desire to perform the duties of an affectionate tion. Had it not been for the indignation which and vigilant pastor, and become more useful to I felt at perusing a criticism at once so cruel and mankind, I therefore have hopes, I say, that I shall so stupid, the little intercourse between Henry find means of support in the University. If I do and myself would not have taken place; his not, I shall certainly act in pursuance of your re- papers would probably have remained in oblivion, commendations; and shall, without hesitation, and his name in a few years have been forgotten. avail myself of your offers of service, and of your I have stated that his opinions were, at one directions. time, inclining towards deism: it needs not be said on what slight grounds the opinions of a youth must needs be founded: while they are confined to matters of speculation, they indicate, whatever their eccentricities, only an active mind; "I have only one objection to publishing by and it is only when a propensity is manifested to subscription, and I confess it has weight with such principles as give a sanction to immorality, me;—it is, that, in this step, I shall seem to be that they show something wrong at heart. One acting upon the advice so unfeelingly and contu- little poem of Henry's Remains, which was written meliously given by the Monthly Reviewers, who in this unsettled state of mind, exhibits much of say what is equal to this-that had I gotten a sub- his character, and can excite no feelings towards scription for my poems before their merit was him, but such as are favorable. known, I might have succeeded; provided, it seems, I had made a particular statement of my case; like a beggar who stands with his hat in one hand, and a full account of his cruel treatment on the coast | of Barbary in the other, and so gives you his ponny sheet for your sixpence, by way of half. purchase, half-charity. "I have materials for another volume; but they were written principally while Clifton Grove was in the press, or soon after, and do not now at all satisfy me. Indeed, of late, I have been obliged to desist, almost entirely, from converse with the dames of Helicon. The drudgery of an attorney's office, and the necessity of preparing myself, in case I should succeed in getting to college, in what little leisure I could boast, left no room for the flights of the imagination." MY OWN CHARACTER. ADDRESSED (DURING ILLNESS) TO A YOUNG LADY. I'll tell all my faults like a penitent nun, For I know, for my Fanny, before I address her, She won't be a cynical father confessor. Come, come, 't will not do! put that purling brow down You can't, for the soul of you, learn how to frown. well, first, I premise, it's my honest conviction, That my breast is the chaos of all contradiction; Religious-deistic,-now loyal and warm, Then a dagger-drawn democrat hot for reform; This moment a fop, that, sententious as Titus; Democritus now, and anon Heraclitus; Now laughing and pleased, like a child with a rattle In another letter he speaks, in still stronger Then vex'd to the soul with impertinent tattle; Now moody and sad, now unthinking and gay, I'm proud and disdainful to Fortune's gay child, And yet, my dear Fanny, there are who can feel Well, I've told you my frailties without any gloss; So as for the good, why, if I possess it, I am not yet learned enough to express it. his opinions and conduct, if Henry would allow the Bible to be the word of truth and the standard of appeal. Upon this Henry exclaimed in a tone of strong emotion :-"Good God, you surely regard me in a worse light than I deserve!"-His friend proceeded to say, that what he had said was from a conviction that they had no common ground on which to contend, Henry having more than once suggested, that the book of Isaiah was an epic, and that of Job a dramatic, poem. He then stated what the change was which had taken place in his own views and intentions, and the motives for his present conduct. From the man. ner in which Henry listened, it became evident that his mind was ill at ease, and that he was noways satisfied with himself. His friend, therefore, who had expected to be assailed in a tone of triumphant superiority by one in the pride and youthful confidence of great intellectual powers, and, as yet, ignorant of his own ignorance, found himself unexpectedly called upon to act the monitor; and, putting into his hands Scott's "Force of Truth," which was lying on the table, entreated him to take it with him, and peruse it at his leisure. The book produced little effect, and was returned with disapprobation. Men differ as much in mind as in countenance: some are to be awaken. ed by passionate exhortation, or vehement reproof, appealing to their fears and exciting their imagination; others yield to force of argument, or, upon slow inquiry, to the accumulation of historical testimony and moral proofs; there are others, in whom the innate principle of our na At this time, when Henry doubted the truth of ture retains more of its original strength, and Christianity, and professed a careless indifference these are led by their inward monitor into the concerning it which he was far from feeling, it way of peace. Henry was of this class. His in happened that one of his earliest and most inti- tellect might have been on the watch to detect a mate friends, Mr. Almond, was accidentally pres- flaw in evidence, a defective argument, or an ent at a death-bed, and was so struck with what illogical inference; but, in his heart, he felt that he then saw of the power and influence, and in- there is no happiness, no rest, without religion; estimable value of religion, that he formed a firm and in him who becomes willing to believe, the determination to renounce all such pursuits as root of infidelity is destroyed. Mr. Almond was were not strictly compatible with it. That he about to enter at Cambridge: on the evening bemight not be shaken in this resolution, he with- fore his departure for the University, Henry redrew from the society of all those persons whose quested that he would accompany him to the ridicule or censure he feared; and was particu- little room, which was called his study. "We larly careful to avoid Henry, of whose raillery had no sooner entered," says Mr. Almond, "than he stood most in dread. He anxiously shunned he burst into tears, and declared that his anguish him, therefore; till Henry, who would not suffer of mind was insupportable. He entreated that I an intimacy of long standing to be broken off he would kneel down and pray for him; and most knew not why, called upon his friend, and desired cordially were our fears and supplications mingled to know the cause of this unaccountable conduct at that interesting moment. When I took my towards himself and their common acquaintance. leave, he exclaimed:- What must I do?—You Mr. Almond, who had received him with trem- are the only friend to whom I can apply in this bling and reluctance, replied to this expostulation, agonizing state, and you are about to leave me. that a total change had been effected in his reli- My literary associates are all inclined to deism gious views, and that he was prepared to defend I have no one with whom I can communicate !" A new pursuit was thus opened to him, and he have existed; but his ambition now was to be engaged in it with his wonted ardor. "It was eminently useful in the ministry. a constant feature in his mind," says Mr. Pigott,| It was Henry's fortune through his short life, "to persevere in the pursuit of what he deemed as he was worthy of the kindest treatment, always noble and important. Religion, in which he now to find it. His employers, Mr. Coldham and Mr. appeared to himself not yet to have taken a step, Enfield, listened with a friendly ear to his plans, engaged all his anxiety, as of all concerns the most and agreed to give up the remainder of his time, important. He could not rest satisfied till he had though it was now become very valuable to them, formed his principles upon the basis of Christi- as soon as they should think his prospects of getanity, and till he had begun in earnest to think and ting through the university were such as he might act agreeably to its pure and heavenly precepts. reasonably trust to; but, till then, they felt themHis mind loved to make distant excursions into selves bound, for his own sake, to detain him. the future and remote consequences of things. Mr. Dashwood, a clergyman, who at that time reHe no longer limited his views to the narrow con-sided in Nottingham, exerted himself in his fa fines of earthly existence; he was not happy till vor: he had a friend at Queen's College, Cam he had learnt to rest and expatiate in a world to bridge, who mentioned him to one of the fellows come. What he said to me when we became in- of St John's, and that gentleman, on the repretimate is worthy of observation: that, he said, sentations made to him of Henry's talents and which first made him dissatisfied with the creed piety, spared no effort to obtain for him an adhe had adopted, and the standard of practice equate support. which he had set up for himself, was the purity As soon as these hopes were held out to him, of mind which he perceived was everywhere in. his employers gave him a month's leave of abculcated in the Holy Scriptures, and required of sence, for the benefit of uninterrupted study, and every one who would become a successful candi- of change of air, which his health now began to date for future blessedness. He had supposed that require. Instead of going to the sea-coast, as was morality of conduct was all the purity required; expected, he chose for his retreat the village of but when he observed that purity of the very Wilford, which is situated on the banks of the thoughts and intentions of the soul also was requi- Trent, and at the foot of Clifton Woods. These site, he was convinced of his deficiencies, and woods had ever been his favorite place of resort, could find no comfort to his penitence but in the and were the subject of the longest poem in his atonement made for human frailty by the Re- little volume, from which, indeed, the volums deemer of mankind; and no strength adequate to was named. He delighted to point out to his more his weakness, and sufficient for resisting evil, but intimate friends the scenery of this poem: the islet the aid of God's spirit, promised to those who seek to which he had often forded when the river was them from above in the sincerity of earnest not knee-deep; and the little hut wherein he had prayer." sat for hours, and sometimes all day long, reading From the moment when he had fully contracted or writing, or dreaming with his eyes open. He these opinions, he was resolved upon devoting his had sometimes wandered in these woods till night life to the promulgation of them; and therefore was far advanced, and used to speak with pleasure to leave the law, and, if possible, place himself of having once been overtaken there by a thun. at one of the universities. Every argument was der-storm at midnight, and watching the lightused by his friends to dissuade him from his pur.ning over the river and the vale towards the town. pose, but to no effect; his mind was unalterably In this village his mother procured lodgings for fixed, and great and numerous as the obstacles him, and his place of retreat was kept secret, exwere, he was determined to surmount them all. cept from his nearest friends. Soon after the exHe had now served the better half of the term piration of the month, intelligence arrived that for which he was articled: his entrance and con- the plans which had been formed in his behalf tinuance in the profession had been a great ex- had entirely failed. He went immediately to his pense to his family; and to give up this lucra- mother: "All my hopes," said he, "of getting to tive profession, in the study of which he had the University are now blasted: in preparing advanced so far, and situated as he was, for one myself for it, I have lost time in my profession; wherein there was so little prospect of his ob- I have much ground to get up; and as I am detaining even a decent competency, appeared to termined not to be a mediocre attorney, I must them the height of folly or of madness. This de- endeavor to recover what I have lost." The contermination cost his poor mother many tears; sequence was, that he applied himself more se. but determined he was, and that by the best and verely than ever to his studies. He now allowed purest motives. Without ambition he could not himself no time for relaxation, little for his meals, and scarcely any for sleep. He would read till one, two, three o'clock in the morning; then throw himself on the bed, and rise again to his work at five, at the call of a larum, which he had fixed to a Dutch clock in his chamber. Many Oh, what is beauty's power? It flourishes and dies; Will the cold earth its silence break The most beloved on earth Not long survives to-day; And yet 't was sweet, 't was passing sweet, nights he never lay down at all. It was in vain Her praise resounds no more when mantled in her pall. that his mother used every possible means to dissuade him from this destructive application. In this respect, and in this only one, was Henry undutiful, and neither commands, nor tears, nor entreaties, could check his desperate and deadly ardor. At one time she went every night into his room, to put out his candle: as soon as he heard her coming up stairs, he used to hide it in a cupboard, throw himself into bed, and affect sleep while she was in the room; then, when all was quiet, rise again, and pursue his baneful studies. "The night," says Henry, in one of his letters, "has been everything to me; and did the world know how I have been indebted to the hours of repose, they would not wonder that night-images are, as they judge, so ridiculously predominant in my verses." During some of these midnight hours he indulged himself in complaining, but in such complaints that it is to be wished more of them had been found among his papers. ODE ON DISAPPOINTMENT. Come, Disappointment, come! Not in thy terrors clad; Come in thy meekest, saddest guise; The restless and the bad: But I recline Beneath thy shrine, And round my brow, resign'd, thy peaceful cypress twine. Though Fancy flies away Before thy hollow tread, Yet Meditation, in her cell, Hears, with faint eye, the lingering knell, And though the tear By chance appear, Yet she can smile, and say, My all was not laid here. Come, Disappointment, come! Though from Hope's summit hurl'd, Still, rigid Nurse, thou art forgiven, For thou severe wert sent from heaven To wean me from the world: To turn my eye And point to scenes of bliss that never, never die. What is this passing scene? A peevish April day! A little sun-a little rain, And then night sweeps along the plain, Man (soon discuss'd) Yields up his trust, And all his hopes and fears lie with him in the dust. Thus does the shade In memory fade, When in forsaken tomb the form beloved is laid. Then since this world is vain, And volatile and fleet, Why should I lay up earthly joys, Why fly from ill With anxious skill, When soon this hand will freeze, this throbbing heart be still. Come, Disappointment, come! My race will run, I only bow, and say, My God, thy will be done! On another paper are a few lines, written probably in the freshness of his disappointment. I dream no more-the vision flies away, Now hope farewell, farewell all joys below; His health soon sunk under these habits: he became pale and thin, and at length had a sharp fit of sickness. On his recovery, he wrote the following lines in the church-yard of his favorite village. LINES WRITTEN IN WILFORD CHURCH-YARD ON Here would I wish to sleep.-This is the spot For I am wearied with my summer's walk; And thus, perchance, when life's sad journey's o'er, I would not have my corpse cemented down The good man's benison-no more I ask. Yet 't was a silly thought, as if the body, To be thrown up again by some rude sexton, Here stay his steps, and call his children round, I've mark'd with what a silent awe he'd spoken, Or scatter'd wide o'er the huge sweep of waters, A thought which soothes the soul?-yet still my spirit His friends are of opinion that he never thoroughly recovered from the shock which his con stitution then sustained. Many of his poems indicate that he thought himself in danger of consumption; he was not aware that he was gen erating or fostering in himself another disease little less dreadful, and which threatens intellect as well as life. At this time youth was in his favor, and his hopes, which were now again renewed, produced perhaps a better effect than medicine. Mr. Dashwood obtained for him an introduction to Mr. Simeon, of King's College, and with this he was induced to go to Cambridge His friend Almond, who had recently entered at Trinity College, had already endeavored to interest in his behalf some persons who might be able to assist him in the great object of his desire, that of passing through the University, and qualifying himself for holy orders. It is neither to be wondered at, nor censured, that his representations, where he had an opportunity of making them, were for the most part coldly received. They who have been most conversant with youth best understand how little the promises of early genius are to be relied upon: it is among the mortifying truths which we learn from experience, and no common spirit of benevolence is required to overcome the chilling effect of repeated disappointments. He found, however, encouragement from two persons, whose names have since become well known. Mr. Dealtry, then one of the mathematical lecturers at Trinity, was one. This gentleman, whom the love of the abstract sciences had not rendered intolerant of other pursuits more congenial to youthful imaginations, consented to look at Henry's poem of "Time," a manuscript of which was in Almond's possession. The perusal interested him greatly: he entered with his wonted benignity into the concerns of the author: and would gladly have befriended him, if the requisite assistance had not just at that time been secured from other quarters. The other person in whom Mr. Almond excited an interest for his friend was Henry Martyn, who has since sacrificed his life in the missionary service: he was then only a few years older than Henry; equally ardent, equally devout, equally enthusiastic. He heard with emotion of this kindred spirit; read some of his letters, and undertook to enter his name upon the boards of St. John's, (of which college he was a fellow), saying that a friend in London, whose name he was not at liberty to communicate, had empowered him to assist any deserving young man with thirty pounds a year during his stay at the University. To insure success, one of Henry's letters was transmitted to this unknown friend; and Martyn was not a little surprised and grieved, to learn in reply, that a passage in that letter seemed to render it doubtful whether the writer were a |