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For I am wearied with my summer's walk;
stitution then sustained. Many of his poems And here I may repose in silent ease;
indicate that he thought himself in danger o And thus, perchance, when life's sad journey's o'er, My harassd soul, in this same spot, may find
consumption ; he was not aware that he was get The haven of its rest---beneath this sod
erating or fostering in himself another disease Perchance may sleep it sweetly, sound as death. little less dreadful, and which threatens intellect
as well as life. At this time youth was in his I would not have my corpse cemented down With brick and stone, defrauding the poor earth worm
favor, and his hopes, which were now again of its predestined dues; no, I would lie
renewed, produced perhaps a better effect than Beneath a little hillock, grass o'er-grown,
medicine. Mr. Dashwood obtained for him an in. Swathed down with oziers, just as sleep the cotters.
troduction to Mr. Simeon, of King's College, and Yet may not undistinguish'd be my grave; But there at eve may some congenial soul
with this he was induced to go to Cambridge Duly resort, and shed a pious tear,
His friend Almond, who had recently entered at The good man's benison—no more I ask.
Trinity College, had already endeavored to in. And, oh! (it heavenly beings may look down
terest in his behalf some persons who might be From where, with cherubim, inspired they sit, Upon this little dim-discover'd spot,
able to assist him in the great object of his desire, The earth), then will I cast a glance belor
that of passing through the University, and quali. On him who thus my ashes shall embalm;
fying himself for holy orders. It is neither to And I will weep too, and will bless the wanderer,
be wondered at, nor censured, that his representWishing he may not long be doom'd to pine In this low-thoughted world of darkling woe,
ations, where he had an opportunity of making But that, ere long, he reach his kindred skies. them, were for the most part coldly received.
They who have been most conversant with youth Yet 't was a silly thought, as if the body,
best understand how little the promises of early Mouldering beneath the surface of the earth, Could taste the sweets of summer scenery,
genius are to be relied upon : it is among the And feel the freshness of the balmy breeze!
mortifying truths which we learn from experience, Yet nature speaks within the human bosom,
and no common spirit of benevolence is required And, spite of reason, bids it look beyond
to overcome the chilling effect of repeated disapHis narrow verge of being, and provide A decent residence for its clayey shell,
pointments. He found, however, encouragement Endeard to it by time. And who would lay
from two persons, whose names have since become His body in the city burial place,
well known. Mr. Dealtry, then one of the matbeTo be thrown up again by some rude sexton,
matical lecturers at Trinity, was one. This genAnd yield its narrow house another tenant, Ere the moist flesh had mingled with the dust,
tleman, whom the love of the abstract sciences had Ere the tenacious hair had left the scalp,
not rendered intolerant of other pursuits more Exposed to insult lewd, and wantonness ?
congenial to youthful imaginations, consented to No, I will lay me in the village ground;
look at Henry's poem of “Time," a manuscript of There are the dead respected. The poor hind, Unletter'd as he is, would scorn to invade
which was in Almond's possession. The perusa) The silent resting place of death. I've seen
interested him greatly: he entered with his wonted The laborer, returning from his toil,
benignity into the concerns of the author: and Here stay his steps, and call his children round,
would gladly have befriended him, if the requisite And slowly spell the rudely sculptured rhymes,
assistance had not just at that time been secured And, in his rustic manner, moralize. I've mark'd with what a silent awe he'd spoken,
from other quarters. With head uncoverd, his respectful manner,
The other person in whom Mr. Almond excited And all the honors which he paid the grave,
an interest for his friend was Henry Martyn, who And thought on cities, where even cemeteries, Bestrew'd with all the emblems of mortality,
has since sacrificed his life in the missionary ser. Are not protected from the drunken insolence
vice: he was then only a few years older than Of wassailers profane, and wanton havoc.
Henry; equally ardent, equally devout, equally Grant, Heaven, that here my pilgrimage may close! enthusiastic. He heard with emotion of this Yet, if this be denied, where'er my bones May lie-or in the city's crowded bounds,
kindred spirit; read some of his letters, and un. Or scatter'd wide o'er the huge sweep of waters,
dertook to enter his name upon the boards of St. Or left a prey on some deserted shore
John's, (of which college he was a fellow), saying To the rapacious cormorant,-yet still,
that a friend in London, whose name he was not (For why should sober reason cast away A thought which soothes the soul ?-yet still my spirit
at liberty to communicate, had empowered him Shall wing its way to these my native regions,
to assist any deserving young man with thirty And hover o'er this spot. Oh, then I 'll think
pounds a year during his stay at the University. Of times when I was seated 'neath this yew
To insure success, one of Henry's letters was In solemn ruinination; and will smile With joy that I have got my long'd release.
transmitted to this unknown friend; and Martyn
was not a little surprised and grieved, to learn in His friends are of opinion that he never tho- reply, that a passage in that letter seemed to roughly recovered from the shock which his con- render it doubtful whether the writer were a
hurchman or a Dissenter; and, therefore, occa- that gentleman obliged him to decline the assistoned a demur as to the propriety of assisting ance of the Society, which he very willingly did. m. Just at this time Henry arrived at Cambridge, This being finally arranged, he quitted his emith an introduction to Mr. Simeon. That gen-ployers in October, 1804. How much he had con'man, being in correspondence with Martyn's ducted himself to their satisfaction; will appear end in London, expressed displeasure at his by this testimony of Mr. Enfield, to his diligence rival; but the first interview removed all ob- and uniform worth. “I have great pleasure,” ction. Mr. Simeon, from Mr. Dashwood's recom- says this gentleman, “in paying the tribute to endation, and from what he saw of his prin- his memory, of expressing the knowledge which ples and talents, promised to procure for him a was afforded me during the period of his conzarship at St. John's, and, with the additional nexion with Mr. Coldham and myself, of his dili. d of a friend, to supply him with 301. annually. gent application, his ardor for study, and his is brother Neville promised twenty; and his virtuous and amiable disposition. He very soon other, it was hoped, would be able to allow discovered an unusual aptness in comprehending teen or twenty more. With this, it was thought, the routine of business, and great ability and ra. ? could go through college. If this prospect had pidity in the execution of everything which was ot been opened to him, he would probably have intrusted to him. His diligence and punctual atIrned his thoughts towards the orthodox Dis- tention were unremitted, and his services became
extremely valuable, a considerable time before he On his return to Nottingham, the Rev.- left us. He seemed to me to have no relish for obinson of Leicester, and some other friends, ad. the ordinary pleasures and dissipations of young sed him to apply to the Elland Society for assist- men; his mind was perpetually employed, either ice, conceiving that it would be less oppressive in the business of his profession, or in private , his feelings to be dependent on a Society in- study. With his fondness for literature we were ituted for the express purpose of training up such well acquainted, but had no reason to offer any oung men as himself (that is, such in circum- check to it, for he never permitted the indul. ances and opinions) for the ministry, than on the gence of his literary pursuits to interfere with the vunty of an individual. In consequence of this engagements of business. The difficulty of hear. dvice he went to Elland at the next meeting of ing, under which he labored, was distressing to ze Society, a stranger there, and without one him in the practice of his profession, and was, I :iend among the members. He was examined, think, an inducement, in co-operation with his or several hours, by about five-and-twenty clergy- other inclinations, for his resolving to relinquish nen, as to his religious views and sentiments, the law. I can, with truth, assert, that his deteris theological knowledge, and his classical attain- mination was matter of serious regret to my nents. In the course of the inquiry it appeared partner and myself.” hat he had published a volume of poems: their I may here add, as at the same time showing uestions now began to be very unpleasantly Henry's aspirations after fame and the principles inquisitive concerning the nature of these poems, by which he had learnt to regulate his ambition, nd he was assailed by queries from all quarters. that on the cover of one of his commonplace books t was well for Henry that they did not think of he had written these mottoes : referring to the Monthly Review for authority. My letter to him happened to be in his pocket; ne luckily recollected this, and produced it as a
Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise estimony in his favor. They did me the honor
(That last infirmity of noble minds), o say that it was quite suficient, and pursued To scorn delight and live laborious days. his part of their inquiry no farther. Before he
Milton's Lycidas, 70. eft Elland, he was given to understand, that they Under these lines was placed a reference to the were well satisfied with his theological knowledge; following extract (in another page), from Barrow: hat they thought his classical proficiency pro- “ The Holy Scripture does not teach us to slight ligious for his age, and that they had placed him honor; but rather, in its fit order and just measin their books. He returned little pleased with ure, to love and prove it. It directs us not to his journey. His friends had been mistaken: the make a regard thereto our chief principle; not to bounty of an individual calls forth a sense of kind- propound it as our main end of action. It charges ness as well as of dependence; that of a Society us, to bear contentedly the want or loss thereof, has the virtue of charity, perhaps, but it wants as of other temporal goods; yoa, in some cases, the
grace. He now wrote to Mr. Simeon, stating for conscience-sake, or for God's service (that is, what he had dono, and that the beneficence of his for a good incomparably better), it obliges us unknown friends was no longer necessary: but willingly to prostitute and sacrifice it, choosing
ΑΛΛΑ ΓΑΡ ΕΣΤΙΝ ΜΟΥΣΑ ΚΑΙ ΗΜΙΝ. .
EURIP. Modea. 1091.
rather to be infamous than impious; in disgrace Mr. Catton, with tears in his eyes, and told him with man, rather than in disfavor with God. It, that he could not go into the hall to be examined. in fine, commands us to seek and embrace it only Mr. Catton, however, thought his success here of in subordination, and with final reference to God's so much importance, that he exhorted him, with honor."
all possible earnestness, to hold out the six days Mr. Simeon had advised him to degrade for a of the examination. Strong medicines were given year, and place himself, during that time, under him, to enable him to support it; and he was prosome scholar. He went accordingly to the Rev. nounced the first man of his year. But life was -Grainger, of Winteringham, in Lincolnshire, the price which he was to pay for such honors and there, notwithstanding all the entreaties of as this; and Henry is not the first young man to his friends, pursuing the same unrelenting course whom such honors have proved fatal. He said of study, a second illness was the consequence. to his most intimate friend, almost the last time When he was recovering, he was prevailed upon he saw him, that were he to paint a picture of to relax, to ride on horseback, and to drink wine : Fame crowning a distinguished under-graduate, these latter remedies he could not long afford, after the Senate-house examination, he would reand he would not allow himself time for relaxa- present her as concealing a death's-head under a tion when he did not feel its immediate necessity. mask of beauty. He frequently, at this time, studied fourteen hours When this was over he went to London. Lona-day: the progress which he made in twelve don was a new scene of excitement,—and what his months was indeed astonishing. When he went mind required was tranquillity and rest. Before 10 Cambridge, he was immediately as much dis- he left college, he had become anxious concern. tinguished for his classical knowledge as his ing his expenses, fearing that they exceeded his genius: but the seeds of death were in him, and means. Mr. Catton perceived this, and twice call. the place to which he had so long looked on with ed him to his rooms, to assure him of every ne hope, served unhappily as a hot-house to ripen cessary support, and every encouragement, and them.'
to give him every hope. This kindness reliered During his first term one of the university. his spirits of a heavy weight, and on his return scholarships became vacant, and Henry, young as he relaxed a little from his studies, but it was only he was in college, and almost self-taught, was ad- a little. I found among his papers the day thus vised, by those who were best able to estimate planned out:"Rise at half past five. Devohis chance of success, to offer himself as a candi- tions and walk till seven. Chapel and breakfast date for it. He passed the whole time in prepar- till eight. Study and lectures till one. Four and ing himself for this, reading for college subjects a half clear reading. Walk, etc. and dinner, and in bed, in his walks, or, as he says, where, when, Wollaston, and chapel to six. Six to nine, read. and how he could, never having a moment to ing—three hours. Nine to ten, devotions. Bed spare, and often going to his tutor without having at ten.” read at all. His strength sunk under this, and Among his latest writings are these resolutions: Though he had declared himself a candidate, he -"I will never be in bed after six. was compelled to decline : but this was not the I will not drink tea out above once a week, exceptonly misfortune. The general college-examina-l ing on Sundays, unless there appear some good tion came on! he was utterly unprepared to meet
reason for so doing. it, and believed that a failure here would have I will never pass a day without reading some por. ruined his prospects for ever. He had only about
tion of the Scriptures. a fortnight to read what other men had been the I will labor diligently in my mathematical stuwhole term reading. Once more he exerted him- dies, because I half suspect myself of a dislike self beyond what his shattered health could bear:
to them. the disorder returned ; and he went to his tutor, I will walk two hours a day, upon the averaga
of every week. 1 During his residence in my family, says Mr. Grainger, Sit mihi gratia addita ad hæc facienda." his conduct was highly becoming, and suitable to a Chris. tjan profession. He was mild and inoffensive, modest, un. About this time, judging by the handwriting, assuming, and affectionate. He attended, with great he wrote down the following admonitory sen. cheerfulness, a Sunday School which I was endeavoring to establish in the village; and was at considerable pains tences, which, as the paper on which they are in the instruction of the children: and I have repeatedly written is folded into the shape of a very small observed, that he was most pleased, and most editied, with book, it is probable he carried about with him as such of my sermons and addresses to my people as were most close, plain, and familiar. When we parted, we
a manual. parted with mutual regret; and by us his name will long
“1. Death and judgment are near at hand. be remembered with affection and delight.
2. Though thy bodily part be now in health
and ease, the dews of death will soon sit upon thy himself in the following year, being again pro forehead.
nounced first at the great college-examination, 3. That which seems so sweet and desirable to and also one of the three best theme-writers be. thee now, will, if yielded to, become bitterness tween whom the examiners could not decide. The of soul to thee all thy life after.
college offered him, at their expense, a private 4. When the waters are come over thy soul, and tutor in mathematics during the long vacation ; when, in the midst of much bodily anguish, thou and Mr. Catton, by procuring for him exhibitions distinguishest the dim shores of Eternity before to the amount of 661. per annum, enabled him to thee, what wouldest thou not give to be lighter by give up the pecuniary assistance which he had this one sin ?
received from Mr. Simeon and other friends. This 5. God has long withheld his arm; what if his intention he had expressed in a letter written forbearance be now at an end? Canst thou not twelve months before his death.
• With regard contemplate these things with the eyes of death ? to my college-expenses (he says), I have the pleaArt thou not a dying man, dying every day, every sure to inform you, that I shall be obliged, in hour?
strict rectitude, to waive the offers of many of my 6. Is it not a fearful thing to shrink from the friends. I shall not even need the sum Mr. Si. summons when it comes ?—to turn with horror meon mentioned after the first year; and it is not and despair from the future being ? Think what impossible that I may be able to live without any strains of joy and tranquillity fall on the ear of assistance at all. I confess I feel pleasure at the the saint who is just swooning into the arms of thought of this, not through any vain pride of his Redeemer: what fearful shapes, and dreadful independence, but because I shall then give a images of a disturbed conscience, surround the more unbiassed testimony to the truth, than if I sinner's bed, when the last twig which he grasped were supposed to be bound to it by any ties of obfails him, and the gulf yawns to receive him! ligation or gratitude. I shall always feel as much
7. Oh, my soul, if thou art yet ignorant of indebted for intended as for actually afforded as. the enormity of sin, turn thine eyes to the Man sistance; and though I should never think a sense who is bleeding to death on the cross! See how of thankfulness an oppressive burden, yet I shall the blood, from his pierced hands, trickles down be happy to evince it, when, in the eyes of the his arms, and the more copious streams from his world, the obligation to it has been discharged.” feet run on the accursed tree, and stain the grass Never, perhaps, had any young man, in so short with purple! Behold his features, though scarcely a time, excited such expectations : every univeranimated with a few remaining sparks of life, yet sity-honor was thought to be within his reach; how full of love, pity, and tranquillity! A tear is he was set down as a medallist, and expected to trickling down his cheek, and his lip quivers.— take a senior wrangler's degree : but these expec. He is praying for his murderers! O, my soul! it tations were poison to him; they goaded him to is thy Redeemer-it is thy God! And this, too, fresh exertions when his strength was spent. His for Sin—for Sin! and wilt thou ever again sub- situation became truly miserable: to his brother, mit to its yoke ?
and to his mother, he wrote always that he had 8. Remember that the grace of the Holy Spirit relaxed in his studies, and that he was better; alof God is ready to save thee from transgression. ways holding out to them his hopes, and his good It is always at hand: thou canst not sin without fortune; but to the most intimate of his friends wilfully rejecting its aid.
(Mr. B. Maddock), his letters told a different tale : 9. And is there real pleasure in sin? Thou to him he complained of dreadful palpitationsknowest there is not. But there is pleasure, pure of nights of sleeplessness and horror, and of spirits and exquisite pleasure, in holiness. The Holy depressed to the very depth of wretchedness, so Ghost can make the paths of religion and virtue, that he went from one acquaintance to another, hard as they seem, and thorny, ways of pleasant. imploring society, even as a starving beggar en. ness and peace, where, though there be thorns, treats for food. During the course of this sum. yet are there also roses; and where all the wounds mer, it was expected that the mastership of the which we suffer in the flesh, from the hardness free-school at Nottingham would shortly become of the journey, are so healed by the balm of the vacant. A relation of his family was at that time Spirit, that they rather give joy than pain." mayor of the town; he suggested to them wha:
The exercise which Henry took was no relaxa- an advantageous situation it would be for Henry, tion : he still continued the habit of studying and offered to secure for him the necessary interwhile he walked ; and in this manner, while he est. But though the salary and emoluments are was at Cambridge, committed to memory a whole estimated at from 4 to 6001. per annum, Henry tragedy of Euripides. Twice he distinguished declined the offer; because, had he accepted it, it would have frustrated his intentions with re- was present when I opened them, and was, as spect to the ministry. This was certainly no com- well as myself, equally affected and astonished at mon act of forbearance in one so situated as to the proofs of industry which they displayed. Some fortune, especially as the hope which he had most of them had been written before his hand was at heart, was that of being enabled to assist his formed, probably before he was thirteen. There family, and in some degree requite the care and were papers upon law, upon electricity, upos anxiety of his father and mother, by making them chemistry, upon the Latin and Greek Languages, comfortable in their declining years.
from their rudiments to the higher branches of The indulgence shown him by his college, in critical study, upon history, chronology, divinity, providing him a tutor during the long vacation, the fathers, etc. Nothing seemed to have escaped was peculiarly unfortunate. His only chance of him. His poems were numerous: among the life was from relaxation, and home was the only earliest was a sonnet addressed to myself, long place where he would have relaxed to any pur- before the little intercourse which had sabsisted pose. Before this time he had seemed to be gaining between us had taken place. Little did he think, strength; it failed as the year advanced : he went when it was written, on what occasion it would once more to London to recruit himself,—the fall into my hands. He had begun three tragedies worst place to which he could have gone : the when very young ; one was upon Boadicea, an. variety of stimulating objects there hurried and other upon Inez de Castro; the third was a ficti. agitated him; and when he returned to college, tious subject. He had planned also a history of he was so completely ill, that no power of medi- Nottingham. There was a letter upon the famous cine could save him. His mind was worn out; Nottingham election, which seemed to have been and it was the opinion of his medical attendants, intended either for the newspapers, or for a that if he had recovered, his intellect would have separate pamphlet. It was written to confute the been affected. His brother Neville was just at absurd stories of the Tree of Liberty, and the this time to have visited him. On his first seizure, Goddess of Reason; with the most minute know. Henry found himself too ill to receive him, and ledge of the circumstances, and a not improper wrote to say so: he added, with that anxious feeling of indignation against so infamous a cal. tenderness towards the feelings of a most affec. umny: and this came with more weight from tionate family, which always appeared in his him, as his party inclinations seemed to havo letters, that he thought himself recovering; but leaned towards the side which he was opposing. his disorder increased so rapidly, that this letter This was his only finished composition in prose. was never sent; it was found in his pocket after Much of his time, latterly, had been devoted to his decease. One of his friends wrote to acquaint the study of Greek prosody: he had begun several Neville with his danger: he hastened down; but poems in Greek, and a translation of the Samson Henry was delirious when he arrived. He knew Agonistes. I have inspected all the existing manhim only for a few moments; the next day, sunk uscripts of Chatterton, and they excited less into a state of stupor; and on Sunday, October wonder than these. 19th, 1806, it pleased God to remove him to a Had my knowledge of Henry terminated here, better world, and a higher state of existence. I should have hardly believed that my admiration
and regret for him could have besn increased; The will which I had manifested to serve but I had yet to learn that his moral qualities, Henry, he had accepted as the deed, and had his good sense, and his whole feelings, were as expressed himself upon the subject in terms admirable as his industry and genius. All his which it would have humbled me to read, at any letters to his family have been communicated to other time than when I was performing the last me without reserve, and most of those to his service to his memory. On his decease, Mr. B. friends. They make him his own biographer, and Maddock addressed a letter to me, informing me lay open as pure and as excellent a heart as it of the event, as one who had professed an interest ever pleased the Almighty to warm into life. in his friend's fortunes. I inquired, in my reply,' It is not possible to conceive a human being if there was any intention of publishing what he more amiable in all the relations of life. He was might have left, and if I could be of any assist the confidential friend and adviser of every mem. ance in the publication : this led to a correspond. ber of his family: this he instinctively became; ence with his excellent brother, and the whole of and the thorough good sense of his advice is not his papers were consigned into my hands, with as less remarkable, than the affection with which it many of his letters as could be collected. is always communicated. To his mother he is as
These papers (exclusive of the correspondence) earnest in beseeching her to be careful of her filled a box of considerable size. Mr. Coleridge health, as he is in laboring to convince her that