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power to speak".

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Account of the Life of Henry Kirke White.

BY ROBERT SOUTHEY.

Not alone by the Muses,

But by the Virtues loved, his soul in its youthful aspirings
Sought the Holy Hill, and his thirst was for Siloah's waters.
Vision of Judgment.

No marble marks thy couch of lowly sleep,
But living statues there are seen to weep.
Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb,
Affliction's self deplores thy youthful doom!

BYRON.

IT fell to my lot to publish, with the assistance of her voice before she could rouse him." When of my friend Mr. Cottle, the first collected edition he was about seven, he would creep unperceived of the works of Chatterton, in whose history I felt into the kitchen, to teach the servant to read and a more than ordinary interest, as being a native write; and he continued this for some time before of the same city, familiar from my childhood with it was discovered that he had been thus laudably those great objects of art and nature by which he employed. He wrote a tale of a Swiss emigrant, had been so deeply impressed, and devoted from which was probably his first composition, and my childhood with equal ardor to the same pur- gave it to this servant, being ashamed to show it suits. It is now my fortune to lay before the world to his mother. The consciousness of genius is some account of one whose early death is not less always at first accompanied with this diffidence, to be lamented, as a loss to English literature, and it is a sacred, solitary feeling. And perhaps, no forwhose virtues were as admirable as his genius. ward child, however extraordinary the promise of In the present instance there is nothing to be re- his childhood, ever produced anything truly great. corded, but what is honorable to himself and to the age in which he lived; little to be regretted, but that one so ripe for heaven should so soon have been removed from the world.

HENRY KIRKE WHITE, the second son of John and Mary White, was born in Nottingham, March 21st, 1785. His father was a butcher; his mother, whose maiden name was Neville, is of respectable Staffordshire family.

When Henry was about six, he was placed under the Rev. John Blanchard, who kept, at that time, the best school in Nottingham. Here he learnt writing, arithmetic, and French. When he was about eleven, he one day wrote a separate theme for every boy in his class, which consisted of about twelve or fourteen. The master said he had never known them write so well upon any subject before, and could not refrain from exFrom the years of three till five, Henry learnt to pressing his astonishment at the excellence of read at the school of Mrs. Garrington; whose name, Henry's. It was considered as a great thing for unimportant as it may appear, is mentioned be-him to be at so good a school, yet there were some cause she had the good sense to perceive his extra- circumstances which rendered it less advantageordinary capacity, and spoke of what it promised ous to him than it might have been. Mrs. White with confidence. She was an excellent woman, and had not yet overcome her husband's intention of he describes her with affection in his poem upon breeding him up to his own business; and by an Childhood. At a very early age his love of read-arrangement which took up too much of his time, ing was decidedly manifested; it was a passion to and would have crushed his spirit, if that "mountwhich everything else gave way. "I could fancy," ing spirit" could have been crushed, one whole says ins eldest sister, "I see him in his little chair, day in the week, and his leisure hours on the with a large book upon his knee, and my mo- others, were employed in carrying the butcher's ther calling, 'Henry, my love, come to dinner;' basket. Some differences at length arose between which was repeated so often without being re- his father and Mr. Blanchard, in consequence of garded, that she was obliged to change the tone which Henry was removed.

Oh, far away I then would rove,
To some secluded bushy grove,
There hop and sing with careless glee,
Hop and sing at liberty

And till death should stop my lays,

Far from men would spend my days.
About this time his mother was induced, by the

One of the ushers, when he came to receive the money due for tuition, took the opportunity of informing Mrs. White what an incorrigible son she had, and that it was impossible to make the lad do anything. This information made his .friends very uneasy: they were dispirited about him; and had they relied wholly upon this report, advice of several friends, to open a Ladies' Boardthe stupidity or malice of this man would have blasted Henry's progress for ever. He was, how. ever, placed under the care of a Mr. Shipley, who soon discovered that he was a boy of quick perception, and very admirable talents; and came with joy, like a good man, to relieve the anxiety and painful suspicions of his family.

While his schoolmasters were complaining that they could make nothing of him, he discovered what Nature had made him, and wrote satires upon them. These pieces were never shown to any, except his most particular friends, who say that they were pointed and severe. They are enumerated in the table of contents to one of his manuscript volumes, under the title of SchoolLampoons; but, as was to be expected, he had

cut the leaves out and destroyed them.

One of his poems, written at this time, and under these feelings, is preserved:

ON BEING CONFINED TO SCHOOL ONE PLEASANT

MORNING IN SPRING.

WRITTEN AT THE AGE OF THIRTEEN.

The morning sun's enchanting rays
Now call forth every songster's praise;
Now the lark, with upward flight,
Gayly ushers in the light:
While, wildly warbling from each tree,
The birds sing songs to Liberty

But for me no songster sings,
For me no joyous lark up-springs;
For I, confined in gloomy school,
Must own the pedant's iron rule,

And, far from sylvan shades and bowers,
In durance vile must pass the hours;
There con the scholiast's dreary lines,
Where no bright ray of genius shines,
And close to rugged learning cling,
While laughs around the jocund spring.

How gladly would my soul forego
All that arithmeticians know,
Or stiff grammarians quaintly teach,
Or all that industry can reach,
To taste each morn of all the joys
That with the laughing sun arise;
And unconstrain'd to rove along
The bushy brakes and glens among;
And woo the muse's gentle power,
In unfrequented rural bower!

But, ah! such heaven-approaching joys
Will never greet my longing eyes;
Still will they cheat in vision fine,
Yet never but in fancy shine.

Oh, that I were the little wren
That shrilly chirps from yonder glen!

ing and Day School in Nottingham, her eldest daughter having previously been a teacher in one for some time. In this she succeeded beyond her most sanguine expectations, and Henry's homecomforts were thus materially increased, though it was still out of the power of his family to give

him that education and direction in life which

his talents deserved and required.

It was now determined to breed him up to the hosiery trade, the staple manufacture of his native place; and at the age of fourteen he was placed in a stocking-loom, with the view, at some future house. During the time that he was thus employ period, of getting a situation in a hosier's ware ed, he might be said to be truly unhappy; he went

to his work with evident reluctance, and could not refrain from sometimes hinting his extreme aversion to it; but the circumstances of his family obliged them to turn a deaf ear.' His mother, however, secretly felt that he was worthy of better

1 His temper and tone of mind at this period, when he was in his fourteenth year, are displayed in this extract from an Address to Contemplation.

Thee do I own, the prompter of my joys,
The soother of my cares, inspiring peace;
And I will ne'er forsake thee.-Men may rave,
And blame and censure me, that I don't tie
My ev'ry thought down to the desk, and spend
The morning of my life in adding figures
With accurate monotony; that so
The good things of the world may be my lot,
And I may taste the blessedness of wealth:
But, oh! I was not made for money-getting;
For me no much-respected plume awaits,
Nor civic honor, envied.-For as still

I tried to cast with school dexterity
The interesting sums, my vagrant thoughts
Would quick revert to many a woodland haunt,
Which fond remembrance cherish'd, and the pen
Dropt from my senseless fingers as I pictured,
In my mind's eye, how on the shores of Trent
I erewhile wander'd with my early friends
In social intercourse. And then I'd think
How contrary pursuits had thrown us wide,
One from the other, scatter'd o'er the globe;
They were set down with sober steadiness,
Each to his occupation. I alone,

A wayward youth, misled by Fancy's vagaries,
Remain'd unsettled, insecure, and veering
With ev'ry wind to ev'ry point o' th' compass.
Yes, in the counting-house I could indulge
In fits of close abstraction: yea, amid
The busy, bustling crowds could meditate,
And send my thoughts ten thousand leagues away
Beyond the Atlantic, resting on my friend.
Aye, Contemplation, ev'n in earliest youth

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