happier parts, it cannot satisfy the taste which has been formed on the finished writings of our leading poets, yet it is a singularly elegant production of a person who had received no education beyond the mere elements of language, and who was subsequently occupied in the severe duties and business of a seafaring life-equally without learning or leisure. The poetical powers of Falconer, in whatever rank they may be placed, were the gift of nature; for any assistance they may have derived from subsequent application, was only a proof that the original powers previously existed. The Milton of the village remained neither mute, nor inglorious.-MITFORD, JOHN, 1836, The Poetical Works of William Falconer, Life.

The merits of this celebrated composition are indeed undeniable. None but a great poet could have written "The Shipwreck," and that great poet must of necessity have been a thorough sailor. What home and its placid attractions are to the landsman, the sea and the storm were to Falconer. He delights in decking the ocean with all the terrific sublimity and wild beauty of which it is capable, and then calling upon us to admire the picture: our admiration may be enforced, but whilst we tremble, we cannot but applaud. ALLIBONE, S. AUSTIN, 185458, A Critical Dictionary of English Literature, vol. I, p. 576.

It is too laboured and artificial to command permanent popularity.—ARNOLD, THOMAS, 1868-75, Chaucer to Wordsworth, p. 361.

There was largeness, and freedom and force in the subject he had chosen; and what is best in his treatment of it was learnt direct from the waves and winds. No one before Falconer had conceived or told in English poetry the long and passionate combat between the sea, roused to fury, and its slight but dexterous rival, with the varying fortunes of the strife. He had himself, like his Arion, been wrecked near Cape Colonna, on the coast of Greece; like Arion he was one of three who reached the shore and lived. For the material of his brief epic he needed but to revive in his imagination the sights, the sounds, the fears, the hopes, the efforts of five days the most eventful and the most vivid of his life. "The Shipwreck" is not a descriptive poem; it is a

poem of action; each buffet of the sea, each swift turning of the wheel is a portion of the attack or defense; and as the catastrophe draws near, as the ship scuds past Falconera as the hills of Greece rise to view, as the pitiless cliffs of St. George grow clear, and the sound of the breakers is heard, the action of the poem increases in swiftness and intensity. Falconer was a skilful seaman; unhappily he was not a great poet. The reality, the unity, the largeness of his theme lend him support; and he is a faithful and energetic narrator. But the spirits of tempest and of night needed for their interpreter one of stronger and subtler speech than Falconer. -DOWDEN, EDWARD, 1880, The English Poets, ed. Ward, vol. III, p. 362.

Falconer's "Shipwreck" resembles most of the didactic poems of the time, and is marked by the conventionality common to them all. But it deserves a rather exceptional position from the obvious fidelity with which he has painted from nature; and though his use of technical terms is pushed even to ostentation, the effect of using the language of real life is often excellent, and is in marked contrast to the commonplaces of classical imitation which make other passages vapid and uninteresting. In this respect the poem made some mark, and Falconer had certainly considerable powers of fluent versification.— STEPHEN, LESLIE, 1889, Dictionary of National Biography, vol. XVIII, p. 165.

Falconer's work is most unequal. The verse at its best has an admirably easy flow, and at the same time a nervous energy beyond the reach of the mere copyist. But there are two very different accents in it. One is that of imitated classicism. The parts descriptive of the scenes through which the ship passes are poor. To make them good would have demanded a culture which Falconer had no opportunity to acquire. The classical similes, introduced by way of illustration, and the hackneyed loves are also poor. The other accent is that of nature; and to this the poem owes the whole of its value. The fact that Falconer relates what he himself saw and endured giving reality to his descriptions and speed and fire to his narrative. Sometimes, nay often, he so overloads his verse with technicalities that it sinks to mere prose; but in the happier passages he succeeds in throwing over the

sigh; and begged me, with tears in his eyes, never to mention the hated name again. He called on me on the 24th August about half-past eleven in the morning, and bought some arsenic, which he said was for an experiment. About the same time next day, Mrs. Wolfe ran in for me, saying deceased had killed himself. I went to his room, and found him quite dead. On his window was a bottle containing arsenic and water; some of the little bits of arsenic were between his teeth. I believe if he had not killed himself, he would soon have died of starvation; for he was too proud to ask of anyone. Witness always considered deceased as an astonishing genius.?CROSS, EDWIN, 1770, Testimony at Inquest, Aug. 27.

Unfortunate boy! poorly wast thou accommodated during thy short sojourning among us; rudely wast thou treated, sorely did thy feeling soul suffer from the scorn of the unworthy; and there are, at last, those who wish to rob thee of thy only meed, thy posthumous glory. Severe, too, are the censurers of thy morals. In the gloomy moments of despondency, I fear thou has uttered impious and blasphemous thoughts, which none can defend, and which neither thy youth, nor thy fiery spirit, nor thy situation, can extenuate. But let thy more rigid censors reflect, that thou wast literally and strictly but a boy. Let many of thy bitterest enemies reflect what were their own religious principles, and whether they had any, at the age of fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen. In return

Ι

for the pleasure I have received from thy poems, I pay thee, poor boy, the trifling tribute of my praise. Thyself thou has emblazoned; thine own monument thou has erected. But they whom thou has delighted, feel a pleasure in vindicating thine honours from the rude attacks of detraction. KNOX, VESIMUS, 1777-1824, Essays, Moral and Literary, No. 144.

I am always intending to draw up an account of my intercourse with Chatterton, which I take very kindly you remind me of, but some avocation or other has prevented it. My perfect innocence on having indirectly been an ingredient in his dismal fate, which happened two years after our correspondence, and after he had exhausted both his resources and his constitution, have made it more easy to prove

that I never saw him, knew nothing of his ever being in London, and was the first person, instead of the last, on whom he had practiced his impositions, and founded his chimeric hopes of promotion. My very first, or at least second letter, undeceived him in those views, and our correspondence was broken off before he quitted his master's business at Bristol; so that his disappointment with me was but his first ill success; and he resented my incredulity so much, that he never condescended to let me see him. Indeed, what I have said now to you, and which cannot be controverted by a shadow of a doubt, would be sufficient vindication. I could only add to the proofs, a vain regret of never having known his distresses, which his amazing genius would have tempted me to relieve, though I fear he had no other claim to compassion.-WALPOLE, HORACE, 1778, Letter to Rev. William Cole, May 21; Letters, ed. Cunningham, vol. VII, p. 70.

The activity of his mind is indeed almost unparalleled. But our surprise must decrease, when we consider that he slept but little; and that his whole attention was directed to literary pursuits; for he declares himself so ignorant of his profession, that he was unable to draw out a clearance from his apprenticeship, which Mr. Lambert demanded. He was also unfettered by the study of the dead languages, which usually absorb much of the time and attention of young persons; and though they may be useful to the attainment of correctness, perhaps they do not much contribute to fluency in writing. Mr. Catcott declared, that when he first knew Chatterton, he was ignorant even of

Grammar.

The person of Chatterton, like his genius, was premature; he had a manliness and dignity beyond his years, and there was a something about him uncommonly prepossessing. His most remarkable feature was his eyes, which though grey, were uncommonly piercing; when he was warmed in argument, or otherwise, they sparkled with fire, and one eye, it is said, was still more remarkable than the other.-Gregory, GEORGE, 1779-1803, Life of Thomas Chatterton, ed. Southey, vol. 1, pp. lv, lxxi.

Oh, ill-starr'd Youth, whom Nature form'd in vain,

With powers on Pindus' splendid height to reign!

Sweet Harper of time-shrouded Minstrelsy! -COLERIDGE, SAMUEL TAYLOR, 17901829, Monody on the Death of Chatterton,

The Bard, to dark despair resign'd,

With his expiring art,

Sings, midst the tempest of his mind,

The shipwreck of his heart.

If Hope still seem to linger nigh,
And hover o'er his head,

Her pinions are too weak to fly,

Or Hope ere now had fled.

Rash Minstrel! who can hear thy songs,
Nor long to share thy fire?

Who read thine errors and thine wrongs,
Nor execrate the lyre?

The lyre, that sunk thee to the grave,
When bursting into bloom,

That lyre, the power to Genius gave

To blossom in the tomb. Yes;-till his memory fail with years, Shall Time thy strains recite; And while thy story swells his tears, Thy song shall charm his flight. -MONTGOMERY, JAMES, 1802, Chatterton.

I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous Boy, The sleepless Soul that perish'd in his pride. -WORDSWORTH, WILLIAM, 1802, Resolution and Independence.

As to his person, his sister said that he was thin of body, but neatly made; that his features were by no means handsome, and yet, notwithstanding, the tout-ensemble was striking; which arose, she conceived, from the wonderful expression of his eyes, and more particularly of the left eye, which, to use her own words, seemed at times, from its brilliancy, "to flash fire." She then proceeded to acquaint me that some malevolent aspersions had been thrown out as to his moral character, and particularly his being partial to the society of abandoned women, which she positively denied, with tears in her eyes; stating that he was the best and most tender of brothers, never enjoying so much satisfaction as when he could present them some little token of his affection; that he always kept good hours at night, to her certain knowledge; and that by day he was by far too much taken up with books and his occupations to be a loose character.-As to his having a predilection for some female, she told me she believed that to have been the case; but, to the best of her knowledge, and from her soul (she assured me) she spoke it, no stain whatsoever could attach itself to his moral conduct.-IRELAND, WILLIAM-HENRY, 1805, Confessions, p. 15.

This boy [a nephew of Mr. Walmsley] who was the bedfellow of Chatterton, informed Mr. Croft that Chatterton used to sit up all night reading and writing; that he never came to bed till very late, often three or four o'clock, but that he was always awake when he waked, and got up at the same time. He lived chiefly upon a half-penny roll, or a tart and some water. He did not, however, wholly abstain from meat, for he was once or twice known to take a sheep's tongue out of his pocket. . Early in July Chatterton left his lodgings in Shoreditch, and went to lodge with Mrs. Angel, a sock-maker, in Brook Street, Holborn. were an injury not to mention historically. the lodgings of Chatterton, for every spot he made his residence has become poetical ground. . . Of his extreme indigence there is positive testimony. Mrs. Angel remembers that for two days, when

It

he did not absent himself from his room, he went without food. . . . Pressed hard by indigence and its companions, gloom and despondency, the mind of Chatterton became disordered, and on the night of the 24th of August, 1770, he swallowed a large dose of opium, which caused his death. The inquest of the jury

was brought in insanity, and the body of Chatterton was put into a shell, and carried unwept, unheeded, and unowned to the burying-ground of the workhouse in Shoe Lane.-DAVIS, JOHN, 1806, Life of Chatterton.

He became an infidel, but whether this was in consequence of any course of reading into which he had fallen, or that he found it convenient to get rid of the obligations which stood in the way of his past or future schemes, it is not very material to inquire. In his writings we find some passages that are more licentious than could have been expected from a young man unhackneyed in the way of vice, but not more so than might be expected in one who was premature in every thing, and had exhausted the stock of human folly at an age when it is usually found unbroken. All his deceptions, his prevarications, his political tergiversation, &c., were such as should have been looked for in men of an advanced age, hardened by evil associations, and soured by disappointed pride or avarice. -CHALMERS, ALEXANDER, 1814, The Works of the Eng

lish Poets.

How soon the film of death obscur'd that eye, Whence Genius mildly flash'd, and high debate.

How soon that voice, majestic and elate, Melting in dying numbers! Oh! how nigh Was night to thy fair morning. Thou didst die

A half-blown flow'ret which cold blasts amate.

But this is past: thou art among the stars
Of highest Heaven: to the rolling spheres
Thou sweetly singest: nought thy hymning

mars,

Above the ingrate world and human fears. On earth the good man base detraction bars From thy fair name, and waters it with tears. -KEATS, JOHN, 1821? To Chatterton.

He would sometimes, for days together, go in and out of the house without speaking to any one, and seemingly absorbed in thought. After such occasions he frequently called some of his associates into his room, and read them some portions of Rowley. DIX, JOHN, 1837-51, Life of Chatterton.

A native aptitude to self-sufficiency, pertinacity, and scorn of interference or censure, gave a ready admission into the formation of his character of the unmit

igated effect of every thing that, in the circumstances of his situation, tended to create a predominance of the qualities we are describing. Growing up separate and alien, in a great degree, from the social

interests and sentiments which bind men

together, he was habitually ready and watchful for occasions to practise on their weakness and folly, and to indulge a propensity to annoyance by satire. He would play off the witty malice, no matter who was the object. He was a very Ishmael with this weapon. It is somewhere his own confession that, when the mood was on him, he spared neither foe nor friend. Very greatly amusing as it may well be believed that his company was when he chose to give it, nobody was safe against having his name, with his peculiarities, his hobby, his vanity, hitched into some sarcastic stanza. Men must not be expected to sympathize very kindly with the mortifications of a person, who, whatever be his talents, demands that such temper and habits shall be no obstruction to advancement in society.- FOSTER, JOHN, 1838-56, Critical Essays, ed. Ryland, vol. II, p. 520.

The house in which Chatterton was born