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THOMAS CHATTERTON.

THOMAS CHATTERTON, the posthumous son of a schoolmaster in Bristol, was born there on the 20th of November, 1752. At the age of five years, he was placed at the school which his father had superintended; but he showed such little capacity for learning, that he was sent back to his mother as a dull boy, incapable of improvement. Mrs. Chatterton, says Dr. Gregory, in his life of the subject of our memoir, was rendered extremely unhappy by the apparently tardy understanding of her son, till he fell in love," as she expressed herself, with the illuminated capitals of an old musical manuscript, in French, which enabled her, by taking advantage of the momentary passion, to initiate him in the alphabet. She afterwards taught him to read out of a black-letter Bible; and this circumstance, in conjunction with the former, is supposed to have inspired him with that fondness for antiquities which he subsequently displayed. At eight years of age, he was removed to Colston's charity-school, where he remained for some time undistinguished, except by a pensive gravity of demeanour, and a thirst for pre-eminence over his playmates. This he exhibited, says his sister, even before he was five years old; and not long afterward, her brother being asked what device he would have painted on a small present of earthenware about to be made to him, Paint me," he is said to have replied, "an angel, with wings, and a trumpet, to trumpet my name over the world."

impostures, which commenced about this time, a short sketch will be necessary of the circumstances which gave rise to them. It was well known at Bristol, that in the church of St. Mary, Redcliffe, an old chest had been opened, about 1727, for the purpose of searching for some title deeds, and that since that time, a number of other manuscripts, being left exposed to casual depredation, had, at various times, been taken away. The uncle of Chatterton's father being sexton to the church, enabled his nephew to enter it freely; and, upon these occasions, he removed baskets full of parchments, of which, however, he made no other use than to cover books. A thread-paper belonging to his mother, which had been formed out of one of these parchments, attracted the notice of young Chatterton, soon after the commencement of his clerkship; and his curiosity was so excited, that he obtained a remaining hoard of them yet unused, and ultimately acquired possession of all that remained in the old chest, and in his mother's house. His answer to inquiries on the subject was, "that he had a treasure, and was so glad nothing could be like it." The parchments, he said, consisted of poetical and other compositions, by Mr. Canynge and Thomas Rowley, whom our author, at first, called a monk, and afterward a secular priest of the fifteenth century.

Thus prepared for carrying on his system of literary imposture, he, on the opening of the new bridge at Bristol, in October, 1768, drew up a paper, entitled, A Description of the Fryars first passing over the Old Bridge, taken from an ancient manuscript. It was inserted in Farley's Bristol Journal, and the authorship was traced to Chatterton; who, being questioned in an authoritative tone, haughtily refused to give any account. Milder usage at length induced him to enter into an explanation; and, after some prevarication, he asserted that he had

It was not, however, until his tenth year, that he acquired a taste for reading; for which he suddenly imbibed such a relish, that he devoted his little pocket-money to the hire of books from a library, and borrowed others as he had opportunity. Before he was twelve he had gone through about seventy volumes in this manner, consisting chiefly of history and divinity; and, about the same time, he appears to have filled with poetry a pocket-book, which had been presented to him by his sister as a new-received the paper in question from his father, who year's gift. Among these verses, were probably those entitled Apostate Will, a satire upon his instructers and school-fellows. In 1765, he was confirmed by the bishop; and his sister relates, that he made very sensible and serious remarks on the awfulness of the ceremony, and on his own feelings preparatory to it. In July, 1767, at which time he possessed a knowledge of drawing and music, in addition to his other acquirements, he was articled to Mr. Lambert, an attorney at Bristol, where the only fault his master had to find with him, for the first year, was the sending an abusive anonymous letter to his late schoolmaster, of which he was discovered to be the author, from his inability to disguise his own handwriting so successfully as he did afterward.

As a preface to the history of Chatterton's literary

had found it, with several others, in Redcliffe Church. The report that he was in possession of the poetry of Canynge and Rowley was now spread about; and coming to the ears of Mr. Catcott, an inhabitant of Bristol, of an inquiring turn, he procured an introduction to Chatterton, who furnished him, gratuitously, with various poetical pieces under the name of Rowley. These were communicated to Mr. Barrett, a surgeon, then employed in writing a history of Bristol, into which he introduced several of the above fragments, by the permission of our author, who was, in return, occasionally supplied with money, and introduced into company. He also studied surgery, for a short time, under Mr. Barrett, and would talk, says Mr. Thistlethwayte, "of Galen, Hippocrates, and Paracelsus, with all the confidence and familiarity of a modern empi

ric." His favourite studies, however, were herald-of ministry at Bristol, not excepting Mr. Catcott, and ry and English antiquities; and one of his chief occupations was in making a collection of old English words from the glossaries of Chaucer and others. During these pursuits, he employed his pen in writing satirical essays, in prose and verse; and, about the same period, gave way to fits of poetical enthusiasm, by wandering about Redcliffe meadows, talking of the productions of Rowley, and sitting up at night to compose poems at the full of the moon. "He was always," says Mr. Smith, "extremely fond of walking in the fields; and would sometimes say to me, Come, you and I will take a walk in the meadow. I have got the cleverest thing for you imaginable. It is worth half-acrown merely to have a sight of it, and to hear me read it to you.' This he would generally do in one particular spot, within view of the church, before which he would sometimes lie down, keeping his eyes fixed upon it in a kind of trance.

other of his friends and patrons. His character, also, in other respects, began to develope itself in an unfavourable light; but the assertion that he plunged into profligacy at this period, is contradicted by unexceptionable testimony. The most prominent feature in his conduct was his continued and open avowal of infidelity, and of his intention to commit suicide as soon as life should become burdensome to him. He had also grown thoroughly disgusted with his profession; and purposely, it is supposed, leaving upon his desk a paper, entitled his Last Will, in which he avowed his determination to destroy himself on Easter Sunday, he gladly received his dismissal from Mr. Lambert, into whose hands the document had fallen. He now determined to repair to London; and on being questioned by Mr. Thistlethwayte concerning his plan of life, returned this remarkable answer: "My first attempt," said he, "shall be in the literary way; the promises I have received are sufficient to dispel doubt; but should I, contrary to expectation, find myself deceived, I will, in that case, turn Methodist preacher. Credulity is as potent a deity as ever, and a new sect may easily be devised. But if that, too, should fail me, my last and final resource is a pistol." Such was the language of one not much beyond seventeen years of age ; certainly, as Dr. Aikin observes, not that of a simple, ingenuous youth, "smit with the love of sacred song," a Beattie's minstrel, as some of Chatterton's admirers have chosen to paint him.

In 1769, he contributed several papers to the Town and Country Magazine, among which were some extracts from the pretended Rowley, entitled Saxon poems, written in the style of Ossian, and subscribed with Chatterton's usual signature of Dunkelmus Bristoliensis. But his most celebrated attempt at imposture, in this year, was an offer to furnish Horace Walpole with some accounts of a series of eminent painters who had flourished at Bristol, at the same time enclosing two small specimens of the Rowley poems. Mr. Walpole returned a very polite reply, requesting further information; and, in answer, was informed of the circumstances of Chatterton, who hinted a wish that the former would free him from an irksome profession, and place him in a situation where he might pursue the natural bias of his genius. In the mean time, however, Gray and Mason having pronounced the poems sent to Walpole to be forgeries, the latter, who, nevertheless, could not, as he him-rious prospect!" His engagements, in fact, appear self confesses, help admiring the spirit of poetry displayed in them, wrote a cold monitory letter to our author, advising him to apply himself to his profession. Incensed at this, he demanded the immediate return of his manuscripts, which Walpole enclosed in a blank cover, after his return from a visit to Paris, when he found another letter from Chatterton, peremptorily requiring the papers, and telling Walpole "that he would not have dared to use him so, had he not been acquainted with the narrowness of his circumstances." Here their correspondence ended, and on these circumstances alone is the charge founded against Mr. Walpole of barbarously neglecting, and finally causing the death of, Chatterton. Mr. Walpole, observes Dr. Gregory, afterward regretted that he had not seen this extraordinary youth, and that he did not pay a more favourable attention to his correspondence; but to ascribe to Mr. Walpole's neglect the dreadful catastrophe which happened at the distance of nearly two years after, would be the highest degree of injustice and absurdity.

At the end of April, he arrived in the metropolis; and, on the 6th of May, writes to his mother that he is in such a settlement as he could desire. I get," he adds, "four guineas a month by one magazine; shall engage to write a history of England, and other pieces, which will more than double that sum. Occasional essays for the daily papers would more than support me. What a glo

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Our author now entered into politics; and, in March, 1770, composed a satirical poem of one thousand three hundred lines, entitled Kew Gar dens, in which he abused the Princess-dowager of Wales and Lord Bute, together with the partisans

to have been numerous and profitable; but we are
cautioned, by Dr. Gregory, against giving implicit
credence to every part of Chatterton's letters,
written at this time, relative to his literary and po-
litical friends in the metropolis. It seems, how-
ever, that he had been introduced to Mr. Beckford,
then lord mayor, and had formed high expectations
of patronage from the opposition party, which he
at first espoused; but the death of Beckford, at
which he is said to have gone almost frantic, and
the scarcity of money which he found on the op-
position side, altered his intentions. He observed
to a friend, that " he was a poor author, who could
write on both sides;" and it appears that he ac-
tually did so, as two essays were found after his
death, one eulogizing, and the other abusing, the
administration, for rejecting the city remonstrance.
On the latter, addressed to Mr. Beckford, is this
indorsement:

Accepted by Bingley-set for, and thrown out of the
North Britain, 21st of June, on account of the
lord mayor's death.
Lost by his death on this essay..
Gained in elegies.....

in essays....

Am glad he is dead by......

.......

£1 11 6

...£2 2
...3 3

5 50 .........£3 13 6

his judgment, and who had fed his mind upon stores collected with more avidity than choice. The haste and ardour, with which he pursued his various literary designs, was in accordance with his favourite maxim," that God had sent his creatures into the world with arms long enough to reach any thing, if they would be at the trouble of extending them."

His hopes of obtaining eminence as a political lyric and heroic poems, pastorals, epistles, ballads, writer now became extravagantly sanguine, and &c. Sublimity and beauty pervade many of them ; he already seems to have considered himself a and they display wonderful powers of imagination man of considerable public importance. "My and facility of composition; yet, says Dr. Aikin, company," he says, in a letter to his sister, "is there is also much of the commonplace flatness courted everywhere; and could I humble myself and extravagance, that might be expected from a to go into a compter, could have had twenty places | juvenile writer, whose fertility was greater than before now; but I must be among the great; state matters suit me better than commercial." These bright prospects, about July, appear to have been suddenly clouded; and, after a short career of dissipation, which kept pace with his hopes, he found that he had nothing to expect from the patronage of the great; and, to escape the scene of his mortification, made an unsuccessful attempt to obtain the post of surgeon's-mate to the coast of Africa. It is less certain to what extent he was now employed by the booksellers, than that he felt the idea of dependence upon them insupportable, and soon fell into such a state of indigence as to be reduced to the want of necessary food. Such was his pride, however, that when, after a fast of three days, his landlady invited him to dinner, he refused the invitation as an insult, assuring her he was not hungry. This is the last act recorded of his life; a few hours afterward, he swallowed a dose of arsenic, and was found dead the next morning, August the 25th, 1770, surrounded by fragments of numerous manuscripts, which he appeared to have destroyed. His suicide took place in Brook-street, Holborn, and he was interred, in a shell, in the burying-ground of Shoe lane workhouse. This melancholy catastrophe is heightened by the fact, that Dr. Fry, head of St. John's College, Oxford, had just gone to Bristol, for the purpose of assisting Chatterton, when he was there informed of his death.

The controversy respecting the authenticity of the poems attributed to Rowley is now at an end; though there are still a few, perhaps, who may side with Dean Milles and others, against the host of writers, including Gibbon, Johnson, and the two Wartons, who ascribe the entire authorship to Chatterton. The latter have, perhaps, come to a conclusion, which is not likely to be again disputed, viz. that however extraordinary it was for Chatterton to produce them in the eighteenth century, it was impossible that Rowley could have written them in the fifteenth. But, whether Chatterton was or was not the author of the poems ascribed to Rowley, his transcendent genius must ever be the subject of wonder and admiration. The eulogy of his friends, and the opinions of the controversialists respecting him, are certainly too extravagant. Dean Milles prefers Rowley to Homer, Virgil, Spencer, and Shakspeare; Mr. Malone" believes Chatterton to have been the greatest genius that England has produced since the days of Shakspeare;" and Mr. Croft, the author of Love and Madness, asserts, that “no such human being, at any period of life, has ever been known, or possibly ever will be known." This enthusiastic praise is not confined to the critical writers; the British muse has paid some of her most beautiful tributes to the genius and memory of Chatterton. The poems of Rowley, as published by Dean Milles, consist of pieces of all the principal classes of poetical composition: tragedies,

In 1778, a miscellaneous volume of the avowed writings of Chatterton was published; and, in 1803, an edition of his works appeared, in three volumes, octavo, with an account of his life, by Dr. Gregory, from whom we have before quoted. The general character of his productions has been well appreciated by Lord Orford, who, after expatiating upon his quick intuition, his humour, his vein of satire, the rapidity with which he seized all the topics of conversation, whether of politics, literature, or fashion, remarks, "Nothing in Chatterton can be separated from Chatterton. His noblest flight, his sweetest strain, his grossest ribaldry, and his most commonplace imitations of the productions of magazines, were all the effervescences of the same ungovernable impulse, which, cameleon-like, imbibed the colours of all it looked on. It was Ossian, or a Saxon monk, or Gray, or Smollett, or Junius; and if it failed most in what it most affected to be, a poet of the fifteenth century, it was because it could not imitate what had not existed." In person, Chatterton is said to have been, like his genius, premature; he had, says his biographer, 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 gray, were uncommonly pierc ing; 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.

The character of Chatterton has been sufficiently developed in the course of the preceding memoir; his ruling passion, we have seen, was literary fame; and it is doubtful whether his death was not rather occasioned through fear of losing the reputation he had already acquired, than despair of being able to obtain a future subsistence. This is rendered at least plausible, by the fact of his having received pecuniary assistance from Mr. Hamilton, senior, the proprietor of the Critical Review, not long before his death, with a promise of more; that he was employed by his literary friends, almost to the last hour of his existence; and that he was aware of the suspicions existing that himself and Rowley were the same. Though he neither confessed nor denied this, it was evident that his conduct was influenced by some mystery, known only to himself; he grew wild, abstracted, and incoherent, and a settled gloominess at length took possession of his countenance, which was a presage of his fatal resolution. He has been accused of libertinism, but there are no proofs of this during his residence either at London or Bristol; though

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Badde tydyngs I doe brynge."

Thenne Maister Canynge saughte the kynge,
And felle down onne hys knee;

"I'm come," quod hee, “unto your grace,
To move your clemencye."

"Thenne," quod the kynge," youre tale speke out,
You have been much oure friende :
Whatever youre request may bee,
Wee wylle to ytte attende."

"

My nobile leige! alle my request
Ys for a nobile knyghte,

Who, though mayhap hee has donne wronge,
He thoughte ytte stylle was ryghte:

Hee has a spouse and children twaine;
Alle rewyn'd are for aie,

Yff that you are resolved to lett
Charles Bawdin die to-daie."

"Speke not of such a traytour vile,"

The kynge ynn furie sayde, "Before the evening starre doth sheene,

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Bawdin shall loose hys hedde:

"Justice does loudlie for hym calle,

And hee shalle have hys meede : Speke, Maister Canynge! whatte thynge else Att present doe you neede?"

My nobile leige!" goode Canynge sayde, "Leave justice to our Godde,

And laye the yronne rule asyde;

Be thyne the olyve rodde.

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Was Godde to serche our hertes and reines, The best were synners grete;

Speke boldlie, manne," sayd brave Syr Charles, Christ's vicarr only knowes ne synne,

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Whatte says the traytour kynge?"

"I greeve to telle: before yonne sonne Does fromme the welkinn flye,

Hee hath uppon hys honour sworne,

Thatt thou shalt surelie die."

"We all must die," quod brave Syr Charles,

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Of thatte I'm not affearde;

Whatte bootes to lyve a little space?

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Thanke Jesu, I'm prepared:

Butt telle thye kynge, for myne hee's not,
I'de sooner die to-daie,

Thanne lyve hys slave, as manie are,
Though I shoulde lyve for aie."

Then Canterlone hee dydd goe out,
To tell the maior straite
To gett all thynges ynne reddyness
For goode Syr Charleses fate.

Ynne all thys mortall state.

"Lett mercie rule thyne infante reigne,

"Twylle faste thye crowne fulle sure;

From race to race thye familie

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Alle sovereigns shall endure:

But yff wythe bloode and slanghter thou Beginne thy infante reigne,

Thy crowne upponne thy childrennes brows Wylle never long remayne."

"Canynge, awaie! thys traytour vile

Has scorn'd my power and mee;

Howe canst thou then for such a manne
Entreate my clemencye?"

"

'My nobile leige! the trulie brave Wylle val'rous actions prize, Respect a brave and nobile mynde,

Although ynne enemies."

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Canynge, awaie! By Godde ynne heaven
Thatt dydd mee being gyve

I wylle nott taste a bitt of breade

Whilst thys Syr Charles dothe lyve.

By Marie, and alle seinctes ynne heaven,
Thys sunne shall be hys laste."
Thenne Canynge dropp'd a brinie teare,

And from the presence paste.

Wyth herte brymm-fulle of gnawynge grief,
Hee to Syr Charles dydd goe,

And sat hymm downe uponne a stoole,
And teares beganne to flowe.

"Wee all must die," quod brave Syr Charles;
"Whatte bootes ytte howe or whenne;
Dethe ys the sure, the certaine fate
Of all wee mortall menne.

Say why, my friende, thie honest soul
Runs over att thyne eye;
Ys ytte for my most welcome doome
Thatt thou dost child-lyke crye ?"

Quod godlie Canynge, "I doe weepe,
Thatt thou so soone must die,

And leave thy sonnes and helpless wyfe;
"Tys thys thatt wettes myne eye."

"Thenne drie the tears thatt out thyne eye
From godlie fountaines sprynge;
Dethe I despise, and alle the power
Of Edwarde, traytour kynge.

"Whan through the tyrant's welcome means I shall resigne my lyfe,

The Godde I serve wylle soone provyde
For bothe my sonnes and wyfe.

"Before I sawe the lyghtsome sunne,

Thys was appointed mee;

Shall mortall manne repyne or grudge
What Godde ordeynes to bee?

"Howe oft ynne battaile have I stoode,
Whan thousands dyed arounde;
Whan smokynge streemes of crimson bloode
Imbrew'd the fatten'd grounde:

"Howe dydd I knowe thatt every darte,

Thatt cutte the airie waie,

Myghte nott fynde passage toe my harte,
And close myne eyes for aie?

"And shall I nowe, forr feere of dethe,
Looke wanne and bee dysmayde?

Ne! fromm my herte flie childyshe feere ;
Bee alle the manne display'd.

"Ah, goddelyke Henry! Godde forefende,
And guarde thee and thye sonne,
Yff 'tis hys wylle; but yff 'tis nott,
Why thenne hys wylle bee donne.

"My honest friende, my faulte has beene

To serve Godde and my prynce ;

And thatt I no tyme-server am,

My dethe wylle soone convynce.

"Ynne Londonne citye was I borne,
Of parents of grete note;
My fadre dydd a nobile armes
Emblazon onne hys cote:

"I make no doubte butt hee ys gone, Where soone I hope to goe; Where wee for ever shall bee blest, From oute the reech of woe.

Hee taughte mee justice and the laws
Wyth pitie to unite ;

And eke hee taughte mee howe to knowe
The wronge cause from the ryghte:
"Hee taughte mee wythe a prudent hande
To feede the hungrie poore,

Ne lett mye sarvants dryve awaie

The hungrie fromm my doore:

"And none can saye but alle mye lyfe
I have hys wordyes kept;
And summ'd the actyonns of the daie
Eche nyghte before I slept.

"I have a spouse, goe aske of her
Yff I defyled her bedde;

I have a kynge, and none can laie
Black treason onne my hedde.
"Ynne Lent, and onne the holie eve,
Fromm fleshe I dydd refrayne;
Whie should I thenne appeare dismay'd
To leave thys worlde of payne?
"Ne, hapless Henrie! I rejoyce
I shall ne see thye dethe;
Most willynglie ynne thye just cause
Doe I resign my brethe.

"Oh, fickle people! rewyn'd londe !
Thou wylt kenne peace ne moe;
Whyle Richard's sonnes exalt themselves,
Thye brookes wythe bloude wylle flowe.
"Saie, were ye tyred of godlie peace,

And godlie Henrie's reigne,
Thatt you dydd choppe your easie daies
For those of bloude and peyne?

"Whatte though I onne a sledde be drawne, And mangled by a hynde,

I doe defye the traytour's power,
Hee can ne harm my mynde ;
"Whatte though, uphoisted onne a pole,
My lymbes shall rotte ynne ayre,
And ne ryche monument of brasse
Charles Bawdin's name shall bear ;
"Yett ynne the holie book above,

Whyche tyme can't eate awaie,
There wythe the sarvants of the Lord
Mye name shall lyve for aie.

"Thenne welcome dethe! for lyfe eterne I leave thys mortall lyfe :

Farewell vayne worlde, and all that's deare Mye sonnes and lovynge wyfe!

"Nowe dethe as welcome to mee comes

As e'er the moneth of Maie;
Nor woulde I even wyshe to lyve,
Wyth my dere wyfe to staie."

Quod Canynge, ""Tys a goodlie thynge
To bee prepared to die;

And from thys worlde of peyne and grefe
To Godde ynne heaven to flie."

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