/A /a: ^,,oaJ ^^' mi! 59, WASHINGTON STREET. LIFE O P JAMES MONTGOMERY. BY MRS. HELEN C KNIGHT, AUTUOR OF "LADY HUNTINGTON AND HER FRIENDS," "MEMOIRS OF HANNAH MORE," ETC. " who of protracted daya Made not, as thousands do, a vulgar sleep, But truly did he live his life." BOSTON GOULD AND LINCOLN, 59 WASHINGTON STREET. NEW YORK: SHELDON, BLAKEMAN & CO. CINCINNATI : GEORGE S. BLANCUARD. 1857. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the j'ear 1857, by GOULD AND LINCOLN, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. PRINTED Br GEORGE C. HAND & AVERY. PREFACE. "We introduce to our readers James Montgomery. His English biographers, Mr. John Holland and Rev. James Everett, with affectionate assiduity have issued his life in seven volumes. Precious as the most insig- nificant memorials of him must be to personal friends, and interesting as are all the links which bind a man to his own country, a great portion of this ample detail possesses Httle, if any interest, to an American public. It therefore has been our work to sift out from this the true wheat of his Hfe, and mould it anew. With none of the classic richness of Rogers, the weird originality of Coleridge, the introspective sweet- ness of Wordsworth, or the fascinating romance of Scott, there is a moral earnestness, an unaffected grace, a purity of diction, which penetrate the heart and place his poetry among the permanent literature of England. The Christian element of his hymns gave them wings. Besides expressing what the renewed soul has felt through all ages, he gave utterance to many of the new forms iv PREFACE. of Christian life, with theu* corresponding inspirations, thrilling the spirit and firing it with fresh devotion to the Master's work. Not as a poet only does Montgomery claim our re- verent attention. As a model of the Christian citizen, he stands pre-eminent. Steadfastly promoting public improvements, and pa- tiently fostering every charitable enterprise, catholic in spirit and loyal to conscience, unselfish in his aims and rich in practical wisdom, prudent in counsel and warm in his affections, he identified himself with all the best interests of Sheffield, and took a high place in the con- fidence and respect of his towns-fellows. Nor were his labors of love bounded by Sheffield. Welcoming all the new-born activities, which mark the Church of Christ during the present century, he engaged in their furtherance with singular devotedness. And even when age and infirmities might justly have pleaded ex- emption from duty, a scrupulous fidcUty to its claims kept him to his post even to the end. " Born to stand A prince among the worthies of the land. More than a prince — a sinner saved by grace, Prompt, at his meek and lowly Master's call, To prove himself the minister of all." H. C. K. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE EARLY DAYS — DEPARTUKE FOR ENGLAND — MORAVIAN SETTLEMENT IN YORKSHIRE — CHURCH FESTIVALS AT FCLNECK — CELEBRA- TION OF EASTER SUNDAY — POETICAL READINGS — MORAVIAN MISSIONS. 11 CHAPTER II. SCHOOL-LIFE AT FULNECK — RUNNING AWAY — HIS JOURNEY — CON- SENT OF MORAVIAN FRIENDS — CLERKSHIP — HIS EARLY LOVE — GOING TO LONDON. 25 CHAPTER III. MISSIONARY' EXPERIENCE — DISCOURAGING OCCURRENCES — DEATH OF HIS PARENTS — ARRIVAL IN LONDON — HIS WANT OF SUCCESS — CONTEMPORANEOUS GENIUS — NEW SCHOOLS OF POETRY. . 36 CHAPTER IV. SETTLEMENT AT SHEFFIELD — NATIONAL DISQUIET — POLITICAL HYMN — GALES'S DEPARTURE — ESTABLISHMENT OF THE IRIS — INVOCATION TO THE IRIS — POSITION AS EDITOR. ... 51 Vi CONTENTS. CHAPTER V. PAGK POLITICAL ENTANGLEMENTS — CHARGE OF LIBEL AGAINST MONT- GOMERY — HIS TRIAL — IMPRISONMENT AT YORK CASTLE — RE- LEASE FROM PRISON — SECOND IMPRISONMENT. ... 65 CHAPTER VI. PRISON LIFE — LETTER TO JOSEPH ASTON — "PRISON AMUSEMENTS" — RELINQUISHES POLITICS — POLITICAL FACTIONS — VISIT TO YORK CASTLE — LETTERS TO MR. ASTON — ANXIETY AND DEPRES- SION — RELIGIOUS IMPRESSIONS 70 CHAPTER VII. SELF UPBRAIDINGS — CONFLICTS AND WAVERINGS — LETTERS TO HIS BROTHER — SPIRITUAL DARKNESS — RIGHT VIEWS OF SAVING FAITH — SPIRITUAL LIGHT — VIEWS ON HYMN WRITING — NOTE TO A QUAKER FRIEND 96 CHAPTER VIII. EDITORIAL NOTICES — FUGITIVE POEMS — DR. AIKIN — HOME AFFEC- TIONS — "the WANDERER OF SWITZERLAND" — ITS RECEPTION — EDINBURGH REVIEW — NEW FRIENDS — DANIEL PARKEN — LIT- TLE POEMS — LYRICAL BALLADS — SOUTHEY's ADVICE TO EL- LIOTT. ........... 112 CHAPTER IX. THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPS — LOTTERIES — VISIT TO LONDON — SLAVE- TRADE — "the WEST indies" — "THE WORLD BEFORE THE CONTENTS. PAGE flood" — VISIT FROM HIS BROTHER ROBERT — HART's-HEAD — THE poet's HOME — PARKEN'S MATRIMONIAL ADVICE — CRITICISMS — LETTERS FROM SOUTHEY AND ROSCOE 136 CHAPTER X. MAY IN LONDON — MAY MEETINGS — '"THE GOOD OLD WAY" — RE- LIGIOUS SOCIETIES — COLERIDGE AND CAMPBELL LECTURE — LET- TERS TO PARKEN — LETTER FROM SOUTHEY — PARKEN's DEATH — LETTERS TO IGNATIUS MONTGOMERY — BUXTON. . . . 176 CHAPTER XI. " THE WORLD BEFORE THE FLOOD " PUBLISHED — NEW INTERESTS — ENGAGES IN RELIGIOUS LABORS — SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION — BIBLE SOCIETY — HIS FIRST SPEECH — CORRESPONDENCE WITH HIS BROTHER IGNATIUS — RE-ADMISSION TO THE MORAVIAN CHURCH — DAWNING PEACE — SUNDAY-SCHOOL LABORS. . . 197 CHAPTER XII. LETTER FROM SOUTHEY — SARAH GALES'S DEPARTURE FROM ENG- LAND — LOTTERY ADVERTISEMENTS — APPEAL FOR MORAVIAN MIS- SIONS IN GREENLAND — LITERARY PROFITS — DEATH OF ELIZA- BETH GALES — DEPUTATION OF THE LONDON MISSIONARY SOCIETY — DEPARTURE OF GEORGE BENNETT — CORRESPONDENCE — MANI- FOLD LABORS — "daisy IX INDIA" — CALL FROM SOUTHEY — LABORS FOR THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPS — AN AMERICAN GENTLEMAN AT hart's-head 209 Viii CONTENTS, CHAPTER XIII. PAGE WITHDRAWAL FROM THE " IRIS " — REMINISCENCES — PUBLIC DIN- NER — TOKENS OF RESPECT — CHRISTIAN PSALMIST — SENTIMENTS ON HYMNOLOGY — LETTER TO MR. BENNETT — "THE STRANGER AND HIS FRIEND " — TOUR — " PELICAN ISLAND " — ANTI-SLAVERY MEETINGS — MRS. HEMANS — ROBERT MONTGOMERY — LETTERS FROM SOUTHEY — VISIT TO KESWICK. 240 CHAPTER XIV. RETURN OF MR. BENNETT — DEATH OF DANIEL TYREMAN — EDITO- RIAL DUTIES — LETTER OF ADVICE TO A YOUNG POET — LEC- TURES IN LONDON UPON POETRY — DR. MILNOR — VOYAGES AND TRAVELS OF TYREMAN AND BENNETT — LETTER TO SAMUEL DUNN — ANTI-SLAVERY REJOICINGS. 270 CHAPTER XV. INVITATION TO VISIT THE UNITED STATES — PROFESSORSHIP OF RHETORIC — MRS. HOFLAND — DORA WORDSWORTH's ALBUM — THE MOUNT — SCOTT — LECTURING — LETTER TO MR. BENNETT — DEATH OF MR. HODGSON — CHRISTIAN CORRESPONDENT AT LON- DON — DEATH OF ANNA GALES — LIFE OF SCOTT. . . . 294 CHAPTER XVI. VICTORIA ON THE BRITISH THRONE — REJOICINGS AT SHEFFIELD — APPEAL FOR THE POOR — LETTER TO A " FAR WEST " COLLEGE — AT BRISTOL — LECTURING TOUR — CENTENARY OF METHOD- ISM — REV. WILLIAM JAy'S JUBILEE — DEATH OF IGNATIUS MONTGOMERY. ... 317 CONTENTS. ix CHAPTER XVII. PAGE VISIT TO SCOTLAND — RECEPTION AT GLASGOW — DE. WARDLAW's SPEECH OF WELCOME — MONTGOMERY'S REPLY — HIS ACCOUNT OF THE MORAVIANS — PUBLIC BREAKFAST — RECEPTION AT HIS NATIVE PLACE — RECEPTION AT GREENWICH, STIRLING, DUNDEE, EDINBURGH, ETC. — DR. HUIE'S SPEECH — CONTRIBUTION FOR MORAVIAN MISSIONS — MONTGOMERY'S APPEARANCE IN COM- PANY 331 CHAPTER XVIII. death of mr. bennett — robbery at the mount — visit to ire- land — death of southey — new poet-laureate — visit to buxton — lecturing at liverpool — letter to dr. raffles — premonition of old age — innovations — william ccllen Bryant's visit — longfellow — poem to "lily" — corn-laws — letter to HOLLAND — HARTLEY COLERIDGE. . . . 347 CHAPTER XIX. WILBERFORCE — IIOWITT'S " HOMES AND HAUNTS OF THE POETS " — VISIT TO WATH — REMINISCENCES OF YOUTH — ROSCOE CLUB — DEATH OF FRIENDS. ........ 364 CHAPTER XX. EXTINCTION OF THE IRIS — LIFE OF KEATS — SHELLEY — MISSION- ARY JUBILEE — TRACT SOCIETY' JUBILEE — SICKNESS — POEMS — RECOVERY — VISIT TO FULNECK — CELEBRATION OF HIS BIRTH- DAY — TREE-PLANTING AT THE MOUNT — VISIT TO BUXTON. . 377 X CONTENTS. CHAPTER XXI. PACE CONGREGATIONAL UNION — EBENEZER ELLIOTT — MORAVIAN HYMN- BOOK. — LETTER TO MR. LATROBE — NEW EDITION OF HIS WORKS — LETTER FROM LUCY AIKIN — TENNYSON — THE DECKIN CHARITY ANTI-CATHOLIC MEETING — CRYSTAL PALACE — BIRTH- DAY PRES- ENTS — MONTGOMERY MEDAL — MEMORIAL TREES — VISIT TO THE SCHOOL OF DESIGN — LECTURE BEFORE THE LITERARY AND PHILO- SOPHICAL SOCIETY — MEETING OF THE METHODIST CONFERENCE — gray's POETRY — " ORIGINAL HYMNS"— LETTER FROM LUCY AIKIN — AUTUMN TRAIT — AT HIS POST TO THE LAST — DEATH — FUNERAL ^-CONCLUSION. 393 LIFE OF MONTGOMEEY. CHAPTER I. EARLY DAYS — DEPARTURE TOR ENGLAND — MORAVIAN SETTLEMENT IN YORKSHIRE — CHURCH FESTIVALS AT FULNECK — CELEBRATION OP EASTER SUNDAY — POETICAL READINGS — MORAVIAN MISSIONS. "Grack Hill" — The name, like many other of the Moravian christenings, " Tents of peace," and " Pilgrim's resting-places," has a spiritual significance, pointing towards a religious faith, which cradled, schooled, and carried for- ward its disciples with a paternal lovingness and care. It is a settlement in the village of Ballymona, Ireland, founded by that " hardy worker and hearty preacher," as Whitefield calls him, John Cennick, one of the fruits of the Great Awakening, and for a time teacher in the famous school of Kingswood Colliers. Drifting from the Metho- dist to the Moravian current of religious lile, he established himself in Ireland, where his earnest preaching gathered a " Settlement of the Brethren," and " Grace Hill," as it was named, we cannot doubt, became a beacon light to many a lost and wandering one. Such it became to John Montgomery, a young man in the neighborhood, who left his all, — that all the tools of 12 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. some humble craft, — to join the Brethren, by whom for his gifts or graces he was soon singled out to become a preacher of the gospel. In due time John married Mary Blackley, the daughter of a grave and serious matron, and together they embarked their fortunes in the self-denying and peril- ous labors which have distinguished the Moravian ministry. The young couple were sent to Irvine, a small seaport in Ayrshire, the first sj^ot in Scotland where these godly men found a footing, and Avere there domesticated in a humble cottage beside the chajDel wall, the pastor " much impressed Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds May feel it too." Sorrow and joy entered their open door. Death took Mary, their eldest born, a child of eighteen months, who " was the first grain soAvn in the Brethren's burial-ground at Ayr." Then a ncAV-born took its place in the mother's arms, — James, a son, — on the 4th of November, 1*7 71. Two others, Robert and Ignatius, afterwards came to be cradled in the lowly parsonage. James was a yellow-haired boy of sweet and serious dis- position. Nature in her manifold forms of beauty early delighted his eye and spoke in tenderness or awfulness to his soul. The round red moon mounting on the hills, the young moon dropping behind the west, the rolling river and the dashing ocean, mingled their voices with the martial pageantry of royal birthdays, and all the sounds and sights of busy life in streets and at shop windows. What won- der and admiration stir the boy's mind as he looks out on the great marvels of the world into Avhich he is born ! ox', as he afterwai'ds sung, DEPARTURE FOR ENGLAND. 13 " Proud reason still in shadow lay, And in my firmament alone, Forerunner of the day, The dazzling star of wonder shone, By whose enchanting ray Creation opened on my earliest view, And all was beautiful for all was new." At home the gentle discourse of his mother, the devout sobriety of his father, the grave mien and godly sj^irit of the Brethren as they come in and sit by the j^astor's hearth, awaken within him reverent thought, and he early feels the presence of the Great Unseen presiding over all things without and within his little hemisphere. And so, " Heaven lay about him in his infancy." After a few years' residence in Scotland, the pastor and his family returned to their Irish home, and James passed from the gentle tuition of his mother to the harder tasks of the village schoolmaster. How much Master Jemmy McCafFery taught the boy Ave do not know, but the band of music at Gilgoran castle, near by, the castle, and the soldiery, often led away his truant attention, stealthily peeping over the tree-tops to freer and gayer scenes beyond. That James needed better schooling than Grace Hill could then afford, forced itself strongly upon the father, and a school in England was accordingly determined upon. A tearful parting between mother and child — his warm kisses on her wet cheek — the laughing caress of the baby in her lap — mother's benedictions and childhood's prom- ises — good-byes to familiar things — the stir of a departure about the door, and James has gone — gone never again to have a home, where " mother, wife, Strews with fresh flowers the narrow way of life, 2 14 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. Around whose knees domestic duties meet, And fireside ^^leasures gambol round her feet." A terrible storm overtook the little Liverjiool packet having on board the father and son. The howUng wind and groaning timbers filled the boy with fright. He looked into his father's face. It was calm as summer's evening. " Trust the Lord Jesus, who saved the apostles on the water," said the father. The boy cast himself on the same arm of strength and sweetly rested there. Peace stole over his aftrighted spirit, and he sat quietly through the storm " I would give a thousand pounds for the faith of that child," exclaimed the captain, more fully perhaps comj^re- hending the peril of his craft. But safely the little packet outrode the storm. They arrived at Liverpool, and the pastor and his son proceeded to Fulneck. Fulneck is a Moravian settlement in the parish of Calver- ley, in the neighborhood of Leeds, in Yorkshire. This also had its planting in the Great Awakening. Those familiar with that glorious era of moral renovation in which White- field and Wesley bore so distinguished a part, will remem- ber Benjamin Ligham, one of the little band of praying students at Oxford, who were first cross-laden wdth the name of Methodists, and then crowned with its spiritual eftulgence. The singleness and simplicity of the Moravian faith and its element of loving consecration to the Master's work early attracted -the attention of Wesley and Ingham, who at different times visited Count Zinzendorf, and took sweet counsel wdth the Brethren on the contment. It Avas in their pulpit at Fetter Lane that Whitefield and Wesley first preached, in their company that the earliest MORAVIAN SETTLEMENT IN YORKSHIRE. 15 missionary tours were undertaken, and it was in them that they first beheld the power of that grace, which could fully deliver the soul from the bondage of sin and legal exactions and make it free in the free and glad obedience of joint heirship with Christ, the Redeemer, to the inheritance of the sons of God. Yorkshire, his native coiinty, was stirred into life by the strange and wonderful j^reaching of Benjamin Ingham, for the gospel seemed a new evangel in the mouth of this sturdy believer. Rustic and craftsman, high-born and lowly, flocked, to hear him. Conscience was aroused ; sin and holiness, heaven and hell, redemption and. retribution, had a meaning unfelt before. Moi'als were reformed, per- sonal and family religion rekindled, and little comj^anies of believers were gathered all over Yorkshire, disowned, in- deed, by the English Chui'ch, and yet, we may trust, living members of that living body whose head is Christ. Lady Margaret Hastings, sister-in-law of the Countess of Huntingdon, was among the first fruits of Ingham's spirit- ual husbandry, and it was from Margaret's lips that Lady Huntingdon first heard the language of heavenly rejoicing. Margaret afterwards united her fortunes with Mr. Ingham, and together they spent a life of Christian usefulness. Some Moravian Brethren followed him to Yorkshire, to fensure whose stay he leased them land for a settlement. It was a rough moor, near rude and boorish neighborhoods, where no seed of good had yet been strewn. And thither they came in 1748, with their farming tools and thrifty habits, their schools and their hymn-books, and Fulneck, with its Bruder-Haus, Schwester-IIaus, and Prediger-Haus, became the Moravian Goshen of Yorkshire. Here was brought James Montgomery at the tender age of six, and committed by his lather to the paternal 16 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. giiardianship of the Brethren. The Fuhieck school at that time bore a highly respectable reputation, numbering pu- pils from every part of the kingdom. The religious char- acter of these schools is very remarkable. Though tlie discipline is strict, it does not seem to have been severe or irksome. Unlike the tyranny which Avas exercised, both by teachers over their pupils, and by older scholars over the younger, in other English schools, a genuine friendship seems to have existed between teachers and scholars. While little Robert Southey was unmercifully caned by his master at Bristol, and Coleridge was a moping, friend- less, half-starved Blue-Coat boy in London, " drinking small beer from wooden piggins and eating milk-porridge, blue and tasteless, on Monday, pea-soup, coarse and choking, on Saturday, beside an extra cut at the end of every flogging for his ugliness," James Montgomery seems to have been surrounded by an atmospliere of love, and sat at a table spread with good will, and bread as good. " Whatever we did," he tolls us, " was done in the name and for the sake of Jesus Christ, Avhom Ave were taught to regard in the amiable and endearing light of a friend and brother." Innocent pastimes mingled Avith daily duties, Avhile birth- day celebrations, excursions into the neighboring country, and visits from distinguished strangers, afforded opportu- nities for longer relaxation from the tasks of school. Over all these Avere flung the kindly restraints of the abiding presence of Jesus, the Lord, and a perpetual ac- knowledgment of his goodness seemed to have become the natural overflow of the heart toAvards him, as the giver of every good gift. It Avas customary for the boys of the different classes occasionally to take tea Avith each other. At the close of CHURCH FESTIVALS AT FULNECK. 17 supper, they formed a circle, hand in hand, and sang a hymn. A change having been made, one day, in the or- dinary beverage, the Httle fellow Avhose lot it -was to say grace knelt down, — " Oh Lord, bless ns little children," was the devout utterance, " and make us very good ! We thank thee for what we have received. Oh, bless this good chocolate, and give us more of it ! " A petition, we presume, in which the little group heai'tily joined. The festivals of the church. Good Friday, Palm Sunday, Whitsunday, and Christmas, with their stately and sig- nificant emblems, were sacredly observed at Fulneck. The chapel, in its Christmas adornings, charmed the eyes of the children. Evergreens festooned the pulpit, bearing in front a scroll fringed with fir and holly, with the inscrip- tion, "Unto us a child is born." Precisely at five, the organ pealed foi'th its harmonies, the congregation arose, the clergy entered, and the choir sang its Christmas an- them. Tea was then handed round, and children's voices singing the touching melody, " Christ the Lord — the Lord most glorious — Now is born — oh, shout aloud," proclaimed their interest in the great transaction. " I shall not easily forget," says one, formerly a pupil at Fulneck, " the boys' sleeping-hall, a large room containing between one and two hundred beds. It was usual for us to meet there on the evening j^rior to Easter Sunday. A pianoforte was taken, for the occasion, to one end of this immense room ; over it was suspended a lantern, which threw a dim light on a splendid painting of a dead Christ, removed from the Brethren's house. When all had assem- bled, we stood for a fow moments in front of the picture. Then the full-toned piano, accompanied by a French bugle, 2* 18 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. broke the silence with one of those airs which for ages have been used in the Moravian Church. Tliis ceased for a moment, and we heard the sweet melody whispering around that vast hall, the whole of which was in darkness, gave the spot where we were gathered. Again we mused on the painting, and were almost startled by the breathless quiet of the place. The music recommenced, and we sang that fine old hymn — ' Met around the sacred tomb, Frieuds of Jesus, why those tears ? ' " The next morning found us assembled at five o'clock in the chapel, joined by an immense crowd. The service opened with a voluntary on the organ, — the congregation arose, chanting as they walked, 'The Lord is risen in- deed!' On reaching their places, the Litany commenced, the responses to which were sung by the choir and congre- gation. On arriving at the part which refers to the church triumphant, Ave adjourned to the burial-ground, and there finished the service in the open air. " Those only who have witnessed it, can form any notion of its solemnity. The congregation formed a circle, in the centre of which was the officiating clergyman. The sun had just risen, and was lighting wp that splendid scenery, and the mists of the night were rapidly rolling away. In the distance, covering the liill, were magnificent woods; over us the mornhig birds carolled their early matins and then soared away. " It was in such a scene we offered this thrilling petition to heaven's God : — " Minister. — 'And keep us in everlasting fellowship with our brethren, and our sisters (here mentioning the names of those who had departed since the preceding Easter), CELEBRATION OF EASTER SUNDAY. 19 who have entei'ed into the joy of then* Lord, and whose bodies are buried here ; also with the servants and hand- maids of our Church, whom thou hast called home within this year ; and with the Avhole church triumphant ; and grant that we may faithfully rest with them in thy pres- ence from all our labors. Amen.' " CONGKEGATIOIS". ' They are at rest in lasting bliss, Beholding Christ their Saviour ; Our humble expectation is, To live with him forever ! ' " This verse was sung by the vast assembly, echoing along that beautiful valley, and mingling with the hum of bees, the ripple of the waters, the music of the wild bird, and, it may be, with the minstrelsy of unseen spirits. I have since witnessed the religious ceremonies of other bodies; and although it has been mine to minister at the altar of another communion, I must confess I have met Avith nothing so solemn, yet elegantly chaste, as these services of the Brethren's Church." While these scenes could hardly fail to have touched the most iinappreciative, upon a child of lively and tender sus- ceptibilities they awoke, like the winds sweeping over an air-harp, wild and mysterious music in the soul. The scenic life thus clothing those solemn truths, which at once kindle the imagination and awe the passions, gives a pictured vividness to the objects of our faith, peculiarly fascinating to the young. Religious emotion is excited, which, though not necessarily connected with moral reno- vation, deepens in the soul its sense of something lost and something yearned for, — its heavenly inheritance, — where peace is aifrighted by no sin and joy knows no chill. 20 LIFE OF MO NT GO MEKY. Of the drift of his child-life at Fulneck, James Mont- gomery afterwards says : — " Here while I roved, a heedless boy, Here while through paths of peace I ran, My feet were vexed with puny snares, My bosom stung with insect cares ; But ah ! what light and little things Are childhood's woes ! — they break no rest ! Like dewdrops on the skylark's wings While slumbering on his grassy nest. Gone in a moment when he springs To meet the morn with open breast, As o'er the eastern hills her banners glow, And, veiled in mist, the valley sleeps below. Like him, on these delightful plains, I taught, with fearless voice, The echoing woods to sound my strains. The mountains to rejoice. Hail ! to the trees, beneath whose shade. Rapt into worlds unseen, I strayed : Hail ! to the streams that purled along In hoarse accordance to my song — My song that poured uncensured laj'S Tuned to a dying Saviour's praise. In numbers simple, wild, and sweet. As were the flowers beneath my feet." Poet-land already loomed upon the vision of the boy : and reverberations of its far off melody break upon his lis- tening spirit. Will the old Moravian hymn-book, with its quaint lyrics, pilot him there, or, by the subtle intuitions of genius, will he strike out a new track and claim a birthright footing to its prerogatives ? HIS POETICAL READINGS. 21 Little license was allowed the boys at Fulneck for gen- eral reading. Indeed, upon this i:)oint, the pupils were fenced in by severe legislation, bad books being regarded by the Brethren as the quickest corrupters of good morals. A father once sent his son a small volume of choice selec- tions from Milton, Thomson, and Young, unobjectionable associates one would think ; the book, however, must first pass the scrutiny and the scissors of the teachers, when it was returned to the owner, so carefully pruned, that many passages were blotted out and whole leaves were missing. Poetry, nevertheless, was not wholly interdicted, for we find one of the masters, on a warm summer's day, betaking himself with his class to the fields, and, setting aside the regular recitations, entertaining it with a reading from Blair's " Grave." Most of the boys fell asleep. One atten- tive listener, at least, rewarded the indulgent master. Lit- tle James Montgomery gave himself up to the charms of the hour; and such suitableness and beauty did there seem in poet-numbers, that before leaving the hedge-row delight began to shape itself to purjaose, and with pro- phetic eye he beheld his poem one day scattering on others enjoyment like that which he was reaping. Barred as the gates of Fulneck were, jDoems now and then scaled its walls. The poet's corner of a village newsjDaper intro- duced the new Scotch muse, Robert Burns. Blackmore's "Prince Alfred" stirred up brave thoughts and brilliant schemes, " To grace tbis latter age witli noble deedj." Two volumes of Cowper came to hand ; the books, how- ever, though eagerly read, were laid aside with little relish for a second sitting. Their chaste beauty and exquisite 22 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. naturalness found little favor from Master James, with tastes moulded by the mystic element and enthusiastic rhaj^sodies which then marked the Moravian literature. It required the juster estimate of more exact culture to discern the excellences of the Bard of Olney, which, in time, he was proud to acknowledge and admire. Stinted as was the intellectual nutriment craved by the boy, and much as there undoubtedly was to clip the soar- ings of his fancy, the poetic temperament will yet extract a living from the leanest soil ; and foreshadowings of its life-work will flash all along through its early paths. And so we find him rhyming, inveterately rhymmg, rhyming in spite of himself, jets if not gems, showing the drift of his inward life. At ten, he had a well filled volume of his own verses, — ■ gypsy children, we may Avell believe from the pious strains, which rose morning, midday, and at vespers, from the altars of Fulneck. Night often found his mind aglow with some favorite theme, nor would he sleep until it had shaped itself to measures jileasing to himself; thus wakefulness became a habit. And when he afterwards so graphically tells us how his " eyes roll in Irksome darkness, And the lone spirit of unrest At conscious midnight haunts his breast, ^^Ticn former joys, and present woes, And future fears are all his foes," we can readily conceive it to have been an autobiograjDhical reminiscence, much to be deplored. The style of the boy's mind, running from the practical to the ideal, more given to reverie than to study, must needs, we think, have given anxiety to the sturdy fathers MORAVIAN MISSIONS. 23 of Fulneck, His French and German were likely to have fewer charms than Kirkstall Abbey, a fine old ruin in the neighborhood, ivy-clad ; or pleasanter it were, to jieojile the odd-shaped fields on the hill-side opposite the school with the teemings of his mind, than to drill it to the regular beat of Latin verbs, or torture it Avith Greek translations. Accordingly we find a notice or two on the school records, that " J. M. was not using proper diligence in his studies, and was admonished thereupon." And inasmuch as he was destined for the ministry, we may sujDj^ose this lack of industry augured ominously for the future, in the estimate of his guardians. The parents of the boy were not near either by their per- sonal presence or by frequent letters to counsel or to urge him forward: and how far their symj^athizing solicitude might have steadied him in the strait path marked out for him, we can never know. When he was twelve, together they visited Fulneck, bringing their two younger sons, Ignatius and Robert, and remained three months at the Settlement, previous to leaving England for a missionary life in the West Indies. The Moravian missions were among the first attempts of Protestant Christians to evan- gelize the heathen ; and their zealous and self-denying labors, which no arctic cold could freeze and no tropic heat could wither, make a shining page in the annals of Christian valor. " Keep our doors open among the heathen, and open those that are shut," is a petition in the old " Church Litany of the Brethren." " Have mercy on the negroes, savages, slaves, and gyp- sies," was not merely a prayer of the lip, it was often the burden of a lifetime. And where Greenland hailed, 24 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. " from afar Through polar storms, the light of Jacob's star," mad the everlasting gospel smiled on the Ked men of " Ohio's streams and of IMissouri's flood, And the sweet tones of pity touched his ears, And mercy bathed his bosom with her tears," " the pool' Xegro scorned of all mankind," — the beautiful individuality of the invocation, " Bless our congregations gathered from the Negroes, Greenlanders, Indians, Hotten- tots, and Esquimaux ; keep them as the apple of thine eye," carries with it all the personal and endearing intimacy of the Christian name. A happy three months to the re-united family at Fulneck. The parting counsels of these parents, how tenderly faithful ! The yearnings of parental fondness on one side, the soldier- call of duty on the other. The stormy waters must soon part parents and children ; their earthly joui-ney may seem long, very long, and begirt with perils ; but the path to heaven is short, and bright Avith the beckoning gloines of heaven, — there may all meet, a re-united family for ever- more, among the Redeemed. This is the burden of the pastor's heart. December 2nd, 1783, Rev. John Montgomery and his excellent wife again take up their pilgrim's staff, and leaving their sons in England set sail for Barbadoes. The benediction of the Brethren follows them, " How precious the work prosecuted at such cost ! " This conviction lay far behind, blurred by many tears. Perhaps the children were scarcely conscious of it then, but it seemed to have been a golden thread in their lives after- wards. CHAPTER II. SCnOOL-LIFE AT FULNECK — RUNNING AWAY — HIS JOURNEY — CON- SENT OF MORAVIAN FRIENDS — CLERKSHIP — HIS EARLY LOVE — GOING TO LONDON, Lord Monboddo, a learned and eccentric Scottish j^eer, once visited the school at Fulneck, to whom the older and more gifted scholars were introduced ; but little heed did he seem to pay, until the bishop said : — " Here, my lord, is one of your own countrymen," bringing forward James 3Iontgomery, who, indeed, had but just gained his birth- right. The judge started, and brandishing a huge horse- whip over the boy's head, cried out : " I hope he will take care that his country shall never be ashamed of him," "This," said James, many years afterwards, "I never forgot ; nor shall I forget it while I live. I have, indeed, endeavored so to act hitherto, that my country might never have cause to be ashamed of me, nor will I, on my part, ever be ashamed of her." However his country were likely to feel, it is certain his teachers, if not ashamed of him, were disappointed in him. Perhaps he did not immediately begin to feel the inspira- tion of the old peer's hopes. Admonition did not amend his ways, ISTo growing dili- gence gave promise for the future. School tasks he under- took with little zest and less success ; and reluctantly his 3 26 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. friends abandoned the prospect of beholding him some day in the ministry. What was to be done with the dallying boy ? — a perplex- ing question, debated over many an unpromising subject since then ; and all the more perplexing, if not unpromising, because the difficulty lay more in lack of persistency and purpose than any positive moral obliquities. What was done? "It was determined," runs the school record, " that J. Montgomery remain in the school and be prepared for a teacher in the same: when this was told him he seemed to be pleased with it." A year passes, and how fores it Avith the lad? The pleasure with which he received the announcement of his change of destiny, and the stimulus consequent thereon, have faded away, and another record in the school diary informs us that as " J. M., notwithstanding repeated admo- nitions, has not been more attentive, it was resolved to put him to a business, at least for a time," Do we not in our day reverse the case, and the less we know Avhat to do with a boy, ithe longer send him to school ? — school often being a sort of quarantine ground, where boys and girls are suflered to stay until it is ascertained whether they can safely shift for theniselves. Boys stimulated to study by the competitions of school, and provoked to unusual effort by strong but inferior motives, often fall behind and disappoint expectation when those motjives have ceased to operate ; so, on the contrary, those in whom there is much to be developed, often more slowly come to comprehend themselves ; and a life of keen mental activity and the gathering up of great quantities of raw material, to be wrought into a symmetrical and sinewy manhood, may often lie behind the listless glances and laggard movements of an idle boy. RUNNING AWAY. 27 IIow "vras it with Montgomery ? Disappointing the favorite projects of liis friends, and. disclosing no marlced preference towards any of the common industries of life, his bosom yet thrilled with unutterable longings, and his mind was filled Avith day-dreams of a brilliant future. Like Javau, in his " World before the Flood," " bis foncy longed to view, The world which yet by fame alone he knew ; The joys of freedom were his daily theme, Glory the secret of his midnight dream ; — That dream he told not, though his heart would ache." Plainly school was no longer the place for him. So thought the Fulneck fathers, and he was apprenticed to a worthy man of the Moravian fraternity, who kept a retail shop in Mirfield, a neighboring hamlet. Here he remained about a year and a half, selling bread, writing poetry, and playing with a hautboy, — the latter engrossing the chief share of his attention. The only labor which, perhaps, survives this period, is his paraphrase of the 113th Psalm, which the Archbishop of York was pleased to incorporate soon after its appearance in public, years later, into a collection of sacred lyrics for the use of his diocese. Which gave it celebrity, its poetry or its patron- age, it were perhaps invidious to inquire. What next ? " Having very little to do but to amuse myself," Montgomery tells us, " I grew more unhappy and discontented than ever ; and in an evil hour I determined to break loose and see the world. I was not bound to my master,. and knew that if I left him the Moravians could not compel me to return, though I was only sixteen. You will smile and Avonder, too, Avhen I tell you that I was such a 28 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. fool as to rnn away from my master, with the clothes on my back, a single change of linen, and three and sixpence in my pocket. I had just got a new suit of clothes, but as I had been only a short time with my good master I did not think my little services had earned them. I therefore left him in my old ones, and thus at the age of sixteen set out to begin the world." So reasoned and acted Montgomery; like many others before and since, to w^hom breaking away from the fencings of api^renticeship or home has been by a sort of inward constraint ; not tempted by vicious inclinations, or seduced by wicked companionshij^s, but from a force from within, blind, yet imperative, urging on towards another sphere and a more genial atmosphere, where the life-work of the man was found and done. Though the act be an act of impatient emancipation from uncongenial employment or mistaken views, it is almost always regarded by a man of moral culture, in after years, with regret and sorrow. The perils of the step are then seen; the wounds inflicted upon kind if injudicious friends are then felt ; the rude uprooting of affections, to be Avith- ered perhaps before another planting, is all realized ; and though the end may have sanctified the means, and he, being led in a way he knew not, was led graciously on, yet this cannot altogether chase away the remorseful memories which so often linger around the first rash step. The mournful hazards of such a course are thus pictured by the poet in after years. " A star from heaven once went astray, A planet beautiful and bright ; Which to the sun's diviner ray Owed all its beauty and its light ; Yet deemed, when self-sufficient grown, Its borrowed glory all its own. HIS JOURNEY. 29 A secret impulse urged its course, As by a demon jiower possessed, With rash, unheeding, headlong force, It -wildly wandered, seeking rest ; Till far beyond the solar range It underwent a fearful change. Dim as it went its lustre grew, Till utter darkness wrapt it round, And slow and slower as it flew, Failure of warmth and strength it found ; Congealed into a globe of ice. It seemed cast out from Paradise. At length amid the ab}'ss of space, Beyond attraction's marvellous spell, It lost the sense of time and place. And thought itself invisible : Tliough suns and systems rolled afar, AVithout companions went that star." Montgomery, Avitli his pack on liis back, and liis poetry in his pocket, takes silent leave of Mirfielcl, on the morning of the 19th of June, 1789, and starts on the journey of life alone j the great world all before him, " where to choose His seat of rest, and Providence his guide." How or where to steer his course he has no definite idea. His aim was to " go south," as adventurers of our day " go west," — London, probably, looming wp in the distance, by " Taste and wealth proclaimed The fairest capital of all the world," — the Mecca of many an adventurous poet on his i^ilgrimage to fome. On he trudged, by liedge-row and dusty road, that quiet 30 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. Sabbath day, making this turn or that according to no clear plan, nntil, at the close of day, he found himself at Doncas- ter, — surely an imusual way for Montgomery to be spend- ing holy time. Of the incidents of this day and the next nothing is known ; if sometimes, 2>arched and fainting under the noonday sun of June, he casts a long, lingering look behind, he does not tell lis ; if he sometimes thought of parents far away and brothers left behind, the tenderness does not unman him. On he bravely went, and the second night found him quartered at a small inn in Wentworth. There sat the wayfarer, with his bundle beside him on the bench, when another traveller entered, a young man, and called for a pint of ale. The two exchanged civilities. From a bow grew a bargain. In the course of talk. Hunt, for that was the young man's name, told Montgomery his father Avanted help, and advised him to come over to Wath, a neighboring village, the next morning, and offer his services. The homeless lad did so. To the shopkeeper he frankly disclosed his history, who Avillingly promised to hire him, jirovid^d the consent of his late master and his Moravian guardians could be gained. Counselled by him to write immediately, James returned to the Wentworth Inn to write and to await the answer. But how to j^ass the interval ? Wentworth is a small hamlet, imder the ancestral wing of Wentworth House, the broad domain of Earl Fitzwil- liam, whose courteousness and generosity made him the praise of the country around. The poet-boy betook him- self to his room and carefully transcribed a coj^y of his verses for presentation to the earl, who was then at home. With a fluttering heart he entered the park, and lingered about the daily haunts of its noble master. They met : the boy with a modest dignity placed his humble offering CONSENT OF MORAVIAN FRIENDS. 31 in tlie kind earl's hand, and the earl, stopping, read the poem, and rewarded its hhishing autlior with encoxiraging words, it may be, but what was far more available in the present crisis of his affairs, a gold guinea. And no guinea afterwards, we venture to say, ever possessed the value of this. Here was patronage and profit on the first trial. How did it justify his estimate of the little manuscript, often, no doubt, slighted, and regarded A\'ith a jealous eye, by the practical lathers of Fulneek:. How did it come, a heaven-sent supply to his empty pockets. Let us hear the result of his appeal to his friends in his own words : " "When I had been on my travels about four days, I then wrote, as I always intended to do, to my mas- ter ; indeed, I left a letter behind me, declai-ing in plain terms the uneasiness of my mind, and saying that he should soon hear from me. I wrote to him for a char- acter or recommendation to a situation which I had heard of; conscious that no moral guilt could be laid to my charge, and that in all my dealings I had served him with the strictest integrity. My master laid my letter before the council of Mora^'ian ministers, who met at Fulneek to regulate the affairs of their society, and they unanimously agreed to write any recommendation which I might re- quii-e, if I obstinately persisted in my resolution to leave them ; but instructed him to make me any offers, and, if possible, to bring me back again. He came to me in per- son, where I waited for an answer. I was so affected by his appearance that I ran to meet him in the inn yard; and he was so overwhelmed with tenderness at the sight of me, that we clasped each other's arms as he sat on horseback, and remained weeping without speaking a word for some time. " It required all my resolution to resist his entreaties and 32 LIFE or MONTGOMERY. persuasions to return, but I at length overcame ; and when he left me, the next day, he gave a very handsome written character, and also called on my future employer to recom- mend me. He also supplied me with money, and sent my clothes and other things which I had left behind." An interview and resi;lt surely creditable to all parties. The charge of ingratitude and want of confidence might have been easily scared up by less candid and judicious guardians ; and one is at a loss which most to admire, the frank integrity and inflexible firmness of the fugitive, or the forgiving tenderness of his abandoned friends. This was the turning j)oint in his life. He had broken open the fold-gate, and was now out on the rough highway of life. " Had I taken the right instead of the left hand road to "Wakefield," he says long afterwards, " had I not crossed over, I knew not why, to Wentworth, and had not Joshua Hunt noticed me there, it is quite certain that not a single occurrence of my future being, perhaps not a single thought, would have been the same. The direction of life's after current would have been entirely changed, whether for the better or the worse, who can tell ? I only know that I did xorong in rim7ii)ig atoay." Montgomery is, then, behind Mr. Hunt's counter, a re- spectable grocer of Wath, selling flour, shoes, calicoes, and wares of all sorts, to the adjoining neighborhoods. It would, perhaj^s, be diflicult to discern any caj^ital advantage in the change made, save in his own conscious sense of freedom. He is no longer under tutelage ; he is his own master ; and sufficiently master of himself not to inaugurate his freedom by anything which might cause repentance and shame hereafter. Wath, called the " Queen of villages " by the partial HIS EARLY LOVE. S3 affection of its inhabitants, rises pleasantly on a fertile val- ley, about three miles from Wentworth House. It was quiet and rustic in the days of Montgomery's sojourn, with many legends of the old past nestling in its nooks and crannies. A maypole rose on the village green, the castings of a bell foundry rippled the smooth flow of ordi- nary life, and a monthly magazine distinguished it above all the villages of England for literary enterprise. The new clerk, we may conjecture, made small stir in the village circles, for he assiduously devoted himself to business, and spent his leisure hours with his books and pen. Indeed, his grave and serious demeanor invited little familiarity from the gay, while his habitual reserve inter- posed barriers between him and those whose society and sympathies Avould have proved a social profit to him. According to the chronology of a little poem, if it in- deed be autobiographical, Wath must be set down as the scene of an early and only love. The identity of the hero- ine, who gives name to the poem supposed to disclose the secrets of his heart, has sorely puzzled his friends. Of "Hannah" the poet himself gave no clue. Village tradi- tion points to Miss Turner, of Swathe Hall, the young mistress of a fine old family mansion between Wath and Barnsley, where he sometimes visited. Thus sings he : — " At fond sixteen my roving heart Was pierced by Love's delightful dart ; Keen transport throbbed through every vein, — I never felt so sweet a pain." After an interval of fluttering hopes and fears, and all the changeful play of passionate emotion, — an interval, how long we cannot determine, 84 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. " "WTien sick at heart witli hope delayed, Oft the dear image of that maid Glanced, like a rainbow, o'er his mind And promised happiness behind." Then " The storm blew o'er, and in my breast The Halcyon, Peace, rebuilt her nest; The storm blew o'er, and clear and mild The sea of youth and pleasure smiled. 'T was on the merry morn of ]May, To Hannah's cot I took my way ; My eager hopes were on the wing, Like swallows sporting in the spring. Then as I climbed the mountains o'er, I lived my wooing days once more ; And fancy sketched my married lot, My wife, my children, and my cot. I saw the village steeple rise, — IMy soul sjirang, sparkling, to mj' eyes; The rural bells rang sweet and clear, — My fond heart listened in mine ear. I reached the hamlet ; — all was gay ; I love a rustic holiday ; I met a wedding — stept aside ; It passed — my Hannah was the bride 1 There is a grief that cannot feel ; It leaves a wound that will not heal ; ]\Iy heart grew cold — it felt not then ; "Wlien shall it cease to feel again ? " This affah' of the heart must have had its beginning somewhere at this period ; its unhappy sequel may have been several years beyond. Although the poem is believed by his English biographers to have been "founded on GOING TO LONDON. 85 fact," from all we know of Montgomery he seems to ns the last person to have made himself the hero of such a, tale. This early disappointment may, indeed, account for the single life which he led, eminently suited as he Avas, from his shyness of general society, and his strong local and personal attachments, to enjoy the "social sweetness" of married life. Montgomery's first stay at Wath was a year's length ; when he formed the acquaintance of Mr. Brameld, the vil- lage bookseller of Swinton, in whose humble shop the only evenings which he spent from home were passed. Here ambitious hoj)es were kindled. Here the poet found an admiring auditor ; one who could not only appreciate ge- nius, but find it a market. Brameld had dealings with London booksellers, and with many a scrap of successful authorship did he fire the enthusiasm of the young clerk : unrequited labor, disappointed expectations, hungry, home- less authorship begging bread in London, could not dampen, but only add fuel to the flame. A volume of j^oems was prepared, which Brameld forwarded to Paternoster Row, followed in a few days by the young author himself. Mr. Hunt parted with his faithful servant xmwillingly enough, less sanguine, perhaps, of his success. In the family Mont- gomery seems to have met with the same friendship which marked his former homes, and which, though it could not woo him to stay, strewed his way with grateful remem- brances. CHAPTER III. MISSIONARY EXPERIENCE — DISCOURAGING OCCURRENCES — DEATH OP HIS PARENTS — ARRIVAL IN LONDON — HIS WANT OF SUCCESS — CON- TEMPORANEOUS GENIUS — NEW SCHOOLS OP POETRY. While the son is pitching his tent here and there in his wanderings for the Promised Rest, his parents are toiUng under a burning sun, and in face of difficulties grim enough to daunt the stoutest faith, for the spiritual emancipation of the poor Xegro in the West Indies. Their original destination Avas Barbadoes, afterwards changed to Tobago, at the urgent solicitation of a planter, anxious for the Christian instruction of his own slaves, and promising his influence to befriend the mission. In August, 1789, the missionary and his wife visited the island, whose moral desolations appealed strongly for their stay. " Attended the usual Sunday service in the town, with Mr. Hamilton's family," say they. " As yet no chuix-h has been built in the island, and divine service is performed in the town-house. Adjoining to this is the negro market, and the noise they make during the service is such that hardly one sentence of the discourse can be understood. About a thousand negroes are generally in the market-place, and I only saw one at the service. In the evening gave an MISSIONARY EXPERIENCE. S7 exhortation to Mr. Hamilton's negroes. As this is done in the dining-room, and in the presence of the fhadly, the negroes are kept in good order." " During the following days," says Mr. Montgomery, " I paid some visits to the negroes, but found not one who showed the least desire to be converted- They all ruin themselves in soul and body by the same sins and abomina- tions that prevail in the other islands, and their whole minds seem absorbed in them, " We received about this time letters from the Synod of the Brethren, informing lis that it had been resolved to begin a mission in Tobago, and that we were appointed to enter upon it. God our Saviour knows our weakness and ina- bility; but in reliance upon him we have accepted the appointment, and commend ourselves and the poor negroes in this island to the prayers of aU our brethren everywhere." The French authorities of the island seem to have received the worthy couple with great friendliness. On their second coming, for a permanent residence, " As soon as the governor heard our names," they tell us, "• he gave orders that we should be brought on shore immedi- ately, and sent a soldier to conduct us to his house. He came to meet us, took me by the hand, and assured me, by his interpreter, that he greatly rejoiced at our being at last arrived to settle, and should be glad to render us all the services in his power. Oiu- goods were not examined : the officei^s placed on board for that pm-pose suiiered them to pass free. The word of Scripture appointed for this day was, ' He shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways;' and we experienced a gracious fulfilment of this promise, even in behalf of us, his poor children." Political distiu-bances, a mutiny in the French garrison, 4 38 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. the conflagration of a greater part of the town, and the fear of a negro insurrection, for a time barred all missionary labor, and self-jsreservation swallowed up the beneficent plans of the planters. " You may easily suppose," writes the missionary home, " that these circumstances occasioned a general terror ; for no one knew what hour he might lose life and fortune. Both whites and blacks kept strict watch every night. During this dreadful period Ave looked confidently to our gracious and Almighty God and Saviour, as helpless chil- dren, and, believing he has sent us hithei*, oflTered up prayers and supplications to him in behalf of ourselves and the island, that he would in due tune silence the storm, dispel all darkness, and cause the light of his precious gospel to shine in the hearts of the poor negroes. We felt his peace amid the tumult, and put our trust under the shadow of his wings. To look out for a settlement in the present crisis is impossible, and no house could be procured with safety." The storm at length lulling, a house was obtained, to which they removed from the hospitable mansion of ]\Ir. Hamilton, through whose urgent solicitations the Brethren sent them thither. " The texts appointed for the day on which we began our housekeeping as missionaries," say they, " were remarkably suitable. ' lie bringeth them unto their desired haven ; therefore let them exalt him in the congregation of the people.' ' He which hath begun a good work in you, Avill perform it imtil the day of Jesus Christ.' " So are the children of God fed with Living Manna, xmtil " their paths," though struck in a parched wilderness, " drop fatness." Of the hindrances which stared them in the face they tell us : " Between our house and the town is a plain along DISCOURAGING OCCURRENCES. 39 the sea-coast, upon which all kinds of diversion are practised on a Sunday afternoon. All the negroes Avho would come to us from the town must pass close by this place ; and thus it seems as if Satan had pitched his camp opposite to us, and would not suifer any one to pass to hear the gospel," In spite of discouragements, the missionaries began their labors with unflinching zeal, visiting the plantations, preach- ing, instructing, counselling, as time and opportunity ofl;ered. Cabin and hall Avere alike oijened to them. But the season seems to have been attended with unusual disaster. In a few weeks one of those hurricanes broke over the island, which carry such swift and sudden desola-. tion over land and sea. Vessels were driven ashore ; sugar cane and sugar works melted before the blast ; houses were levelled ; and men, women, and children were more or less injured by the flying rafters and drenching rains. Mrs. Montgomery was ill at the time, and in consequence of exposure to the peltings of this pitiless storm her recovery was retarded ; but of personal suflferings the husband makes little account in his letter home, summing up, at the date of September 6th, 1790, the results of his first quarter's labors on the island. " I have not been able, hitherto, to gain the attention of the toAvn negroes ; I shall therefore direct myself more and more to the plantation negroes, and Mr. Hamilton has kindly off"ered to j^rocure a house for this j^urpose. Though many gentlemen promised their aid in supj^orting the mis- sion, yet I plainly perceive the burden will fall chiefly upon Mr. Plamilton, Some of those who subscribed to the paper sent to the Synod have left the island ; others are dead. Some think that the Revolution in France has put an end to all success, and discontinue their subscriptions ; others have become discouraged by the misfortunes that have M LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. lately befallen them. Some who formerly gave me pressing invitations to preach on their estates, never mention a word of it now ; but our greatest grief is, that Ave have not as yet found a single soul that seeks a Savioiu-." Dark as the picture is, darker shadows fall over it, when, two months later, Maiy, the devoted wife, leaves her hus- band alone. She died on the 23d of October. And so gentle was her leave-taking, so sweetly leaned the bereaved one upon the Unseen Arm, that an English clergyman, who, with the jjlanter, stood by the bedside of the dying Christian, invol- untarily ejaculated, " God is truly present here ! " A snatch of poetry from their gifted son, thus groups, years afterwards, the sad events of this brief missionary pil- grimage : " My parents dwelt a little vrliile Upon a small Atlantic isle, Where the poor pagan Negro broke His heart beneath the Christian's yoke. Him to new life in vain they called, By Satan more than man enthralled, Deaf to the voice that said, ' Be free,' Blind to the light of Truth was he. Ere long, rebellion scared the land "With noonday sword, and midnight brand; The city from its centre burned, Till ocean's waves the fire-llood turned : Then came a hurricane, — as all Heaven's arch, like Dagon's house, would fall, And crush, 'midst one wild, wailing cry, Earth in the ruins of the sky. Beneath their humble cottage-roof, By lowliness made tempest proof. While wind, rain, lightning, raged around, And tumbling mansions shook the ground ; DEATH OF HIS PARENTS. 41 While rafters through the air were borne, And trees were from their roots uptorn ; Vessels affrighted sought the strand, And ploughed long furrows on the land ; — ]My father bowed his aching head About my mother's dying bed ; From lip to lip, from heart to heart, Passed the few parting words — ' "We part !' But echoed back, though unexpressed, 'We meet again !' — rose on each breast: Amidst the elemental strife, That was the brightest hour of life : Eternity outshone the tomb, The power of God was in the room." " She is now at rest, but her great gain is a heavy loss to me," writes the solitary man from his island house, no longer home to him. " May the Lord our Saviour comfort me ! He is my only refuge, and I confess, to his praise, I feel his presence and peace in an abundant degree. As to futurity, I commit myself and the Mission into his gracious direction and care." As there was no churchyard or " God's acre " in the town, every family burying its dead on its own estate, a corner of their little garden received the dear remains of the departed one. No stone marks her grave, but a green moimd, grown over with tropical luxuriance, is pointed out as the last resting-place of this i>ious woman, typical, perhaps, that her spiritual seed shall yet inherit the land, and rise up to call her blessed. A few months after, her husband, borne down by sickness, left the island and came for comfort and nursing to his brethren in Barbadoes : aU efforts were used to restore his health, but without success, and " he fell happUy asleep, rejoicing in God his Saviour," 4* 42 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. on the 27th of June, 1791. In a secluded spot, fenced around by tamarind trees, the traveller is shown the burying-place of Sharon, the Moravian station, where Rev. John Mont- gomery, one of its early and most devoted missionaiies, rests from his earthly toils. In his " Departed Days," the son passes from the check- ered scenes of their earthly pilgrimage to catch a glimpse of the rewards of the faithful beyond. " My father — mother ; — parents now no more ! Beneath the lion-star they sleep, Beyond the western deep ; And when the sun's noon-glory crests the waves, lie shines without a shadow on their graves. Sweet seas and smiling shores ! Where no tornado-demon roars, Resembling that celestial clime, Where with the spirits of the Blest, Beyond the hurricane of Time, From all their toils my parents rest ; There skies, eternally serene, Diffuse ambrosial balm Through sylvan isles forever green. O'er seas- forever calm ; While saints and angels, kindling in his rays, On the full glory of the Godhead gaze, And taste and prove, in that transporting sight, Joy without sorrow, without darkness light." Xo one was sent to supply Mr. Montgomery's place at Tobago for several years, until, at the urgent solicitation of Mr. Hamilton, who seems to have been a life-long friend to the cause, the mission was renewed. The death of that gentleman soon after occurring, in conjunction with other unfavorable tokens, the island was abandoned in 1 803, and ARRIVAL IN LONDON. 43 their efforts to evangelize its negro population were reck- oned for a time among the "unsuccessful missions" of the United Brethren. A heavy failure ; — "perils oft," heartaching separations, sweating toil, pitying tears, pleadings of mercy, importu- nate prayer from how many a Brethren's circle, from Greenland's icy mountain " To India's coral strand," the sacrifice of life itself, — a costly oiitlay of most precious things; and yet, a failure! Such failures are no strange anomalies in the history of the Church ; and, altogether, are they failures ? Who can pronounce them to be ? In the long struggle, who can tell what strengthening of spir- itual forces there may yet have been; what evolving of new powers ; what refining of the silver ; what castings off of dross ; how many prayers Avere laid up in the golden censor before the Throne of God ? What may seem defeat to us, may be only the obstructions of a little estuary to the advancing tide of God's Kingdom, "Avhich shall cover the earth, even as the waters cover the sea." To be the inheritors of an ancestry rich in faith and good works, is to possess a most royal legacy ; gold can- not buy it, neither can silver be the measure of its worth. This legacy did the three English orphan boys, James, Robert, and Ignatius Montgomery, come into possession of; and how they proved themselves not unworthy of their lineage, this brief volume will in some measure disclose. But they are as yet ignorant of their orphanage: the two younger are still at Fulneck, and of James, what offers and opens to him in London? With letters of introduction and recommendation from his friend Brameld, the young poet presents himself to Mr. 44 LIFE OF MONTGOMEKY. Harrison, an efficient 2:)ublisher and bookseller of Paternos- ter Row, himself also an author, and, Avith an author's sym- pathies, supposed to look favorably ujjon the pages of the little manuscript already in his hand. The poems he declined to publish, but blunted the edge of his refusal Avith the offer of a clerkshij) in his establish- ment, besides words of kindly encouragement to cultivate the talents, shadowed but dimly, we think, in these early productions. Nothing damped, however, in his conscious ability to do something, Montgomery, at the suggestion of a friend, directed his attention to prose, and wrote a story for children. Simple Sammy. The story, though introduced to a publisher who " sold books, bound and gilt, for one haltpenny," was coldly looked upon. " You can write better than this," said the honest man of trade ; " you are more lit to write for men than for chil- dren." The plea that it was his first attempt in prose could not alter the verdict of the publisher; but, as before, gleaning encouragement even in the rejection, the young author betook himself to something for men, and a novel in imitation of the style of Fielding was the result. The manuscript was modestly put into a publisher's hands on his way to his country house, and left, with what flutter- ings of hope and fear, it is no difficult thing to imagine. What sentence will be passed upon it ? An anxious and exciting question, stirring in the bosom of the youth, as he presents himself before the arbiter of his fate, on his retvnn to town, envying, perhaps, the calmness of many a culprit at the bar in expectation of his sentence from the judge. " You swear so shockingly," was the brief return, " that I dare not publish the work as it is." HIS WANT OF SUCCESS. 45 Astonishment sraottiered his disappointment. " This," he afterwards tells us, " was like a dagger to my heart, for I never swore an oath in my life, nor did I till that moment ever perceive, as I ought to have done, the impropriety of making fictitious characters swear in print, as they do in Fielding and Smollett, who had been my models in this novel ; but swearing was more the fashion of that age than the present." The harshness of the criticism was, however, modified by the ofier of twenty pounds for the manuscript, re- written and expurgated of its ofiensive qualities. This was done a few years later, but the novel never came to light, which was matter of devout thankfulness to the author in after life. To show the dauntless industry of the youth, in the teeth of all discouragements, an "Eastern Tale" was shortly com- pleted, and privately carried one evening to a bookseller's counting-room. Its title was condescendingly read, its pages and lines carefully counted, a rapid calculation of its size computed, and the manuscript returned. "Sir," replies the cautious book-vender, "your manu- script is too small, — it won't do for me, — take it to , he publishes such things." At this new and unexpected mode of estimating talent, Montgomery made a precipitate retreat, upsetting a lamp, smashing glass, and spilling oil, in the haste of his back- track to the street. "What Derrick wrote of Johnson might apply to the early attempts of many a young author since, tapping at the door of public favor. " Win no kind patron Johnson own ? Shall Jolnison friendless range the town ? And every publisher refuse The offspring of his happy muse ? " 46 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. Montgomery certainly fared no better than a great host of writers of both genuine and spurious talent, who only through sore travail of spirit have proved their great life- work, or sunk into that obscurity from which ambition, not bottomed on ability, tried imsuccessfully to lift them. Glimpses of living authors occasionally gladdened the young man's curious gaze, mostly of local note, scarcely known across the water. The distinguished men whose genius forms so rich a portion of the literary wealth of our time were yet on the threshold of manhood, uncer- tainly peering into the future, Avith serious and wondering oyes. " Nineteen years have elapsed," says Southey, " tmsatis- fied and aimless in Bi'istol, since I set sail on the ocean of life, in an ill-provided boat. The vessel weathered many a storm, and I took every distant cloud for land. Still l^ushing for the Fortunate Islands, I discovered that they existed not for me ; and that like others, Aviser and better than myself, I must be content to wander about and never gain the port. Nineteen years ! and yet of no service to society. Why, the clown who scares crows for two pence a day is a more useful member of society. He preserves the bread which I eat in idleness." And yet it was not idleness, though it might prove un- productive labor ; for the complaining youth had already burned ten thousand of his verses, the same number pre- served, with fifteen thousand worthless beside ; an amount of scribblmg which, with his love of literature, took him from the severer tasks of school. Coleridge, an unsuccessful competitor for college prizes, and burdened with college debts, quits Cambridge and returns to London, where, if not precisely now, a little later, he strolls down Chancery Lane, a j^rey to despairing CONTEMPORANEOUS GENIUS 47 and miserable thoughts. A recruiting agent crosses his path, and in one of those sudden impulses which unmade the man, he enlists in the 15th Light Dragoons: but a few months of friendly messing and awkward horsemanship were all that marked his term of military service. The two, Coleridge and Southey, have not yet met to generate their scheme of foundmg a new republic in the wilds of America, where virtue was to be ascendant, aris- tocracy elbowed out of the way, and all those social evils which beleaguer society would be forever banished, Scott, the genial and light hearted Walter, three months older than Montgomery, is at his hapj^y Scottish home in George's Square, Edinburgh. "We shall find him in his favorite "den," — a small room in his father's house, already an old curiosity shop, where Roman coins, a Lochabar axe, and quaint-looking books, reveal the leanings of his mind ; or, perhaps, he is climbing Arthur's Seat and Salisbury Crags, or strolling over Flodden or Chevy Chase, or listen- ing to the stirring stories of the old Highland Chiefs of '45 ; hoarding up in the capacious storehouse of his memory that multifarious material which he afterwards wrought, with such marvellous skill, into the literary history of England. Lamb is in the India House, and Rogers is perfecting himself in all the accomplishments of the age ; at work also on the "Pleasures of Memory," surroimded by wealth which does not enervate him, — both Londoners and loving London, and thinking, with Madame De Stael, that there is "no scene equal to the high tide of existence in the heart of a jjopulous city." This period was characterized by the subsidence of that wave of renovated religious feeling which rolled over Eng- land and America a century ago, known in the history of 48 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. tte church as the "Great Awakening," and by the rolling in of that tide of French infidelity and bold questioning of all sacred things, which preceded, and in a sense created, the French Revolution and its attendant horrors. The effects of that awakening had not, indeed, passed away with the death of tlie remarkable men who repre- sented it. An improved tone of morals, a more scriptural cast of piety, a deeper sense of accountability for the moral evils of the world, out of which issued the reformatory institutions and missionary enterprises of our day, were its more obvious fruits ; and both the church and the nation were better prepared to grapple with the hvmgry democracy and the fanatic free-thinking which broke out all over England, as well as to recognize Avhat the true spirit of progress sometimes too passionately demanded. The political tragedies which were enacted, the tumbling down of hoary institutions, the hurried tread of events, the strange and resistless entrance of the Napoleonic element into the politics of Europe, the boiling and seething of fiery poUtical excitements and fiercely debated reformatory schemes, the mighty conflicts between truths and errors, mistaken zeal and a wise conservatism which stirred the great heart of Christendom, undoubtedly had much to do with forming the literary men who adorned the early part of the present century, though we may not be able distinctly to trace either in them or their works the stormy elements which rocked their cradles, swept over their boy- hood, and shaped their lives. In poetry new forms and schools began to appear. While the essence of poetry is the same through the ages, its expression varies with the sinuosities of the times, as the banks and bed of a river change the expression of its waters ; now shallow, and now turbid ; now idly dallyijig NEW SCHOOLS OF POETRY. 49 with the lilies among the sedges ; now roaring defiance at its rocky barriers; now rolling with deep and majestic sweep, beautiful and resistless in its strength. Every epoch is inaugurated by its poets. The old age of an era has little to offer the poet ; its worth has been embalmed and its heroisms sung ; its withered vigor and worn habits may, indeed, give point to an epigram or adorn a tale, but little is left to kindle inspiration, and much to smoulder it : while a new era, through a thousand open- ings, as the brazen throats of a volcano herald the ujjheav- ing within, quickens with its hot breath the intellectual insights and creative powers of genius. Emancipation from old conventionalities opens the door to a more natural and independent inward life. The j^oet, feeling himself less amenable to jDrescribed models, dares to follow his unfettered impulses, and work out, for and by himself, his own ideals of poetic excellence. New forms of society beget more liberal views, a nearer approach to the true vitalities of life, and a clearer view of what is genuine and pei'raanent from what is artificial and transitory. New ways are indeed not easy ways. Critics, born of the past, solemnly and scornfully jirotest. " Cold approbation gives the llnfrering bays ; For those who durst not ceusure, scarce can praise." The world is slow to forgive originalities ; while the pub- lic, cautious yet over curious, " ask for more." Happy he, who, " though the world has done its worst To put him out by discords most uukind," bravely and patiently works on ; strong in inward might, 5 50 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. fervent "with spiritual urgency ; the storms of sad confu- sion neither shaking his purpose nor bUncling his vision. " For, seeing thus the course of things must run, He looks thereon not strange, but as foredone. * * * * He looks thereon, As from the shore of Peace, with unwet eye, And bears no venture in Impiety." CHAPTER IV. SETTLEMENT AT SHEFFIELD — NATIONAL DISQUIET — POLITICAL HYMN — GALES'S DEPARTURE — ESTABLISHMENT OF THE IKIS — INVOCA- ' CATION TO THE IRIS — POSITION AS EDITOR. Montgomery's stay in London did not last beyond a year. His clerkship at Harrison's afforded liim a comfort- able living, and happily prevented his bringing away any of the sorry experiences, which talent dogged by poverty often encountered in the by-ways of that great metropolis. Disappointments he indeed had, but those only which chasten, without seriously depressing ; serving to bring men to a juster estimate of themselves, and directing them to that toil without which the brightest abilities are vainly given. Self-help is better than patronage : so Montgomery thought, as he turned his back on London, in the month of March, and took a stage-coach lumbering to Wath, in every respect, we doubt not, a wiser man. Having suf- fered none of the hardships of poverty, so, also, he had lapsed into none of the corrupting seductions of city life. His shyness of society, and the reflective cast of his mind, while they might have sometimes hindered his introduction to scenes and j^laces favorable to intellectual quickening, helped to j^rcserve that purity of moral principle which was the beauty and excellency of his character. 62 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. His old master on the bfinlcs of the Dearne cordially wel- comed him back, and he resumed his old post at the desk, in his counting-room, to look out for a more fortunate turn to his affairs. Xor was he long waiting. Collecting accounts one day at Great Houghton, Mont- gomery took up a newsi^aper and read the following adver- tisement : " Wanted, in a countmg-liouse in Sheffield, a clerk. None need apply but such as have been used to book-keeping, and can produce imdeniable testimonials of character. Terms and specimens of writing to be left with the printer." The young man, now just twenty-one, recognized the situation as one which he could suitably fill, and imme- diately despatched a letter to the advertiser, offering his services, and soKciting an interview. The result was a visit to Sheffield and his engaging the place. Joseph Gales, his new employer, was printer, bookseller, and auctioneer, — a triad of vocations not unusual at that time ; and, in addition, editor of the Sheffield Megister^ a respectable weeldy of some note in its day. On the second of April, 1792, the young man came to his new lodgings in Mr. Gales's family at the Hartshead, where the handsome and commodious shop of his master was one of the most conspicuous buildings on the street ; while its shelves, lined with books, must have seemed to the hungry young clerk an inexhaustible supply of daily food. Sheffield then was not the Sheffield of the present. Its fashionable promenade, — " Ladies' "Walk," — is now only a shabby street, with scarce a vestige of its past gentility. Instead of three or four churches, churches and chapels, a score or more, testify to its modern growth. Its famous cutlery has altered in quantity rather than quality, giving SETTLEMENT AT SHEFFIELD. 53 it only wider fame ; while the tall chimneys of its great steam engines are mom;ments of its capital and labor, enriching the rich, and pouring comfort into the lap of honest industry. Mr. Gales's family, in the bosom of which Montgomery was soon domesticated, consisted of a wife and three chil- dren. His father, mother, and three sisters, resided in the l^leasant village of Eckington, s^ix miles south of Sheffield, — a delightful summer walk, amid the choice beauties of English rural scenery. Mrs. Gales was herself a woman of literary tastes, oc- casionally contributmg to the columns of her husband's paper, and the author of a novel in three volumes, of how much local celebrity we do not know. Thus was Montgomery surrounded by influences agree- able to his tastes, and favorable to his mental improvement. The author of the English Garden lived a few miles off, at the Ashton rectory ; and though a " real living poet, who had published a volume," was a sight much coveted by our poet, he never happened to have met Avith Mason. Who first gratified this natural curiosity we do not find, for it was possibly when curiosity was somewhat abated of its youthful glow. But if not a poet, a living poem crossed his path, — the ragged proof sheets of the Pleasures of Memory from the pocket of a compositor, newly arrived from a London office, where it had been printed. It bore no author's name, and all the printer could reveal of its paternity was that one "Parson Harrison" was suj^posed to be the writer. It shortly appeared with Rogers's name, and was received >vith kindly courtesy in the literary circles of England. Perhaps we cannot better mtroduce our readers into the 5* 54 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. stirring scenes wliich markecl the time of Montgomery's engagement with Mr. Gales, than by a retrosijective glance at them, given in his own words, "I came to Sheffield in the spi'ing of 1'792, a stranger and friendless, without any prosjDect or intention of making a long residence in it, much less of advancing myself, either by industry or talents, to a situation that should give me the opportunity of doing much evil or good, as I might act with indiscretion or temperance. The whole nation, at that time, was disturbed from its propriety by the example and influence of revolutionized France ; nor was there a dis- trict in the kingdom more agitated by the passions and prejudices of the day than this. The peoj^le of Sheffield, in whatever contempt they may have been held by those ignorant of their character, were then, as they now are, a reading and thinking people. According to the knowledge Avhich they had, therefore, they judged for themselves on the questions of reform in parliament, liberty of speech and of the press, the rights of man, and other problems, concerning which the wisest and best of men have been divided, and never more so than at the period mentioned, when the decision either way was not to be merely sj^eculative but practical, and to affi3ct per- manently the condition of all classes in the realm, from the monarch to the pauper, — so deep, comprehensive, and prospective was the view taken by everybody on the issue of the controversy. " The two parties in Sheffield, as elsewhere, arranged themselves on the contrary extremes ; some being for ever- thing old, the rest for everything that Avas new. There was no moderation on either side ; each had a little of the truth, while the main body of it lay l)etwcen : yet it was not for this they were coutendmg (like the Trojans and NATIONAL DISQUIET. 55 Greeks for the body of Patroclus), but for those few dissev- ered limbs which they already possessed. "It Avas at the 'lieight of this great argument' that I was led mto the thickest of the conflict, though, happily for myself, under no obligation to take an active share in it. With all the enthusiasm of youth, — for I had not then arrived at what are called years of discretion, — I entered into the feelings of those who avowed themselves the friends of freedom, justice, and humanity. Those with whom I was immediately connected verily were such ; and had all the reformers of that day been generous, upright, and disinterested, like the noble minded proj)rietor of the Sheffield Register the cause which they espoused would never have been disgraced, and might have prevailed, even at that time, since there could have been nothing to fear, but everything to hope, from patriotic measures supported by patriotic men. " Though with every pulse of my heart beating in favor of the popular doctrines, my retired and religious educa- tion had laid restraints upon my conscience, — I may say so fearlessly, — which long kept me back from personally engaging in the civil war of words, then raging through the neighborhood, beyond an occasional rhyme, paragraph, or essay, w^ritten rather to show off my literary than polit- ical qualifications. Ignorant of myself, and inexperienced hi the world, I nevertheless was preserved from joining myself to any of the political societies until they were broken up in 1794, when I confess I did associate with the remnant of one, for a purpose which I shall never be ashamed to avow, — to support the fimilies of some of the accused leaders who Avcre detained prisoners in London, under the suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act, and were finally discharged without having been brouglit to trial.'' 56 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. Mr. Gales, it is seen, affiliated with the popular party. His sympathies were strongly aroused for the unhappy French, in their strivings for an ideal freedom destined not then to be realized; for national self-government can only be attained by a self-governed people. He was consequently opposed to the war which Pitt was deter- mined to Avage with France and the Revolution, in pre- j paration for which recruiting agents Avere in every town enlisting men for the service. A third element of political agitation consisted in the advantage taken of the time to urge parliamentary reform, — a fuller rej^resentation of the people in the national counsels, — whicli, indeed, was no new feature in the politics of the country, Pitt having elo- quently advocated it several years before. French suc- cesses, not yet excesses, had given new significance to the question, and brought it before the peojile with all the fresh possibilities of the times, whose clamorous and ill-advised advocacy alarmed the Crown, and intimidated some of its staunchest friends. In Sheffield, a popular demonstration, in the shape of a jDublic dinner at the Tontine, in celebration of the revo- lution of 1CS8, was an offset to the quartering of two hundred cavalry in the town, and the drumming up of re- cruits on the i^art of the government. The war prospects cast a general gloom over the country, not only because its avowed objects were not generally sympathized with, but on account of the strain and distress which war natu- rally brings upon the industry and commerce of a country like that of England, in need of so great a foreign market for her goods. The Sheffield JRegister was an earnest and able, if not always a prudent sheet, and its large subscription list attests its popularity, having reached, we are told, two POLITICAL HYMN. 57 thousand and twenty-five names, a notable number in those days. Its cohamns were opened to our aspiring author, a temp- tation certainly not to be resisted, and various articles, — stories, squibs, satires and sonnets, — from time to time ap- peared, all having reference to the times, and whatever their pertinence then, possessing no merit to perpetuate them beyond their generation. These, he afterwards mourned over as " youthful follies," — an indication of the searching self-scrutiny of a sincere Christian ; perhaps they were, more justly, only the early fall of unripe fruit for the better perfecting of that which remained. A royal proclamation having been issued for a public fast on February 4, 1794, the Sheffield "patriots" gave to the occasion their own drift, and assembled in large numbers in an open field : their prayers, speeches, and resolutions, of questionable prudence perhaps, and little more, seen through jealous and excited feeling, were twisted into constructive treason by the government officials, and some of the prominent actors figured in the state-trials of that day. Montgomery furnished the hymn, which has more politics than poetry. What smattering of sedition it has the reader may judge : " Oh God of Hosts, tlilne car incline, Regard our prayers, our cause be thine ; When or2)hans cry, when babes complain, When widows weep, can'st Thou refrain ? Now red and terrible, thine hand Scourges with war our guilty land ; Europe thy flaming A'cngeance feels, And from her deep foundations reels. 58 JAMES MONTGOMERY. Iler livers bleed like miglity veins ; Her towers are ashes, graves lier plains ; Slaughter her groaning vallies fills, And reeking carnage melts her hills. Oh Thou, whose awful word can bind The roaring waves, the raging wind, JSIad tyrants tame, break down the high, Whose haughty foreheads beat the sky. Make bare thine arm, great King of kings ! That arm alone salvation brings ; — That wonder-working arm, which broke From Israel's neck the Egyptian's yoke. Burst every dungeon, every chain, Give injured slaves their rights again : Let truth prevail, let discord cease, Speak — and the Avoiid shall smile In peace." Men had already been arrested and sentenced on charges of sedition and hbel ; and that there were men, Avho, taking advantage of the general fermentation, delighted to spread terror by infamous rumonrs, and even serionsly plotted against the existing government of the reahn, there can be no doubt ; but many a trial and subsequent pardon of the criminal prove that "contsructive treason" was easily framed, and that genei'ous sympathies, equivocally ex- pressed perhaps, was the head and front of the offending. In the face of fourteen years transportation, the times may have well been deemed perilous, and notoriety was easily gained upon very small capital. In April, an excited meeting was held at Castle Hill, where the speakers, more vehement than discreet, gave occasion for other arrests. Mr. Gales fell under suspicions, and in times when to be suspected was to be endangered, GALES'S DEPARTURE. 59 rather than run the risk of Old Bailey or Botany Bay, his friends counselled flight. lie was sought, but could not he found. And on the following week his valedictory ap- peared in the columns of the Heglster. " Could my imprisonment," adds the fugitive editoi', " or even death, serve the cause which I have espoused — the cause of liberty, peace, and justice — it would be cowardice to fly from it ; but convinced that ruining my family and distressing my friends, by risking either, would only gratify the ignorant and malignant, I shall seek that livelihood in another land which I cannot possibly obtain in this. To be accused is now to be guilty ; and however conscious I may be of having neither done, said, or written anything that militates against peace, order, and good government, yet when I am told that witnesses are suhorned to swear me guilty of treasonable and seditious practices, it becomes prudent to avoid such dark assassins, and to leave to the informers and their employers^ the niortifi cation of know- ing that, however deep their villainy was planned, it has been xmsuccessful." With this the Register closed its career, after an ex- istence of eight years. Mr. Gales's property was attached, and bankruptcy and ruin stared him in the face. He fled to the Continent, and was soon followed by his young family. Crosses tracked him. After severe hardships and l^rivations, he came to this country, and established the Raleigh Register. Industry and talent met their due reward. " Gales and Seaton," the long, widely-known, and able publishers of the Nationcd Intelligencer^ in Washing- ton, are branches of this parent stock, the first his eldest son, and the other the husband of one of his daughters. So has our country been enriched by protection vouchsafed to exiled worth. 60 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. Montgomery again found himself adrift. He beheld a pleasant home rudely broken up; fair prospects suddenly blasted ; a stricken wife forsaking the dear and delightful intimacies of youth ; children driven to poverty. The circle which had embraced him in its genial hospitalities, and the generous man who had taken him to his bosom, Avere swept away and himself left, a fragment of the wreck. Keenly must he have felt the distresses of his friends, and bravely did he stand by the fallen family, with ready sympathy and timely succor. But in this new emergency, what was he to do? Start a new paper upon the old premises? This was suggested. A more serious question, — lohere was the capital to begin with ? A gentleman, till then almost unknown to the young man, offered to advance the money and become a partner in the enterprise; — a proof that his stay at Sheffield had been long enough, short as it was, to inspire men with confidence in his abili- ties and integrity, and to determine in some measure the sources of his own strength. The last issue of the Register contained the prospectus of the new editors, and their sheet was looked for with more than ordinary interest on the following week. On the 4th of July, 1794, appeared the first number of the JWs, wearing the conciliatory head-piece : — " Ours are the plans of fair, delightful Peace, Unwaxped by party rage, to live like Brothers." The poet's corner of its predecessor had been styled " The Repository of Genius." This interesting locality in the Iris was dubbed " Comptuat, or the Bower of the Muses," the conceited and unintelligible title being an anngram formed from the initial letters of the names of the Muses. INVOCATION TO THE IRIS. 61 Barbara Horle, afterwards Mrs. Hofland, first occupied this Bower iu an invocation to the Iris^ expressive of its priucijiles. " Oh say, art thou tlie bright-eyed maid, Saturnia's messenger confest ? Does sacred truth thy mind pervade, And love celestial warm thy breast ? Com'st thou with covenanted bow, Blest signature of heavenly peace, To lay the wars of faction low, And bid the wars of discord cease ; The various forms of good intent, In one pure social league to bind, By prudence taught, through virtue bent, To reconcile the public mind ? Are these thy aims ? bright vision, hail ! Midst Freedom's clouded atmosphere, No storms thy genius shall assail, Nor latent mischiefs hover near. Fair be thy form, and gay thine hue, In learning's Tyrian lustre drest, Gix)unded on truth's celestial blue, Tinged from the Muses' yellow vest. Far may thy glowing beauties shine, And glad success secure thy beam, While reason mild and peace divine Roll o'er the earth their lucid stream." Its political platform is more fully disclosed in the follow- editorial : — " We beg leave to assure the public," says the maiden ad^ dress of the new firm, " that every endeavor will be used to 6 62 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. render it "worthy of their patronage ; and if a careful selection of the earliest intelligence can recommend it to their favor, they doubt not of its being honored with a liberal support. They profess themselves desirous to avoid, in this publica- tion, tlie influence of party siririt. Like other men, they have their own political opinions and attachments ; and they have no scrujile to declare themselves friends to the cause of Peace and Keform, however the declaration may be likelj' to expose them in the present times of alarm to obnoxious epithets and unjust and ungenerous reproaches. But while they acknowledge themselves imconvinced of the necessity or expediency of the present war, and fully persuaded that a melioration of the state of the representa- tive body is intimately connected Avith the true interests of the nation, they declare their firm attachment to the Con- stitution of its Government^ as administered by king, lords, and commons ; and they scorn the imputations which would represent every Reformer as a Jacobin, and every advocate for peace as an enemy to his king and country. They jiity those persons, whatever their i:)rinciples may be, Avho, in trying to defend them, have recourse to the mean acts of vilifying and abusing their opponents ; and they proclaim their own firm purj^ose to avoid descending to the littleness of personal controversy, or to recriminations unworthy alike of Britons, of Christians, or of men. It is their wish, on the contrary, to cherish, as fir as they are able, a good opinion of those who difler from them; to allow the weight of their arguments, where they really deserve consideration ; to place them in the most favorable view ; and to give their readers a fair opportunity of forming an impartial judgment by a comparison of the best remarks Avhich can be made on all sides. At the same time, they declare it is not their intention to enter themselves as parties on the political POSITION AS EDITOR. 63 field. For though they shall think it then* duty to state the reasonings on both sides of public and interesting questions, they do not conceive it to be at all the proper business of the editor of a newsixiper to present his readers ■\vith his own political opinions ; and whatever theirs may at any time be, it is too much their wish to live in peace and charity with all men, to feel disposed to come forward as angry zealots or violent jiartizans. Their utmost am- bition will be gratified if they shall be able to recommend this paper to tlie public notice as an authentic, impartial, and early record of the sentiments of other's on those great political topics which now agitate the world, and of those interesting events which almost every day now furnishes, and which but mark out the present era to the peculiar attention of the politician, the historian, and the philoso- pher." A manly, modest and prudent stand for the youthful editor, having wisely, imj^roved upon the more demonstra- tive attitude of liis predecessor. In some respects a remarkable stand, when we consider his friendship for the Gales, the fervor of his first i:)olitieal associations, and the natural tendency of the young to espouse all the issues of a party, right or wrong, in which friends have perilled their fortunes. Without changing his real position, he only tries to distinguish between the sour fermentation and the true leaven, assured that candor and discretion in the pursuit of truth afibrd the clearest light with which to discei'n it. The sudden change from a subordinate to a leader must have surprised the young man, and surprised as well as gratified his Fulneck friends. lie thus playfully speaks of himself and the new paper in a letter to a friend : " You Avcre no doubt astonished when you first saw my name annexed to the - Iris^ and perhaps 64 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. still more, when you observed the humiliating distance between the cringing^ trembling, gouty pace of our party-colored messenger of the gods, and the noble, firm and manly gait of tlie late lamented liegister. I cannot exj)ect that the Iris will ever meet with, nor, in my opinion deserve, the liberal patronage which supported the late liegister. But as far as my humble abilities can entertain and instruct my fellow creatures, I am determined to exert them to the utmost of my power ; and as I cannot but expect ray eiforts will meet with at least as much encouragement as they merit, I shall judge of their deserts by that encouragement ; and if I fail to please, I will cheer- fully resign and melt into obscurity." . CHAPTER V. POLITICAL EXTANGLEMENTf? — CHARGE OF LIBEL AGAINST MONTGOM- EUV— HIS TKIAL — IMI'HISONMENT AT YOKK CASTLE — RELEASE FKOxM PRISON — SECOND IMPRISONMENT. Montgomery is re-homed, and his stay at Sheffield has every prospect of permanency and success. While he occu- pies the printing office, Mr. Gales's three sisters have come from Eckington and taken the bookstore : like a beloved brother he is received into their household, and the new establishment at the Hartshead is bustling with youthful enterprize. Our friend had trenched himself in a position not likely to prove dangerous, while it was one of sufficient responsi- bility and labor to call forth his best cffi^rts and incite to vigorous self-improvement. What little things may sometimes cloud our sky and bring us into unlooked for straits, he will himself tells us. " Little more than a month after I had become connected Avith the newspaper, I was one day called into the book- seller's shop, where business orders were received. There I found a poor-looking elderly man, whom I recollected to have seen in the street a little while before, when I was attracted both by his grotesque appearance, and his comical address, as a ballad-monger. He stood with a bundle of pamphlets in his hand, crying out in a peculiar tone, ' Here you have twelve songs for a penny.' Then he recapitulated 6* 66 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. at length the title of each, thus : ' The first song in the book is ' — so ami so ; ' the second song in the Look ' — so and so ; ' the third song ' — so and so ; and on he went ' so and so ' to the end of tlie catalogue. lie now offered me the specimen of an article in his line, and asked what he must pay for six quires of the same ? I immediately replied that I did not deal in such commodities, having better employment for my presses ; he must therefore apply else- where (I believe I named a place where he might be served). ' But,' he rejoined, like one who had some knoAV- ledge of the terms used by printers, ' you have this standing in your office.' ' That is more than I know,' was my answer. Taking up the printed leaf, I j^erceived that it contained two copies of verses, with each of which I had been long famiUar, but had never seen them coupled in that shape before ; at the top of the page was the imj^ression of a wood-cut [Liberty and the British Lion], which I recog- nized as having figured in the frontispiece of an extinct periodical, issued by my predecessor, and entitled the Patriot. The paper also, of which a large stock had devolved to me, was of a particular Idnd, being the material of certain forms for the registration of freeholds, under a still-born act of parliament, printed on one side only, and which had been sold for waste. On discovering this, I went up into the office, and asked when and for whom such things as I held in my hand had been printed, as I had no knowledge of the job ? ' Oh, Sir,' said the foreman, ' they were set uj) ever so long ago by Jack [Mr. Gales's appren- tice], for himself, and to give away to his companions ; and the matter is now standing in the types, just as it was when you bought the stock in the office.' ' Indeed !' I exclaimed ; ' but how came the ballad-seller, who Avas baAvling out his twelve songs for a penny the other day, to A CHARGE OF LIBEL. 67 have a copy ? ' In explanation of this, he stated, that he had formerly knoAvn him, when he himself was an appren- tice in an office in Derby, from "which such wares were supplied to hawkers. Hearing his voice in the street, he had called him in for old-acquaintance sake, and, in the course of talking about trade, had shown him an impression of Jack's songs, by Avhich he thought his old acquaintance might make a few pence in his strange way. ' Well then,' said I, ' let the poor fellow have what he wants, if it will do him any good ; but what does he mean by six quires ? ' 'Not quires of whole sheets, but six times twenty-four copies of tliis size,' was the information I received on this new branch of literature. I then Avent down stairs and told my customer that he might have the quantity he wanted for eighteen pence, which would barely be the expense of the paper and working oiF. He was content ; the order was executed, the parcel delivered by myself into his hand, and honestly paid for by him. I have often said, Avhen I have had occasion to tell this adventure of my romantic youth (for adventure it was, and no every-day one, as the issue proved), that if ever in my life I did an act which was neither good nor bad, or, if either, rather good than bad, it Avas this. " Two months afterwards, one of the toAvn constables waited upon me, and very civilly requested that I would call upon him at his residence in the adjacent street. Ac- cordingly I went thither, and asked for what he Avanted to see me. He then produced a magistrate's Avarrant, charg- ing me Avith having, on the 16th day of August preceding, printed and published a certain seditious libel respecting the Avar then raging between his Majesty and the French Gov- ernment, entitled ' A patriotic song, by a clei-g3nnan of Belfast.' I Avas quite puzzled to comjjrehend Avhat pro- 68 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. duction from my press this charge alkicled to, not the remotest idea of the ballad-seller occm-riug to me at the moment." A copy of the song was then shown him, which he instantly recognized as the same, sold unwittingly from his office, certainly not with any intention of raising a poUtical breeze. It was in vain that Montgomery explained the circum- stances of the case, or tried to show that it could not be a libel upon the existing war, inasmuch as it was published long before hostilities between France and England began ; it having been composed for an anniversary celebration of the destruction of the Bastile, and referring solely to the invasion of France by the Austrian and Prussian armies under the Duke of Brunswick, in July, 1792. As the matter took a serious turn, a specimen of the song, with its libellous verse, may interest those cmious to inspect the "mingled yarn" in our web of life. - " While tyranny marshals its minions around, And bids its fierce legions advance, Fair Freedom ! the hopes of thy sons to confound, And restore his old empire in France, — What friend among men to the rights of mankind, But is fired with resentment to see The satraps of pride and oppression combined To prevent a great land being free ? Europe's fate on the contest's decision depends ; Most important its issue will be, For should France be subdued, Euro^^e's liberty ends, — If she triumphs, the world will be free." The last was the sinning stanza, bristlmg with treason against the nation. IIIS TKIAL. 69 TJncxpecteclly Montgomery finds himself in the clutches of the law, and arraigned before the Sheffield Sessions, charged with printing and publishing a false and scanda- lous libel upon the present just and necessary war. Plead- ing "Xot Guilty" to the indictment, bail was given, and the case laid over to the Doncaster Sessions, a few months later. Meanwhile, through the columns of the Iris, he begged his friends to suspend their verdict, avowing his willingness to trust his cause to the justice and intelligence of a British jury. In January, 1795, the Doncaster Sessions came around. The case was argued with no inconsiderable ability and bitterness. The absurdity of seeking to ground a guilty intention upon an act so simple and natural was strongly set forth by the defendant's counsel. " Did his client foresee, or could any man in his senses ever dream of the mighty injury that was chai'ged in the indictment, as intended to have been done by the ijubli- cation of six quires of a song, printed long before the pres- ent war was ever thought of? My client was apjilied to by. this Jordan, to print six quires of these songs, which he agreed to prhit for eighteen pence ! Eighteen jjence ! six pennyworth of paper, six j^ennyworth of printing, and si:^ pennyworth of profit! Good God! Will any man be- lieve, in times like the present, when prosecutions are so frequent, and the punishment for libels so severe, that a man not out of his senses, would rvm his neck into such a noose for sixpence ! — would hazard his liberty by pub- lishing anything that he conceived might be tortured into sedition for such a pitiful reward ! Surely no ! Where then is the intention specified in the indictment ? " But in vain. The jurors found, that " James Montgomery, printer, 70 LIFE OF MONTQOMEKY. being a Avicked, malicious, seditious, and evil disposed per- son, and well knowing the premises, but wickedly, mali- ciously, and seditiously contriving, devising, and intending to stir up and excite discontent and sedition among his Majesty's subjects, and to alienate and withdraw the affec- tion, fidelity, and allegiance of his said Majesty's subjects from his said Majesty ; and unlawfully and wickedly to seduce and encourage his said Majesty's subjects to resist and oppose his said Majesty's government, and the said war," t%c., brought in their verdict "Guilty." Sentence was immediately passed, — three months' imprisonment in the Castle of York, and the payment of a fine of twenty pounds. The next day he was taken to York, Avith a modified estimate of the jury box, we may venture to say. His feelings upon the trying occasion are thus disclosed in the Iris : " My trial is now past. The issue is known. To a ver- dict of a jury of my countrymen it is my duty to bow with the deepest reverence; to the sentence of the law it is equally my duty to submit with silent resignation. It will be time enough to murmur and repine, when I am (jonscious of having merited punishment for real transgres- sions. The verdict of a jury may pronounce an innocent person 'GuUty ;' but it will be remembered that a verdict cannot make him ' Guilty.' .... " To a generous and sympathising px^blic, which has been so exceedingly interested in my behalf, I owe a debt of gratitude which the future services of my whole life can never repay. I pledge myself never to relinquish the cause of liberty, justice, and humanity, whilst I possess any powers of mind or body that can be advantageous to my country. COl^SOLATIONS IN CONFIIS" EMENT . 71 " I should, however, be unworthy of the name of a man, if I did not, on the present occasion, feel the weiglit of the blow levelled against me ; but I should be still more un- worthy of that character, were I to sink under it. I do feel, but I will not sink. Though all the world should for- sake me, this consolation can never fail me, that the great Searcher of Hearts, whose eye watches over every atom of the'universe, knows every secret intention of my soul : and when at the bar of eternal justice this cause shall again be tried, I do indulge the humble hope that his approving voice shall confirm the verdict Avhich I feel his finger has Avritten upon my conscience. "This hope shall bear me througli my present misfor- tune; this hope shall illuminate the Avails of my prison; shall cheer my silent solitude, and wing the melancholy hours with comfort. Meanwhile, the few months of my captivity shall not be unprofitably spent. The Jris shall be conducted upon the same firm, independent, and imjjar- tial principles, which have secured to the editor so great a share of public patronage. Not long shall I be separated from my friends; their remembrance woxild shorten a much longer confinement. Soon shall I return to the bosom of society, and oh, may I never deserve worse, but infinitely better, of my country, than I have hitherto done." The trial excited more than ordinary interest ; the tem- perate joolicy of the Jris and the personal woi'th of the editor were a j^riori evidence of his innocence, oifsetthig the natural rashness of youth (for he had but just turned twenty-three), if rashness had formed any part of the trans- action. His business, newly, and of course not yet firmly, estab- lished, had need of his presence, so that his term at York was likely to be a serious di'awback, if not altogether ruinous to its interests. 72 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. The effect of confinement upon a constitution naturally delicate occasioned grave apijrehensions, and when to past vicissitudes and thickening anxieties was added the charge of crime, no wonder if his courage faltered, and he became at times the prey of deep depression. The sympathy of the public and the kind offices of friendship brought their heal- ing; conscious integrity buoyed up the prisoner with its strong supports, while his pen and books winged the lan- guid hours of confinement, and made them a profitable period of mental culture. " God, Truth, and Conscience, are for you, who then can be against you ? " closed an address to him from a debating society of which he was a member ; " your sentence is a eulogy, your prison is a palace." Of his prison employments he does not distinctly tell us ; how little springs of enjoyment misealed themselves all along by the way, he pleasantly records. " The room which I occupied overlooked the Castle walls and gave me ample views of the adjacent country, then passing from the forlornness of winter to the first blooms of a promising spring. From my window I was daily in the habit of marking these, and dwelt with peculiar delight on the well-known walk by the river Ouse, where stood a long range of well-grown trees, beyond which, on the left, lay pasture fields that led towards a Avooden windmill, the motion and configuration of whose arms, as the body was turned about, east, west, north and south, to meet the wind from every point, proved the source of very humble, but very dear pleasure to one Avith whom it Avas ever as a living thing, — the companion of his eye and the inspirer of his thoughts, having more than once suggested grave meditations on the vanity of the world, and the flight of time. RELEASE FROM ru ISO N. 73 "During such reveries, I oftencd purposed that my first ramble, on recovery of my freedom, should he down by that river, under those trees, across the fields beyond, and away to the windmill. And so it came to pass. One fine morning, in the middle of April, I was liberated. Imme- diately afterwards I sallied forth, and took my walk in that direction, — from ■whence, Avith feelings which none but an emancipated captive can fully understand, I looked back upon the castle walls, and to the window of that very chamber from which I had been accustomed to look for- ward, both with the eye and with hope, upon the ground Avhich I was now treading, with a spring in my step as tliougli the very soil were elastic under my feet. While I was thus traversing the fields, not with any apprehension of falling over the verge of the narrow footpath, l)ut from mere wantonness of instinct, in the joy of liberty long wished for, and, though late, come at last, I VHlIfulli/ diverged from the track, crossing it now to the right, then to the left, like a butterfly fluttering here and there, making a long course and little Avay, just to prove my legs, that they were no longer under restraint, but might tread xohere and hoio they pleased ; and that I myself Avas in reality abroad again in the Avorld, — not gazing at a section of landscape over stone walls that miglit not be scaled ; nor, when, in tlie castle yard, the ponderous gates, or the small wicket, happened to be opened to let in or let out visitors or captives, looking up the street from a particular point which might not be passed. Now to some wise ijeojjle this may appear very childish, even in such a stripling as I was then : but the feeling was pure and natural, and the expression innocent and graceful as every unsophisticated emotion and its spontaneous manifestation must be." On the IGth of April, the captive is free, "twenty pounds 74 LliE OF MONTGOMEIIY. out of pocket, besides all the vexation and misery -whicli lie had suffered." The cost of the trial was ninety pounds, sixty of which were liquidated by his friends. No blush of shame is on his cheek, no stain upon his name. He has only touched the cuj) which some of England's choicest sons have drank to the very dregs. The following week the released editor greets us through the columns of the Iris, and his cheerful tone falls pleasantly on the ear. There is nothing of the whimpering politician, or a disposition to make capital from his misfortunes; nor is he provoked to abandon his tem]^erate policy by any indignant sense of wrong and injustice done hiin. "The generous sympathy of many, veiy many friends, the prevailing sentiment of the public concerning my con- duct, and my misfortune, and the conscious approbation of my own heart rendered my confinement less irksome, and far more agreeable than I could have expected. As I feel no reason to blush for its cause, I shall never regret my imprisonment. I have no wish to complam of any tem- porary inconveniences or mortifications to which 'my late prosecution has exposed me: for even my enemies have triumphed less over my fall than I could have hoped from their former disposition towards me, while the generous indulgence and esteem, liowever little merited, of the humane and the virtuous, have most abundantly compen- sated for all my sufferings. One solicitude only remains, and Avhile gratitude glows in my heart the solicitude will forever remain, that I may not prove myself unworthy of that share of public and private kindness which I have experienced in my prison, and which has met me on my return, " My judgment may possibly mislead me, but, Avhile I have no other aim in the exercise of it than to arrive at NEW ACTS OF PARLIAMENT. 75 truth., I "will not fear any consequences which may follow from pursuing the best dictates of my heart. I am not conscious of being influenced by any of those violent princi- ples which have been imputed to me : on the other hand, I detest the spirit of j^arty wherever it appears. And, whilst I hope I can make reasonable allowances for the prejudices of others, I am determined never to sacrifice to those prejudices, on any side of any question, the indepen- dence of my own mind. Whatever some jiersons may say or think of me, no man is a firmer friend either to his king or his country than myself But I look upon loyalty and patriotism to be best evinced by supporting such measures, and such only, as have a tendency to rectify abuses, and to establish the true honor and happiness of Britain on the solid basis of Justice, Peace, and Likeuty." Moderation and manliness, however, did not save him from further annoyances. And nothing discloses more vividly the fermentation of public feeling, and the liability of a government to become the victim of its own suspicions and jealousy, than many of the prosecutions which took place at this time. An act passed Parliament in 1*795, for " the safety and preservation of his Majesty's person and government against treasonable and seditious practices and attempts," Avhich added fuel to jDolitical heats, and opened the way for fresh outrages upon the i)eople. "While this act, Avith one for " preventing seditious meet- ings," was passing through the House, the Iris spoke of them with regret, and what was more significant, 2)rinted them surrounded by a mourning border. During the -winter of '95, the severity of the Aveather, the scarcity and dearness of food, together with the check to business imposed by the war, aggraAated the national and 76 LIFE OF MONTGOMEUr. social disquiet, and added deeper sliades to the general gloom. It was indeed one of those straitened periods of national life, wliich legislation cannot lielp. Constrained into a necessary but nnjmpular line of policy, beholding real evils that time alone can right, serious attempts to cliastise the impatient and querulous tempers naturally begot by them, too often tln-o\v a government on the side of needless severities and unjust retaliations, and divorce it from the confidence and good will of its subjects. A public disturbance took place in Sheffield, between tlie military and the people, in the account of ^\•hich the Iris was accused of using unseemly language, and its editor is again in the clutches of the law. " In the warrant to apprehend me," he Avrites to a friend, "I was charged with having printed and pubhslicd 'a gross misrepresentation of all that happened ' on tliat fatal even- ing ; and furtlier, that my account Avas ' Ukdy to stir up connnotions among tlie pcoi)Ie and disturb the peace of the town.' This charge, as ridiculous as false, lias been en- tirely dropped, and the wliole has been cut down into a miserable charge of a libel on the character of our redoubt- able military magistrate, — without one syllable about sedition in the whole indictment. " It was both prudent and politic in my adversaries to drop the most serious i:)art of this accusation ; for a friend of mine had been arrested and bound over to Barnslcy Sessions for affirming in the public streets, and in the presence of the justices themselves, that the men shot Avere m,urdered : — they did not think proper even to prefer a hill against him ! Is there one Avord in my Avhole jmragraph Avhich conA'eys so severe a censure on the hero of that evening ? Xo ; but my friend is a v^ender of stockings, and I a vender of ncAvspaj^ers : the pi'osecution is le\elled against the Iris — thev arc determined to crusli it." IX rUl SOX AGAIN. ■ 77 Witli any such antecedent, no difficulty would be found in convicting him, and James Montgomery is again sen- tenced to six months in the Castle of York ; to pay a fine of thirty i^ounds to the king ; and to give security for his good behaviour for two years, — himself in a bond of two hundred pounds, and two sureties in fifty pounds each. In consideration of the delicate state of his health, the judges recommend leniency of treatment and every indul- gence that can alleviate the necessary evils of his imprison- ment. But to York he again goes a^_jr«so«er, — a unique mode of requiting good citizens, extremely awkward to respectability and virtue. His paper, of which he was then sole editor (Mr. Naylor having withdrawn from the concern a few months before), was left in the hands of J. Pye Smith, who generously undertook its management during his absence. " Be firm, cool, and moderate," counsels the imprisoned editor to his friend ; " you can never sink into dullness, if I estimate your talents aright, but beware of being hurried away by generous indignation, inqyrudent zeal for truths or tlie dread of censure from any party.'''' To a friend he writes : — " Ere now you have read my trial, and know my fiite. Will you (though our personal knowledge of each otlier is small) believe me capable of publishing a willful and ma- licious falsehood, which, immediately on its appearance, would subject me to all the vengeance of the law ; and then, to support it and screen myself from justice, can you believe that I could corrupt and suborn persons of fair and honest character to come forward as perjured witnesses in my behalf? Unless you imagine this, I know, I feel your opinion. " My present situation here may be described in a few 7* 78 LIFE OF MONTGOMEllY. words : the times are so flourishing now, as compared with this time last year, that, instead of about sixty debtors confined in the Castle, the place overflows with double that number ; and other prisoners are in projDortion. I cannot, on any terms, procure a room for myself; but I have the certain reversion of the first that becomes vacant. I am therefore imder the mortifying necessity of taking up my quarters among persons of far dift'erent appearance from those with Avhom I have been accustomed to asso- ciate ; but I must give the poor men their due, — com- panions in misfortune, they really pay me the greatest respect, and show me every attention, and do for me every service in their power. You will think my lot a hard one ; but is there no consolation at hand ? Are not these gloomy walls an asylum from the fury of persecu- tions ? At home, and when I am 'at liberty, it is evident I am never safe: here I ^\moell secured ! why then com- plain ? My dear friend, the worst is over. The torture of the trial, the journey hither, the horror on entering this den of des})air, but, above all, the lingering agony of suspense which has preyed upon my heart, and drained my spirits dry, is past. The succeeding six months of my dreary confinement here cannot be more melancholy than the f)ast six : to kyioio the worst is far less terrible than to dread the worst. My paper Avarns me to droj) my pen. Pray write with your usual freedom — my letters are not inspected. " Your sincere friend, "J. MONTGOMEKY. " Joseph Aston, Manchester." CHAPTER VI. PRISON LIFE — LETTER TO JOSEPH ASTON — "PRISON AMUSEMENTS." RELINQUISHES POLITICS — POLITICAL FACTIONS — VISIT TO YORK CASTLE — LETTERS TO MR. ASTON — ANXIETY AND DEPRESSION — RELIGIOUS IMPRESSIONS. A PEEP within prison doors does not necessarily disclose haggard faces and remorseful consciences. Montgomery unlocks York Castle, and gives us a glance at his respec- table compeers : "In this building there are four well-behaved j^ersons, who have lived in the most respectable circles, and seen better days ; and also eight of the peoj^le called Quakers, who are confined for refusing to pay tithes, though they never did nor ever would have resisted the seizure of their projDcrty to any amount the rapacious priest required. There are three venerable greyheaded men among them, and the others are very decent and sensible. One of the old Quakers is my principal and my best companion ; a very gay, shrewd, cheerful man, with a heart as honest and as tender as his face is clear and smiling. My time, on the whole, passes away in a smooth and easy manner. I em- ploy myself in reading, writing, walking, &c., and never, on the whole, enjoyed better sjiirits in my life. My friends at Sheffield are become almost enthusiastic in my favor ; their number is greatly increased ; my enemies are silent, and many of the most bitter have relented : I do not believe there are ten persons who will venture to say I have not 80 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. been most cruelly and unjustly abused. My business, Avhicli I confess was and is my greatest cause of concern and anxiety, on account of its intricacy, and the care re- quired in its management, lias hitherto gone on with almost unprecedented smoothness and success. My health, as I think I informed you before, has been very indiftereut. . . . AYhat I am yet doomed to suffer from it, God only knows ! " James Montgomery to 3Tr. J. P. SmitJi. "York Castle, May 1, 1796 "My dear Fkiexd, " My captivity now begins to decline down the hill, and I shall only have nine weeks to stay here on Tuesday next ; but I fear I shall not return immediately to Sheffield : the doctors here say it Avill be absolutely necessary for me to go then to Scarborough, for the benefit of sea-bathing and drinking, at least a fortnight. Of this I apprise you thus early, that if I should be obliged to go there, you may be 2)rcpared to indulge me with your kind and valuable ser- vices a few weeks longer than we expected, . . . The management and arrangement of the Iris lias continued to afford me much satislaction. I shall tremble when I resume it with my own hands, lest its credit should fall with the resignation of its present editor. But tell that editor from me not to hack and hew Pitt quite so much in the London news, and to be particularly careful in the Sheffield news, not to insert any home occurrence without the most indubitable authority." " My time of confinement draws to a close," he writes again, " but my sentence is a Cerberus A\itli three heaths — fine, imprisonment, and bail. Thus even when I leave tliis dreadful place, after six months' confincimient, and paying LETTER TO JOSETIl ASTON. 81 thirty pounds, I am still to be indebted to two friends for the miserable privilege of being a prisoner at large two years longer ! I cannot think Avith patience on the sub- ject ; but I must submit ; and it is as well to do so with a good grace as with a bad one. I hope to be released on the 5th of July ; and in a fortnight afterwards shall prob- ably be once more in Sheffield. I wonder what evil star led me thither at first ! I propose to spend a fortnight at Scarboro'. Farewell; and may you enjoy health, peace, and every temporal prosperity in the bosom of your family and among your friends, without ever being torn from them as I have been ! " The 5th of July set him free, and he thus descants of the sweets of freedom : James Montgomery to Joseph Aston. " Scarboro', July 10, 1796. "My dear Fkiexd, " On Tuesday last I was duly liberated from my long and cruel captivity, and the same evening arrived at this de- lightful place. A greater contrast can scarcely be ifnag- ined than the narrow circumference of a prison and the boundless immensity of the ocean. I am charmed with the romantic beauties of this place, and my only employ- ment here is to admire them — and to Avish to leave them all, to return home as speedily as possible ; thus in no situ- ation of life have I ever met with unmixed ha2:)pinoss! But shadow relieves the glare of light ; the bitter corrects the sweet ; and solicitude softens the tone of bliss, which might otherwise transport a simple lad like me beyond the narrow limits of his reason. Part — I may say the great- est part — of the pleasure which I experienced on the day of my enlargement, arose from the solacmg idea that you 82 LIFE OF- MONTGOMERY. and many other dear and absent friends were then — per- haps at the very moment of my release — congratulatmg me in spirit, and welcoming the captive on his resurrection from the tomb of despondency. If you enjoyed my feel- ings by sympathy, I also particijjate of your sensations by the same pleasing emotion of the soul. " To me the magnificence of the ocean and the awful oor Billy lying at our feet ; and though we are many miles asunder at present, and perhaps may never, never meet again, I sometimes imagine our old conversations restored, and think we are unfolding our hearts to each other. The remembrance of these things will be one of the principal pleasures of my future life, whether it be marked as hitherto, with trials and persecutions, or whether better, more delightful days await me. Absence, instead of weak- ening the respect and attachment which I conceived for you in prison, has strengthened, and, in proportion as the time becomes distant will, I hope, strengthen it more and nTore. " I have observed, with much concern, the slow progress of the Bill now before the House of Commons, in your favor: it is adjourned, and adjourned again, so often, and under such trifling pretences, that I do really fear it will never even reach the House of Lords. I believe you are prepared for the worst, Henry, and that you are as much LETTERS TO MR. ASTON. 91 resigned as a man and a Cliristian ouglit to be under such severe and undeserved calamity. I wish for your deUver- ance ; but if that wish must not be gratified, I wish you may always be enabled, even in the agonizing hours of sick- ness, and perhaps of death, to bear your sufferings — or rather to triumph over them — with as much fortitude as you have hitherto done. I hope your wortliy friends and brethren in misfortune support their spirits and submit to their cruel and infamous fate with their wonted cheerful- ness. Remember me most kindly to them all, and assure them of my Avarm and undiminished friendship." " I am anxious to hear your opinion concerning the late events in France," he writes to Aston. " I know not pre- cisely whether my reflections in the Iris on that subject have been just : I wrote them, I can honestly say, Avith at least as much sincerity as wai-mth ; — but the aristocrats extol them to the skies ; they are praised by all the pow- dered pates in Sheffield ; and the Iris is now called an excellent, an admirable, a constitutional paper ! Praise from such a quai'ter almost inclines me to suspect that I have gone too fir ; but my conscience sanctions every syl- lable which my heart dictated on the occasion. I hate and abhor tyranny under every form, and in eveiy ^hape ; but in none so much as under a republican disguise : the mon- ster then becomes a hydra with a million heads." In a long letter of a later date, he says to the same correspondent : — " You do not know the thousandth part of me. I am dull, melancholy, and phlegmatic by nature ; and am grown indolent and ill-humored by habit. Disappointments at which you would laugh, in the eai-ly period of my life have sickened all my hopes, and clouded all my prospects ; my mhid is grown quite hypochondi-iacal ; and sunk in listless- ness, or only roused occasionally by the hori-oi's of religious 92 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. feelings, I languish away life without comfort to myself, or benefit to others," Reviewing this period of his checlvered life, and the disap- pointments, which were but blessings in disguise, he writes ; " In the retirement of Fulneck, I was as ignorant of the world and its every day concerns, as the gold-fishes swimming about in the glass globe before lis are of what we are doing around them, and Avhen I took the rash step of running into the voitex, I was nearly as little prepared for the> business of general life as they Avould be to take part in our proceedings. " The experience of something more than two years bad awakened me to the unpoetical realities around me, and I was left to struggle alone amid the crowd, without any of those inspiring motives left to cheer me, under the delusive influence of which I had flung myself amidst scenes and into society for which I was Avholly unfit by feeling, taste, habit, or bodily constitution. Thus I came to Sheflield, with all my hopes blighted like the leaves and blossoms of a premature spring. There was yet life, but it was a per- verse, unnatural life ; and the renown which I found to be un- attainable, at that time, by legitimate poetry, I resolved to secure by »uch means as made many of my contcmi)oraries notoi-ious. I wrote verses in the doggerel strain of Peter Pindar, and prose sometimes in imitation of Fielding and Smollett, and occasionally in the strange style of the Ger- man plays and romances then in vogue. Eflbrt after eftbrt failed. A Providence of disappointment shut every door in my face, by which I tried to force my Avay to a dis- honorable fame. I was thus ha})pily saved from appearing tlie author of works which, at this hour, I should have been ashamed to acknowledge. Disheartened at length with ill success, I gave myself up to indolence and apathy, ANXIETY AND DEPKESSION. 93 and lost some years of that part of my youth wliich ought to have been most active and profitable, using little exertion in my ofiice afiairs save what was necessary to keej) up my credit under heavy pecuniary obligations, and gradually, though slowly, to liquidate them." To his Manchester correspondent he more fully discloses the secret unrest of his inner life. " Since I wrote you last, I have suffered much anxiety and enjoyed little repose in my own bosom. I feel myself, at the jDresent moment, between ten and twelve o'clock on Saturday night, moralizing and melancholy. I will write, therefore, as far as paper permits, and ease my mind in some small degree, by imveiling some of its weaknesses, its follies, and its vices, to you : — " There are three springs of everlasting imeasiness per- petually flowing in my bosom, — the cares of life, ambition of fame, and, the worst, the most dejilorable of all, re- ligious horrors. With regard to the first, ■ — in my business, chained as I am, like Prometheus to the rpck, the vulture of care feeds on my bowels. Since I wrote in September, I have suffered in my mind what I would not again undergo for any temptation which lucre could offer. You may guess Avhat were my sensations, when I tell you, that from the middle of November to the latter end of January, for a trifle which men of firmer minds would have laughed at, I tortured myself with the agonizing apprehensions of again being dragged to Doncaster Sessions. I cannot give you further explanation here ; the danger is now j^ast, and the spirit of alarm which harassed my dreams by night, and my reveries by day, is laid to rest. I tremble to tread upon its grave, lest the pressure of my foot should awaken it again. " On the second point, — my mad ambition, — ever since 94 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. last August, my brain has been in the state of Vesuvius during the crisis of eruption. I have been laboring con- tinually iipon a spot of Parnassus, which j)romises to be as unfruitful, as ungrateful to me, as the most barren field I ever cultivated there before. As my jilan is still imperfect, and the issue in suspense, I shall wait a little longer before I reveal it to you. If I be successful, I am sure of your congratulations; if I be unfortunate, you shall judge whether I deserved to be so. " On the last head, — my religious horrors, — I will be candid, as I have always endeavored to be to you. [Here followed five lines, which are blotted out in the original letter, — they probably refer to the happy experience of his early piety at school.] Such has been my education, — such, I will venture to say, has been my experience in the morning of life, — that I can never, never entirely reject it, and embrace any system of morality not grounded ujion that revelation. What can I do ? I am tossed to and fro on a sea of doubts and perplexities ; the further I am carried from that shore where once I was happily moored, the weaker grow my hopes of ever reaching another where I may anchor in safety; at the same time, my hopes of returning to the harbor I have left are diminished in pro- portion. This is the present state of my mind ! I do not know whether you will be able, from this hasty, imperfect sketch, to understand your friend any better : I cannot expect that it will increase your esteem ; but I trust, though it may make yoix think less highly, it won't induce you to think less kindly, of your sincere and afiectionatc friend." "I do not hesitate to say," on resummg his pen, "that a most solemn conviction is impressed upon my heart, that Christianity, — pure, and humble, and holy, as we find it RELIGIOUS IMPRESSIONS. 95 ill tlio discourses of Jesus and His apostles, — is equally- worthy of its Divine Author, and beneficial to mankind, I believe no human being, of any other profession, can ever be half so happy as a true believer in it, — and why? Because his faith is certain j no doubt of the truth of his religion can possibly remain on his mind ; whereas the most enlightened deistical philosopher is at best but [half a line crossed out] a half convert to the opinion he professes. He believes, — not that there is a God, — that the soul of man is immortal, — but that there may he a God, — that the soul of man may he immortal : he hopes for, not expects, a day of retribution : consequently the spur to his virtues is blunt, and the bridle to his vices weaker, than if he were assured of the future reward of the one, and punishment of the other. But my paper is full" CHAPTER VII. SELF UPBRAIDIXGS — CONFLICTS AND WAVERINGS — LETTERS TO IIXS BROTHER — SPIRITUAL DARKNESS — RIGHT VIEWS OF SAVING FAITH SPIRITUAL LIGHT — VIEWS ON HYMN WRITING — NOTE TO A QUAKER FRIEND. The preceding letter brings us to that period of Mont- gomery's personal history when eternal things re-a.sserted their claims npon his attention. His checkered fortimcs have hitherto been the batthng of circumstances, the great bread-and-butter struggle often necessary at the outset of life to develope what a man is, and to determine his course in the world. Without the antecedents of friends, fortune, or patron- age, to help him in the fight, he has bravely sustained himself, and secured a position of trust and comfort, looking out upon a future of honorable competency and dawning fame. Fresh sources of unrest now unseal themselves withni. He feels that he has drifted from the old landmarks of his religious faith, and is breasting an ocean of perilous uncer- tainty. A deep sense of sijiritual orphanage takes possession of his soul; he is far from his Father's house, and the Livmg Way is obscured M'ith doubts. " Oh wliei'G shall rest be found, Rest for the weary soul ? 'T were vain the ocean depths to sound, Or pierce to either pole ! CONFLICTS AND WAVERINGS. 97 The world can never give The bliss for which we sigh ; 'T is not the whole of life to live, Nor all of death to die," — such is the monrnful i;tterance of his spirit. His early religious education he cannot ignore. Divorced from God, what can a reasonable man hope for ? Wedded to the world, Avho has ever found it could satisfy the cravings of immortal want ? More than this, it reminded him of the trust he once had in the Saviour of lost men ; the peace which filled his bosom when redeeming love smiled upon his penitent confessions, healed the breaches of sin, and made him strong and joyful in the blessed fellow- ship of holy things. Early piety and privileges seem more real and precious as he grows older, and with a profound sense of their loss come fearful forebodings of that " death, whose pang Outlasts the lleeting breath." Though Montgomery had never left the paths of respect- able morality, he seems to have abandoned all that distinct- ively belongs to a religious life. Defection of the heart from God is now bearing its bitter fruit. An enlightened conscience and an unfilial spirit are m conflict. The doc- trines of the Cross he cannot reject, while the rebel will quarrels with their strictness. The requirements of the gospel seem liarsh and severe without that love Avhich transmutes what seem to be tasks into loyal tributes and holy service to the Lord of Life and Glory. Its renun- ciations of the world wear an icy look, and he shrinks from their barren grandeur, for he does not experience the rich compensations in store for faithful believers. The anti- 98 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. thetic mystery of the Scnj)tnres is not yet revealed to liim; — "dying, yet behold we live" — " sorrowful, yet always rejoicing" — "having nothing and yet possessing all things" — than which, nothing so unfolds the riches of redeeming love. Long an outcast from his Father's house, like the return- ing prodigal, he began " to be in want." The circle into ■\\'hich he was first thrown at Sheffield was of the Unitarian persuasion. No Moravian jiilgrims had pitched their tent there. Every year he visited Ful- neck, — the Eden of the world to him, — and renewed the endearing intimacies of his boyhood. The Brethren re- ceived him Avith fatherly cordiality, and, we doubt not, strove to renew the defaced piety of their Avandcring child. In the light of an increasing seriousness of mind, the witty use of Scrij^ture phrases he abandoned as irreverent and trifling; a graver tone appeared in his articles; club meetings at the " Wicker," where pipes and politics, litera- ture, fine arts, and the social glass, diversified the evening, he felt less relish for ; and finally, preparing one night to go out and meet his friends, he took down his overcoat, but instead of putting it on, he reflected, hesitated, and returning it to its accustomed peg, seated himself at his own fireside, and never resumed his place among the jovial sociabilities of the club or tavern. More frequently he dropped into the Methodist chapels, occupied at the time by men of fervent piety ; and often he stole to a little class-meeting, in the lowly cottage of a Methodist brother, where, in the liappy experience and hearty devotion of these humble believers, he beheld that living faith which his soul yearned for. From a letter to his brother Ignatius, ordained a clergy- LETTEK TO HIS BiiOTIIER. 99 man, and now teacher at Fnlneck, we make the following extract : — " You see, dear brother, how apt I am to look far before me, much farther, indeed, than I can see; and my heart aches so often, that it hardly knows any other sensations than those of remorse, apprehension, and despondency. I have almost outlived my hopes, in this world, — I mean my worldly hopes. How comes it, brother, that we seldom, perhaps never, seriously turn our thoughts to eternity till we have been disgusted with the vanity, and sickened with the disappointments of time? Why cannot we embrace both this world and the next at once? Is the enjoyment of the one incompatible with the other ? Am I to lead a life of self-denial and suffering, as cruel — and, I verily believe, as unprofitable — as the mortifications of a hermit, for the sake, or, rather, as an indispensable condition of salvation ? You cannot mistake me here, and imagine that I mean by the enjoyment of the world an indulgence in criminal excesses. I mean only those pleasures which men of strictly moral and conscientious minds think innocent, but against which the Dissenters and Methodists inveigh Avith a bitterness and bigotry that makes me sometimes imagine that religion is, indeed, a cross on which its pro- fessors are condemned to linger out their lives in agonies ; but I must not expatiate on this subject, lest I should be beti'ayed into impiety of speech on what almost turns my brain to contemplate. Yet all this I think I could be content to suffer for the assurance of that peace with God which they profess to feel, and to which I am almost an utter stranger. I have no confidence towards him, excejDt what all the world must have, — a confidence that he is good, and that Avhat he does is right, whether I compre- hend it or not ; and that if he shuts me up in everlasting 100 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. and unspeakable misery, he "will convince me first that I have deserved it ; and that, even consistently Avith his infinite mercy and infinite power, he could not mitigate my punishment. But why am I tormenting you with my sorrows ? I know what you would answer to all this. I know what way you would point out to me to escape present and future sufierings ! I dare not tell you that I cannot lay hold of that salvation which you preach, lest I should be guilty of lying against the Sjiirit of God ; but indeed, brother, I sometmies fear I never shall lay hold of it. Farewell." Dark and bitter is this letter, — upbraiding and forebod- ing, — the two elements of a soul convinced of its own short-coming, and vainly imagining a life of self-imposed penance can purchase that peace and joy which faith in Christ the Redeemer can alone give. An experience like this is nothing new or micommon in religious history ; and some are ready to tell us it is the natural consequence of too great severity of doctrine, the morbid helplessness of religious fear. Morbid it certainly is, and we can trace in the author streaks of physical disease, like that which some- times dimmed the spiritual vision of Cowper, To another friend he writes : " Since I saAv you in Shef- field, I have experienced some severe conflicts of mind. I believe my last letter was gloomy. It set in clouds and darkness ; a long night of silence ensued, and the morning of the present efi"usion is not likely to be more cheerful. " The affectionate and consoling letter Avhich you wrote in reply lies befere me. I have been reading it again as I have done many times before, with renewed and unsatis- fied interest. You say, a person cannot helj) believing Avhat he does believe, so that if we do our duty, by en- quirmg what is truth, in a conscientious manner, it can be SPIRITUAL DARKNESS. 101 of little consequence whether we believe accurately or not in all the minutite of religion. My dear friend, there is danger of misaj^prehending this doctrine. We may think we are seeking truth when w^e arc wilfully and persever- ingly embracing error. The Christian religion seems to me to require such a child-like simplicity, such purity of heart, and singleness of mind, that when I contemplate it calmly, I despair of ever aj^proaching its standard. It is hard to renounce the world, and all those pleasures which the Avorld deems not only innocent, but useful and com- mendable ; and yet, methinks that Christianity requires the sacrifice of them. For my own part, I cannot, at pres- ent, take up my cross and follow the despised and rejected Man of Sorrows through poverty, reproach, and tribula- tion : and yet — you will say it is a strange confession — I carry a heavier cross and bear a deeper ignominy in my own upbraiding conscience : I feel the Christian's suffer- ings without the Christian's hoj)e of that eternal weight of glory which shall reward them. My mind is not deeply laden with crimes ; but i;nbelief — an unbelief from which I cannot deliver myself— hangs heavy on my heart, and outweighs all those httle joys, for which I am unwilling to relinquish the world. I am sometimes sunk in such deplor- able despondency, that I feel all the pangs of a victim, under sentence of eternal damnation, without that salutary conviction of the reality of my danger, which might com- pel me to flee from the Avrath to come. But I am not al- ways thus ; sometimes a cheering ray of hoi^e — of Christian hope — breaks through the pagan darkness of my mind, and opens heaven to my desiring view. O, then, my friend, how does my heart expand, my soul aspire ! . . . Do not be frightened at this picture of your friend : it is faithful, but is drawn in an hour of bitterness ; and if I had delayed until 9* 102 LIFE OF MONTGOMEIIY. to-morrow, I might have sketched a pictm-e more pleasing, yet not more faithful. I have some good qualities — a warm heart, a Aveak head, a most despotic imagination. . . . Some cruel disappointments in life, Avhich have j^reyed, and will continue to prey upon my lieart, have aggravated my natural melancholy. The education I received, indepen- dently of all these, has forever incapacitated me from being contented and happy under any other form of religion than that which I imbibed with my mother's milk : at the same time, my restless and imaginative mind and my Avild and ungovernable imagination have long ago broken loose from the anchor of faith, and have been driven, the sj^ort of winds and waves, over an ocean of doubts, round which every coast is defended by the rocks of despair that forbid me to enter the harbor in view." A natural melancholy is more fully disclosed in this letter and helps in part to account for his sufterings, whose main cause indeed, lies far deeper than this, — a misapprehension of the truths Avhich he professes to believe. The terms of salvation neither ask nor require this agony of spirit, this long period of probationary suffering as a condition of ac- ceptance. It is noAvhere stated in the Scriptures; it formed no part of Christian experience in apostolic times, nor Avas it ever preached by Gospel ministers at any time. " Re- pent and believe," is the simple and single condition to pardon and peace ; and Avhoever makes it narroAver or broader shuts the door of hope and heaven to the strug- gling soul. This duty is enjoined immediately ; "noAv" is called the accepted time ; Christ himself guarantees suc- cess. " Come unto me, all ye that are Aveary and heavy laden, and I Avill give you rest." " Come ! " is it not a word of Avelcome ? RIGHT VIEW OF SAVING FAITH. 103 " I will give you rest." Is it not a simple, uncloggcd promise, which lie who is Lord of all, can most royally fulfill? The fullness and preciseness of the Sci'ipture doctrine of " turning to God" — " coming to Christ" — " accepting the offers of salvation," are remarkable, and are apt to be over- looked in the many accessories given to it by the manifold experiences of men. These, in time, are liable to be taken for essential parts, and the mistake cumbers the way of many a soul in search of mercy. Many a sincere seeker fails to struggle into light and comfort, thi'ough self-imposed tasks upon his own s^writ, directing his eye to false issues, or giving himself to an unwholesome brooding over a single truth, which may paralyze, if naked, but sheathed and blended with other truths, will stir the soul to lay hold mightily on " Him who is mighty to save." Child-like faith, a simple taking God at his word, strongly characterizes the piety of both the Methodists and Mora- vians. This sj^irit does not linger shiveringly around the frowning abutments of some single truth, afraid lest they fall and crush him, but it glides through the open door of promise into the Inner Court, where wrought into har- mony, all the doctrines of the Cross glow with the clear shining of divine love. Here doubts vanish, the burden of sin rolls off, fears are left behind, and to the tearful suppli- cation, "Lord, I believe — help thou mine unbelief!" light, comfort, hope, break upon the soul, and it learns the mean- ing of that rebuking and searching scripture, " Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, shall not enter therein." " O how shall I rejoice" writes a Moravian clergyman to liini, "to hear that the liorizuii of v<>iii' soul is serene and 104 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. unclouded ; that doubts and scruples liaA'e ceased to agitate your seeking mind ; and that you have fully found again that unseen but ever-present Friend, Mhose hand has been on you for good thus for ; who was the comfort of your earliest day ; the dawning of whose love you once felt, — which love alone can smooth the path of life, cheer our gloomy hours, and make the approach of death not to be dreaded ! Pardon the liberty I take ; ray anxious concern for your happiness must plead my excuse, and my own ex- perience makes me thus speak. . . . Convinced I was a sinner, and stood in need of a Saviour, I flew to Jesus, — ■ simply and child-like : need I tell you the consequence ? O my friend ! do likewise ; be a child again, in seeking safety in the arms of your Saviour, and there you Avill find rest for your weary soul." Is there not here a glimmer of hope ? " I stir the ashes of my mind, And here and there a spark I find That leaps into a moment's light, Then dwindles down again in night, — Yet burns a fire within my breast, "Which cannot quench, and will not rest; Oh, for a secret, sudden rent In this hard heart to give it vent ! Oh, for a gale of heavenly breath To quicken life again from death ! " This halting and dreariness of spirit, Montgomery carried about with him a long time. Light sometimes shot through the cloud, when it again thickened, to pass, however, finally away, and leave him in the blessed sunshine of Christian hope. To a friend he writes, " I have not room for another word of business ; but I turn with gratitude to the most deeply SPIRITUAL LIGUT. 105 interesting parts of your letter, on "vvhieli, however, I must say much less than I think and feel. I was in very deep despondency when your sudden letter came, — sudden 1 call it, for it darted like an arrow from your heart into mine. It roused, it warmed, it melted me. It arrived, and I read it just as I was going to chapel on Sunday morning, and it ■well prepared my mind for receiving a consoling sermon. In the afternoon I was obliged to stay at home. I took up a volume of Cennick's most simple, but truly evangelical, sermons, and opened to a discourse on the very text Avhich you had sent as the label of your arroio, and wliich had sunk into my soul, — viz., 1 Tim. i. 15. I read it over most eagerly and earnestly, and I was much refreshed and com- forted by it. I mention this happy coincidence, because I am sure it will delight you, that you Avere made on this oc- casion the messenger of good tidings to me. I am sure that I am not superstitious, but as I am deeply conscious of the omniscience and omnipresence of God, I can never be- lieve that he is an idle spectator of the thoughts, words, actions, and accidents of his creatures. In what manner he interferes with any or with all of these is beyond my com- prehension, but that he does sometimes rule them I am compelled to believe ; and as we are taught that every good and perfect gift comes from Him, the means through which it comes must be apj)ointed or influenced by him. I did then, and I do now, attribute it to his grace, that these ap- parent accidents concurred to relieve me, and encourage me to hope in his mercy for final deliverance from one of the sins that most easily besets me — despair ; for it is a sin to despair when God proclaims himself to be Love, — des- pair gives him the lie. You will, notwithstanding tliis frank avowal of what many would call faaatlclsni, understand that I am no Calvuiist : God make me a Christian ! and let 106 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. those that woukl be more jiride themselves in being the fol- lowers of men ! Among all sects who preach Christ cruci- fied the disciples of Jesus are to be found ; they are confined to none ; they are excluded />o?;i none ; at least I tliink so. " Indeed, my dear friend, I have no Methodist hymns to send you. When I Avas at school I wrote many, but I liave seldom dared to touch holy things since then. My lips and my heart want purifying with a coal from the altar." In reply to a gentleman bespeaking an effort of his pen in this direction, he thus feelingly alludes to his mifitness for the work : " When I was a boy, I wrote a great many hymns ; indeed, the first-fruits of my mind were all consecrated to Jllni Avho never despises the day of small things, even in the j^oorest of his creatures ; but as I grew up, and my heart degenerated, I directed my talents, such as they were, to otlier services, and seldom, indeed, since my four- teenth year have they been employed in the delightful duties of the sanctuary. Many conspiring and adverse cir- cumstances that have confounded, afflicted, and discouraged my mind have also compelled me to forbear from composing hymns of jirayer and praise for many past years, because I found that I could not enter into the spirit of such divine themes, with that humble boldness, that earnest expecta- tion, and ardent feeling of love to God and truth which were wont to inspire me, when I was an imcorri;pted boy, full of tenderness, zeal, and simi^licity. I have therefore, as you will perceive in reading my little volume, only occa- sionally touched a chord of the harp of saints and angels, and, thougli I have started and trembled at the sound which my own fingers had awakened, yet I am not ashamed to acknowledge that tliose divine 'incidentals' liave always made my pulse quicken and my heart burn within VIEWS ON IIYMN-WKITING. 107 me when they occurred. Nay, I know that in several of the smaller poems those sparks of fire from tlic altar have kindled the whole song into a bright and more beautiful lliune, Avhicli many of the readers (as well as the writer) have perceived and confessed. Yet I have not dared to assume a sacred subject as the theme of any whole piece tliat I have written, on account of the gloom and despond- ency that frequently hung over my pi'ospects and sometimes almost sunk my hopes into despair. At present, I am so deeply engaged with two small pieces on occasions suffici- ently serious to occupy all the overflowing spirits that I can spare from the cares and vexations of a business that allows me very little leisure of time, and hardly any of mind', that, though I feel sincerely disposed to gratify myself by fulfill- ing, at least in a small degree, your flattering request, I cannot pledge myself to make an early attempt. I compose very slowly, and only by fits, when I can rouse my indolent powers into exertion ; so that, unless some very auspicious opportunity occurs, I can promise you nothing in less than two months. However, I will lie in wait for my heart, and when I can string it to the pitch of David's lyre, I will set a j^salm to the chief musician." Extracts from a letter to his brother Ignatius, bearing the date of Jime, 1807, further disclose his inner history. " Slicfficld, June 2Q, 1807. " My Dear Brother, "When St. John was in the spirit on the Lord's day, ho saw visions of future glory : I am in the spirit also on the Lord's day, and I behold scenes of past happiness, returning like lovely dreams upon me. I am transported lo my native country ; I am turned back to iuflmcy, and in the morning of life the Sun of Iligliteousness is rising upt)n 108 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. mo "with healing in his wings ; alas ! how long is it since I saw that sun except in memory's melancholy eye ! " You are now m the land of my birth, and near the spot where I first saAV the light : of how little importance is it to all the world besides, that I Avas ever born at all ! Yet to me, how awful is the existence into which I was called without my own consent, and from which I cannot retire, though I were to give myself up to suffering for mil- lions of ages to purchase the privilege of annihilation ! Here, then, I am ; and what I am finally here, I must for ever be. Is it, indeed, in my own power to choose between eternal bliss and everlasting burnings? If it be, it is truly time for me to awake and look around me, with an earn- estness that will make every other concern of life indiffer- ent to me, to see how I shall escape the latter and secure the former ; — for to the one or to the other I am inevitably predestined. I have the choice of these two ; but I have no other choice. " Brother ! how is it possible that I should hesitate an instant ? Why have I not, since I began to Avrite this letter, already by an act of that flxith Avhich is the power of God communicated to his creatures, and to Avhich all things are possible, — why have I not already decided my condition for eternity? Is there anything more mysterious in the wliole mystery of iniquity, than that a man shall be deeply, dreadfully, convinced of sin, and believe, almost without daring to make a reserve, in all the threatenings and judgments of God, — yet have no confidence in his promises and declarations of mercy ? And this is my case, as nearly as I can express it. Yet I do not, and I dare not utterly despair when I look at God ; but I do and must despair when I look at myself; and my everlasting state depends upon the issue of the controversy between him and LETTER TO IIIS BROTHER. 109 me : if lie conquers, I shall be saved — if I prevail against him, I perish. " I owe you my warmest thanks for two very affectionate letters, the one from Grace Hill, and the other from Ayr. I am exceedingly glad that you have had the opportunity of changing for a time both your place of abode and your daily occupations. I know — though you never gave me so much of your confidence as to tell me so — that you have more employment at Grace Hill than your powers can support, without frequent and injurious exhaustion both of mind and body : it is true that you are in the service of the congregation, and He who is the Elder of it has a right to all the services that you can render him, and it is your duty — your privilege, I mean — to spend and to be sj^ent for him. Yet I think your brethren ought to lay no heavier burthen upon you, than your strength, well put forth, can bear Avithout sinking under the weight ; for I am sure you will serve them and their master much better by serving them to the eleventh hour, than by laboring yourself to death before the end of the fifth ; for though you may, by a mortal exertion, do more work in a given time, you will do less on the whole ; and the Lord's vineyard is so great, and his husbandmen so few and so feeble, that their lives ouglit to be precious in their own sight, in proportion to the magnitude and fertility of the field before them. " Henry Steinhaur arrived last night in Shefiield with a convoy of sixteen children from the neighborhood, mIio are all Fuhieck scholars. Some good has come of my residing in Shefiield. Who knows what eternal consequences may result f]-om so many boys and girls hearing the simple gos- pel of Christ crucified preached fiiithfully to them among the Brethren ! It warms my cold, and melts my hard heart sometimes when I think that I may thus accidentally have 10 110 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. been the cause of promoting the everlasting welfare of some of my fellow creatures in this neighborhood, where I came an outcast, and in which I have lived a stranger. The new newspaper which I so much dreaded has hurt me very little as yet ; and I am certainly much less frightened at it since it appeared than I was before it came out, when I expected Goliath, but have hitherto only seen his armour-bearer. " Yours, &c., "J. MONTGOMEKY. " Rev. Ignatius Montgomery, Ayr, Scotland." The eternal issues which hang upon the present, feelingly touched upon in this letter, infinitely enhances its " Value of a Moment," written perhaps at this time. 'Twixt that, long fled, which gave us light, And that wliich soon shall end in night, There is a point no eye can see, Yet on it hangs eternity. This is that moment — Avho can tell, AVhether it leads to heaven or hell ? This is that moment — as we choose, Th' immortal soul we save or lose. Time past and time to come are not, Time present is onr only lot ; t)h, God, henceforth our hearts incline To seek no other love than thine ! In a little note, a few months later, to one of his Quaker friends, once a fellow captive at York, we begin to trace a, growing consciousness of the endearing relation between Christ and his followers in M'orks of love — the first fruits of a life, in due time, refined and beautified by the spirit of his Heavenly Master, NOTE TO A QUAKER FRIEND. Ill " I am sorry to learn that yoii have suffered so much by lameness ; but you trust in God, — continue to trust in him, for he will never leave or forsake you. "As a token of his remembrance, I have enclosed a five pound Bank of England note, which I hope will be service- able to you in your present low estate. Accept it, Henry, not from me but from Him, who though he Avas rich, yet for our sakes he became poor, and by suffering all the ills of poverty, sanctified them to his people. For His sake and in His name receive it ; for His sake and in His name I send it. I assure you, my dear friend, that I feel far more pleasure in being, on this occasion, the minister of His bounty to you, than I could possibly derive from any other disposal of this small sum, which I considered to be as sacredly your proj)- erty, from the moment when He put it in my heart to send it, as it had been mine before, God, who gives it, bless it to you ! " CHAPTER YIII. EDITORIAL XOTICES — FUGITIVE POEJIS — DR. AIKIX — HOME AFFECTIOXS — "the wanderer OF SWITZERLAND" — ITS RECEPTION — EDINBDRGH REVIEW — NEW FRIENDS — DANIEL PARKEN — LITTLE POEMS — LYRI- CAL BALLADS — SOUTHEY'S ADVICE TO ELLIOTT. !N"apoleo:n" is now on his march through Europe, and the Jns Aveekly chronicles his ravages : " In his letter to the Swiss dei)uties, Bonaj^arte demands an entire sacrifice of all their factious and selfish passions, and m the same breath he sets them a noble example of disinterested moderation, by peremptorily declaring that he will not permit the establishment of any government in the can- tons, which may be hostile to his OAvn, for Switzerland must in future be Uhe open frontier of France!'' He had previously converted the Pays de Vaud into 'a highway'' between his dominions ; and we may already anticii^ate his seizure of the dykes of Holland to supply his table with frogs." — January 13, 1803. " Bonaparte has pronounced his fiat concerning Switzerland : a constitution has been recommended to the Helvetic Consulta, and embraced by them with becoming humility. It was received, discussed, and adopted in a day. Since that time a deputation has been dispatched to Paris, from the cantons, to beseech the First Consul to inclose ' the open frontier of France,' and annex it to the integrity of the ' Great Nation.' "Why EDITORIAL NOTICES. 113 does not Bonaparte at once pass a general inclosure bill, and take in all the waste lands in Europe — has he not a common right to them all?" — January 20, 1803. "The heart of Switzerland is broken! and liberty has been driven from the only sanctuary which she found on the continent. But the unconquered and unconquerable oft- spring of Tell, disdaining to die slaves in the land where they were born free, are emigrating to America. There, in some region remote and romantic, where Solitude has never seen the face of man, nor Silence been startled by his voice since the hour of creation, may the illustrious exiles find another Switzerland, another country rendered dear by the presence of Liberty ! But even there, amid mountains more awful, and forests more sombre than his own, when the echoes of the wilderness shall be awakened by the enchantment of that song, which no Swiss in a foreign clime ever heard, without fondly recalling the land of his nativity, and weeping with afiection, — how will the heart of the exile be Avrung with home-sickness ! and O ! what a sickness of heart must that be Avhich arises not from 'hope delayed,' but from hope extinguished — yet remembered!'''' — February 17, 1803. The heart of the editor is glowmg with sympathy for Switzerland, in whose rocky defiles and icy fastnesses Liberty has waged, through the ages, its stern and unequal conflict with despotism. From an interest thus kindled, sjorung the first poem which placed Montgomery's name before the British pub- lic among the list of acknowledged poets. Conceived as a simple ballad, it grew to a dramatic poem in six parts. Stirred as was the author by his theme, so distrustful was he of his merits as an artist, that it was three years lag- ging through his press. 10* 114 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. Meanwhile he was paving his way for welcome recogni- tion, by sending abroad, through the columns of the Irts^ many a little fugitive of the muse, bearing the signature of Alcseus, and gradually winning upon the public attention. Dr. Aikin, at that time influential in certain literary cir- cles, transferred them to the pages of his Annual Re- view, with flattering notices, most grateful to their modest and then unkno-mi author. Among them are some of the finest fruits of his pen. The Common JLot, was a birth-day meditation during a solitary walk, on a clear, cold, winter's morning. In this little j)oem the fellowships of man with man are grouped with a simplicity and pathos which have stamped it with a world-wide fame. The Jbij of Grief utters Avhat the bruised spirit hath often felt : " While the wounds of woe are healing, While the heart is all resigned, 'Tis the solemn feast of feeling, 'Tis the Sabbath of the mind." The Grave discloses " a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found : They softly lie, and sweetly sleep, Low in the ground." But from these " smouldering ashes" the poet leaps with " The soul, of origin divine, G-od's glorious image, freed from clay. In heaven's eternal sphere to shine, A star of day." HOME AFFECTIONS. 115 Nor is " the pillow, pressed by acliing heads," or that " little flower With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky," or bird, or "cloud," below or beyond the "picturing powei's of his song." " Most of the pieces of distinguished merit which adorn the Poetical Register are signed with the names of writers already known to the j^ublic," says the Doctor. " We ob- serve, however, some with the signature Aleoeus, which are excelled by none in spirit, originality, and true po- etic fire." Home duties sprung up in the young man's path. " I am glad to hear from you," writes Joseph Gales from this side of the waters, " that my sisters are doing pretty well. Accept, my good friend, of my most cordial thanks for your friendly attention to them. Be to them still, as you have in some good degree been, a hr other in my stead who am lost to them. And also sufier me to entreat you — though I am satisfied entreaty is unnecessary — to con- tinue to show kindness to the good old folks, my aged parents. I fear they have sufiered greatly on my account. that I could soothe and comfort them as they sink into the grave! But this is denied me. O, do it for me, my dear Montgomei-y, as you have opportunity !" Fraternal afiections pleasantly reveal themselves in the following letter from Montgomery to his adopted sisters, the Misses Gales, while on a visit to Scarborough : " My dear friends, you will be curious, if not anxious, to know how I come on in the world of Scarborough. Since 1 wrote last to you I have outlived a whole generation of 116 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. visitors at this lionse, and am now a kind of antediluvian patriarch of a wliole fortnight's standing. In consequence of this, I have been, by the law of primogeniture, exalted to the head of the table, which you may be sure is an honor I most reluctantly accepted, and which I bear most meekly. Hitherto I have had some good supporters about me in some fat and fair ladies, who sit next to me, and among whom I appear like a rush-light among torches. They assist me in carving, and almost entirely save me the trouble of talking, for both of Avhich I am truly thankful. ' How do you employ your time ?' you are ready to ask. I employ it so stupidly that I could very well aiford to lend six hours a day, on good security, to any lady or gentleman who would pay me handsome interest for it. I eat and drink and walk all day, and try to sleep all night. I never in my life lived so long a time without fire. It is a fact, that I have never seen a fire in this house, nor been near one in all Scarborough, except at the barber's shop, to the best of my recollection. There is self-denial Avith a vengeance for you ! I only smoke one pijie at night, and sometimes none. I have several times been out in a small boat for a few miles in the bay. This is very pleasant ; and the sea-breezes are like gales from paradise ; they warm my withered heart into life, and blow my mildewed checks into bloom. One evening I went out a-fishing, and had charming sport. For two hours, in a chill atmosphere, on a dark sea, I watched a cork floating, till my eyes ached and my brain was dizzy ; and so intent and expert was I at the trade, that for a long time I was fishing with a naked hook, the rogues below having nibbled away the bait, I have often fished along the strea7n of life m i\ns, manner. However, on this memorable occasion I caught two fishes ; but it was not my fault. I could not help it ; MONTGOMERY'S FOUR FRIENDS. HY they himg themselves with my line, and I hope they for- gave me with their dying breath ; and this they ought to have done, because I have freely forgiven their brethren who would not let me catch them. " I don't know what to say about my health ; and as for my spirits, they have been several times so agitated since I came hither, that, hke the sea after a storm, they will be a long time before they can rock themselves calm. Pray write to me soon ; and don't, on any account, forget to teU me how your dear and honored parents are. I was dreaming last night with all my might about you alto- gether. Give my best remembrance to all my friends who think me worth inquiring after. Have I not been very good to write three times to Sheffield, and never once inquire after my brute creation ? Give my love to Bully [the bird], to Blunder [the dog], and what you please to Puss. Tell the garden that I hope it is in good health, and grows well in my absence. Farewell." Among his Sheffield acquaintance, there were three drawn towards him by congeniality of tastes and jDurposes, whose in- timacy formed the most delightful portion of his social life : Samuel Roberts, a master manufacturer, whose large and flourishing business did not hinder him from occasion- ally occupying the poet's corner of the Iris, or harden his heart against the cry of suffi3ring humanity; Rowland Hodgson, a gentleman of fortune and piety; and Mr. Geoi'ge Bennett, a vigorous promoter of all the new evangelical agencies, just starting on their beneficent er- rands to a sorrowing world. For more than a quarter of a century, these four fi'iends met once a month at each other's houses, to lay out jilans, and to strengthen each other in labors of Christian usefulness. Chantrey's genius, whose suburban l:»irth made Sheffield proud to claim him 118 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. as her own child, \ras early recognized by Montgomery, and the Iris was the first paj)er Avhich introduced him to the public, and predicted his renown. In 1805, when he was in Sheffield painting portraits in oil for four guineas, he took an excellent likeness of the poet, from which the engraving m this volume was taken. January 9, 1806, the Iris advertised The Wanderer of Switzerland. Three years passing through the press, the edition, five hundred copies, was sold in as many weeks. A second edition was soon imnted in London, and the author was ofiered a hundred pounds for his coj^yright. This he declined, to accept proposals from Longman & Co., popular publishers in the metropolis, giving him half the profits and allowing him to retain the coi^yright. The Wanderer of Switzerland had no reason to com- plain of his reception. The subject — a patriotic plaint over down-trodden liberties, impersonated in the touching ex- periences of a fugitive family — was one which directly appealed to the strongest affections and best instincts of the heart. In certain cii'cles it was very popular. And though the popularity of a work at its outset is no neces- sary proof of genuine merit, it forms an important item in its marketable value. Its success surprised its author, and the generous Avelcome given it by many of the critics of the day reassured him in this road to fame. In a favorable notice in the Eclectic Review, whose tone was given by such men as Robert Hall, John Foster, Dr. Gregory, and Adam Clai-k : " We are happy," ran one paragraph of the editor's criticism, " to recognize in Mr. Montgomery the Alcffius, whose lyre has often delighted us. He displays a rich and romantic fancy, a tender heart, a copious and active command of imagery and language, and an irresistible influence over the fcehuGcs. His shorter "WANDERER OF SWITZERLAND." ng poems are elegant and tasteful ; some of them are highly poetical and interesting ; others assume a degree of cheei*- fulness, yet very much softened by an air of tender melan- choly. It is in the higher sj^heres of sentiment that he touches the chords with the hand of a mastei'. From many passages in this volume we presume, and indeed hope, that Mr. M. has had real causes of grief, and that -he has not assumed a tone of melancholy, as he might a black coat, from an idea that it was fashionable and becoming. We per- ceive, with no small pleasure, that his heart is not insensible to religious sentiment : we hope that his religion is genuine, as well as warm, not a feeling merely, but a habit ; and that his fine talents are devoted to the service of Him 'who giveth the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.'" This hope a subsequent intimacy amply verified. A cor- respondence was soon opened between Daniel Parken, Esq., editor of the Eclectic, and Montgomery, and long before the two met there existed a dehghtful and intimate interchange of thought and feeling. Montgomery appears for a time contributor to the Review. Di*. Aikin, already so much interested in the rising fame of the unknown poet, was more than ever charmed with Tlie 'Wanderer of Switzerland ; and when his identity was fairly recognized, no warmer friend had he than Miss Lucy Aikin, the Doctor's gifted daughter, who did not hesitate to declare herself " delighted that the loved Alcaeus was at last found out." The Doctor thus wrote him : " Stoke Newington, January 29, 1S07. "Dear Sir, " Your last letter, relating . chiefly to the third edition of your poems, I did not feel that it required a particular answer; and Ijaving been n^uch occupied with the Athe- 120 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. n£Bum, and other concerns, I was not disposed to write more than was necessary. The mterval of your correspond- ence now, however, seems so long, that I am impatient for its renewal ; and, besides, I owe you an acknowledgment for the lustre you have thrown upon our first number by your Molehill. It has, I assure you, been much admired, and been judged worthy of its author. My friend, Mr. Roscoe, told me he recognized the muse of Montgomery in the first stanza. I know not how to urge you for future contributions, since you ought to have in view a second volume of virgin pieces ; but whatever you may think fit to bestow on us will meet with a cordial welcome. " I know not how to condole with you on the increased occupation of your time, that the discovery of your merits by the world has brought upon you. If the effects are somewhat burthensome, the cause is such that your friends cannot lament it. I will hope, however, I shall not be a sufierer from the additional correspondents you are obliged to entertain, but that you will continue to favor me with those confidential displays of your mind which have been so delightful to me. " We often indulge ourselves with the vague expectation that you will sometime find the call of business or inclina- tion strong enough to induce you to visit London, notwith- standing all obstacles. I scarcely need to assure you that few circumstances would give me so much pleasure as the opportunity of forming a personal acquaintance with you. If you could be persuaded to become a guest in my house, you would find a whole family prepared to regard you rather as an old friend than a stranger. " Accept our united respects and kind wishes, and believe me, dear sir, Yours, most sincerely, "J, AlKlN." CRITITQUE OF "THE EDINBURGH." 121 To i^revent any undue elation in tlie bosom of tlic grati- fied poet, the Edinburgh Review, the terror of authors, young and old, shook its paw in his face, with a threatening growl. " A third edition is too alarming to be passed over in silence," it declares ; " and though we are perfectly per- suaded that in less than three years nobody Avill know the name of The IVanderer of Switzerland, or any of the other poems in this collection, still we think ourselves called ou to interfere to i:)revent, as far as in us lies, the mischief that may arise from the intermediate jirevalence of so distressing an epidemic. It is hard to say Avhat numbers of ingenuous youth may be led to expose themselves in public, by the success of this performance, or what addition may be made in a few months to that great sinking-fund of bad taste, which is daily wearing down the debt which we have so long owed to the classical writers of antiquity. "After all, we believe it scarcely possible to sell three editions of a work absolutely without merit ; and Mr. Mont- gomery has the merit of smooth versification, blameless morality, and a sort of sickly affectation of delicacy and fine feelings, which is apt to impose on the amiable part of the young and the illiterate. The wonder with us is, how these qualities should still excite any portion of admiration ; for there is no mistake more gross, or more palpable, than that it requires any extraordinary talents to write tolerable verses upon ordinary subjects. On the contrary, we are ])ersuaded that this is an accomplishment which may be acquired more certainly and more speedily than most of those to which the studies of youth are directed, and in -svhich mere in- dustry will always be able to secure a certain degree of excellence. There are few young men who have the slight- est tincture of literary ambition who have not, at some time in their lives, indited middling verses ; and accordingly, in 11 122 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. the instructed classes of society, there is nothing more nauseated than middling poetry. The truth is, however, that the diligent readers of poetry in this country are by no means instructed. They consist chiefly of young, half-edu- cated women, sickly tradesmen, and enamored aj^prentices. To such persons the faculty of composing rhyme always ap- pears little less than miraculous, and if the verses be toler- ably melodious, and contain a sufficient quantity of those exaggerated phrases with which they have become familiar at the playhouse and the circulating hbrary, they have a fair chance of being extolled with unmeasured praises, till supplanted by some newer or more fashionable object of idolatry. Tliese are the true poetical consumers of a com- munity — the persons who take oiF editions, and create a demand for nonsense, which the improved ingenuity of the times can -with difficulty supply. It is in the increasing number and luxury of this class of readers, that we must seek for the solution of such a phenomenon as a third edi- tion of The Wanderer of Sioitzerla?icI, within six months from the appearance of the first. The perishable nature of the celebrity which is derived from this kind of patronage, may be accounted for as easily, from the character and con- dition of those who confer it. The girls grow up into women, and occupy themselves in suckling their children, or scolding their servants ; the tradesmen take to drinking or to honest industry ; and the lovers, when metamorphosed into husbands, lay aside their poetical favorites with their thin shoes and perfumed liandkerchiefs. All of them grow ashamed of their admiration in a reasonably short time, and no more think of imposing the taste than the dress of their youth upon a succeeding generation. " Mr. Montgomery is one of the most musical and melan- choly fine gentlemen we have lately descried on the lower SENSITIVENESS TO CRITICISM. 123 slojies of Parnassus. lie is very weakly, very finical, and very affected. His affectations, too, are the most usual, and the most offensive of those that are commonly met with in the species to which he belongs. They are affectations of extreme tenderness and delicacy, and of great energy and enthusiasm. Whenever he does not whine he must rant. The scanty stream of his genius is never allowed to steal quietly along its channel, but it is either poured out in mel- ancholy tears, or thrown \ip to heaven in all the frothy magnificence of tiny jets and artificial commotions," Jhe caustic raillery of the Edinburgh, though often whetted against real merit and true genius, did, neverthe- less, a wholesome work for literature. Slow often in its discernments, overbearing in its temper, and rude in its on- slaughts, it provoked careful study, a more vigorous tone, and higher finish among the writers of that day. Real abihty it could crowd, but not crush ; and the lessons taught by its flagellations were sometimes those which laid the foundations for successful authorship and j^ermanent fame. Montgomery Avinced before its verdict, "The Edinburgh Review has, indeed, made me miser- able beyond anything that the malice or the tyranny of man had been able to inflict on my sensibility, or on my pride before," he writes to Parken, " All that I suffered from political persecution and personal animosity in the former l^art of my life, seemed manly and generous oiiposition in comparison with the cowardly, yet audacious malignity of this critic, who took advantage of the eminence on which he was placed, beyond the reach of retaliation, to curse me like Shimei, However, be it as it may, and much as I have suffered from it both in health and mind, I would rather be the object than the author of such outrageous abuse. Your letter foimd me in the de^^th of despondency, in which that 124 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. critique, and anotlier, in reality, far more formidable event, which was made known to me on the same day, had pk^nged me. A rival newspaper was annomiced in Shef- field, and I foreboded little less than ntter ruhi to mine from my knowledge of the persons concerned in it. In that situation of mind, in the very week in which I M^as thus assailed, both in fame and fortune, by unn\erciful and interested men, I wrote, from the binding pledge which I had given you, the remarks on Walter Scott's last poems. I scarcely recollect what I said of them, for I have never yet ventured to revise my rough copies, and during t-he three or four days in Avhich I composed them, by stratagem as it were — stealing a moment or a minute at a time, as I could snatch them from the gloom of my mind, and the distraction of my thoughts. This I know well, that, racked and broken as I was myself on the wheel of the Scotch in- quisitors, I showed all the mercy that my conscience would permit towards him. I did him all the justice that I could, though I could not help feeling some of the weakness and wickedness of envy towards him, as he had been the fa- vorite, and, I understand, the associate of my butchers; none of that envy, however, I hope is betrayed in my re- view. I tried with all my might to hide the cloven foot ; if I have shown it, chop it off, for I would rather limp on a wooden leg than be seen dancing with it. When your letter came, as I said before, I was very unhappy ; it was like a rainbow to my hopes, which had sickened in the deferred expectation of hearing from you soon afler the re- ceipt of my review of Scott's ' Ballads.' Since that time I have been slowly recovering my composure. The poison- tree of Edinburgh has not killed me this time with its pesti- lential influence, nor shMl I be immediately reduced to beggary by my rival newsmonger." A KIVAL NEWSPAPER. 125 Ah, the rubs and chances of fortune. "The web of our life is of a mhigled yarn, good and ill together." We are glad to see the poet has stuff in him not easily put down. A frost has indeed come upon his " blushing honors," but not a killing one. " I thank you," he says, to a friend, " for your consola- tions on my escajDe, with barely my life in my hand, from the tomahawks of the northern banditti. I yet feel the venom on my cheek — this is downright pride, I know. If I had been a thousandth part as humble in heart as I i^re- tend to be, I should scarcely have felt the insect — at least it would have been as little as the injury, which I trust has not been very great. " If I am getting neither fame or money, I have all the plague without the jirofit of them, for literary and pecuni- ary engagements continually j^ress and even harass me. t have hardly drawn one peaceful breath to-day ; and three proofs are now waiting at my elbow. I cannot go to Man- chester these — months ! — I won't say how many. " On Monday last, proposals were issued for publishing a new newspaper in Sheffield, by a person who formerly was in my office nearly nine years. My very bread and water are now precarious, and, unless I wrestle hard to keep them, the staff and the cup of life will be snatched from me by one who founds his expectations of success jirincipally, I am convinced, on my unpopularity and imbecility. This is dreadfully humiliating : I have been drowning, these twelve years, and just when I imagined I was getting my head above water, comes a hand and plunges me into the deep again ! The other misery that I fell into on the same day, is perhaps yet more mortifying ; I received the Edinburgh review of my poems." A fair picture of an author and editor behind the scenes. 11* 126 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. Let nobody envy him, or ignorantly suppose, from the well-filled and easily read columns which issue from his work-shop, that his life is made "to ruu ever upon even ground." Another criticism of " The Edinbui-gh," a few months later, wounding as deeply, was less passively endured. The avenging i^en of Byron came to the rescue of suffering and smarting authorship ; and his " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers" turned its weapons back upon itself with scath- ing power. Never was returned a smarter blow; never boxer had a more motley or ajiplauding ring. The 'Wanderer of Switzerland came over the water. Perhaps the same packet brought the weird " Thalaba," the last new novel of " The Great Unknown," as Scott incog, was then called, a song from Moore, and perhaps the famous sermon of Dr. Buchanan preached at Bristol, and entitled, " Star in East," which so kindled the fire of missionary zeal in the New England heart. A stranger, dating from " Rome, State of New York," wrote to him : — " Perhaps a complimcntaiy letter from the banks of the Mohawk is a novelty in England ; yet as I am one of your many admirers in these distant forests, I beg leave to address you, whom I am sure it will not disi^lease to be told that tears are shed in these wilds at the pathetic, soul-subduing songs of the imfortunate ' Wanderer.' The little village in Avhich I reside is not far removed from such savage scenes as you have described : " ' Realms of mountains, dark with woods, In Columbia's bosom lie : . . . There, in glens and caverns rude, Silent since the world began, Dwells the virgin Solitude, Unbetraycd by faithless man.* CRITIQUE ON MOORE'S POEMS. 127 The Wanderer of Switzerland has, in deed, an unpar- alleled popularity in this country : three editions are nearly exhausted in the northern, and I know not what quantity have been printed in the southern States. It is m the hand of every person who has any pretension to taste." And as an evidence that the predictions of the "northern banditti" were not always made good by time, twenty years after its first appearance twelve thousand copies had been sold, netting four thousand dollars cash profits to its author, and its seventh edition was just then advertised by the pubUshers Longman & Co. Parken having engaged Montgomery for the Eclectic, he thus writes the editor, enclosmg a criticism upon the shameless productions of Thomas Little, the well known soubriquet of Moore : — "Sheffield, September. 1, 1806. "Dear Sir, "I have taken the earliest opportunity to return Thomas Moore's poems, with as fe\o remarks as I could possibly make on them, though you will probably think them too many ; but if you knew how much I have cur- tailed even what I had written, and how much more I have omitted to write at all, which occurred to my mind, and begged hard for admission as evidence against him, you would give me great credit for forbeai'ance. However, your discretion must determine how far this article must be further abridged. It has been the most difficult task which you have yet set me, for as I was restricted, and very justly too, from making extracts, I was obliged to confine myself to very general remarks, and to be as guarded as possible in the expression of them, not to provohe evil imaginations, while I was endeavoring to repress them. The subject is 128 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. SO abominable that it cannot be touched without defilement : but it must he touched ; and this shameless publication can- not be sliglitly passed over by you (' Eclectic' Reviewers), as the defenders of that revelation which requii-es purity of heart and holiness in all manner of conversation. Besides, the work is of uncommon genius ; this cannot be denied ; nay, it must be conceded^ lest the world should say you have not the honesty 'to give the devil his due.' Under these considerations, I can only assure you that I have done my best — that is my worst — to condeimi this profligate volume according to tlie strictest justice, which would neither ask nor give one grain of allowance, for in this cause I felt it my duty neither to take nor grant any quai*- ter. I therefore endeavored to admit the full merit of the author's talents, while I did not spare one hair of his de- merits as a libertine m ^^I'inciple, and a deliberate seducer in practipe. I am so exceedingly depressed in spirit to-day, that I can hardly think straightforward, much less write cleai'ly. " I am, very truly, your obliged friend and servant, " J. MoNTGOilERY." The January number of the Eclectic contained Mont- gomery's critique on Wordsworth's "Lyrical Ballads," &c.,* concerning Avhich he had thus Avritten to the editor three months jDreviously : — " I am almost sure that you and I differ very widely in our opinions concerning Wordsworth's talents, and per- haps more concerning his performances. My free, sin- cere, and utterly unbiassed sentiments I send you, not at all dreading your displeasure, because I hold a poet's merits in higher estimation than you do. I know that * Eclectic Review, vol. iv., p. 35. CRITIQUE ON "LYRICAL BALLADS." 129 "wliGn you engage me to review anj work, it is my own juclgrueiit that you require me to exercise, and you do not expect that it shall always be in consonance with yours. I feel exceedmg great reluctance to censure the works of a man of high and noble genius, however un- worthy of him, because I am aware that the vivid imagina- tion of poets, which I doubt not is always accompanied with equal self-complacency, often seduces them mto errors which they know not to be such, but mistake them for excellencies of the purest order, when they are nothing but delirious wanderings from truth and nature. Yet it is hard to punish them for such follies, as if they had been guilty of crimes ; lenity is not the character of any exist- ing Review, nor are any of our periodical critics too lavish of praise. I hope that your readers will find as much rigor of censure in this article as wiU reconcile them to the warmth of commendation which I have most honestly and heartily bestowed on Wordsworth's undeniable merits. The cry is up ; and it is the fashion to yelp him down. I belong not to the pack, nor will I wag my tongue or my tail, on any occasion, to please the multitude. I am con- scious of no personal partiality to prejudice me in favor of Wordsworth. I am sure the poetry of two men can- not differ much more widely than his does from mine. I hate his baldness and vulgarity of phrase, and I doubt not he equally detests the splendor and foppery of mine ; but I feel the pulse of poetry beating through every vein of thought in all his compositions, even in his most pitiful, puerile, and affected pieces. To yoii I need not add that his frigid mention of my name in his first note has not influenced me to speak more favorably of him than I otherwise would have done. It is a proud and almost contemptuous notice which he has taken of me and my 130 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. 'Daisy' (I won't change mine for his three daisies)^ and ■vras moi'e calculated to mortify and provoke a jealous temper, than to soothe and disarm one who had the power and the opportunity to humble a rival in the eye of the public. No ! I am persuaded in my own mind, that I have done him justice to the best of my knowledge. I only regret that you will probably derive less satisfaction from the perusal of this essay than you might have done had our opinions been in perfect harmony. You must not be alarmed at the apparent length ; for, though the first four pages are closely written, the following ones are loose, and the whole will make no more, I believe, than eight of yours at the most. I confess that I tore myself from i^oetry to criticism, on this occasion, with excessive reluctance. My mind was so alive with images and senti- ments connected with my West Indian poem, that I did violence to my most favorite feelings to undertake this review. Nobody but you, and my own bmding promise, could have moved me." To his friend Parken he wi'ites, October 1, 1806 : " Take the worst news I have to tell you. I have not written a line about Wool's Warton, but indeed I will do my very best to send you the article in ten days, so that, instead of Monday next, do not expect it before Monday se'nnight. If you can forgive this, read forward ; if not, throw this letter into the fire, and ivrite me as scolding an answer as you can, and take care that it be charged with treble postage ; I will not lose it at the post-ofiice, if it be an angry one, and be less than three full sheets. Now I hold you at defiance ; you will cool before you have writ- ten one page of hard words against so poor an oflfender as I am, and the moment you cool, I shall be pardoned, and received into more gracious favor than ever. Now, as I LETTER TO PARKEN. 131 see you arc a much more reasonable being than you -were a dozen lines ago, hear my apology, — may you never feel it ! During the whole of the last month I have been sink- ing in despondency, till I have hardly had the spirit to languish through my ordinary drudgery of business, and much less to listen to Wool's dull narrative and stupid criticism, which are both so wretchedly neutral, that they can no more provoke than they can delight me ; and, un- less I am in a rapture or in a rage, I can find neither thoughts nor language to employ for or against an author. I do not intend to tell the public how very humbly I think of this huge quarto, which is as flat and as unmeaning to me as a grave-stone wuth no other inscription than, ' Here lies Joseph Warton, D.D.' " I cannot engage to furnish you with any remarks on this work in less time than I have named, because I have to go into Derbyshire at the beginning of next week, which will take me away for several days. But I will endeavor to make you amends in the course of the month by send- ing you a few pages on the ' Life of Colonel Hutchinson,' which fell like a judgment upon me this afternoon for not having despatched Warton sooner : I never received a parcel before from you that was only half welcome ; but this was indeed so, because it reminded me of my trans- gression, and inflicted a new penance on me, at a tim^ when I am very ill qualified to bear any of ' the miseries of human life.' I will send you one of my newspapers by post to-morrow. You will find on the last page of it a few most melancholy stanzas, breathed, or rather groaned out (in the language of Timothy Testy, — that is, yon, when you read this letter, — and Samuel Sensitive, — that is, 7ne, while I am writing it) in the bitterness almost of despair, and which have more truth than poetry in them. 1.32 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. There are some subjects on which my mind is continually rolling, that forbid me ever to liope for peace on earth, because I am tempted in my gloomy fits to think that I can never find rest for my soul even in the consolations of the gospel, for I can never forget its threatenings : even on Mount Calvary I hear the thunders of Sinai. But I "will not wound your heart on this tremendous theme. By the by, have you seen the Critical Review of August ? It i^raises my little volume most unmercifully ; but it has found out that I am a Jacobin in politics, and a fanatic in religion. As for the first accusation, I know how to de- si^ise it ; and for the second, tlie reproach of the Cross, would to God that I were worthy of it ! — I am glad you think highly of ' Home.' You are right respecting the disposition to depreciate the merits of living poets. I don't choose to refer to my volume here, but for that very reason, ought not the Eclectic Review to set an example of independent judgment, and boldly venture to jiraise living merit, and to lead 2)ublic opinion, not to sneak after it, as most of our reviewers do; who wait to hear what the world has to say about any new author, in whom they suspect there may be merit, though they dare not declare it, at the peril of all their critical reputation, till every- body else has acknowledged it. My observations on ' Home' were written without seeing a remark of any- body else's upon it, and w^ithout being acquainted with a human being but myself who had read it. This, my dear sir, you may rely upon, that I shall always write w??/ own judgment, whether it be worth your adoption or no ; but I shall be always subject to your curtailments, nay even your utter rejection, when you totally disapprove, so long as I can have confidence in the unbiassed mdependcnce of your own judgment ; for I never will nor can submit to SCOTT AND SOUTHEY. 133 write to the prejudices or the private interests of any- party whatever. Your kind information respecting the success of ray critique on Dermody gives me a httle encouragement ; hut j^ray hide my name in the most secret part of your breast, where you conceal your best deeds from every human eye. I have scribbled this as hastily as possible, to put you in and out of pain respecting Wool's AVarton." Montgoinery has just received from London the " Lay of the Last Minstrel," and " Marmion." " Walter Scott is an admirable writer," he says, " is a poet sui generis; but, Avhenever he steps on modern ground, he is only one of the weakest of us ; in his magic circle he is inunitable — out of it, a gentleman who writes with ease." Scott, at this time, was connected with the Edinburgh Heview, and made generous overtures to enlist Southey in its service. Southey declined. "The objections which weigh with me against bearing any part in this journal are these," he replies ; " I have scarcely an opmion in common with it upon any subject. My feelings are still less in unison with Jeffrey than my opinions. On subjects of moral and political imj)ortance, no man is more apt to speak in the very gall of bitterness than I am, and this habit is likely to go with me to the grave ; but that sort of bitterness in which he indulges, which tends directly to wound a man in his feelings, and injure him in his fame and fortune (Montgomery is a case in j^oint) appears to me utterly inexcusable. The emolument to be derived from writing at ten guineas a sheet, Scotch measure, instead of seven pounds, annual, would be considerable ; the pecu- niary advantage, resulting from the different manner in which my future works would be handled, still more so. 12 134 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. But my moral feelings must not be compromised. To Jeffrey, as an individual, I shall ever be ready to show every kind of individual courtesy ; but of Judge Jeffrey of the Edinburgh Review I must ever think and speak as of a bad j^olitician, a worse moralist, and a critic, in matters of taste, equally incompetent and unjust." Ebenezer Elliott, just shaking his shaggy locks, and kindling at " man's inhumanity to man," writes to the Bard of Keswick for counsel how to bring his " first fruits" be- fore the public. AYe hope his reply will not be considered an interloper in our pages. It may serve to answer similar questions not imfrequently put in our time. "A recommendation to the booksellei's to look at a manu- script is of no use whatever," Avrites Southey to the young Corn-law Rhymer, " In the way of business they glance at everything Avhich is offered them, and no persons know better what is likely to answer their purpose. Poetry is the worst article in the market : out of fifty volumes, which may be published in the course of a year, not five pay the expense of publication ; and this is a piece of knowledge which authors in general purchase dearly, for, in most cases, these volumes are printed at their o^vn risk. " From the specimen of your productions now in my writing-desk, I have no doubt you possess the feeling of a poet, and may distinguish yourself; but I am sure prema- ture publication would eventually discourage you. You liave an exami^le in Kirke White ; liis ' Clifton Green' sold only to the extent of the subscriptions he obtained for it ; and tlie treatment "which it experienced drove him, by his own account, almost to madness. My advice to you is, to go on improving yourself, without hazarding anything; you cannot practice Avithout improvement. Feel your way before the public, as Montgomery did. lie sent his SOUTIIEY'S ADVICE TO ELLIOTT 135 verses to the ne-\vspapers, and, when they were copied from one to another, it was a sure sign they had suc- ceeded. He then communicated them, as they were copied from the papers, to the Poetical Register ; the Reviews selected them for praise ; and thus, when he published them in a collected form, he did nothing more than claim, in his own character, the praise which had been bestowed upon him under a fictitious name. Try the newspapers ; send what you think one of your best short poems to the Courier or Globe. If it is inserted, send others, with any imaginary signature. If they j^lease nobody, and nobody notices them with praise, nobody will with censure, and you will escape all criticism. If, on the contrary, they attract attention, the editor will be glad to pay you for more — and they still remain your property, to be collected and reprinted in whatever manner you may think best hereafter." CHAPTEH IX. THE CHIMXEY-SWEEPS — LOTTERIES — VISIT TO LONDON — SLAVE-TRADE — "the west indies" — " THE WOULD BEFORE THE FLOOD" — VISIT FROM HIS EROTHEIl ROBERT — HART'S-HEAD — THE POET'S HOME — • PARKEN"s MATRIMONIAL ADVICE — CRITICISMS — LETTERS FROM SOU- they and ROSCOE. If the autlior and the editor had his trials, they are tempered and more easily borne by seeking out and sympa- thizing with those who carried heavier burdens than his own. The suffei-ings of a species of child labor, — chimney- sweeping, — hardly known to the children of the present day, excejjt perhaps through a stray old copy of " London Cries," are enlisting the humane exertions of Montgomery and Mr. Roberts. London was already bestirring herself against the inhu- manities of this villainous trade, " which," says one, " can- not be taught without cruelty, learnt without suffering, or practised without peril to the lives and limbs of the number- less poor children engaged in it." In the summer of 1807, an association was formed in Sheffield for bettering their condition, and for devising more suitable machines for chimney-cleanmg, than the "bones and muscles of infants." An exponent of this interest appeared in the shape of a LOTTERIES. 137 dinner given on Easter Monday to these children, which, annually repeated, served to keep alive in the public mind the syinj)athy already awakened in their behalf. It was a favorite anniversary of the poet, who never failed to aid in furnishing the table from his pockets, and, if possi- ble, with his presence ; while the Iris perseveringly did its part to bring the odium of public sentiment against this apprenticeship, with reference to its entire extinction by an act of Parliament. Another craft, also, began to arrest the serious attention of Montgomery, whose gainfulness to himself does not seem to have closed his eyes to its moral vitiations. On establishing the Iris^ in 1794, at the old stand of the Kegister, the young editor became the natural inheritor of its time-honored customs. One of these was the sale of lottery tickets; his sheet, of course, in common with all other papers of the realm, inserting lottery advertisements. This sale was continued at the Hart's-head for several years; and a £20,000 jDrize having once been drawn through this office, it acquired the unenviable notoriety of " the lucky office," which brought an extraordinary patron- age to its doors. " Familiarity with some kinds of sin deadens the con- sciousness of it ; but this was not my case in reference to the state lottery," says the clear-sighted editor ; " it was familiarity with it which convinced me that I was dealing in deceptive wares. I was occasionally surprised at the different kinds of money brought to me by persons of the humbler class — hoarded guineas, old crowns, half crowns, and fine impressions of smaller silver coins, at a time wdien bank-paper, Spanish dollars, and tokens of inferior standard, issued by private individuals and companies, formed a kind of mob-currency throughout the realm. These were ven- 12* 138 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. tured ' for the sake of luck,' in many instances by poor women, who had inherited them from their parents, re- ceived them as birth or wedding-day gifts, saved them for tlieir children's thrift-pots, or laid them up against a rainy day or sickness. "With these they came to buy hope, and I sold them disappomtme7it ! It was this thought, l^assing through my mind Hke a flash of lightning, and leaving an indelible impression there, which decided a long- meditated, but often procrastinated purpose ; and I said to myself at length, ' I will give up this trafiic of delu- sion.' I did so, and from that moment never sold another share." In 1809, Montgomery paid a visit to London, where for the first time, after a correspondence of two years, he met Parken. Lucy Aikin and her father invited him to the hospitalities of Stoke Newington, and Mrs. Barbauld, dwelUng on the same green, came to bid him welcome. At Woolwich, eight miles east of London, down the Thames, his younger brother Robert lived, a flourishing grocer, with wife and children. Here, also. Dr. Olinthus Gregory resided, the intimate friend of Robert Hall, best known in this country through his " Evidences of Christi- anity." Montgomery was invited to his house, and a cor- dial regard, with an occasional correspondence, seems to have sprung up between them. To Merton, a village in Surrey, seven miles south-Avcst of the metropolis, he accompanied Parken, on a visit to Basil Montague, whose wife was an early friend. Here, in a pleasant gathering of congenial spirits, he met the famous Dr. Parr, some of whose habits one had need be very much his friend, indeed, to pardon and to bear with :— smok- ing, for instance, in the drawing-room ; for no sooner was he seated in the elegant apartment than his pipe was LETTER FROM COLERIDGE I39 brought, and fair hands were in requisition with tobacco and fire. As the smoke curled around the canonicals of the Doctor, " and is Dr. Parr," pertinently mused Montgomery to himself, " really so great a man, that it is immaterial Avhoever else be annoyed, so that his comfort is secured ? Or is he so little a man, that he cannot, even under such circumstances as these, forego the usual indulgence of liis fondness for smoking ?" Coleridge, now residing at Grasmere, was about issuing the " Friend," the first number of which appeared in June, 1809, and he thus bespeaks the interest of Montgomery : — "Dear Sir, " In desiring a small packet of these prospectuses to be sent to you from Leeds, I have i:)resumed less on myself than on our common friend, Mrs. Montague ; but, believe me, by more than by either I have been encouraged by my love and admiration of your Avorks, and my unfeigned affectionate esteem of Avhat I have been so often and so eloquently told by Mrs. M. of your life and character. Con- scious how very glad I should be to serve you in anything, I apply with less discomfort to you in behalf of my own concerns. What I Avish is simiDly to have the prospectuses placed and disposed among such places and persons as may bring the Avork to the notice of those Avhose moi'al and in- tellectual habits may render them desirous to become sub- scribers. I knoAv your aA'ocations, and dare not therefore ask you for an occasional contribution. I have received promises of support from some respectable writers, and, for my OAA-n part, am prepared to play ofi" my whole power of acquirements, such as they are, in this work, as from the main pipe of the fountain. " If choice or chance should lead you this way, you wiU 140 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. find both here and at Greta Hall, Keswick, house-room and heart-room ; for I can add Robert Southey's and William Wordsworth's names to my own, when I declare myself with affectionate respect, "Dear sir, yom-s sincerely, " S. T. Coleridge." Another poem is already on the stocks, on a subject hav- ing the hearty co-operation of his principles and affections. Montgomery was a thorough abolitionist — a word less startling to British ears than to ours, perhaps. ' Referring to the rejection of a " Bill for the Gradual Abo- lition of Negro Slavery" by the House of Commons, a few years before, the Iris thus unmistakably shows its colors : — ^^ There is a fashio)i in feelinirit which has ever enabled me to think LETTER FROM SOUTIIEY. 165 little of difficulties, and to live iii the light of hope ; these gifts, too, were accomjDanied with an hilarity which has enabled me to retain a boy's heart to the age of eight-and- thirty: but my senses are perilously acute — impi-essions sink into me too deeply ; and at one time ideas had all the vividness and apparent reality of actual impressions to such a degree, that I believe a speedy removal to a foreign country, bringing with it a total change of all external ob- jects, saved me from imminent danger. The remedy, or, at least, the prevention, of this is variety of employment ; and that it is that has made me the various writer that I am, even more than the necessity of pursuing the gainful paths of literature. If I fix my attention, morning and evening, upon one subject, and if my latest evening studies are of a kind to interest me deeply, my rest is disturbed and broken; and those bodily derangements ensue that indicate great nervous susceptibility. Experience having taught me this, I fly from one thing to another, each new train of thought neutralizing, as it were, the last ; and thus m general maintain the balance so steadily, that I lie down at night with a mind as tranquil as an infant's. " That I am a very happy man I owe to my early mar- riage. When little more than onc-and-twcnty, I married under circumstances as singular as they well could be — and, to all appearances, as improvident ; but from that hour to this, I have had reason to bless the day. The main source of disquietude was thus at once cut off; I had done with hope and fear upon the most agitating and most important action of life, and ray heart was at rest. Sev- eral years elapsed before I became a father; and then the keenest sorrow which I ever endured was for the loss of an only child, twelve months old. Since that event I have had five children, most of whom have been taken 166 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. from me. Of all the sorrows these are the most poignant ; but I am the better for them, and never pour out my soul in prayer without acknowledging that these dispensations have drawn me nearer to God. " But I will not jiursue this strain too far. The progress of my mind through many changes and mazes of opinion, you shall know hereafter; and the up-hill work which I have had in the world — up-hill, indeed, but by a path of my own choosing, and always with the conviction that I was gaining the ascent, as well as toiling for it. Something I must say, while there is yet room for it, concerning Tlie World before the Flood. You say that you are about to begin it again : before you do this, reconsider during one half-hour — what doubtless you have considered long ago — \\hether it would not be better to make the Flood itself the termination of the poem, which would render no other alteration of the story [necessary], as far as I understand it, than that of relating the assumption of Enoch in the person of a narrator instead of your own. It seems to me you would gain a grandeur and even a unity beyond Avhat your present design affords. My intention was to assume Burnett's theory [of the Deluge], a book almost unequalled for its power of imagination, and to have connected Whis- ton's with it. I have conceived a youth, the bosom friend of Japhet, perfectly convinced by Noah, but refusing to flee from the wi-ath to come, because the maid whom he loved (though herself convinced also) will not forsake her parents. Their death, followed by their immediate beati- tude, would have made an impressive scene. The outstand- ing figure of the anti-Anakim or Jacobinical party (for I had the parallel strongly in my mind) was a man with the best feelings and the best intentions; but erring in this — that he Uved without God in the world ; that he trusted in LETTER FROM ROSCOE. 167 his own strength ; and, provided he were Hkely to attain his end, was regardless of the means. He, after a St. Bar- tholomew massacre of all his party, was to have burnt (* * * ?) a sacrifice to the god-tyrant. The great temple- palace was to have been some Tower-of-Babel edifice, built in despite of prophecy, and as if defying the vengeance that was denounced. It would have resisted the weight of the waters of the Flood, and have overstood all things, till (following Burnett's sublime vision) the shell of the earth gave M^ay. You have here all that is worth remem- bering of a plan which never went farther than this. If any part of it could serve you as a hint, believe me, Mont- gomery, I should feel glad at having contributed one mihewn stone to your building. God bless you. " Your affectionate friend, "RoiiEUT SO'JTIIEY." Roscoe thus writes to Montgomery : — ■ "Allerton, January 2, 1812. "My Dear Sir, "I have been quite shocked on seeing The 'World before the Flood advertised, as being in a state of forward- ness, by the booksellers, at the end of the Edinburgh Review. Is it possible that my very culpable neglect in not replying to your last kind letter can have deprived me of the opportunity of seeing it in its improved state before it appears in public? I assure you, most feelingly, that this will give me the greatest concern — not that I conceive that any suggestions of mine can be of the least service — but because I shall be deprived of a high gratification, and perhaps lead you into an opinion that I am indifferent to the fate of a work of which I have the highest opmion, as far as I was favored wdth a perusal. You were so good as 168 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. to say tliat I should probably hear from you again before the publication, but as this was coupled with an unper- formed contingency, that I should write in the mean time, I cannot pervert it into a breach of promise. I presume from the circumstances to which I have referred, that the work is already at press, and that I shall not get a sight of it till published. If this be the case, allow me at least the satisfaction of thinking that my silence has not been attri- buted to a wrong cause, or that I could be supposed for a moment to cease to be solicitous either for your favorable opinion, or the success of your productions. I believe I might liave as good a right as most others to allege excuses of business, &c., but the truth is, that a proci'astinating disposition, and an unconquerable reluctance to take up a pen when I once get it out of my fingers, are the principal causes of my offence, and the great plagues of my life. " Could not this inconvenience in some degree be re- medied, and could we not contrive to have an interview, when more can be said in an hour than can be written in a week ? When my son William had the pleasure of seeing you at Sheffield, he formed some expectation that you might be induced to visit this part of the country. Let me then inform you that I have lately enlarged my house, and that I can accommodate a friend ; and that I know no one whom it would give me greater pleasure to see under my roof than yourself, where you shall be your own master, and divide your time between town and conntry, reading and exercise, as you wish. No time can be inconvenient, if I have only a day or two's notice to be in the Avay ; and I shall only add, that the sooner it takes place, the more agreeable it Avill be to, "My dear sir, your ever faithful friend, "W. ROSCOE." MONTGOMERY'S REPLY. 169 In reply, the poet writes : — "Sheffield, January 17, 1812. "Dear Sir, " I do not know whether I was more pleased or sorry at the concern which you express in your last kind letter, lest I should have prepared my long poem for the public, without again laying it before you in manuscript. But I should, indeed, have been grieved, if your apprehension had been well-founded, and I had forfeited your confidence by not giving you mine, when it was most due, and where I might exj^ect to be essentially benefited by your candid but indulgent criticisms. I will tell you the truth. You were the last friend to whom I communicated the poem in its original state. When I received it back from you, I laid it aside, with all the comments which had been made upon it, for several months, and, indeed, shut it as much as possible out of my thoughts ; my mind was wearied of the subject ; I had looked upon it, as one may look upon the sun, till it becomes darkness, and the eye turns for refresh- ment to green fields. Glorious as it had appeared to me at first, at length it either lost its lustre or I my sight with gazing at it. Indeed, I was dissatisfied with my own ex- ecution of the poem, and disheartened, almost to despair, by the strictures which had been passed upon it by some of my best friends. You and Dr. Aikin were by far the most favorable in your judgments, and I attribute none of my misery on this occasion to either of you ; at the same time I do not mean to arraign the severer sentences of my other friends, but they told me with more boldness of the faults of my jioem, and almost jiersuaded me that it was worthless, or my mind powerless, for I could not for a very long time conceive any way to render the plan more inter- lu IVO LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. esting, without wliich they convinced me it was impossible to please the public with such a piece. While I was medi- tating the renovation of it, Longman and Co. wrote to me to say that they were preparing a list of works for publica- tion, and they wished my name to apjjear with an announce- ment of any poem that I might have in hand. This was in autumn, 1810. I gave them the title of Tlie World before the Floods but told them it certainly would not be ready for the press in less than twelve months. It was, however, announced, most prematurely, as I now find, for the poem, though again announced after the interval of a year, is not likely to be lit for publication before next Christmas, at the earliest. Towards the latter end of 1810, having new-cast the form of my jiiece, I began to work upon it with consi- derable spirit, and continued diligently at my task till Juno last ; Avhen, having finished four cantos, the greater part of which was original matter, I sent the manuscript to my severest critic, who is at the same time one of the sincerest and warmest of my friends, lie kept the copy till Novem- ber, and then returned it with such a terrifying string of remarks attached to it, that I was ready to commit both the poem and the comment to the flames, when I found I had been laboring eighteen months almost in vain. I laid tlicni out of my sight for a month, and then with a trem- bling hand began to trace the poem line by line over again, altering, if not amending, wherever he had found fault, but pertinaciously adhering to my own plan. I have nearly gone through these four first cantos ; I had written a fifth, which my Aristarchus had not seen, being composed in the interval while he had the others in his Inquisition chambers. This is the statu quo of The World before the Floods but if I have health and a sound mind, I mean to execute my jilan in my own way now ; and, availing myself of all the MONTGOMERY'S REPLY. 171 critiques wliicli lie by mc on the i^oem in its original state, I will not be diverted by any future interference of friends till I have completely gone through the task which I have set to myself Then, indeed, I trust I shall be as wilhng as a ]:)oct ought to be, to hear the opinions of those whom he esteems, m order to form his o?xv2, concerning the merit and probable success of his work. If I have any opportunity, in the course of the summer, of safely conveying to you any considerable portion of the poem in its progress, I will most gladly avail m) self of it, and thankfully receive your remarks and advice. But till I have two copies of the MS., I dare not again trust it to a coach-office entry, for I was held in miserable suspense when I sent the four first cantos to my friend above-mentioned, w^ho lives in London, and who left it just at the time my precious packet arrived, and did not acknowledge the receipt of it for several weeks. I had no transcript, and a very imperfect remembrance of upwards of eleven hundred Imes, the scanty painful fruit of eight months' labor. Should I be enabled (though at present I see no prospect of it), to accept of your very kind invitation this year, to pay a visit to Liverpool, you shall see all I may have at the time, and vre will discuss freely every part of it, if you are not already sick of the subject from this tiresome detail of circumstances sadly in- teresting to me, but of little importance to anybody else. I have been thus particular, not to indulge the jDetulance or the vanity of my OAvn feelings, but from sincere respect to you, and an anxious desire to convince you that I have not wilfully either slighted or neglected one to whom I am so truly and gratefully indebted. Since I last wrote to you I have had an unexpected opportunity of opening a fiiendly correspondence with Mr. Southey ; a man whom I now feel as much disposed to love for his own sake, as I before 172 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. admired him for his incomparable talents. I am thus sud- denly reminded of this rich acquisition to my few but valuable friendyhips with eminent as well as excellent men, by having just received a frank, enclosing a transcript of the first canto of his new poem, ' Pelayo,' which he had previously promised me. He, it seems, is not afraid to submit his unpublished poems to the test of confidential criticism, which I have found of all criticism the most difii- cult to meet ; because there is so much delicacy and respect due to the persons exercising it, that Avhatever be the hon- est judgment of a jjoet's own mind (which, after all, he is bound to abide by, no less in justice to the pubHc than to himself), when he differs from their decisions (and their decisions are often contradictory), he appears to do so from self-will or self love, and he is gravely told that a poet is the most incompetent judge of his own works. This I do positively deny, and I aflirm on the contrary, that that man, whom all allow to he a poet, is the best individual judge of his own productions, though unquestionably the true worth of them can only be ascertained by the general estimation in which they are held by others who are qualified, each for himself but no one for the public, to judge of them. I have hastily, but earnestly, read over Mr. S.'s canto of ' Pe- layo,' and the first impression on my mind concerning it is, that after the general opening, which did not strike me particularly, the remainder constitutes the most awakening introduction to a story that I have met with in modern poetry. I have always considered Southey to stand fore- most and alone — for the second is far behind him — of his contemporaries. I find a thousand faults in him, and per- haps there may be half that number fairly chargeable upon his poetry, but they are faults of style and manner — wilful faults, and therefore incorrigible ones ; yet I delight in him LETTER TO EOSCOE. I'js beyond any one of bis bretliren, because I am more in bis 1^0 wcr — be carries me wbitber be pleases witb an ease and a velocity so deeply transporting, tbat it seems less the force of anotber mind tban tbe spontaneous impulse of my own tbat bears me along. "Should next summer be a fortnight longer than from my present foresight and tbe tables of tbe almanac it is likely to be, I will certainly endeavor to employ it well, by making an excursion tbat shall include both Liverpool and Keswick ; a few days spent at each would be such a refreshment as my mind, sick of its sohtary meditations, and weary of the im- l^erfect and laborious communication of a few of its thoughts in letters, greatly needs to quicken and warm it on these subjects, the very interest of which overwhelms and en- chants in loneliness, — for I have almost no literary society here ; and amidst tbe vexations of business, troubles of heart known only to myself, and, indeed, incommunicable to others, together with exercises both of my understanding and my feelings on subjects tbe most awful and important, — amidst these trials and occupations, occasional literary discourse with superior men would be a great enjoyment to me, who have little relish for the pleasures of dissipation, or even of innocent and healthful sports and pastimes. When you favor me with another letter, will you say when you heard last of Mr. Carey, the poet and artist, who has cast me off for more than two years, without assigning any cause for a silence that distresses me, principally because I fear I have imwittingly offended him. Even if I Icnew where he was, I should not intrude myself upon him, but I sball always be glad to hear that he is well, and that he is doing well. With best remembrance to your family, " I remain your obliged friend, " J. Montgo:meky." 174 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. " Thank you for your comments on ' Kehama,' " Southey again writes. " The best reply that I can make to what you say of the Hue — ' never should she behold her father more,' is to say that it is altered upon your suggestion. You say Kailyal is a Christian — is it not because the poem, supposing the truth of the mythology on which it is built, requires from her faith and resignation ? I know not how it was that in my youth the mythologies and supersti- tions of various nations laid strong hold on my imagination and struck deep root in it ; so that before I was twenty, one of my numerous plans was that of exhibiting the most striking fiction of each in a long poem. 'Thalaba' and ' Kehama' are the fruits of that early plan. ' Madoc ' par- takes of it, but only mcidentally. If I had gained money as well as reputation by these poems, the whole series would ere this have been completed. Do not misunder- stand me ; when I talk of gaining money, nothing more is meant than supporting myself by my labors ; and the literal truth is, that for many years I did not write a line of poetry, because I could not afford it! 'Kehama' was written before breakfast in hours borrowed from sleep; and so is ' Pelayo,' as far as it has yet proceeded. The world is brightening upon me now. I get well paid for prose ; and yet even in this the capricious humor of the times is apparent. Some of the best years of my life have been devoted to the ' History of Portugal and its Depend- encies,' in a series of works of which only one volume is yet before the public, but upon which as much labor and scrupulous research has been bestowed as ever was or ■will be given to historical compilation. These works will scarcely, while I live, pay for their own materials ; whereas I might be employed, if I chose, from morning till night. LETTER FEOM SOUTHEY. 175 in reviewing the productions of Messrs. Tag, Kag, and Bobtail, at ten guineas per sheet. " Dear Montgomery, you say you -wi'ote of nothing but yourself; only look back upon the great I's which I have sent you in return. I have always said that we English are the honestest people in the world, because we are the only people who always write that important word with a capital letter, as if to show every man's sense of its conse- quence. I long to see your antediluvian work. Do not talk to me of Alfred — for I am engaged three subjects deep after ' Pelayo,' and Heaven knows when that will be completed. The next in order is ' Philip's War in New England,' with a primitive Quaker for the hero." CHAPTER X. MAY IX LONDON — MAY MEETINGS — "THE GOOD OLD WAY " — KELIGIOUS SOCIETIES — COLERIDGE AND CAMPBELL LECTURE — LETTERS TO PAR- KEN — LETTER FROM SOUTIIEY — PARIvEN's DEATH — LETTERS TO IG- NATIUS MONTGOMERY — BUXTON, The spring of 1812 again found Montgomery in London. The May meetings were the chief attraction, for May ah-eady was the anniversary month of those great religious organizations which send the life-blood of Christianity throughout the world. Many of them were then in the freshness of their youth. The Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, one of the first organized Protestant missionary enterprises, could indeed date hack its charter more than one hundred years. It embraced both a home and foreign field ; and extensive missionary opera- tions were carried on in this country under its i:>atronage. John Wesley came to Georgia in its ser^^[ce. Besides a Missionary, it was a Bible and Tract Society, issuing scanty supplies of religious reading long before the birth of insti- tutions for that api^ropriate object. The benefactions of this charity flowed more directly from the English Church. In 1794, an article apj^eared in the London Evangelical Magazine, a Dissenting journal, upon the duty and im- portance of foreign missions, which immediately excited the most lively interest. The Christian public Avcre ripe "THE GOOD OLD WAY." 177 for action. A convention was convoked, and for three days Spafields, one of Lady Huntington's London chapels, was filled to overflowing. Rowland Hill, George Burder, and Dr. Haweis presented and enforced the object which brought them together, with convincing power. The re- sult was the London Missionary Society, which in two years purchased a ship, and sent off twenty-nine mission- aries to distant continents, and islands of the sea. The story of the " Duff" and her precious freight, and the glowing hopes and fervent prayers w^hich followed in her wake, are too well known to be repeated — an imperish- able record of the triumphs and defeats which signalize the onward progress of the Gospel in the world. This quickening spirit of evangelism, rising from the ebbing waters of the " great awakening" which has irrigated Christendom, hearkened and heard on all sides the sighing of souls famishing for the Bread of Life. The voice of many a living evangeUst and stout-hearted itin- erant was gone. Field-preaching, with the marvellous oratory which gave it power, had passed by. The spirit- ual emergencies which had marshalled such men as Whitefield and "Wesley, Romaine and Rowland Hill, had been met, and now, in the subsidence of extraordinary measures and the withdrawal of distinguished champions, the sober second thought of the Christian public was called upon to devise ways and means systematically and per- manently to supply the people with religious instruction. In 1781, a village pastor, burdened with the spiritual needs of his flock, wrote and printed a little tract, which he sent to all the houses round ; some received it gladly, and others mocked at " The Good Old Way," for so was it named. The success of the little book, however, pleased and encouraged him. He soon published six more, at a 178 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. " penny a piece," rich in goodly teachings, and so for nearly twenty years did the excellent and jiains-taking George Burder unfold to himself and the world the idea of a Tract Society. In May, 1799, he went np to London to attend the anniversary of the London Missionary So- ciety. A sermon was preached in Surrey chapel. At its close, while the heai-ts of Christians were glowing with the preacher's eloquence, a few turned aside into an " upper chamber," to whom Mr. Burder disclosed his experiments and his success in a new field of evangelical labor. The little group listened with profound interest. " Combination and enlargement," was the immediate re- sponse. The next morning, forty gentlemen breakflisted together at St. Paul's Coffee-house. Joseph Hughes was there, with his clear head and persistent industry ; Row- land Hill, with his exuberant wit and glowing vigor ; Wilks, with his sagacity and clownishness ; Thomas Wilson, thoughtful and earnest. What other dishes were discussed we do not know; but certain it is, "The Re- ligious Tract Society " was served up and well digested. This was on the 9th of May, 1799. When Burder was Avriting and jDrinting his first little sheet in Lancaster, a gentleman, in pui'suit of a gardener, was rumaging among the neglected masses of Gloucestei*. Troops of noisy, dirty, swearing children dogged his heels. " Oh, sir," exclaimed a poor Avoman, " if you could only see them Sundays. There are a great many more and a hundred times worse — it is a very hell upon earth." The gentleman may have found a gardener in his walk ; but he found something more, for he stumbled on his great life-work, and Robert Raikes went home to project the first Sunday-school which the world had yet seen. His success kindled an interest all over the kingdom. Every- RELIGIOUS SOCIETIES. 179 where pious men and women offered themselves in this new field of labor, and multitudes of children, hitherto totally neglected and helpless in spiritual poverty, Avere gathered into these folds of religious instruction. Every city and sect espoused them; and in July, 1803, a " Sunday-school Union" was formed in London to give efficiency to the general cause. In another part of England the tears of a little girl, whom stormy weather hindered from taking her weekly seven miles' walk over the hills to read a Welsh Bible, deeply affected the heart of her pastor. The circumstance was expressive of the general scarcity of the word of God, and the grief, " which fell a little short of anguish," felt in some districts of Wales on account of it. The pastor's heart was stirred, as men's minds are sometimes stirred by seemingly simple and strong incidents, when the public mind is ripe for action, and new tracks of effort are to be struck out into the teeming future. Rev. Thomas Charles, for that was the 2)astor's name, journeyed up to London, to attend a busi- ness meeting of the newly formed Tract Society. It was in December, 1802. " My people want Bibles. Wales is famishing for the word of God," is the pastor's agoni;:ing cry. Can such a want be put off or neglected ? But how supply it ? The question needed little reiteration. " A Society must be formed for this purpose, and if for Wale? why not for the empire and the world?'''' said Josepli Hughes, his eye kindling and his heart encompassing the world-wide want. Joseph Hughes was a Baptist clergy- man, but no sectarian leadmg-strings crippled the catholic breadth of his manly piety. The thought has taken wings. Granville Sharp lays hold of it. Wilberforce embraces it. Zachary Macaulay advocates it. Lord Teignmouth subscribes to it. Bishops 180 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. and laymen, ei^iscopal and dissenting interests rally around the proposed institution. At a general meeting of its friends on the 2d of May, 1804, at the London Tavern, the new Society may be said to have been christened under the name of the " British and Foreign Bible Society," in whose capacious grasp every nation under heaven may hear the word of God in their own language. Montgomery had now begun to take a growing interest in these institutions. Tlie year before (1811), Mr. Hughes, with John Owen, and Dr. SteinkopfF, Secretaries of the Bible Society, visited Sheffield, and advocated its cause before a crowded audience. The editor of the Iris was present, who, in the next number, thus warmly expresses himself: " To confess the truth, we surrendered our feelings so entirely to the speakers on this delightful occasion, that we were perfectly j^assive to every momentary impression which they made in the course of their respective ad- dresses; and it Avas not till long after the meeting was over, that we could so compose ourselves, as to endeavor to fix on our mind any definite idea of the pleasure which we had enjoyed, or recollect even the prominent features of the speeches which avo had heard. We certainly never did witness such transcendent and contrasted abilities so well and so successfully employed. Yet, after all, what were the men, and what was their manner of speech, in comparison with the sublime and insjiiring subject on which they exercised their talents? Let us give God the glory : it was the altar on which these gifts were laid that sanctified the gifts ; and though we may not be able to heap such precious ofierings there, yet to that altar let us bring what we have, though it be nothing but a broken heart and a contrite spirit. When the Avise men from the East had opened their treasures, they presented the infant COLERIDGE AND CAMPBELL. 181 Saviour with gold, frankincense, and myrrh ; yet was the simple homage of the shepherds at his manger-side not less accepted. Let each, let all of ns, then, join hand and heart, however jDoor, however weak we may be, to forward, the olorious work in which these our elder brethren are so pre-eminently engaged." In the spring of 1812, as w^e have said, Montgomery visited the metropolis, chiefly to attend the anniversaries of these religious Societies, towards whose purposes and progress his Christian sympathies were now strongly attracted. Exeter Hall, a place so intimately associated with the May meetings in our day, was not built until 1830. Freemason's Hall, in Great Queen street, Ilolborn, was then the principal centre of popular assembling, and its walls long resounded with the stirring appeals of an- niversary eloquence. " The Royal Institution" also offered its bill to the literary tastes of the Shefiield. visitor, where Coleridge and Campbell were draAving brilliant houses by their lectures on poetry. The author of ' The Pleasures of Hope' and 'Gertrude of Wyoming' hved in the beau- tiful village of Sydenham, some miles from London, de- pendent upon publishers for his daily bread. And Cole- ridge — it was then " poor Coleridge ! " The terrible habit which quenched the light of his genius, was rapidly gaining the mastery, " so that by two o'clock," says one, sadly retrospecting on his fallen greatness, " when he should, have been in attendance at the Royal Institution, he was too often unable to rise from his bed. Then came dismissals of audience after audience with pleas of illness ; and on many of his lecture days, I have seen all Alberraarle street closed by a lock of carriages filled with women of distinction, until the servants of the Institution, or their own footmen, advanced to the carriage doors with the 16 182 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. intelligence that Mr, Coleridge Lad been taken suddenly- ill." And how did he appear, if happily able to reach his chair ? " 'No heart, no sonl, was in anything he said ; no strength of feeling in recalling universal truths ; no j)Ower of origmality or compass of moral relations in his novel- ties — all was a poor, faint reflection from jewels once scattered in the highway by himself in the prodigality of his early oi:»ulence — a mendicant's dependence on the alms dropped from the overflowing treasury of happier times." What was Montgomery's impression of his brother poets ? " Campbell read from a paper before him," he replies, " but in such an energetic manner, and with such visible efiect, as I should hardly have supposed possible. His statements were clear, his style elegant, and his reason- ing conclusive. After having wound up the attention of his hearers to the highest jjitch, brought his arguments to a magnificent climax, and closed with a quotation from Shakspeare, in his best manner, ofi* he went, like a rocket ! This lecture was the more striking, from its contrast with that delivered by Coleridge the evening before from the same rostrum. In the former case, the lecturer, though impressing me at once, and in a high degree, with the power of genius, occasionally accompanied the most sub- lime but inconclusive trains of reasoning Avith the most intense — not to say painful — physiognomical expression I ever beheld ; his brows being knit, and his cheeks puck- ered into deep triangular Avrinkles, by the violence of his own emotions. But, notwithstanding the frequent ob- scurity of his sentiments, and this ' j^ainful ' accompani- ment, when the lecture closed, you could not say you had been disajopointed. Whatever Campbell undertakes he finishes ; Coleridge too often leaves splendid attempts incomplete. The former, when I heard him, seemed hke a REFLECTIONS ON LONDON. 183 race-horse, starting, careering, and coming in with admira- ble effect ; the latter resembled that of one of the King's heavy dragoons, rearing, plunging, and prancing in a crowd, performing grand evolutions, but making little or no progress." But among the manifold attractions which literature and art could offer in the splendid capital, the leanings of his heart are thus disclosed : " London may indeed be the metropolis of vice, but it is the metropolis of virtue also. If sin abounds there, more than elsewhere, grace likewise abounds there more, and is thence universally diffused through the nation. The fact is plain : in London the masses of good and evil are so condensed and contrasted, that when we contemplate both together, we are appalled at the enormous disproportion ; if we look at the evil separately, we tremble lest fire from heaven should suddenly come down and consume the city more guilty than Sodom or Gomorrah ; yet when we turn to behold the good that is there, we might hope that Lon- don would be permitted to stand for ever, for the sake of the righteous who dwell in it. Every lover of nature, and of the God of nature in his visible works, prefers the coun- try to the town. Of all the months, the month of May — and such a May as smiles and blooms around us now — of all the months the month of May is justly celebrated by the poet as being, " ' If not the first, the fairest of the year.' " At this enchanting season, when an invisible hand is awakening the woods, and shaking the trees into foliage, — when an invisible foot is walkmg the plains and the valleys, where flowers and fragrance follow its steps, — when a voice, unheard by man, is teaching every little bird to sing, 184 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. in every busli, the praises of God, — -u^hcn a beneficent power, perceived only in its effects, is diffusing life, and light, and liberty, and joy throughout the whole creation, — at this enchanting season, who would not love the country ? Who would choose the filth, and confinement, and tumult of the town? I love the country; I love the month of May ; yet the month of May, when the country is most beautiful (had I freedom of choice), I would spend in Lon- don. And why ? Because in that month the assemblies of the people of God are most frequent and most full. Then, too, the tribes from the provinces go up to worship there at the anniversaries of various institutions. The bliss and festivity of nature in spring are but faint and imperfect resemblances of the enjoyment of those seasons of refresh- ing from the presence of the Most High." On his return home, the thread of his summer life we draw out from his letters. He thus writes to Parken : "Sheffield, June 10, 1812. " My Deae Feiexd, " This is the fifth letter I have written to-day (you would tell me it is not yet written, but it will be before you can tell me so, Mr. Special Pleader !) and, therefore, I promise you it shall be a brief one. Indeed, I have nothing to say except that I am once more in Sheffield, but not yet settled into myself; neither the whirl of mind, nor the nervous agitation of my frame, have yet been wearied into rest. Since I left home in the beginnmg of May, I have never yet had one hour of sober thinking, or sober feeling, — I mean every-day thinking and feeling, — thinking and feeling that do not wear and tear out life itself, with alter- nate joys and torments, reveries or trances. O how I long for quietude ! After all the excesses and exhaustion of such LETTER TO PARKEN. 185 intercourse as I held in London with spirits of fire, nnd air, and earth, and water, — for spirits of each of these de- scriptions I encountered, — my heart and soul desire noth- ing so earnestly as peace in solitude. In town I had too much society ; at home I have too little ; four weeks of the former have therefore so unsettled me, that it will re- quire four weeks of the latter to brmg me back to my lonely habits — I mean to the enjoyment of them, in the easy, regular, unconscious exercise of them. Certainly I saw and heard a great deal in London, but it was Uke see- ing the hedges, or hearing the nightingale (as I actually did) out of a stage-coach window, the former in such rapid retrograde motion, that no distinct picture of them could be retained, the notes of the latter so interrupted or deadened with the lumbering of wheels, and the cracking of the whip, that they were caught like the accidental tones of the ^olian harji, when the wind will neither play on it nor yet let it alone, but dallies with the strmgs, till they tremble into momentary music, instantly dissolving, and disappointing the ear that aches with listening. I wonder if you will understand this ; I am sure I do ; and yet I doubt whether I can make any one else. But all the sights and sounds of the last month were not thus ineffable and evanescent to me. Your kind looks are still smiling upon me, and your kind words still heard in my heart. I was often dull and distracted in your presence ; but it was ' my weakness and my melancholy ' made me so ; for towards the latter end of my visit, I was much indisposed, and most so when I had most occasion to be otherwise. My brother and sister, to whom I have written, will tell you more of this, and of my wretched journey home. I am, however, I thank God, greatly recovered, and on a review of the whole, I am unfeignedly grateful to the 16* 186 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. Father of all mercies as well for what I suffered as what I enjoyed during my stay in the metropolis and its neigh- borhood. When you see Doctor or Mrs. Gregory, remem- ber me most kindly to them ; I shall never forget the delightful hours I have spent in their society : every bless- ing of time and eternity be theirs ! " A month later he wrote : — " Since my arrival at Sheffield, though I have neither been confined to my bed or room, I have not been in a healthy state of feeling for an hour. Colds, coughs, pains in the chest, numbness of brain, and numberless hypochon- driacal plagues, successively, partially, or altogether, have afflicted me ; and at present I expect no relief But the wounded spirit and the breaking heart, these are the hardest to bear with resignation — resignation to the will of God. Not that I feel so much over personal sufiering, or rej^iue at my temporal lot, but with these disorders of my perishing frame, there comes so much confusion, and doubt, and darkness, and desolation into my soul, that the powers of my mind seem paralyzed, the affections of my heart withered, and every stream of hope or comfort passed away. Then, when I can neither think, nor write, converse, or even pray with connection and self-jjossession, I do indeed deem myself smitten, forsaken of God, and afflicted, — worthily smitten, forsaken of God, because I will not, cannot, come to him, — and afflicted, because I perversely, and yet inevitably, refuse the consolations of his Spirit. O what a mystery of woe, what a mystery of ini- quity is this ! God deliver me from it, or carry me through it, as his wisdom and his goodness shall see fit ! You will, perhaj)S, ascribe my recent relapse into this melancholy PARKEN'S DEATH. 187 state to the interest .and anxiety which I must feel in the welfare of the person by Av^hom I sent my last unfortunate letter. It is true that I have had to suffer and sympathize with her and for her, in a very difficult situation in which she had ignorantly placed herself, during my visit to Lon- don, in which I found her on my return to Sheffield : but believe me, if my heart had no other, no heavier weight of sorrow upon it, than I must always bear on her account, I should be a happy man in comparison Avith the wretch that I am : my griefs Ue deeper than disappointment of atlec- tion ; it was those griefs that prevented me from ever yiekUng to the impulse of that affection, and, unless they are soon allayed, must for ever unfit me for the sweetest pleasures of this life. Surely you were not hurt by the levity of spleen which prompted me, at the time of writing, not to give you the address of the bearer of my letter. I had no worse motive for this, certainly, than that the com- munication would have been of no service either to you or her, as you will be convinced when I tell you she was going to Mrs. II * * * * 's, at Ilampstead. There, if you have either desire or occasion to introduce yourself, at any time in the course of two months, by mentioning my name you will bo kindly received by both the ladies." But the friend to whom these letters were addressed was no more. lie died, while on a circuit of professional duty, after a short illness, at Aylesbury, a man Avhose talents, in- tegrity, and literary culture adorned every station which Providence had assigned him. " In praise and blame alike sincere, But still most kind wlicn most severe." 188 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. The following letter was addressed to his brother, the Rev. Ignatius Montgomery, and his wife : " Sheffield, July 27, 1812. " My Dear Brother and Sister, " You will immediately forgive my fortnight's silence at a most interesting and critical juncture, when I inform you that I fully expected that on Monday and Tuesday last you would have heard both from me and of me, by our friend Parken, as I despatched a letter on the Saturday preceding to meet him on his return from the circuit, and requested him to inform you that I continued so weak in body, mdeed so much indisjDOsed, that I had determined to try the Buxton waters this week, but that you should hear from me before I left Sheffield, Had I not relied upon tliis, assuredly I should have written at that time directly to you, to congratulate you with gladness of affection on the birth of the dear little stranger that has been sent amongst ns to add to our number and our felicity. Anxiously and earnestly have I longed for this intelligence, and thrice welcome it was, though it came when I was in darkness of spirit and debility of frame, that made life burthensome and death dreadful to me. Do not, I intreat you, as you love me, as you desire your own peace, and as you trust in God, our common Saviour, do not be alarmed at this ac- knowledgment of my state of mind and body, which has been the same in a greater or less degree ever since my re- turn to Sheffield. I am not despairing ; God is only humb- hng me under his mighty hand, and I bow to the chastise- ment and kiss the rod that smites me, as I lie in the dust of self-abasement and self-abhorrence at his feet. ' God be merciful to me a sinner ! ' is my prayer ; and that prayer will be answered in his good time, and in his own manner. O how mysterious are his judgments, and his ways past NAMING A BABY. 189 finding out ! My dear friend Parken now knows, though we know it not, nor can we comprehend it, why he was thus unexpectedly removed from us, and he acknowledges both the wisdom and the mercy of that awful visitation. Three letters this morning brought me the intelligence of his premature death, — not premature, I trust, for I am persuaded that he was prepared to meet his God, though neither he nor we expected the summons would be sent so soon. My heart, which these sad tidings rent, has already been flowing through two letters to friends on this dis- tressing subject, and I will not — indeed I cannot without aggravated misery to myself and unnecessary infliction upon you — dwell longer on it here. My letter did not arrive in time for him either to read or hear read ; there- fore my message to you could not be delivered. I thank God for his merciful preservation of my dear sister in the hour of sorrow, — but her sorrow has been turned into joy. O may she hve to bring up the dear child thus happily given her, in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, and may that child live to be the comfort of its jDarents by ful- filling all their hopes to see- it grow in stature and in favor both with God and man ! I cannot object to any name for the sweet infant, which those who love it best shall choose for it ; but I thought — indeed I made myself almost sure — that it would be called 3Iary Agnes. Were not both its grandmothers Marys, and is not its mother Agnes ? I know no reason, at the same time, why it should not be Henrietta, or why I should not love my new niece as well by that name as those I have mentioned: 'the rose by any other name would smell as sweet.' By whatsoever name it shall be called in due season, I have already placed its lovely little image in my heart amongst my warmest afiections, — and the inscription may be added any time. I9a LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. O how would it rejoice me to meet you at Buxton, as I met you last year, and spend, as I propose to spend, a fortnight there ! I have told you the best and worst, as Ignatius desires that I would. Pray for me, dear brother and sister, that my faith fail not, — indeed it is hard tried at times. I am well pleased that John James has consented to abdicate his throne, and that it is so much better filled by one who is so much less than he. Kiss both the deposed king and the new-crowned queen from Uncle James. Kindest re- gards to Robert and his dear family. Farewell! — Youi' faithful and affectionate bi'other." To Joseph Aston : "Sheffield, July 28, 1812. "Dear Friexd, . . . " Procrastination is the mother of every sin of omission of which I am daily guilty, and by which my life has run so much to waste, that I may almost say the summer is past, and I have scarcely begun to sow for the harvest. This, alas ! will apply equally to my temporal and spiritual concerns. I am always a day behind time, and I fear sometimes that I shall be so at the last, and thus lose eternity. Many melancholy considerations that press upon my mind, and fill my heart with sadness just now, lead insensibly into this train of reflection whenever I take up my pen to write to a friend — which indeed is as sel- dom, as i^ossible ; for I have been for two months past nearly unfit either for society or solitude, for correspond- ence or meditation. The month of May I spent in London, from whence I returned very ill, and then followed such a series of colds and nervous affections as I never expe- rienced before with so little intermission ; for I have always been subject to these, though hitherto with lucid intervals MENTAL DEPRESSION. 191 that admitted Ijotli of hope and enjoyment. Now, how- ever, the evil spirit seems to possess me entirely, and the Harp of Sorrow, that once so sweetly soothed the grief it could not cure, has almost lost its power to charm. In this state of debility and depression, both of mind and body, I am induced to try the air and the waters of Bux- ton. I expect to set out for that Bethesda to-morrow, and stay about a fortnight, earnestly praying, and amidst doubts and fears that assail and perplex me at times, still trusting that He who gave me life will yet bless me with a moderate degree of health, and 'spare me a little longer, that I may recover strength before I go hence and am seen no more.' Forgive the tone of anguish and complaint this letter breathes. I write so seldom to you, that when I do write, it ought to be a cordial from my heart poured into yours, lightening the one, and refreshing the othei*. I wish I could thus cheer and solace you; but, wanting comfort myself, how can I rejoice, by my language and sentiments, the soul of my friend ? Yet I trust you need the kindness of sympathy less than I do, and that you have happiness enough and to spare, by looks, and words, and deeds of charity to friends so poor in spirit as I am. I I know you will bear with me, and therefore I freely trou- ble you with the overflowings of my heart, which is truly full of bitterness ; yet do not be alatmed for me : only imagine, and you will imagine truly, that all those hypo- chondriacal and constitutional infirmities which have ' grown with my growth, and strengthened with my' weakness^ are now upon me in more than their usual measure. These will accompany me to my grave, I know ; but whether they will hasten my journey thither is only known to Him who, for the wisest, best, and most merciful purposes, per- . mits them to afilict me." 192 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. To Buxton the poet went ; and from thence, on the 9th of August, he Avrote to decline Aston's invitation to visit him, adding: " I have no heart for exertion, and no spirits for pleas- ure ; otherwise, it would be a great satisfaction to me to meet you once more in this world, and to meet you where you would be seen to the best advantage — in the bosom of your family. Surely we shall meet again in time ; but when and where cannot be foreseen. O may we meet in eternity, and never part ! " A memorial of this visit to Buxton and its vicinity, ex- ists in the stanzas entitled 77ie Peak Mountains^ every line of which indicates the pensive tone of the poet's mind at this time. Again he writes to Ignatius : " Sheffield, September 4, 1812. " My Dear Brother, " With your last letter I received three others, all announcing the death of the best friend I ever had, or hope to have, on earth. I was very ill at the time, and prepar- ing to set out for Buxton. This severe and sudden stroke laid me lower in the dust than I remember to have been at any time before, often and miserably as I have been prostrated there amidst the ruins of my hopes. I went to Buxton on the Wednesday following, and you will have learned already, from the annexed stanzas, in what a for- lorn and suffering condition I found myself there. I stayed away three weeks ; and since my return, I thank God, my unfailing friend and helper in every time of need, I am growing stronger and healthier every day. My strength and health I consecrate to Him who gave them to me for LETTER FROM SOUTHEY. 193 liis own glory and for my enjoyment. ... I was in private lodgings at Buxton, ou the hill, above the Crescent. I often thought of you, and commemorated our few walks by going them over again. My rambles, however, ex- tended further than your eyes themselves ever ventured to travel on those wild and melancholy hills, from some of which, notwithstanding, I enjoyed transporting prospects. But the chief companion of my walks was the spirit of my dear lost friend, with whom I held most sweet and mourn- ful converse in my thoughts, where he was almost hourly present. I am persuaded that he is rejoicing in his happy release from this world of temptation and trial in which it pleased the Lord to shorten the day of his pilgrimage and sorrows. You Avill lament with me, for your own sakes, as I do for mine, that so excellent and amiable a com- panion should be so early removed, while you and your dear Agnes were only beginnhig to know his Avorth. . . . Both Agnes and you, as well as Henry [Steinhauer] were much beloved and esteemed by him ; and had he been longer spared, you Avould have been more and more de- lighted with him. His talents and his heart were too much concealed by his extreme modesty in everything that concerned himself. I never knew a man so truly and quietly disinterested. . . . My kindest love to Agnes : the same to Robert and his family." Southey again writes him : "Keswick, October 7, 1812. "My Dear Moxtgomeky, "You have here the second [he had previously re- ceived the first Avhile in London] book of 'Pelaya,' or, as I must learn to call it, 'Roderick, the last of the Goths.' I 194 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. have more pleasure in transcribing it for you than I shall have in throwing it before the world ; for though I cast my bread upon the waters in full assurance that it will be found after many days, it is with a feehng something Uke that I should have in setting acorns. In all the prospect, the church-yard enters into the foreground. There is another thought connected with publication, which tends as much to humiliation as it may seem to savor of pride — of the thousands who will read my poem, some for the pleasure of finding fault with it, but far, very far more un- doubtedly for the pleasure it will give them, how very few are there who will really be competent to appreciate it ! and how frequently have I had occasion to remember the point of Yriarte's fable, 'Bad is the censure of the wise — the blockhead's praise is worse ! ' But in sending to you what lias been produced with passion, and elaborated with thought, I know that you will recognize whatever is true to nature ; and that thus I shall have my reward. The figure of Spain may require a note to point out M'hat a Spanish reader Avould instantly perceive — the badge of the military orders, the castles and lions of Castile and Leon, and the sword of my Cid. '•'■Yowv PeaJc 3Iotinta ins make me repine that you did not come where you would have found subjects as much superior in loveliness as in grandeur. You have managed a very difficult stanza with great skill. The last two lines are but equal to one alexandrine, therefore objectionable. You have been aware of this, and so managed your accents that they seldom read as one. The poem is in your own true strain : it has the passion, the melancholy, and the religious ardor which are the elements of all your ])oetry. One of these elements, delightful as it is in such combina- tion, I would banish from you if I knew what, like Tobit's SOUTIIEY'S CHEERFULNESS. 195 fumigation, could chase away dark spirits. Oil that I could impart to you a portion of that animal cheerfulness which I would not exchange for the richest earthly iuheiitance ! For me, when those whom I love cause me no sad anxiety, the skylark in a summer morning is not more joyous than I am ; and if I had wings on my shoulders, I should be up with her in the sunshine carolling for pure joy. " But you must see how far our mountains overtop the Derbyshire hills. The leaves are now beginning to fall — come to me, Montgomery, as soon as they reappear, in the sweetest season of the year, when opening flowers and lengthening days hold out to us every day the hope of a lovelier morrow. I am a bondsman from this time till the end of April, and must get through, in the intermediate time, more work than I like to think of: through it, if no misfortune impede or prevent me, I shall get willingly and well ; for I know not what it is to be weary of employment. Come to me as soon as my holidays begin. You will find none of the exhausting hurry of London, but quiet as well as congenial society within doors ; and without, everything that can elevate the imagination and soothe the heart. " I heard of you in London from Miss Betham, Avho saw you at Mrs. Montague's. Thank you for inquiring about the Missionary Reports. If there are only the two first numbers [qy. volumes?] out of print, I will send to London for the rest, and have a few blank leaves placed at the be- ginning, in which to w^rite an abstract of what is deficient, whenever I can borrow a perfect copy. " My next poem will have something to do wnth mission- aries, and will relate to the times and country of Eliot, the apostle of the Nituencer Indians, and the man who trans- lated the Bible into the most barbarous language that was ever yet reduced to grammatical rules. The chief person- 196 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. age is to be a Quaker, and tlie story will hinge upon the best principles of Quaker philosophy, if those words may be allowed to exist in combination. The object is to repre- sent a man acting under the most trying circumstances in that manner which he feels and believes to be right, re- gardless of consequences ; and in my story the principle of action will prove as instrumental at last to the preservation of the individual, as it would be to the happiness of the whole community if ' the kingdom ' were ' come.' " Do not let your poem languish longer. I, who want spurring myself, would fain spur you on to a quicker pro- gress. I advance in these things wdth a pace so slow and so unlike the ardor of former times, that I should suspect more changes of temperament and loss of activity than eight-and-thirty years ought to bring with them, if I did not find or fancy a solution in the quantity of prose labor that falls to my lot. Time has been when I have written fifty, eighty, or a hundred lines before breakfast ; and I re- member to have composed twelve hundred (many of them among the best I ever did produce) in a week. A safer judgment has occasioned this change; still time may have had some share m it. I do not now love autumn as well as spring, nor the setting sun like the life and beauty of the morning. God bless you !" CHAPTER XI. "the world before the flood" published — NEW INTERESTS^ ENGAGES IN RELIGIOUS LABORS — SUNDAY SCHOOL UNION — BIBLE SOCIETY — HIS FIRST SPEECH — CORRESPONDENCE WITH HIS BROTHER IGNATIUS — RE-ADMISSION TO THE MORAVIAN CHURCH — DAWNING PEACE — SUNDAY-SCHOOL LABORS. In the spring of 1813, TliQ World before the ^oodwas published, prefaced by a little poem to his departed friend which thus touchingly closed : " My task is o'er ; and I have wrought With self-rewarding toil, To raise the scattered seeds of thought Upon a desert soil : Oh for soft winds and clement showers I I seek not fruit, I planted flowers. " Those flowers I trained, of many a hue, Along thy path to bloom ; And little thought that I must strew Their leaves upon thy tomb : Beyond that tomb I lift mine eye ; Thou art not dead — thou couldst not die." It was the design of the author, as he tells us in The World before the Flood, " to present a similitude of events, 17* 198 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. that might be imagined to have happened in the first ages of the Avorld, in which such Scripture characters as are in- troduced would probably have acted and spoken as they are here made to act and speak. The story is told as a parable only ; and its value in this view must be determined by its religious influence. Truth is the essence, though not the name. Truth is the spirit, though not the letter." This poem, which is his longest, though inferior in unity and finish to Milton's master-work, with which it was some- times unwisely compared, contains passages whose descrip- tive beauty, harmonious flow, and quiet earnestness, disclose some of the genuine excellences of the divine art. "It not only satisfied the large exjDectations of his friends," we are told, " but elevated his name in the rank of those whom, at that time, the reading public delighted to honor." But it is not through his larger poems that Montgomery will be best and widest known to posterity. These are indeed memorials of the quality of his genius, and the drift of his soul ; it is his hymns and minor poems, the over- flowings of a heart full of poetic insight and genuine feel- ing, which will most endear his name to future genera- tions. His friend, Mrs. Montague, says : "We have The World before the Flood, — but we have also the World after the Flood; and it is impossible, though I oppose my nine children, and Basil fences himself with bankruptcy papers, that we can always keep it out. You will be with us in the shades of Bolton [Abbey], and your own Elysium is not more beautiful ; there we shall enjoy your work." And there they did enjoy it : his correspondent was in raptures with the poem : RELIGIOUS LABORS. 199 "I have read The World be/ore the Flood again and again. I do not know any character so sublime as Enoch ; it has the grandeur and awful simphcity of Michael Angelo — I borrow my comjiarison from a sister art, for I know nothing like it in poetry. Why did you include in the volume any of your Prison Amusements, to bring us back to earth, and even cast us into prison ? " The painfulness of the anxiety with which he waited for, and received the verdict of the public upon his works, is somewhat abated. Years had naturally moderated expec- tation and tamed the passions; but more than this, other interests were engaging his affections, drawing him away from himself, and offering him that kind of labor which the spiritual exigencies of his soul most needed. From temperament and bodily infirmities, Montgomery was prone to look upon the dark side of all events ; and his religious character, of course, partook in some measure of the same element ; his soul struggled long in darkness and despair, and only slowly did he appropriate to himself the comforts of tire Christian faith. In such a state of mind, wrestling with inward doubts, and lingering under the shadows of Sinai, the new religious organizations of the day, instinct ^viih. a social, active, and joyous Christian life, were precisely what was needed to draw off and strengthen his religious affections ; and by giving liim a work to do, enabled him to gain, through love to man, a more personal consciousness of love to the Redeemer of men. TVe are glad therefore to find him engaging, heart and hand, in the new religious movements Avhich are stirring England; those which recognized no denominational dif- ferences, but iinited all in a common bond, Montgomery especially clung to. His broad and catholic sj^irit em- braced all who loved the Lord, under that simple, and yet 200 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. significant name — Christian. " Life's poor distinctions vanished here." " Our Saviour and his flock appeared One Shepherd and one Fold." At the first anniversary of the Sunday-school Union at Sheffield, Montgomery is on the platform, and for the first time appears as a public speaker. The associations of the occasion evidently animate and arouse him. " It is good for us to be here," he says, " even as it was good for the disciples to be on the mount when their Master was transfigured before them, and appeared in his glory, no longer mere man, but God manifest in the flesh. And how shall we better employ these delightful moments than in. inquiring, and profiting by the result of the inquiry, — 'Wherein consists the happiness of heaven?' The happi- ness of heaven consists in two things, — for these compre- hend all that pertauis to happiness, — the enjoyment of God, and the communion of saints. And wherein consists happiness on earth ? The answer is the same, — in the enjoyment of God, and the communion of saints. No other enjoyment or communion, Avhere these are excluded, can merit the name, or give more than the semblance of haj^piness. It becomes us then to nourish those social, endearing, exalting afiections, that draw us together on occasions like these, and unite us in bonds of Christian friendship. If we love one another with pure hearts fer- vently, we shall love God supremely. If we fulfill the first commandment, we cannot fail in the second ; if we love the Lord our God with all our heart, with all our mind, with all our soul, and with all our strength, then, and not tiU then, shall we love our neighbor as ourself. HIS FIKST SPEECH. 201 In the worship of God there is but one soul, one voice, one song among the ransomed of the Lord on Mount Zion, ' Worthy is the Lamb that was slain ;' and where- fore do these account him worthy ? Because ' he hath redeemed us from every /cindred and tongue, and people and oiatlon, and made us unto our God kings and jiriests.' Hence we perceive that the communion of saints, even in the enjoyment of God, consummates the full, yet forever increasing fehcity of heaven. Let this communion, then, be diligently cultivated among Christians of every name and persuasion : let this felicity be begun in time, and it will be perfected through eternity." Of the meeting the Iris gave a vivid account, and it would seem to have been an occasion of unusual interest. Mr. Bennett occupied the chair, and with him henceforth we find the poet associated in manifold labors of Christian love. A few months later, taking part in the formation of a Methodist Missionary Society, in Sheffield, he thus expresses himself: " In the Bible Society all names and distinctions of sects arc blended till they are lost, like the prismatic colors in a ray of pure and perfect light : in the missionary work, though di\ided, they are not discordant; but, like the same colors, displayed and harmonized in the rainbow, they form an arch of glory ascending on the one hand from earth to heaven, and on the other descending from heaven to eaitli — a bow of promise, a covenant of peace, a sign that the storm of wrath is passing away, and the Sun of Righteousness, with healing in his wings, breaking forth on all nations." Extracts from a letter to his brother Ignatius and his wife on the death of a daughter, disclose more of his inner life: 202 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. "Sheffield, August 11, 1813. " My Dear Brother aotd Sister, " I believe that this letter will find you in that sweet and humble state of resignation to the divine will, which best becomes those who sorrow not as they do who are without hope ; and since the bitterness of death is past, and the violence of grief subsiding into patient endurance, I may now come into your quiet dwelling in this accus- tomed form, and say, ' Peace be unto you.' The infant, He Avho lent it to you has reclaimed ; and I doubt not that, to borrow a Scriptui'e phrase, he has received his own with usury, at his coming, on this occasion. Remem- ber that you occupied but till he came ; he is come, and though your treasure is taken from you for awhile, it is only laid up in heaven in eternal security for you, and will be restored to you in the day of the Lord, when she whom you loved so dearly and mourn so bitterly will be one of the brightest jewels in your crown of righteousness. I say this under the perfect persuasion that you faithfully fulfilled your duty as jDarents to this little saint thus early translated, yet in good time — for it was the Lord's time — to the kingdom of her heavenly Father. This prov- idence you both feel has drawn you nearer to God ; and the nearer you have been drawn to Him, have you not been the more strengthened and comforted, and submissive to His will, till at length you had no will of your own, and were enabled to rejoice amidst your afiiiction, in hope of the glory that shall hereafter be revealed, of which Hen- rietta is already a partaker, and to which you, though later than she, shall finally be advanced? Since we met in London in May last year, this dear child has been born into our family, has lived in it her full appointed time, and is entered into rest, even before she entered into conflict CHILDREN IN HEAVEN. 203 •U'ith sin. I had a sister once, but she was in heaven "be- fore I ajipeared on earth ; with the lovely idea which I form of her, the idea of sweet Henrietta shall now be associated in my mind — not only in my imagination but in my affections ; for, though I never saw either, they live and they will live forever, where — O God grant it ! — where I would be too, when I have put off all the sorrows of mortality. These two little ones are perhaps now com- l^anions in paradise. Henrietta — you know not how much she learned on earth — may already have met both her mother's and her father's parents at the footstool of the throne of the Redeemer — for that is their place even in heaven ; and I can imagine how many welcome things she has told them concerning Agnes and Ignatius. Me she never knew : it is well, for so can she have nothing to say which a spirit in the body might imagine would grieve even a spirit in glory to hear. My dear brother and sister, how little have you to mourn for in the loss of a child so innocent, because so young ! and how much cause to re- joice, under that loss, that she is rescued forever from the evil which is in this world, and the world which is to come ! At this moment, while I am writing in a distant part of the kingdom, you are prei:)aring to commit the precious dust of that redeemed one to the grave. In spirit I am with you. When that dust shall rise again at the last day, O may we rejoice together ! I must tear my hand away from this subject, or it Avill fill my letter ; and I have a few things to say concerning myself I have for several weeks past undergone sore trials and buffetings in my own soul. At times it has seemed as if the Lord had forsaken me ; as if His ' mercy were clean gone forever ; ' not because He was changed, but because I was so heartless and cold, and alienated from Him. I have indeed been much indisposed 204 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. from similar weakness and disorder as troubled me twelve months ago ; and I lind that when the consolations of the Lord are most needful in illness and infirmity of body, they are hardest to seek ; thongh the heart is alarmed, and the conscience clamorous, the spirit is weak, and the tempter has a tenfold power to dismay and cast down the sinner, who either has not known the Saviour, or having known Him, has lost his confidence in Him. I am a very forlorn being in many, many respects. Since I left the Brethren I have never dared to join myself with any other com- munion of Christians, and I want fellowship of this kind more than in any other way. With Calvinists and Meth- odists I frequently do associate, but I have not perfect freedom Avith either. Good men of both sects show me much love and kindness ; and I cannot help feeling that in their charity they greatly overvalue me, and treat me in a way that makes me little indeed in my own eyes in pro- portion as I appear excellent in theirs. At the same time I lose many blessings, which can only be enjoyed in Chris- tian communion ; and my soul is starved for want of these. "When we meet, Ave will talk more unreservedly on this subject than we have ever yet done, if I can find grace to open my lips upon it. . . . Remember me very kindly to Henry [Steinhaur]. God, our Saviour, bless and com- fort you ; and may John James be all to you that both Henrietta and he Avere before ! FareAvell." Unwilling longer to remain without the pale of some visible communion, and conscious of a groAving want for the peculiar privileges of a church fellowship, he deter- mined to seek readmission into the Moravian congregation at Fulneck ; and on his forty-third birth-day wrote to the presiding minister to that effect. REUNION WITH THE MORAVIANS. 205 "I Avill not delay informing yon," was the cordial re- sponse of the good father, " that in our Elders' Conference to-day, our Saviour approved of your being now admitted a member of the Brethren's church. I cordially rejoice in this, and present my best wishes, united with those of my fellow-laborers, to you on this occasion. Return, then, my dear brother, with your whole heart, to the Shepherd and Bishop of your soul, inasmuch as he has manifested himself peculiarly as the Head and Ruler of the Brethren's unity — return to that fold in which your dear late father lived and died, which counts a brother of yours among its useful ministers, and in the midst of which you enjoyed, in the period of early youth, spiritual blessings such as you pro- bably have not forgotten. Our faith you know ; the Bible we acknowledge as our only rule of doctrine and Chris- tian practice ; and our constitutional regulations, Avhich form a brotherly agreement among ourselves, you are not unacquainted with. More particularly we may perhaps treat of these things, when we shall see you here. Renew your vows of love to our crucified, now glorified Redeemer, and may he preserve you blameless in the bundle of life until the day of his coming !" His feelings on the occasion are thus described to Ig- natius : " On my birth-day (November 4), after many delays, and misgivings, and repentings, I wrote to Fulneck for read- mission into the Brethren's congregation ; and on Tuesday, December 6, the lot fell to me in that pleasant place, and on Sunday last I was publicly invested with my title to that goodly heritage. The dreadfully tempestuous weather, and severe indisposition from a cold, prevented me from being personally present when the congregation acknowl- edged me as one of her members, and recommended me 18 206 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. with prayer and thanksgiving to Him who is especially her Head and Elder. To him and to his people I have again devoted myself, and may he make me faithful to my covenant with him, as I know he will be faithful to his covenant with me ! Rejoice with me, my dearest fiiends, for this unspeakable privilege bestowed on so unworthy and ungrateful a prodigal as I have been. Tell all the good brethren and sisters whom I knew at Bristol, this great thing which the Lord hath done unto me. O, how glad shall I be at some future time to be preserved in life by his merciful care to meet as one of them in your chapel!" Or more naturally do they flow in the beautiful lines of the hymn : " People of the living GoJ, I have sought the world around, Paths of sin and sorrow trod, Peace and comfort nowhere found. Now to you my spirit turns — Turns, a fugitive unblest ; Brethren, where your altar burns, Oh, receive me into rest. "Lonely I no longer roam, Like the cloud, the wind, the wave ; Where you dwell shall be my home, Where you die shall be my grave. Mine the God whom you adore ; Your Redeemer shall be mine ; Earth can fill my heart no more — Every idol I resign." This step had a visible influence upon Montgomery's character : it defined his future course ; brought the dis- cordant elements of his life into harmony ; gave strength SUNDAY-SCHOOL LABORS. 207 and tone to his influence ; and in the growing graces of Christian exjjeiience, he found that peace and comfort which the world had so signahy failed to give him. Immediately he entered upon a life of active service in his Master's cause ; and he found God's gifts only enjoyed — " When used as talents lent; Those talents only well employee], When in his service spent." The Sunday-school cause he warmly espoused. Besides more general labors in its behalf, he entered the Red Hill Sunday-school, under the charge of the Methodists, as a teacher, where his faithful and affectionate counsels, "armed by faith and winged by prayer," were greatly blest. Nor were his teachings confined to Red Hill ; for his sweet Sabbath-school hymns are sung every Sabbath in this country and old England, in all those precious nur- series of the church, where "Children of the King of kings Are training for the skies." The autumn of one year, Montgomery, with Mr. Ben- nett, visited forty schools in the embrace of the Sheffield Sunday-school Union, the report of which, drawn up by the poet, shows if " the world could never give the bliss for which he sighed," a foretaste of it was found in the Master's work. " On many, on all," says the writer, " of these pleasant Sabbath-days' journeys. He who walked unknown with the two disciples to Emmaus accompanied us, not, we trust, unknown, though unseen ; and while He communed with 208 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. our spirits and opened the Scriptures, in the fulfilment of their prophecies concerning Himself at this period by the way, we felt our hearts burn within us, till we could de- clare from experience, in his own memorable words — ' Blessed are they which have not seen and yet have be- lieved.' ... In these Sabbath walks, while we enlarged our knowledge of the adjacent district, its mountains and valleys, its tracts of waste and cultivation, its woods, its waters, and its inhabited places, till every hamlet was endeared to our remembrance by some particular aud delightful associations, we were more and more deei^ly impressed with the utility and necessity of Sunday-schools. . . . We observed that in every neighborhood where the Gospel was preached [mostly by itinerants] if a school was established first, a chapel soon arose within its in- closure, or at its side ; and where the chapel [or the church] it might now be added first appeared, the Sunday- school followed as its necessary accompaniment." CHAPTER XII. LETTER FROM SOUTHEY — SARAH GALES's DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND — LOTTERY ADVERTISEMENTS — APPEAL FOR MORAVIAN MISSIONS IX GREENLAND — LITERARY PROFITS — DEATH OF ELIZABETH GALES — DEPUTATION OF THE LONDON MISSIONARY SOCIETY — DEPARTURE OF GEORGE BENNETT — CORRESPONDENCE — MANIFOLD LABORS — " DAISY IN INDIA" — CALL FROM SOUTHEY — LABORS FOR THE CHIMNEY- SWEEPS — AN AMERICAN GENTLEMAN AT HART'S-IIEAD. " The first thing I have to say," writes Southey, under date of May 29, 1815, "relates to Wordsworth. I put into his hands your review of the ' Excursion,' and he de- sired me to tell you how much he was gratified by it, — by the full and liberal praise which it accorded him, — by the ability and discrimination which were shown ; but, above all, by the sj^irit which it breathed, which is so unUke the prevailing tone of criticism. " Secondly, — but first in importance, — now that the fine season is arrived, will you fulfill in summer the purpose which was frustrated in autumn, and come to visit me ? Neither you nor I need be reminded of the uncertainty of life ; we are now neither of us young men, and if we suffer year after year to pass by, we may, perhaps, never know each other in the body. I want to have the outward and visible Montgomery in my mind's eye — the form and tangible uuago of my friend. Come, and come speedily. There is a coach from Leeds to Kendal, and one from Ken- 18* 210 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. dal here. Write, and fix the time for coming. Words- worth, who is now hi London, will probably be home in about a fortnight, and both he and Lloyd (with whom you will be much interested) are very desirous of seeing you. " The apprehensions under which you last wrote are fully confirmed, and Europe is once more involved in war by the ambition of a single individual, whom I verily believe to have accumulated a heavier load of guilt upon his soul than any human being ever did before him. I am sorry to see the Jacobins act with him ; for I would fain have believed, that, with all their dreadful errors, they set out with a noble prmciple ; but they are now proving that their only impulse at present is a feeling of personal hatred to the Bourbons, which Louis XVIII. is far from deserving. I look to the war with anxiety, but not with fear ; on our part it is so just, so called for by every proper feeling and sound principle, that nothing can oppose it, except that vile infatuation which has made a few persons cling to Bona- parte through all his crimes. "I thought you would be pleased with the party whom I directed to you in the autumn. . . . The sale of 'Roderick' has exceeded my expectations ; a third edition is going to press. I have seen no review of it, but can perceive more faults than the most malicious critic will point out ; and I have a happy indifference to criticism, which proceeds, I suppose, as much from temperament as jDhilosophy. Write and tell me when you will come. Remember me to Mr. Gilbert when you see him. I shall rejoice to see him again. God bless you." Twenty years having elapsed since the flight of Mr. Gales to the United States, Sarah, the younger of his three sisters, decided to cross the waters and visit her brother at Washington. DENUNCIATION OF LOTTERIES. 211 Montgomery accompanied her to Liver2:)ool, and on being asked, after ber departure, bow be felt, repUed, "As baj^py as despair can make me." Tbe answer suggested a love beyond a brother's, — yet it is believed nothing existed but the most cordial fraternal affection ; and, as brother and sister they formed a pleasant household until death di- vided them. An increasing serenity vre perceive stealing over his mind. Called to feel some pecuniary embarrassment, in consequence of an unfaithful partner, he tells us: "Any suffering, of mind or body, I have long ago learnt is pref- erable to the anguish of a wounded conscience ; and, Avhile I can keep myself clear of this evil in secular afihirs, I ought to bear any other affliction with patience, yea, with grateful resignation to the will of Him who is wiser, and better, and kinder than any earthly friend could be to me, and therefore to whom, and to whose disposal, I may with confidence entrust all that I have, and all that I am." No man, indeed, was more prompt to sacrifice pecuniary considerations to moral conviction, when they were in con- flict, than Montgomery. That the lottery system was nothing more or less than legalized gambling, had already forced itself upon thinking men, and Montgomery, as Ave have seen, had himself re- linquished the sale of tickets at his ofiice. But this was only cutting off the left hand of a profitable sin, while with the right he was still accepting the hire of iniquity. The best support of the Tris accrued from lottery advertise- ments; indeed it might seem questionable if the paper could be maintained at all without the generous pay which came in from this source. Mr. Roberts had long waged war upon this evil, and being now determined to attack the state lottery, a re- 212 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. venue recruiting business, he was anxious to enlist tlie Iris fully in the cause. The glai'ing inconsistency of such a course, its editor keenly felt. " Renounce all connection with the accursed thing !" exclaimed his friend. " The counsel was hard to a person in my circumstances," the poor editor tells us ; " conscience and cui^idity had a sharp conflict ; but the battle was not a drawn one ; the better jmnciple prevailed, and after the autumn of 1816, I never admitted another lottery advertisement into my paper. Nor did I ever for one moment repent the sacrifice." Thus unfettered, the Iris took a leading stand in holding up the system to public reprobation. Both pamphlets and poetry issued from his press, aimed chiefly against those ministers and their supporters in Parliament who persisted in resorting to this means for raising public money. Mr. Roberts wrote a satirical poem, and Montgomery Some Thoughts oji Wlieels, both of which had the celebrity of fitness at the time. A petition to Parliament from Shef- field was also gotten up through their influence ; and their indefatigable zeal contributed much towards the removal of the " greatest i:>lague that ever infested the country in the shape of a tax upon the poverty, the mox'als, and the happiness of the people." The state lottery was relinquished in 1824. As for the Iris, we do not learn that its existence was at all jeopardized by its manliness. Not the first or last in- stance, when taking counsel of our conscience has proved better than our fears. In 1818, great destitution prevailed among the Mora- vian missions in Greenland, which called forth an earnest appeal in their behalf in the columns of the Iris. The working missionaries of this inhospitable country, if they endured severe privations for the Gospel's sake, reaped THE GREENLAND MISSIONS. 213 also a precious harvest from its icy slopes. The simple piety of the Greenlanders makes a shining record in the annals of the chm'ch. Although there were no Moravian congregations in or aromid the immediate vicmity of Shef- field, there were warm Christian hearts which responded to Montgomery's call, and in a few weeks nearly £130, with a great variety of clothing and other useful articles, flowed into his hands. " These gifts," said he, " have been altogether voluntary, in the best sense of the term. The purest produce of tho olive is the oil which distills freely from the gentlest press- ure of its fruit ; the most precious juice of the grape is that which flows from the thick cluster, heaped abundantly together, without any other compulsion than their own ripe weight and bursting fulness. The wine and oil which the ' dear English people^ have thus poured into the wounds of the poor Greenlanders, perishing by the way-side, are the purest and most jDrecious of their kind." " Thank you for the jT/v's," writes Southey. " I enclose a one pound bill (more according to my means than my will) for the poor Greenlanders, and I will endeavor to do them better service by sketching — if I am permitted — a history of the mission in the Quarterly Review. I have Egede and Crantz at hand, and will write for the periodical accounts. I have frequent cause to regret that the first volumes of these most interesting records are not to be procured. " It is very long since I have written you ; forgive me and tell me so soon. I am closely emj^loyed, and, as usual, upon many things. A work which interests me greatly at present is the ' Life of Wesley,' upon such a scale as to comprise the history of Methodism abroad and at home, with no inconsiderable part of the religious his- tory of this country for the last hundred years. You know 214 LIFE OF MONTGOMEKY. enough of my intellectual habits to knoAv my love of pur- suing a subject in its ramifications. Just at this time I am drawing up a succmct account of the origin and economy of the establishment of Herrnhut — a necessary part of that chapter which is entitled 'Wesley in Germany.' No part of "Wesley's conduct is so little creditable to him as that which relates to the Moravians. At first he submitted himself to them in a manner unworthy of his vmderstand- ing — as in the affair of his intended marriage with Sophia Cowston ; and still more with regard to William Law ; and W'hen he separated fi-om them, he did not for a long time render them common justice ; but even in some degree sanctioned the abominable calumnies with which they Avere assailed. He became wiser and more charitable as he grew older. I have traced the progress of his mind with great care throughout his writings : he outgrew all his extrav- agances ; but it was not easy to disown them all, " Is there no hojje of tempting you into this country ? Spring is coming on, and you would render me a bodily service by drawing me aAvay from the desk and the fire- side to the mountain valleys and the hill-tops. I am not a man to make insincere j^rofessions : it would give me a heartfelt pleasure to see you here. The Leeds coach runs to Kendal, and from Kendal there is a morning stage every day to Keswick. Come and see me, Montgomery, that we may talk together of this world and the next." Montgomery's present interest in behalf of the mission quickened into life the long dormant plan of a poem, located in those ice-bound regions; and in the spring of 1819 appeared Greenland^ emi^hatically a missionary poem, embalming the memory of the devoted men who " Planted successfully sweet Sharon's rose On icy plains and in eternal snows." LITERARY PROFITS. 215 " There never v/as an age," lie says, " in wliich more good poetry was written than the present, or in which poetical talent was better rewarded by its true patrons, the readers of poetry ; but this very circumstance renders it exceedingly difficult to command attention and secure admiration. Byron and Moore — to say nothing of Scott, Wordsworth and Campbell — carry all before them ; and I am not disposed to quarrel with them or the public that I am left so far behind in talent and popularity ; though I cannot read the works of either without lamenting the general character of their poetry. If they are always as beautiful, they are sometimes as terrible, as the serpent that beguiled Eve. Byron, indeed, is no man, as men are now-a-days — he is one of Nature's prodigious births ; and more original, powerful, and sweet, with all his wildness and barbarism, and dissonance, than all his living brethren put together ; and among the dead I can find nothing like him, though a few may be equal, or superior, taking them all in all." Montgomery certainly had no reason to be dissatisfied with his share of litei'ary profit ; for we learn up to this time that, besides owning the copyright of bis poems, he had received £1,600 from Longman & Co., with good reason to expect that his new volume would in two years yield him from £300 to £400, and £100 yearly for some time afterwards. "Weeks, months, and years pass by, filled with wholesome industries. Editor and author, an active citizen, ready to interest himself in everything which can promote the wel- fare of his town ; a judicious friend to the poor ; an earnest co-laborer in many of the beneficial enterprises of the day, his life was one of increasing usefulness and happiness. Sanatory reforms he bravely battled for ; public events 216 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. he impartially noticed ; wliilG all along his path little poems, like way-side flowers, are sjjriuging, commemorative of the loves, and joys, and falling tears which meet him on the road. Writing to his brother Ignatius, he says : " At this time of the year I am full of employment with Bible, Missionary, Tract, and Sunday-school Societies, which seem rather to belong to a minister of the Gospel than a printer and a poet : my tongue and my pen have continual engagements to meet. I feel at home and happy in the work, though frequently the flesh is weak when the spirit is most willing; and whatever temptations I may have to vanity, — and with such I am surrounded, — be- sides the traitor within my bosom, like Satan at the ear of Eve, sometimes suggesting presumptuous and sometimes desponding thoughts of myself, I have trials and experience both from without and within enough to humble me every day, and every hour of every day, especially when I am in most danger of growing giddy and proud. In Passion week I went to Fulneck, and enjoyed the holy communion on the anniversary of that night on Avhich our Lord was betrayed. It was a blessed season, because it was a heart- searching one; Good Friday also was made exceedingly sweet and solemn to my soul, though I staggered some- times in bearing the cross up the rugged steep of Calvary ; but I was borne up by the right hand of Him whom I ac- companied there." He seemed, indeed, striving to carry out the spirit of his soul-stirring hymn : " Sow in the morn thy seed, At eve hold not thy hand ; To doubt and fear give thou no heed, Broad-cast it o'er the land. DEATH OF ELIZABETH GALES. 217 " Beside all waters sow, The highway furrows stock ; Drop it where thorns and thistles grow, Scatter it on the rock." In February, 1821, occurred the first breach in the family circle, of which, for thirty years, he had formed a jmrt. Elizabeth Gales was not, for God took her. " Soft be the turf on thy dear breast," is the mournful plaint of the poet- brother. But affection, Avinging beyond and above the grave, exclaims: " No — live while those who love thee live, The sainted sister of our heart; And thought to thee a form shall give Of all thou wast, and all thou art : — Of all thou luast, when from tliine eyes The latest beams of kindness shone ; Of all thou art, when faith descries Thy spirit bowed before the throne." " Tiiis day I have experienced another bereavement," he writes to a friend. " My dear and honored friend, Mr. George Bennett, left SlaefReld, on his proposed visit to Ota- heite and other islands in the South Seas, whence, if re- stored to us, he cannot be expected to return in less than four or five years at the earliest. What may happen to him or to us in that long period — long to look forward, though but like as many days to look backward — who can foresee, when we know not what an hour may bring forth ? To be prepared at every moment to meet our God is man's highest wisdom. May He in whose hands are the hearts of all men, so rule and influence ours, that we all, whether at Scarborough, at Sheffield, or at Otaheite, may be found, 19 218 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. when lie comes, watching unto prayer ! Then shall it be well with us here, and well with us hereafter." The London Missionary Society, now nearly twenty-five years in vigorous operation, wished to send a deputation to visit their more important stations, particularly those among the South Sea Islands. Fit men for such an em- bassy, the directors had long been seeking. At length, George Bennett, Esq., Montgomery's intimate friend, of- fered his services, which were gladly accepted, and with him was associated Rev. Daniel Tyreman, minister of an Independent Chapel in the Isle of "Wight. Montgomery's " one word of advice " on the occasion, so seasonable to nip in the bud too sanguine hopes, with their bitter fruit, we let drop on these pages : *'Be determined, my friend, through grace, not to he offended at small things, and not to despise small things. Remember that you are not going to build, but to ^ylant. Do not expect then to see great effects produced under your eye." The departure of his friend from Sheffield deeply afiectcd him, and the susceptibility of his soul for the tenderest emotions of friendship are afiectingly revealed in the fol- lowing letter: " Fulneck, near Leeds, April 2, 1821. "My Dear Fkiend, " I write to you from this place, lest I should have no other opportunity of communicating with you before you leave this country. I must, however, be brief Your aflfectionate letter, Avritten on the Friday after you left Sheffield, did not reach me till last Wednesday. Into all your painful yet transjDorting feelings on quitting the place of your birth, and where the Lord for so many LETTER TO MR. BENNETT. 219 years both blessed you and made you a blessing, !• en- tered with dee]) and lively emotion. Of aU who have suffered loss, and loss not soon to be replaced, by your departure, mine must be the greatest bereavement, so far as refers to the intercommunion of personal friendship, and, on my part, the frequent and inestimable tokens of kindness which you were wont to bestow upon me, un- worthy as I may have been of your distinguishing favor, and little as it was m my power to offer in return, except the grateful acceptance of your good offices. The Lord, who put it into your heart and your jDower thus to be- nefit me. Himself reward you for having been, in this respect at least, a faithful steward of what lie conamitted to you for my profit. He now sends you^ forth to his servants among the heathen, — yea, to the heathen them- selves. — rwith your hands laden, with the fruits of his love in your heart, to disj^ense to them, as you have done to me and thousands in this land, his own gifts. May He keep you as diUgent and upright, and humble and per- severing, Avith all faith, and hope, and charity, "whither you are going, as where you have been ! and may not only the living in the lUtermost parts of the earth, but generations unborn, rise up to call you blessed — blessed of the Lord, — for to Him give all the glory! — with as much reason as I do at this day, and as I shall do when I meet you at the judgment seat of Christ! Meet you there! Yes, indeed, there we shall meet; may it be on his right hand, — or, if I fail, there may we be parted for ever, and you go into life eternal ! But of such a separation who can think without fear and trembling? It need not he, I know it need not he ; then daily let us pray that it may not he. The text which I twice opened at AVincobank, when we were last there, often recurs to 220 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. my mind : — ' "Watch, therefore, and pray al'U'ays, that ye may be accounted worthy to escape those things that shall come to pass, and to stand before the Son of Man ! ' Let this text be a mutual watchword between you and me ; let us often meet iu this passage of Scripture, and, as disciples of the Lord Jesus, let us secure this evidence to ourselves, that we do love Him, by kecj^ing this his commandment. I intended that this letter should only be from my head, and consist of a few dry lines of I'emark, or common-place matters ; but my heart, which seemed a sealed-up fountain when I began, has broken out from its fullness, and overflowed the greater part of my j^apei*. The communication, busy as you are, will not be less wel- come on that account. " But I must notice a few points of business. I have discharged the bill at Mr. Carver's : he expressed himself very kindly respecting you ; and, indeed, the very bricks ia the walls, and the stones in the streets of Sheffield seem affected by your removal, and wish you well, ■ — or would do so, if they could wish anything." On May 22d, 1821, the deputation sailed from Graves- end, in a South Sea whaler, for their long and responsi- ble voyage round the world. Montgomery exj^resses his mingled emotions to his friend in verse, the key-note of which is ; " There is a feeling in the heart, That will not let thee go ; Yet go — thy spirit stays with me ; Yet go — my spirit goes with thee." Chronicling events from his own pen, he writes to a dear niece who visited him : LETTER TO BENNETT. 221 " By the return of Miss Gales, our family is, as it must be a little while longer ; and unless you return, or Harriet conies, it is not likely to change till there be one less, and then another, and then another, and then there will be none! Long after that, may you and your sister be healthy, and happy, and on your Avay to heaven." Another letter to his friend Bennett : "Sheffield, Juno 10, 1821. "My Dear Feiend, " I do not know where this will meet you, or when ; but understanding that Mr. M'Coy will have an early ojd- portunity of forwarding letters to Port Jackson, I will embark on this sheet of j^aper in great haste I assure you, and make as good speed as I can, that while you are sail- ing half round the world to the west, I, by sailing half round it in the contrary direction, may meet you on the shores of Otaheite — if not face to face — hand to hand, and heart to heart. In a far country, the least thing that reminds us of our own, awakens in a moment a thou- sand endeared associations ; and if home-sickness comes over the spirit, too exquisitely touched, the anguish soon throbs itself into composure, or is exalted into ' the joy of grief' One of the last mcidents before we parted has often recurred to my mind. You committed to my care a letter which you had borrowed from a botanical friend, and which had been w^-itten to him by the Rev, Dr. Carey of Serampore. In that letter he mentions that a common field daisy had unexpectedly sprung up in his garden, out of a quantity of English earth in which the seeds of other plants had been transpoited to India. "With this playmate of his infoncy, and companion of his youth — for such the daisy is to all of us who have had the happiness to be born 19* 222 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. in the fields of our native land, instead of its cities — he had been so charmed, that from year to year he had trained a succession of seedlings to remind him of what he had loved and left at home. Now, though this letter of mine may be as insignificant in itself as a daisy appears among millions of its own and a thousand other species of flowers, to a suiDcrcilious eye in England, yet to you the handwriting on the direction I know will be as welcome as the phenomenon of the daisy in India to good Dr. Carey. I have little to say, and am so i:)ressed with trou- bles and duties (the former grievously aggravated by the perpetual neglect of the latter), that I am fairly Avriting by stealth, from a crowd of more importunate obligations, which are dunning and mobbing me on every side. Alas ! the prodigal of time — and the procrastinator is the great- est spendthrift of that most invaluable treasure — must always live in this kind of tribulation. I am too old to mend, I fear — nay, I despair of doing so — and yet I must, or I may fail at last in what is of more importance than all the world to me, as one whose day is far spent, with whom the evening of life is closing in deeper shadows every hour, and whom the unbroken night or the unsetting glory of eternity will soon surround forever and forever. Nothing of particular interest has occurred among your connections here, except what we all expected, but the inconvenience of which we could not otherwise than by experience know. "We are continually reminded of our bereavement by your departure : in the social circle your chair is empty ; your face is not seen in the sanctuary, and at our public meet- ings, the place which you occupied is filled by others, but not as you filled it. Repeatedly, on anniversary occasions, you have been remembered, not only in our hearts, but with our tongues we have testified how sincerely we loved ANNIVERSARY MEETINGS. 223 you, and liow deeply, for your own sake, wc dej^lorc your removal. I may name especially — because you will be pleased to be thereby transported in spirit to the scenes in which you have often been engaged with your friends here, in holy and delightful, as well as benevolent and dis- interested service — the Missionary Union in Queen street Chapel, on Easter Monday — the Old Women's anniversary in the Cutler's Hall, about the middle of May — the Sun- day-school Union Committees, and especially the chiklren's nuister on the new burial-ground (for the last time proba- bly, as the foundations of a church arc soon to be laid there ; and the dead, for ages to come, are to be assembled round its future walls) — the sermons at Carver street, Queen street. Baptist, and Independent Methodist Chai)el, in the forenoon ; — but, above all, in the teachers' meeting in the afternoon, on "Whit-Monday. On the latter occa- sion I was disabled. I meant to have laid out my whole strength, to supply, as far as lay in my power, the loss that would be felt by your absence ; but it pleased the Lord to lay his hand on me, and though I was enabled to be a par- taker, I could scarcely be called a helper, of the joy of our numerous array in that glorious field. "The wound that incapacitated me from taking a promi- nent part in the action had been received in the same service, however ; and I ' pursued the triumph, and jiar- took the gale,' as heartily as if I had been the hero of the day. On the Friday evening before the anniversary I had returned from Halifax (where the West Riding Missionary Association meeting was held this year, and where you were remembered in almost every speech), much exhausted in body, and laboring under indisposition beside ; however, being willing in spirit, I went down to the committee [of S. S. U,] and read — what indeed nobody else could have 224 LIFE OF MONTGOMEKY. read — tlie report at length, compiled from matter trans- mitted by the town and comitry schools. This brought on a violent inflammation of the throat ; but I was again delivered from the miseries of a quinsy by the application of leeches to the part externally, as I had been saved in like manner a few months before. However, such were the zeal and love to the cause displayed by your old associates, that neither the lack of your service nor mine was felt, otherwise than by the kindness and pai'tiality of friendship, to be any drawback from the enjoyment of the day. I don't remember, since the first, a more animated meeting of the Union. A resolution shall be transmitted to you, in which, beside a vote of cordial thanks for your past services, jou. are requested to allow your name to be re- corded among us as patron for life of the S. S. Union. I ought not to forget that our friend, .Mr. li. Hodgson, at the Church Missionary meeting held in the chancel of Rotherham Church a few days ago, made mention of you and your mission in such terms as delighted and aifected many — or rather all — who were then present, and excited Christian sympathy in no ordinary degree in the bosoms of Churchmen, Methodists, and Dissenters, of whom the assembly w^as composed. At the Hathersage Bible Asso- ciation, on Wednesday, I had an opportunity of pronounc- ing your name in ears to which it was exceedingly agree- able, but which would have been much better j^leased to have heard your voice. But I must close this recapitula- tion. " I know of no mortal change among your friends here, though you must look henceforth for the record of one or another such in every future epistle from your cor- respondents on this side of the mighty Avaters. We shall never all meet again as we were wont m this world ; but ORIGIN OF "THE DAISY IN INDIA." 225 there are seats prepared for us at that table to which the redeemed shall come from the east and the west, the north and the south, and sit do'^^Ti with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob. Ah ! then, may none of us be thrust out ; nor need we, unless we exclude ourselves. I duly received your letter from the Isle of Wight ; and we heard of your set- ting sail. The Lord be with you." The letter of Dr. Carey, one of the first Baptist mission- aries to India, here referred to, contained an interesting paragraj^h which touched the poet's heart, and originated one of his most charming little poems. The Daisy in India. " That I might be sure," ran the paragraph, " not to lose any part of your valuable present, I shook the bag over a patch of earth in a shady place : on visiting which, a few days afterwards, I found springing up, to my in- expressible delight, a hellis perennis of our English past- ures, I know not that I ever enjoyed, since leaving Europe, a simple pleasure so exquisite as the sight of this English daisy afforded me ; not having seen one for upwards of thirty years, and never expecting to see one again." Tlie Daisy in India revives the memory of early days, when scrap-books and albums caught up the little voyager to our shores, and when, " Thrice welcome, little English flower," had an unspeakable charm, even to the ear and heart of childhood. Following along in his path, we find him among the group at the laying of the corner-stone of a new church at Attercliffe, with the Duke of Norfolk, Earl Fitzwilliam, 226 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. and Earl of Surrey, the strains of his hymn expressing the devout ittterances of tlic occasion. Again, we hear him in Cutler's Hall advocating a liter- ary association in his adopted town. And now he is at a meeting of the Wesleyan Tract Society, paying affectionate tribute to the memory of a humble brother : " The monthly meetings of the committee of this Tract Society, which were originally held at six o'clock in the morning, were the first prwate religious parties I ever ven- tured to unite with in Shefiield : but in them, I declare, in the presence of this assembly, I enjoyed the purest and most spiritual intercourse which I ever experienced among my feUow-men. For the sake of being present, I — who am so infirm, and constitutionally indolent — have many a time left my warm bed on a cold winter's morning : but let the weather be as cold as it would, our hearts were sure to be warmed in the meeting. It was there, in that corner [pointing to a particular part of the chapel, then boarded off as a vestry] I first saw Samuel Hill. He was at that time a very poor man — so poor, indeed, that I recollect he could not always afford to pay his subscrip- tion of six shillings a year ; but he was rich in faith, ripe in religious experience, and mighty in prayer: I declare before you all, that I never stood in the presence of cmy man with such trembling as I used to feel beside that humble individual. Good God, I thought. Thou hast given to that man, perhaps, only one talent; but how does he use it ! Surely, the responsibility of some of us, who believe ourselves more largely endowed, but are not bringing forth even similar fruits, will be awful indeed." " I have too much upon my mind to do anything well," he writes to Aston, " or, indeed, anything in the right FIRST MEETING WITH SOUTHEY. 227 time, wliicli is half of well-doing at least. You may tliink that I forget you, because I so seldom tell you on paper that I remember you both with gratitude and esteem for many kindnesses shown to me, especially in former days : but the truth is, that my letter-writing age is gone by — never to return, vmless youth, the season for correspondence, comes back again. That^ however, cannot be ; chUdhood, I believe, does sometimes pay a second visit to man — youth never. The heart, however, when it is right, is al- ways yoiing, and knows neither decay nor coolness ; I can- not boast of mine in other respects ; but assuredly, in the integrity of its affections it has not grown a moment older these five-and-twenty years. In November, 1822, Southey, on a visit to Doncaster with his daughter, made a flying call at Sheffield, and sent for Montgomery to meet him at the Tontine. It was their first meeting, and cordial and heart-warming we believe it was, as became two frank and generous natures. Ebenezer Elhot was also there, and Mr. Everett, Southey's old an- tagonist in his Methodist controversy. "We cannot help wishing something more was left of the interview than its simple record. He again writes Mr. Bennett : "Sheffield, February 6, 1823. "My Dear Friend, " I have only as much time as I can hold in my hand, while it evaporates like ether, to say to you, as I do with my whole heart, ' The Lord bless, and preserve, and bring you home again !' Mr. RoAvland Hodgson, I understand, has written to you from Devonshire ; I have nothing to enclose from any of your friends here, but what I may send, even without asking their leave to do so, — their best 228 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. ■wishes and prayers for you, all in consonance with Avhat I have already expressed on my own part. I seem to follow you. time after time, and letter by lettei', as if you were going further and further from me, and rather advancing on a mission through the solar system, than located for awhile at the antipodes. I am always glad to hear of you, from whatever quarter the intelligence may come ; but I cannot help also desiring to hear from you once, at least, while you sojourn at the 'green earth's remotest verge.' Can you believe it yourself, that I have never received a line nor a word from you since you passed the equator ? You did not plunge my memory into the fathomless abyss there, nor leave it on this side, because you have mentioned ray name with all your wonted kind- ness to some of our mutual friends. Of this I will not complain ; — it has so happened ; but I cannot helj) some- times repining a little that it has not happened otherwise. I am sure I have not been neglectful of you ; this must be the fifth packet, as well as I can recollect, which I have despatched to you by one conveyance or another, with about as much hope of some of them reaching you, as if I had thrown so many bottles into the sea, and left them there to find their way by the drifting of currents to your Pacific islands. You will see by one of the pamphlets which I enclose, that we have just established a Literary and Philosophical Society in Sheffield. Pray remember this; and when you pick up a pebble or a weed worth presenting, do send it. We have just heard that you are recovered from the illness that afflicted you this time last year. Again, I say — God bless and keep you !" BIORE ANTIPODAL CORRESPONDENCE. 229 Again : "Sheffield, March 26, 1823. "My Dear Feiexd, " I once more send a line of remembrance and affec- tion to you, and I can do no more at present. Five times, at least, have I forwarded parcels by various opportunities ; and such is the uncertainty or the delay of communications to the South Seas, that it seems, by your last letter to Mr. Hodgson from the Sandwich Islands, that you had not received one of these in August last. Long before now, I hope that on your return to Tahiti you would meet with a month's reading almost from Sheffield alone, which must have accumulated there during your absence, if no miscarriage has taken place in our addresses to you. I fear that yours to us have not been so fortunate. Neither Mr. Boden, Mr. Thomas, Mr. Read, nor myself, have heard from you since June, 1821. Miss Ball did receive a letter from you some time ago ; but no member of the three families above named have been so favored yet. Your letters, however, become common property in your long absence, and they travel about from eye to eye, and heart to heart, making all glad on account of your zeal, and love, and faith, and labor in the Lord's cause, and the kind re- membrances which each of us in our turn see in your own handwriting to those who are happy enough to receive letters addressed to themselves. We begin to think that your heart and eye must be often turned homeward ; and though we would not welcome you hither, even if it de- pended on our decision, one moment before you have finished the work which, treading in the steps of your Re- deemer, your heavenly Father has given you to do, yet we would not have you detained one moment longer than that consummation. Farewell ! probably the last time before 20 230 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. your return, for how are we to follow your wanderings by sea and land, when you leave the South Seas, if you re- turn by the East Indies, making missionary visits there ? Misses Gales send kind regards." Again he writes in a letter a few months later : " Our inestimable friend, Mr. Rowland Hodgson, has had another sharj^ visitation of his inveterate complaint, which has obliged him to retire to the south of England for the winter. He has, indeed, been rendered back to us from the gate of death so frequently, that we may yet pray with confident expectation, that goodness and mercy may yet follow him through many years of a life so pre- cious to his friends, to the Chui'ch, and to the world in our quarter, as his has hitherto been. Mr. Roberts holds on pretty stoutly, and in his peculiar Avay continues to do good — and a great deal, too, in one respect ; for, princi- pally by his exei'tions, we have raised about £320 in a few weeks for the Moravian missions." The poor chimney-sweeps still maintain their hold on Mr. Roberts, who, fertile in resources, now projDoses the publication of a little volume, a sort of" Chimney-sweepers' Album," the first part to embody all the information which had been gained in reference to their labors, and the second, in prose and verse, to illustrate their unpitied and unalleviated sufferings. Montgomery undertook the editorship of it ; and to en- rich its literary department, he bespoke contributions from all the jDoetic celebrities of the day. " Oil for a muse of smol-e that would ascend The highest cliimncy of invention !" answers Moore from Sloperton Cottage, " but nothing THE POETS ON CHIMNEY-SWEEPS. 231 came that I could venture to send you, and though I ought to have written to tell you so, I did not, and must only trust to your good nature for forgiveness. " It would give me great delight to meet you. There are passages of yours that I repeat to myself almost daily. If ever good luck should take me to Sheffield, I shall, on the strength of our chimney-sweep correspondence, knock at your door." " I am much inclined to doubt," writes George Croly, " whether poetry is the proper weapon, and whether a col- lection of strong cases, icell authenticated and well told, prefaced by a few images of the history and nature of this grievance and disgrace to humanity and England, would not be the true mode of influencing the nation, and through thom the legislature, I know that something of this kind has been done already, and that the House of Lords re- sisted the measure ; but it was on the alleged ground that chimneys were so built as to make the employment of machinery dangerous. The answer that we must give to this, is the production of machinery that will clean the angles of the chimneys. Until this be done, no j^rogress with the Lords can be expected. " If I should find it in my power to assist your design in any form of this nature, by urging your pamphlet into notice, I shall be extremely gratified. But I confess I am fully convinced that something appealing more directly to the general understanding than poetry must be employed," Sir Walter Scott, on being written to, says : " Abbotsford, near Melrose, January 4, 1S24. "I am favored with your letter, and should be most happy to do what would be agreeable to Mr. Montgomery; but a veteran in literature, like a veteran in arms, loses the 232 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. alacrity with which young men start to the task ; and I have been so long out of the habit of writing poetry, that my Pegasus has become very restive. Besides, at my best, I was never good at writing occasional verses." Sir "Walter, however, was not the man to content him- self with a mere apology for doing nothing ; and accord- ingly the editor says in his preface, that " he has con- tributed something towards this work, which will tell better in the end than even a poem from his own inimita- ble pen might have done." This was a description of the plan adopted in the construction of the vents of his then newly-erected residence at Abbotsford, and by which he had " taken care that no such cruelty (as that exercised in the employment of boys) shall be practised within its precincts." Allan Cunningham accompanied a song characteristic alike of his genius and good nature, with a letter, in which he says : " Eccleton Street, Pimlico, February, 1824. " That I wish a full and triumphant success to your benevolent undertaking you will readily imagine ; and poetry will do more for human nature in one hour than it has done for a century, if it redeems the image of God from this profanation. I am glad of this opportunity to tell you how long and how much you have gratified me with your poetry ; and to assure you that you have many, many warm admirers among men Avho open books, not for the sake of telling others what they think of them, but for the deUght they give — the surest proof of excellence." Bernard Barton, Barry Cornwall, Bowring, and three or four others, contributed to the projiosed volume, which VARIOUS OPINIONS. 233 appeared in the spring of 1824, under the title of Cliimney- Suoeepers'' Friend and Climhing Hoys' Albimi, and was dedicated to the Father of all his People, King George IV., to whom a copy was transmitted. " After talking with many literary people, when in town," says Professor Smyth, of Cambridge, " I am but con- firmed in my original notion, that no good can be done in the way in which it is proposed to attempt it. Ludicrous associations have unfortunately got connected with these poor boys ; and I conceive, with others, that the Muse and the Fine Arts are more likely to suffer from this sort of connection with them, than to do them service." Mr. Proctor, however (Barry Cornwall), whose poetical contribution is one of the best in the volume, remarks, " I have dealt jo^w/w^y with the subject, although I don't know why soot should not produce poetical as well as natural flowers." Lamb, who deemed "the subject so unmanageable in poetry," communicated, nevertheless, a very characteristic little poem from Blake's " Songs of Lmocence." The editor, also, did his share. How much actual good the little book effected, of course cannot be calculated, but the corresiDondence growing out of it, afforded Mont- gomery a cheering interlude amid graver labors. After repeated attempts to get Pai'liamentary action on the subject, an act for the total discontinuance of the evil unanimously passed both Houses, we believe in 1839. Southey writes at this time : "Keswick, July 24, 1824. " My Dear Montgomery, " You wrote me a very kind and gratifying letter in November last, which I received at a time when it was not possible to answer it ; for, from the time you saw me till 20* 234 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY, tlie middle of February, I was 2:>er2)etually engaged in trav- elling or in society. During that course of locomotion, your circular reached me, and if I could have written any- thing for your well-intended volume, iu any way tolerable, you should have had it. But the truth is, that, from long disuse, I have lost all facility of writing upon occasional subjects. These matters premised, now for the reason why I have neglected to write ever since : it is not a very good one, I confess, and yet, such as it is, it must be told. Before I dej^arted from London, Longmans sent me Prose hy a Poet from an old Friend. I meant to read it in the country, but when I packed iip my boxes for exportation thither, by some accident these volumes were left behind. Meanwhile, in daily expectation of their arri- val, I have waited week after week, not liking to thank you for them till I could say I had perused them with pleasure. " My heart goes with yoii in your moral speculations. Such papers as those upon Old Women and Juvenile De- linquency cannot be sent into the world without jJi'oducing some good. I too have been j^robing the wounds of so- ciety. I hope, in the course of the next season, to send you my speculations upon its progress and prospects, in a series of Colloquies, to which I have jDrefixed as a motto three pregnant Avoi'ds from St. Bernard, — respice, aspice^ prospice. You may differ — yet not I think materially — from some of the opinions advanced there ; but the general tendency and fundamental principles will have your full concurrence. I want more order, more discipline, less lib- erty to do ill, more encouragement, more help to do well. I want to impress both upon the rulers and the people a sense of their respective duties ; for in truth we have at this time reached a more critical period in the progress VISIT TO BRIDLINGTON. 235 of society than history has ever before unfolded. The full effects of the discovery of printing have never been appre- hended till now ; the pressure of population has never till now been felt in a Christian country (I hope you know that I abhor Malthus's abominable views) — the consequences of an unlimited and illimitable creation of wealth have never before been dreamt of; and, to crown all, there is even a probability that the art of war may be made so excellently destructive as to put an end to it. How I should like to talk with you upon some of these wide-branching subjects among the mountains !" In the month of October be went to Bridlington. Of this visit, we have a poetical memento in the Three Sonnets descriptive of scenes witnessed from the quay, and which appear in his collected works under the title of A Sea Piece. They were considered by the author as the best original poems in this form which he ever wrote. It may be interesting to mention, as illustrative of Montgomery's habit of composing Avhile travelling, that the whole of these sonnets, with the exception of about six lines of the first, were written on the road between Bridlington and York. December 16, 1824, he writes to Mr. Bennett: "This packet will be tenfold welcome, because it con- tains remembrances from many quarters. Your letters, dated from on board the vessel which I hope has long ere now landed you in New South Wales, were lately received, and, brief as they were, none that ever reached us from the other side of the world, even under your hand and seal, were more gratefully welcomed, because the ' hope deferred,' till 'the heart' Avas almost 'sick' of hearing that you were actually turnmg your face towards the setting sun tiU he should become the rising sun, had made us 236 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. anxiously expect the arrival of your next communica- tions ; these, when they came, were indeed ' a tree of life,' and we have now begun to think that probable, which heretofore we looked upon as merely possible; namely, that we may yet see your face again in the flesh, and hear from your lips, what we always read with delight from your pen, the great things which the Lord hath done for you, and in you, and by you, smce we parted. Your letters and packages, by the returned vessel from the South Seas in October last, came to hand, and were exceedingly acceptable. The share of shells and other curiosities, which were forwarded to me from London, have been distributed according to the best of my judg- ment among your friends here, with the consent and ad- vice of Mr. Rowland Hodgson, Mr. Samuel Roberts, and Mr. Read, whom I consulted in everything. The artificial articles, arms, ornaments, cases, &c., &c., we deemed it best to present to The Literary and Philoso'phical iSo- ciett/s Musemn here^ where they will be preserved entire, and always oi^en to the public inspection. Had we divided them, they would have been of [comj)ai'atively] little value to anybody ; whereas, being thus preserved and dedicated, they will be a treasure, even to posterity, with your towns- people. Mr. Rowland Hodgson is still very feeble, and leads a suffering life : he and I were together for a few weeks at Bridlington Quay, whence he wrote to you. Mr. Roberts and his family are pretty well ; he writes to you by this conveyance. ; . . An old and most amia- ble acquaintance of yours lately died at Chesterfield, full of faith, and patience, and hope that shall not be ashamed, I verily believe, — Joseph Storrs. Mr. Hodgson and I were at his house a few weeks before his end, and he seemed then calmly and delightfully undressing for the ESSAY ON COWPER'S POEMS. 237 grave, and clothing for immortality. Plis end was peace. Your name, I may say, is never forgotten at our anniver- saries of Christian Institutions, and if not absolutely men- tioned, is remembered with feelings of affection, and regret, and desire, by those who have been wont to see you lead- ing the van in eveiy engagement against the powers of darkness, shining in the whole armor of light. O, how glad shall we be to hail you back again, should the merci- ful providence of God agam unite us personally in works of faith and love ! " " AYhen you return," he again writes to Mr. Bennett, " you will with sorrow discover how much we have apos- tatized in many things from what you taught us, and from what we followed diUgently and successfully, Avhile you, as our master, — the greatest of all, because the servant of all, like your Redeemer, — were present with us. Oh ! how welcome again will be your vigilant eye, your active mind, your generous hand, your fervent spirit ! Forgive me for what seems to be praise, but is only the language of gratitude and affection from my heart. I speak thus, because you will give God the glory. I cannot recollect any particular local intelligence to send you at this time. My friends here, the Misses Gales, are pretty well ; we often talk of you at our fireside, always with affectionate hearts, and sometunes with tearful eyes. They send their kindest regards, and benedictions, and prayers for your health, and happiness, and return. I have scarcely any- thing new to send you in print, except a copy of ' Cowper's Poems,' to which the prefatory essay is my composition. Of this I beg your acceptance, as another small token of my gratitude and esteem for many invaluable acts of kind- ness shown to me while you lived here, and for every one of which I am happy to remain your debtor till death." 238 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. In July, 1825, Mr. Carter, of New York, travelling in England, paid the poet a visit, and on his return, gratified the American public with a description of the bard and his surroundings. The neat sitting-room, and the affable sisterhood ; the expressive countenance, gentle manners, and delightful con- versation of the host, all conspired to make an evening at Hartshead one of the pleasantest in the traveller's wan- derings. Nor should pussy be left out of this family scene, fondly purring at her master's feet, or coyly leaj^ing on his knee to receive her share of tea and toast. Nor should it be concealed that the grave poet in lighter moods indited an epistle for his feline pet to a little girl, its sometime playmate. Whether this deserves a place in these sober annals, nobody but Grimalkin's friends would be generous judges of. "Hartshead, near the Ilolc-iu-thc-Wall, July 23, 1825. " Hakrererr, " 3feio^ xoew^ auxL\ mauu\ hee^ icee, mime, waw, iciirr, iohiri\ ghurr^ wew, whew, issssss, tz, tz, tz, pihrrurrurrurr^'' dec. done into english : " Harriet, " This comes to tell you that I am very Avell, and I hope you are so too. I am growing a great cat ; pray how do you come on ? I wish you were here to carry me about as you used to do, and I would scratch you to some purpose, for I can do this much better than I could while you were here. I have not run away yet, but I believe I shall soon, for I find my feet are too many for my head, and often carry me into mischief. Love to Sheffelina, though FELINE CORRESPONDENCE. 239 I was always fit to pull her cap when I saw you petting her. My cross old mother sends her love to you — she shows me very little now-a-days, I assure you, so I do not care Avhat she does with the rest. She has brought me a mouse or two, and I caught one myself last night, but it was in my dream, and I awoke as hungry as a hunter, and fell to biting at my tail, which I believe I should have eaten up, but it would not let me catch it. So no more at present from "Tint. " P. S. — I forgot to tell you that I can beg, but I like better to steal — it's more natural, you know. "Harriet at Ockbrook." CHAPTER XIII. ■WITHDRAWAL FROM THE " IRIS" — REMINISCENCES — PUBLIC DINNER — TOKENS OF RESPECT — CHRISTIAN PSALMIST — SENTIMENTS ON IIYM- NOLOGY — LETTER TO MR. BENNETT — "THE STRANGER AND HIS friend" — TOUR — " PELICAN ISLAND" — ANTI-SLAVERY MEETINGS — MRS. IIEMANS — ROBERT MONTGOMERY — LETTERS FROM SOUTIIEY — VISIT TO KESWICK, The duties of editorship grew more and more dis- tasteful to Montgomery. Personal politics he hated ; the political principles of the parties with which he most naturally sympathised were often allied to measures which he could not approve ; and, as for going with a party "right or wrong," a popular political maxim which has throttled many a conscientious scruple, and runs up heavy liabilities on the great day of reckoning, Montgomery never did. He loved the aj^probation of his fellows, as what man does not ? collisions of all sorts rasped ujion his sensitive nature ; but he was an independent and fearless thinker, and never truclded to party measures, great names, or his own pockets. But now that his purse had reinforcements from other sources, for something had accumulated from the sale of his books, and a yearly income was accruing from them, he more than ever wished to dispose of his newspaper, and give himself altogether to pursuits more congenial to his taste and tempei*. RETIREMENT FROM THE "IRIS." 241 An opportunity offered at tliis time, which his judgment determined him to accept, and in Sejrtember, 1825, the Iris passed into the hands of its new proprietor, Mr. Black- Avell, a Methodist preacher, ^^•hose failing health compelled him to quit the pulpit for the printing-office. His farewell address commended itself to his townsfolks, and fewer slurs were probably cast upon its truthfulness than often happens to the last testaments of retiring editors. Referring to his principles of action he says: " From the first moment that I became the director of a public journal, I took my own ground. I have stood upon it through many years of changes, and I rest by it this day, as having aftbrded me a shelter through the far greater portion of my life, and yet offering me a grave, when I shall no longer have a part in anything done under the sun. And this was my ground — a plain determination, come Avind or sun, come fire or flood, to do what was right. I lay stress on the jiurposc, not the performance, for this was the polar star to which my compass pointed, though with considerable ' variation of the needle.' "... He thus winds up his retrospect : "At the close of 1805 ended the romance of my public life. The last twenty years have brouglit their cares and their trials, but these have been of the ordinary kind — not always the better to bear on that account. On a review of them, I can affirm that I have endeavored, according to my knowledge and al)ility, to serve my townspeople and my country, with ns little regard to the fear or favor of party men as personal infirmity would admit. From the beginning I have been no favorite with such characters. By the 'Aristocrats' I was persecuted, and abandoned by the ' Jacobins.' I have found nearly as little grace in the 21 242 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. sight of the milder representatives of these two defunct classes in later times ; yet, if either has cause to complain, it is that I have occasionally taken part with the other — a presumptive proof of my impartiality. Whatever charge of indecision may be brought against me by those who will only see one .side of everything, while I am often puzzled by seeing so many as hardly to be able to make out the shape of the object — it cannot be denied, that on the most important questions which have exercised the understand- ings or the sympathies of the people of England, I have never flinched from declaring my own sentiments, at the sacrifice both of popularity and interest. If I have not done all the good which I might, and which I ought, I have rejected many opportunities of doing mischief — a negative merit, which sometimes costs no small self-denial to the editor of a public journal. While I quit a painful resjjonsibility in laying down my office, I am sensible that I resign the possession of great power and influence in the neighborhood. These I cannot have exercised through so many years, without having made the character of my townspeople something diflerent from Avhat it would have been at this day had I never come among them. Whether they are better or worse for my existence here, they them- selves are the right judges. This I can affirm, that I have perseveringly sought the peace of the city wherein I was led as an exile to dwell ; and never neglected an occasion to promote the social, moral, and intellectual improvement of its inhabitants. Nor in retirement can I forget, that the same duty I still owe them." Though to a friend he playfully tells how miserable both he and the cat were with the noise, dust and confusion of breaking Tip the printing-office, the relinquishment of his editoj'ial duties seems to have sfiven him unfeigned gratifi- A PUBLIC DINNER. 243 cation. Never were old habits and haunts abandoned Avith less real or sentimental regret. " I have never repented of it for one moment," he says. "• I am thankful, inexj^ressibly thankful, to that gracious Providence, which thus released me from a burthen which I could scarcely bear any longer. Of course, I am not rich — I never took the means of being so. I have often said I could not aflbrd to pay the price of wealth, and as there is neither a Law of Nations or an Act of ParUament to compel me to become rich, I would not sell my peace of mind, nor consume my time in getting what I might never enjoy. I do not despise money ; I love it as much as any man ought to do, and perhaps something more at particular times ; but a small provision is enough for my few wants, and the Lord has made that provision for me, I owe it all to Ilim ; I cannot say that my skill, or industry, or merit of any kind has acquired it ; I have received it as a free gift at his hands, and to Him I would consecrate it, and every other talent." Montgomery's retirement from the editorial chair was celebrated by a public dinner, an occasion for his friends and fellow-townsmen to express their high regard for his worth and talents. On the 4th of November, the poet's fifty-fourth birth- day, a hundred and sixteen gentlemen sat down at the Tontine Inn, to do him honor over roast beef, and to pay a deserving tribute to manly and high-toned Christian citizen- ship. " I looked forward to this day," he said to his friends, "with mingled terror and delight. The terror has de- j)arted, but the delight will long remain." Other congratulations of a more serious tone were borne to him. 244 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. " In former times," writes a faithful preacher, " you were made to feel the bitterness of affliction, and you have fre- quently had to drink, in secret, from the cup of sorrow ; but this is a chord I have no right to touch; it is the sanc- tuary into which I must not enter. And I shall only re- mind you, that while you were thus tried, your heavenly Father has been employed in j^olishing one of his precious jewels against that day when He will make it up, with millions more, and give it a place in the mediatorial crown of the Redeemer. I know, my dear friend, that to your heart this is the noblest and most desirable consummation that eternity itself can reveal. All the afflictive circum- stances of your life have been brought about by infinite wisdom, and Avith the most benign intentions. But why should I write in this strain, when your cup of felicity is running over ? I ha^e contemplated the honors Avith which you have been arrayed as the fruits of a victory, a glorious victory, in which the whole Christian world should participate. It is the triumph of truth, and virtue, and piety, over error, and vice, and impiety. Your muse has been persecuted for righteousness' sake ; and after hav- ing passed through much tribulation, she now aj^pears, like the saints before the throne, clothed in white raiment, and holding in her hand the emblematic palm. ... A voice from the throne of the Eternal is heard, saying, ' Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life,' This is in reserve for you, and will infinitely surpass all the honor that comes from man. My feeble but sincere prayers are daily offered up on your behalf, that you may possess aU siDiritual blessings in heavenly places in Christ Jesus." Released from the urgent and ever recurring duties of a journalist, Montgomery had more time for those " minis- TESTIMONIALS OF RESPECT. 245 tries of mercy " Avhicli marked his later life, and which gave him so strong a hold upon the symjjathies and affec- tions of the Christian public. While gentlemen ate to the poet's honor, woman em- bodied her respect in a more permanent and significant memorial. A beautiful inkstand, of Sheffield workman- ship, was presented to him, and a thousand dollars were raised to found and support a Moravian mission, to be called by Ms name, and located in Tobago, where his parents labored forty years before. " Montgomery " is a station blessed by the God of grace. Its congregations this day number 1,400 adults, and, in- cluding the schools, as many children. A letter to an old friend discloses an abatement of the fervors of youth, with little relaxation from its pressing en- gagements : " I have as little deserved that you should suppose I was offended at you, as you have deserved that I should take offence. My only fault, it seems, is my silence ; that can soon be explained — whether it can be justified, is another question. Well, then, you have only just the same com- plaint to make against me, that every other friend I have in the world may make. When I am absent, I never write a letter that I can fairly avoid now-a-days; because, in truth, I am oppressed and harassed with miscellaneous correspondence which I cannot escape, and which is often accompanied by such tasks for my mind, that my eye recoils and my hand shrinks instinctively from a blank sheet of letter paper; and nothing can exceed the re- pugnance with which I launch my pen upon such an unknown sea, except the pleasure with which I drop anchor with it at the bottom of the third page, — for I seldom put into port sooner, — and jump on shore while 21* 246 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. I fold it up in all the joy of freedom. It was quite otherwise Avhen you and I were correspondents thirty years ago. I was then young, and ardent, and devoted rather to suffer than to lie still; I had abundance of surplus feelings, and thoughts, and imaginations, which I Avas delighted to disburthen to a faithful friend, who I Avas sure would read them with as much enthusiasm as I Avrote. I have gone through many labors, and trials, and afflictions in the plain prose of human Ufe since that time ; and the poetry of my heart has been blighted and Avithered in the cold mildcAVS and dry blasts AA^hich have gone over me since I was an inhabitant of the Avorld of romance. This is very much like frenzy, you AA-ill say; there is, hoAvever, truth, imiDlied if not expressed, in it, and truth which I have no power to communicate in ordinary words, and which I Avould not communicate if I could ; for it is connected in me Avith that bitterness which the heart keeps to itself, and Avith which even a friend cannot altogether sympathize. In a word, I ha\'e lived so long, and have been carried by the flood of events to a situation which exjDoses me to the honor and misery of being deemed by many people a much greater, better, Aviser man than I am ; and con- sequently I must pay the price in the sacrifice of time, talents (such as they are), feeling, and peace of mind, for such distinction. The effect is, that I can do very little for myself; my spirits are exhausted Avith business to which I am compelled either by a sense of duty, or im- perious necessity, — not having learnt to say wo, — so that when I have an hour of leisure, I am out of tune, and sit down in sadness and despondency, thinking that I live almost in vain, if not Avorse than in vain, and that the little strength I have I spend for naught. During the last "CHRISTIAN PSALMIST" AND "POET." 247 four months I have been attempting, in kicid intervals, to compose a leading poem for a volume of fugitive pieces, which I have, flying about the kingdom in all directions ; yet, hitherto, I have found it the hardest task of the kind I ever undertook, and of the success I cannot form an idea, indeed hardly a hojie. " But I must be brief I have not written to you be- cause I had no occasion, that is, no compulsion : I write now, because I have both." This letter closed Montgomery's correspondence with Joseph Aston, of Manchester, who died a few years after, at the ripe age of 82. Of his more direct labors in the vocation by which he is now best known to the world, we learn froto himself in a letter to Mr. Bennett : " Since I last wrote to you, if I recollect rightly, I have twice appeared before the world — as a Christian Psalm- ist^ and as a Christian Poet. I allude to two volumes of compilations of psalms and hymns, in the first instance, in. which I deemed poetry and piety to be united, with a hundred original pieces of my own, which has been a very successful publication, something of the kind having long been wanted. The sequel, the Christian Poet^ had the same object in view, but comprehended pieces of a higher order, and laying claim to the genuine honors of verse, as the noblest vehicle of the noblest thoughts. This also promises to reward the spirited publisher, and, I may add, the laborious editor. Last week I assumed a new poetical shape, and came out as the author of the Pelican Island., of which I can say no more than that it is in blank verse, and that, if I find opportunity, I shall be exceedingly happy to enclose a copy of each of these 248 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. works, to ' kiss your hands ' (as the Italians say) among the Hottentots." " The Christian Psalmist ; or Hymns selected and orig- inal," appeared at the close of the year 1825. These, 562 in number, are from several authors, including one- fifth from his own pen. The work went through several editions, and Avas very acceptable to the religious public. Some remarks on Hymnology, from his introductory essay, will be interesting in these days of Christian psalmody : " A hymn ought to be as regular in its structure as any other poem ; it should have a distinct subject, and that subject should be simple, not comphcated, so that whatever skill or labor might be required in the author to develop his plan, there should be little or none required on the part of the reader to understand it. Consequently, a hymn must have a beginning, middle, and end. There should be a manifest gradation in the thoughts ; and their mutual dependence should be so perceptible that they could not be transposed without injuring the unity of the piece ; every line carrying forward the connection, and every verse adding a well-pi"oportioned limb to a symmetrical body. The reader should know when the strain is com- plete, and be satisfied, as at the close of an air in music ; while defects and superfluities should be felt by him as annoyances, in whatever part they might occur. The practice of many good men, in framing hymns, has been quite the contrary. They have begun apparently with the only idea in their mind at the time ; another, with little relationship to tlie former, has been forced upon them by a refractory rhyme ; a third became necessary to eke out a verse ; a fourth, to begin one ; and so on, till, having compiled a sufficient number of stanzas of so many fines, SENTIMENTS ON HYMNOLOGY. 249 and lines of so many syllables, tlie operation Las been sus- pended ; whereas it might with equal consistency, have been continued to any imaginable length, and the tenth or ten thousandth link might have been struck out or changed places with any other, without the slightest in- fraction of the chain ; the whole being a series of inde- pendent verses, collocated as they came, and the burden a canto of phrases, figures, and ideas, the common projDcrty of every \vriter who has none of his own, and therefore found in the works of each, miimproved, if not imimjjaired, from generation to generation. Such rha^jsodies may be sung from time to time, and keep alive devotion already kindled ; but they leave no trace in the memory, make no impression on the heart, and fall through the mind as sounds glide through the ear — pleasant, it may be, in their passage, but never returning to haunt the imagina- tion in retirement, or, in the multitude of the thoughts, to refresh the soul. Of how contrary a character, how transccndently superior in value as well as influence, are those hymns which, once heard, are remembered Avithout efibrt — remembered involuntarily, yet remembered with renewed and increasing delight at every revival ! It may be safely affirmed that the permanent favorites in every collection are those which, in the requisites before men- tioned, or for some other peculiar excellence, are dis- tinguished above the rest." Tried by this test, are his own hymns found wanting ? August 16, 1826, he Avrites to Mr. Bennett: " From the hurry and anxiety of preparation for a jour- ney to Plarrogate, I snatch a few moments to flee over land and ocean — as I may do without the slightest inter- ruption, though I cannot cross the room in which I am sitting without an effort of mind and limb — to meet you, 250 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. wherever you are at this time, in sjoirit, and whenever you arrive at the place to which this is directed, to meet you again on paper. The latter occasion, I hope, will be when you arrive at your last stage before embarking, for good and cdl^ for Old England once more. At the Cape of Good Hope, then, and for the last time jirobably, siich an interview will occur ; I therefore gladly assure you, of Avhat you know by your own feelings, that absence cannot lessen the sincere affection of long-enjoyed and long-tried Christian friendship, and if absence in this world cannot do it, where we have but the possibility of meeting again — ab- sence from the body, when to be so absent is to be present with the Lord, cannot disunite those who love Him, for where He is, we shall be. Your last letter, from the Eastern Archipelago, showed me that, as you have turned the point from which the sun sets out to visit t;s, your heart feels the attraction of your native land stronger and stronger, and the sweetness of home-sickness grows more and more overpowering and bewildering. I can truly sympathise w^ith you in the desolation of heart which you experienced on the coast of China, in the river of Canton, Avhere the truth as it is in Jesus is i:)roscribed. And there to find no letter from England, no introduction from Dr. Morrison — this, after coming from the islands of the South Sea, where 'glory to God in the highest,' &c. is singing from shore to shore, as if Christ Avere ncAV-born among the people who sat in darkness there — this must have gone through your soul like a sword of ice, wound- ing, and chilling, and deadening, where it pierced Faith, Hope, and Charity themselves in your bosom. But it is discouracins: to us to send out our messengers from time to time, we know not whither, in the hope that one or two may not miscarry. This shuts our hearts and restrains "THE STKANGER AND IIIS FRIEND." 251 our hands when we write, not knowing for whose eyes the Imes may be destined. All the public affairs of this neighborhood you wiU learn from the newsj)apers ; and from these you will find that the number of old famiUar foces is diminishing : many you Avill never see again ; and those you do, will not appear as they once did ; they grow old, and yet renew their youth, like the eagle, with every opportunity of writing to or hearing from the beloved and absent. " You are often inquired after by persons whose names I knoAV not. Once more, your faithful friend." An exquisite embodiment of the Christian element of good works belongs to this year : THE STKAIS^GEK AND IIIS EFaEND. " Ye have done it unto 7nc." — Matt., sxv. 40. " A poor way-faring Man of grief Hath often crossed me on my way, Who sued so humbly for relief, That I could never answer ' Nay :' I had not power to ask his name, Whither he went, or whence he came; . Yet there was something in his eye That won my love, I knew not why. " Once, when my scanty meal was spread, He entered — not a word he spake — Just famisliing, for want of bread : I gave him all — he blessed it, brake, And ate, but gave me part again. Mine was an angel's portion then; For while I fed with eager haste. That crust was manna to my taste. 252 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. " I spied him, where a fountain burst Clear from the rock : his strength was gone ; The heedless water mocked his thirst; He heard it, saw it liurrying on : I ran to raise the sufferer up ; Thrice from the stream he drained my cup, Dipt, and returned it, running o'er I drank, and never tliirsted more. " 'Twas night: the floods were out; it blew A winter hurricane aloof: I heard his voice abroad, and flew To bid him welcome to my roof. I warmed, I clothed, I cheered my guest, Laid him on my own couch to rest ; Tlicn made the hearth my bed, and seemed In Eden's garden while I dreamed. " Stript, wounded, beaten, nigh to death, I found him by the highway side : I roused his pulse, brought back his breath, Eevived his spirit, and supplied Wine, oil, refreshment ; he was healed : — I had myself a wound concealed ; But from that hour forgot the smart, And Peace bound up my broken heart. " In prison I saw him next, condemned To meet a traitor's doom at morn : The tide of lying tongues I stemmed. And honored him midst shame and scorn. !My friendship's utmost zeal to try, He asked if I for him would die ; Tlie flesh was weak, my blood ran chill, But the free sphit cried, ' I will.' "MEMORIAL DAYS." 253 " Then in a moment to my view, The stranger darted from disguise ; Tlie tokens in his liands I linew, My Saviour stood before my eyes. He spake, and my poor name He named : ' Of me tliou liast not been ashamed ; These deeds shall tliy memorial be ; Fear not, thou didst them unto Me.' " Among the " memorial days " which mark at intervals the progress of the ecclesiastical year among the Mora- vians, is the 12th of May, on which the congregations commemorate the " agreement to the first orders or sta- tutes " of the Brethren, as promulgated at Ilerrnhut in 1727. The centenary celebration of this event led Mont- gomery to Ockbrook, where he spent a few weeks very pleasantly between the religious services of the festival, and his out-door walks in the finest season of the year. Of his literary occupation while there, he thus writes to John Holland : " I have with difficulty found time to fulfil my promise to-day. It means nothing now ; but the fact means every- thing. I have been greatly engaged since I came hither, principally indeed with pen, ink, and paper; yet I know no three thinjys more unmanageable than these when they fairly take possession of hands, liead, and heart, as they have lately done of mine, — sometimes, I fear, to little purpose, — again I hope. In truth, the weather within me — that is, the weather on the Pelican Island — ■ much resembles this froward, stormy, winter-like spring, with gleams of sunshine, and now and then a breath of air that tunis all to paradise — but Paradise Lost soon follows Paradise Found with me. Pray give my best re- 22 254 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. membrance to Mr. Blackwell ; and tell Miss Gales I will write to her as soon as my burtlien is a little lighter." In the antumn of this year Montgomery visited the north of England on a Bible tour, in company Avitli his friend Rowland Hodgson. They were at Barnard Castle on the 28th of August, and at Darlington on the 4th of September : they also attended a meeting at Kich- mond, when the poet, in his speech, made an affecting allusion to Herbert Knowles, once a pupil in the school there, and whose well-known stanzas written in the church- yard, " Methinks it is good to be here," &c., he repeated with deep emotion. On the 10th of September they at- tended a meeting at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, at which were also present Dr. Steinkopff, foreign secretary of the Bible Society, and Dr. Marshman, the Baptist missionary fi-ora Serampore. Montgomery addressed the audience at con- siderable length, giving, as he often did, additional inter- est to his remarks by the charm of local allusion. The ideal of a new poem had been floating in his mind for several years; ever since 1818, he tells us, when he read the narrative of a voyage in the Pacific, in which many islands of the Australian group were described as the solitary haunts of innumerable pelicans, where gener- ations of birds had lived and died as unseen as unsung by man. His imagination seized hold of the picture, and though for a long time it did Httle but flutter round the scene, the outlines of a new poem at last began to shape themselves into symmetry and fullness. How it began to take form, and how a sudden glance at passing objects may quicken into life and beauty the rude material of our thought, the poet himself reveals : " Long at a loss for a leading idea, as I was returning "PELICAN ISLAND." 255 to Sheffield from Scarborough last autumn, with my friend Mr. Hodgson, my attention was forcibly arrested by the singular ajDpearance of the country about Thorp Arch, which was so completely flooded, that only a few of the more prominent points of ground were seen, like green islands amidst the lake. By some involuntary association of ideas, I was jiowerfully reminded of the Pelican Island. In a moment the radical thought of which I had been so long in quest rushed into my mind ; and I saw the whole plan of my poem from beginning to end. I im- mediately began the subject in blank verse ; and by the time we reached Ferrybridge, I had composed a number of lines, which I wrote down Avith my pencil in the inn there ; and from that time to the present I have labored incessantly at the work, and now hope that its execution will be in some degree comparable to my conception of the subject." In the warm glow of this new-born fervor, the poet wrought, with a loving diligence. Another work graced his name. Of its reception, and the author's feelings, we gather something from a letter to his friend Everett : " The Pelican Island certainly has been a puzzle, not in its title only, which set conjecture concerning its plot at defiance, but in its development of that imdiscoverable l^lot. Whatever be its faults or its merits, they are not of- a common-place character, for they commanded earlier and more particular notice from that fraternity of dictatoi's, the reviewers, than any previous publication of mine had done ; and they have caused more diversity of opinion also among those gentlemen, every one of whom is infallible by himself, but taken together they are quite as fallible as those who most fear them could desire. There has been so much happy contradiction among these authorities re- 256 LIFE OF MONTGOMEKY. specting the Pelican Island^ that it would be hard to find a sentence of censure or commendation in one of their critiques, which has not been reversed in another. Where doctors differ, this should be so ; the jDublic will in due time settle all differences, and form a judgment as independent of them as if they had never existed. Meanwhile the author's nerves must be exercised by every species of torture or transport, which the opinions of those who have his credit at their mercy can inflict or awaken, in the presence of his contemporaries, who at such a time, in his morbid imagination, have all their eyes upon him, like those of a mob upon the victim at an execution, and all their ears oj^en to the sarcasms and plaudits that are poured upon him. Having now nearly passed this ordeal, and been thus far jDretty favor- ably treated, I am gradually recovering my usual tone of feeling, and resigning my poem and myself to what may await us in the ordinary course of this world's af- fairs. Circumstances are daily occurring which remind me that I have every day a less stake in the interests of the present life than I had before, and that the things of eternity are becoming of more awful and imminent im- portance to me than they have hitherto been. I have no room, however, to moralize at present, but I can say truly that I desire to be delivered from this bondage of corruption, and brought into the glorious liberty of the children of God. Then will the praise or condemna- tion of man on my vain labors to please him, and to gratify myself, as a poet, be of little influence either to depress or exalt above measure my too susceptible feelings, in whatever relates to that object of my past (perhaps my present) idolatry, the fame which I once "PELICAN ISLAND" PUBLISHED. 257 thought the most desirable good under heaven, I must turn to other subjects in your letter." Pelican Island^ published in 1827, was the last of Mr. Montgomery's longer poems. Descriptive, as it is, of a solitary contemplation of nature in her manifold changes and forms of life, a graceful fancy and a delicate appre- hension of the uncaused cause " of eflfects that seemed spontaneous And sprang in infinite succession, linked "With kindred issues, infinite as they, For which Almighty skill had laid the train, Even in the elements of chaos, — whence The unravelling clew not for a moment lost Hold of the silent hand that drew it out," mark the poem. Leading reviewers of the time pro- nounced some portions of it Miltonic ; the deficiency which characterizes all his larger productions — want of unity — is no less obvious in this. A pati'iarchal gran- deur and solemnity are impressed, on its close : " The world grows darker, lonelier, and more silent. As I go down into the vale of years : Tor the grave's shadows lengthen in advance, And the grave's loneliness appalls my spirit. And the grave's silence sinks into my heart, Till I forget existence, in the thought Of non-existence, buried for a wliile In the stiU sepulchre of my own mind, Itself imperishable : — ah ! that word, Like the archangel's trumpet, wakes me up To deatliless resurrection. Heaven and earth Shall pass away, but that which thinks within me Must think forever ; that which feels, must feel : I am, and I can never cease to be. 22* 258 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. Oh, thou that readest I take this parable Home to thy bosom ; think as I have tlioiight, And feel as I have felt, through all the changes Which Time, Life, Death, the world's great actors, ■wrought, While centuries swept Uke morning dreams before me, And thou shalt find this moral to my song : Thou art and thou canst never cease to be ; What then are Time, Life, Death, the World, to thee ? I may not answer ; ask Eternity." "At the beginning of the summer of 1828, Mont- gomery," we extract from his English biography, "was again deeply engaged Avith the question of negro slavery. Meetings had been held in other towns to further the entire abolition of that abominable system ; and it was now the turn of the abolitionists in Sheffield to come for- ward as became them in this mighty movement. Upon the poet devolved the duty of calling his townspeople together, drawing up resolutions to lay before them, and preparing a petition to Parliament. This was an affair of considerable delicacy ; for while most of the inhabitants, who thought on the subject at all, were agreed as to the desirableness, as well as the practicability of putting an end to slavery in the British dominions, they differed ma- terially about the time and the manner of doing it. Mont- gomery, whose prudence happily was commensurate with his enthusiasm, so managed the matter, that all parties, even the most scrupulous, could concur at least in the prayer of the petition ; while others, who overlooked all conflicting considerations in the admitted flict that here was a monster evil which ought to be remedied, Avere pleased with the placard calling the meeting, in Avhich Montgomery had instructed the printer to use the largest type he had in the first of the two words of the head- VISIT TO MRS. IIEMANS. 259 line — ' No Slavery !' The meeting was held on the 9tli of June, when Montgomery sjDoke at great length, and with equal propriety and effect." * In the autumn he journeyed in Wales. Mrs. Hemans tells us of seeing him : " I had an interesting visit a few days since from the poet Montgomery, not the new aspirant to that name, but the ' real Peter Bell.' He is very pleasing in manner and countenance, notwithstanding a mass of troubled, stream- ing, meteo7'ic-looking hah; that seemed as if it had just been contending with the blasts of Snowdon, from which he had just returned full of animation and enthusiasm. lie complained much in the course of conversation, and I heartily joined with him, of the fancy which wise people have in the present times for setting one right • cheating one, that is, out of all the pretty old legends and stories, in the place of wliich they want to establish dull facts. * This and similar meetings in different parts of tlio country were aux- iliary to one -which was held in Exeter Hall in the month of March, and at which Lord Brougham presided. Although not personally present at this great metropolitan gathering of anti-slavery delegates, Montgomery's words were heard, and his spirit felt, even on that occasion, in a way which will not soon be forgotten by those individuals who hstened to the animating speech of tlie Rev. J. Carlisle, of Belfast, and joined in the ap- plause which followed its concluding sentiment : " "Wliere a tyrant never trod, "Where a slave was never known, But where Nature worships God, In the wilderness alone — Thither, thither, would I roam ; There my children may be free ; I for them will find a home, They shall find a grave for me." Wanderer o^ Switzerland. Part vi., 5 260 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. We mutually grumbled about Fair Kosamond, Queen Eleanor and the poisoned wound, Richard the Tliird and bis bump-back ; but agreed most resolutely that nothing should ever induce us to give up William Tell." "The new aspirant" here alluded to was a clergyman bearing the same name (Robert Montgomery), whose maiden cifort was equivocally heralded — "Montgomery's New Poem, The Omnipresence of the Deity." Both friends and booksellers were misled, and James had to bear the brunt of undeserved criticism, and what was more painful and provoking, indiscriminate puffing. A letter from Southey : " Keswick, April 28, 1829. "Mt Dear Moj^tgomery, " I received your parcel just long enough ago to have read the brief note which it contained from my dear and good old friend, Joseph Cottle, your letter, and your In- troductory Essay to the Pilgrim'' s Progress. First, let me thank you for your letter, for the books, and for the kind manner in which you remember one who always remem- bers you with respect and admiration, and with as much affection as can be felt for one of whom, much to his own regret, he personally knows so little. Then let me com- plain of you for supposing I should not agree with you in your estimate either of the character or the genius of John Bunyan, a name which I never mention without honor, nor think of without j^leasure. I am not conscious of any feeling, thought, word, or deed, at any time of my life, which could have led you to imagine that in this case I was morally and intellectually blind. Indeed, when I was applied to by an old acquaintance, on the 2:)art of Mr. Major the bookseller, to perform an office which I did not SOUTHEY'S OPINION OF BUNYAN. 261 till this day know that you had performed before me, the motive which induced me to accept the offer was pm-e Uking for the task, out of pure love for the author and the book. " Had I known of your edition, I should certainly and at once have declined the proposal. But I am glad that I did not know it : ignorance, which in some cases is said to be bhss, has been good fortune here. Yours is a criti- cal essay, mine will be a biographical one ; and we shall have nothing in common but the desire to do honor to the author, and to introduce the book into new circles (if that can be), except what I shall borrow from you thankfully. "I will take care that a copy of my intended edition shall be sent to you as soon as it is ready, which the pub- lisher intends it to be in the end of autumn. "I am almost hojDcless when I ask. Will you come and see me, and let me row you on the lake, and guide you upon some of these mountains ? You are not in harness now ; and I, who shall never be out of it, have always leisure to enjoy the company of a friend. I am going with my family to the Isle of Man for change of air and sea- bathing, which may benefit some of my daughters, and also was a needful removal for myself, when the hot weather comes, to prevent or cut short that troublesome periodical disease which is now known by the name of the Hay-asthma^ and the habit of which I hope I have weak' ened, if not broken, by travelling at the time of its recur' rence. Our stay will not be extended beyond the end of June. If you come to us in July — the earlier the better — you shall have a cordial welcome ; and you shall find me the same person in private that you have known me in print. Last year I underwent an operation which has restored me to the free use of my strength in walking, 262 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. after being crijipled many years by a sore infirmity: I thank God it has been effectually removed, and I am once more a sound man, able to accompany yon for a whole day's excursion. If you have not seen this country, you ought to see it ; and if you have, you will know it is worth seeing again. And I should like to show you the books which are the pride of my eye and the joy of my heart, the only treasure which I have ever been anxious of heap- ing together, and to read to you the papers which I have in progress, and to tell you the projects — so many of which death will cut short — of which I have dreamt, or still hope to execute, and to talk vvdth you of many things. Now tell me you will come, and believe me yours, always with affectionate respect and regard, "ROBEET SoUTnEY." We find Montgomery a few weeks later in Keswick, but not in response to this cordial invitation. In company with Mr. Rowland Hodgson, he is going north in behalf of the Bible cause, and their route lay through Keswick, whose scenery and society had a double claim upon the poefs heart. Of his journey and enjoyments, let us hear from himself: " We attended six Bible meetings between Monday and Friday, and yesterday was the first breathing time that we could really enjoy ; yet the enjoyment v/as perhajis the hardest fatigue we have yet undergone. Some kind ladies, who accompanied us from Kendal, made a party for an excursion. We breakfasted on the banks of Windermere, travelled over the intervening hills to Grasmere, and thence to Ilydal, concluding the round by a visit to Mr. Wordsworth, so that my spirits were sufiiciently exhausted on our return hither to justify a ramble alone to recruit AMONG THE LAKES AND "LIONS." 2G3 them ; and tbeii going further than I mtendecl, the oi)por- tunity of writing to Sheffield was gone by ; and thus, as I have said, a moment lost is lost forever ! " I have little to say concerning myself since I came away. I might make many complaints of personal mfir- mities, and mental sufferings, and so forth, which are my daily crosses when I am from home, and make travelling, with all its healthful exercise and exhilarating changes of scene and society, httle better than penance and pil- grimage to me ; though in retrospect it always furnishes abundant materials for thought, for thankfulness, and for ho^Q also. Mercy and goodness hitherto, as on all former occasions, have followed me every step of the way; and the close of every stage and every day I have had cause to be humble and happy, though too often I have been neither one nor the other, as I ought to be. I cannot to-day — indeed, it must be put off till I can do it with the living voice — give you any particulars of our adven- tures : there have been none of a romantic character, nor any descriptive of the scenery which Ave have noticed, — indeed, we are only just entering mto Lake-land ; the promise is great, and it will be my own fault if I am dis- appointed. I may just say that I have seen the greatest lion here, — "Wordsworth ; and the dens of two others, — the Opium Eater's, and Professor Wilson's (Christopher North), Wordsworth's house and grounds are all that a poet could wish for in reason and reverie ; for after having seen them and him, I said they were more beauti- ful and apx>ropriate than he himself could have invented if he had the whole lakes, mountains, and all, to have called into an arrangement of his own, in the haj^piest mood of his own mind. De Quincey's cottage is a little nutshell of a house \ but though I could discern nothing 264 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. attractive about it, I should have been glad to have peeped in, if I could have been to him what he was to me — invisible. Professor Wilson's is a small, handsome house and pleasure ground, of which I merely caught a glimpse, as we rolled through the dust of the road be- fore the slope on which it stands." To Sarah Gales at Sheffield : "This day (June 11), immediately after reading Mr. Bennett's and Mr. Wilberforce's letters — both of which I shall duly answer — I set out, "svith Mr, Hodgson's two servants and a guide, to Skiddaw, though I had some of the weight of Ilelvellyn yet on my shoulders. The morning was fine, but the prosi:)ect below was hazy, and my mind was too much occupied with the South Sea Is- lands, and all the strange and savage lands and oceans which our friend had visited during his eight years' cir- cumnavigation of the world, to notice, as I otherwise might have done, the immensity of land and sea, in every diversity of form, that lay beneath my feet. On the very summit, after I had breathed my fervent thanks- giving to God for all the goodness and mercy that had accompanied him on all his way, I wrote his name on a slate-stone with a lead pencil, and the date of his landing in England. This I threw upon a jiile that suj^ports the flag-staff on the highest peak ; and though mortal eye may never see the record, and the first shower may ef- face it, I felt something more than romantic pleasure in writing and leaving this memorial there of the best intel- Hgence which we have received from him since he sailed, — his happy return home. Thomas, Joseph, and I then heartily drank his good health and safe convoy to Shef- field in pure brandy, for we could not find a drop of water to dilute it. The vast convexity of the mountain LETTER TO JOHN HOLLAND. 265 is covered with thin broken pieces of slate, the storms of ages having shattered the original crest of rock. I tliought it looked like the field of the battle of Armaged- don, strewn with the splinters of swords, and shields, and the wreck of armor, long after the bodies of the slain had been devom-ed by the fowls of heaven. Farewell, God bless you !" To John HoUand : "Kirkby Lonsdale, June 20, 1829. " My Deak Friexd, " Your kind letter reached me at Penrith on Monday morning. "We have had such a week of hurry and jour- neying from place to place, and I have been occasionally so unwell from anxiety among strangers, and exhaustion from thinking to httle purpose, and speaking I hope not always to none, that I have had neither spirit nor leisure to write. Even kindness — and nothing but kindness have we experienced — is oppressive to one so framed as I am ; and though I am full of complaints at this moment, yet if I were to utter them they would be all against myself, and would probably awaken very imjaerfect sympathy in the minds of those most willing to compassionate me, — for I hope they would be scarcely mtelligible. I will therefore say no more concerning them. Arrangements have been made for Bible meetings on four successive days next week, from Monday to Thursday inclusive ; and if we happily survive so much exertion, excitement, and enjoyment, as they promise, — judging by what simi- lar opportunities have already produced or required, — we hope to reach Sheffield on Saturday afternoon, June 27, by way of Settle, SkijDton, Colne, Bradford, Wake- field, and Barnsley. Please to request Mr. Blackwell to 23 266 LIFE OF MONTGOMEKY. forward the Iris, addressed to me, at the Post Office, SkiiDton, where any letter from home may also meet me if despatched not later than Tuesday, after which it will be uncertain where I may be caught. You mention the haunts of poets among the mountains where I have been wandering ; and I doubt not, if you had been in my cii'- cumstances, you would have much more benefited by the opportunity of indulging honorable curiosity than I have done. I wish, indeed, I had more of your spirit than I have ; for I am sure (if I understand you rightly) I should then escape many miseries, and put myself in the way of many felicities, instead of reversing the law of nature, as I often do, to fall from mere fear of them into the former, and shrink, I know not why, from the latter, even when they court me. However, I have not been without many delightful lucid intervals since I left home, and have liad the hardihood not only to call upon Wordsworth, with a body-guard of fair ladies, and a poet, the son of a poet, to introduce me ; but, on the last clay of our stay at Kes- wick, I ventured to rap at the door of my friend the laureate, though I knew that he and his family were gone from home; but I heard that Mrs. Coleridge was keeping house for him, and, on the ground of former ac- quaintance Avith her husband, I plucked up couiage to introduce myself to her, and avail myself of the opportu- nity of looking at the well-furnished shelves and through the windows of the jioet's study. His house and library are such as even you, with all your moderation, might be forgiven for coveting — with the salvo, that he should be no poorer. But I cannot give any particulars here, writing as I do in an inn, and in great haste, not know- ing Avhen I may have another leisure hour, as we are going off almost immediately to Casterton, where we are AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 2G7 to be entertained a clay or two in the hospitable family of W. W. Cams Wilson, father to the Rev. W. Cams Wilson, a clergyman in this neighborhood, who has been several times at Sheffield, on Christian anniversary occa^ sions, and of whom I may tell you something more on my return. I think I mentioned, in my last letter to the Misses Gales, that I had ascended both Helvellyn and Skiddaw. From the top of the former I saw, for the first time since I left it, more than forty years ago, my native country. Beyond the Solway Frith the undulat- ing hills of Scotland, in a blue-grey line (the atmosphere being very hazy), were dimly discernible. I had not cal- culated on this ; and the scene took me so by surprise, that, though I was not prepared by any romantic antici- pation, the singular motion which stirred my spirit within me, and made the blood in my veins, as it were, run back to the fountain from which they were filled, was even more deeply agitating than I could have imagined. At Keswick I had the yet more mysterious pleasure of shaking hands with a being thrice as old as Methuselah (I presume), though I cannot tell the age of the invisible within a few hundred years. And it icas an invisible literally, for the hand that I grasped came out of dai'k- ness, and was the color of darkness — 'black, but comely;' it was a left hand, and evidently that of a female, very small, and most delicately proportioned, 'With fingers long, and fit to touch the lute.' Yet neither the lady's age, nor the beauty of that sj)ecimen of herself wliich was presented to my eye, tempted me to put a gold ring on the wedding finger. I cannot describe the strange sensation which I experienced when this, the hand of a mummy (and nothing but the hand of a mummy), was put into mine, and I examined it as a relic of a fellow- 268 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. creature, 'of the first order of fine forms,' who might have been Pharaoh's daughter herself, or her maid, and this the very hand that first touched the ark of buh-ushes, and, lifting up the veil, disclosed the face of the infant Moses to the compassionate friends — 'and behold the babe wept.' There, I must leave you to finish the pic- ture and imagine the rest of my reverie, for I must conclude. Pen and ink are both so bad that I can scrawl no more, and my time is gone. I was on a jour- ney by land and water across Windermere and the inter- vening hills to the head of Coniston "Water, on Whit Monday. In a lovely, lonely lane near the latter, I walked during the teachers' meeting in the afternoon. My heart overflowed with afiectionate remembrance of the occasions on which I had in former years spent so many happy hours, and my prayers were fervently ofiered for you all. Pray give my kmdest regards to my dear friends in the Ilartshead. If I do not write to them again they may expect me this day fortnight, as above intimated. Remember me respectfully to Mr. Blackwell and Mr. Roberts." We do not learn exactly when the two friends returned to Shefiield ; the latest date of any memento of their tour is that of the following lines, composed for Miss Elizabeth Carus Wilson, of Casterton, on the anniversary of her biitliday, June 22, 1829: " Another year of trial here At length has passed away ; But Mercy crowned its weary round AVitli one more Sabbath day ; Though each bad been a day of grace, It was the last that won the race. BIRTHDAY STANZAS. 269 " When suffering life shall end its strife In death's serene repose ; Be Sabbath rest, on Jesus' breast, Its everlasting close ; Your daily cross may you lay down, To gain an everlasting crown ! " 23 CHAPTER XIV. RETURN OF MR. BENNETT — DEATH OF DANIEL. TYREMAN — EDITORIAL DUTIES — LETTER OF ADVICE TO A YOUNG POET — LECTURES IN LON- DON UPON POETRY — DK. MILNOR — VOYAGES AND TRAVELS OF TYRE- MAN AND DENNETT — LETTER TO SAMUEL DUNN — ANTI-SLAVERY REJOICINGS. Ox the 5th of June, 1829, Mr. Bennett landed at Deal, and the following mornmg proceeded to London, from whence he wrote to Montgomery: " This is ' my dear, my native land ! ' Bless the Lord, my soul ! and forget not aU his benefits ! As we ]3ro- ceeded from Deal to Margate, surely never landscape ap- peared, more beautiful to human being than all the country did to me ; ' the eye was never satisfied with seeing nor the ear with hearing' the rural sights and rural sounds which convinced my heart that I was at length got home. The grass, the flowers, the trees, in gardens, fields, and hedgerows, all English in color, and form, and fragrance, especially the golden clusters of the laburnum, and. the prodigality of ' milk-white thorn,' reminded me of all that 1 had loved in youth, and was now again privileged to be- hold and enjoy after years of absence in strange climes." On the 11th Montgomery writes to Bennett : " Your last letter, and the most welcome of all that have been received from you, from every quarter of the world, RETURN OF MR. BENNETT. 271 because it is the last, and written on British ground, reached me at this place just when I was setting out on an expedition to the top of Skiddaw. I hastily read it, and with a heart overflowing with joy at the good tidings which it brought of your arrival, I proceeded on my way, leaving to our good friend, Mr. R. Hodgson, to occupy the first pages of a letter of congratulation, Avhich we at once determined to send to you, on your long-wished-for and now happily-accomplished return to your native coun- try. But though my limbs, with the occasional help of a pony, bore me to the height of the magnificent mountain above named, and though my eyes surveyed an immensity of horizon, comprehending land and sea, lakes, rivers, hills, and woods, in the richest diversity, all spread like a map beneath my feet, my mind, but especially my heart, has been engaged with you all the forenoon ; and from the stupendous elevation on which I stood, I saw not only the adjacent portions of the British Isles, which every eye may see on any clear day from thence, but I traced you all round the world, and the isles of the South Seas, New Zealand, New Holland, China, the two Indies, Madagascar, South Africa, St. Plelena, and all the oceans you have crossed, dividing and connecting the utmost regions of the earth, even to the very spot where you landed at length on our own dear shores — all these were present to my spirit, and in each of these I could perceive that goodness and mercy had followed you all the days of your long ab- sence on a circumnavigation of charity, the first that has been made by an individual since man fell, and the promise of a Saviour was given. I will not flatter jon ; I know it will humble you when I say that you are, in this respect, the most privileged of all that have lived, or do live, hav- ing alone done what never was before attempted, and what 272 LIFE OF MONTGOMEEY. your late honored and lamented companion was not al- lowed to acliieve : the glory thus granted to you, you will lay at the Redeemer's feet, and say, it is the Lord's doing that I have been exalted to do this ; and to his name be all the praise. On the summit of Skiddaw, under the blue infinity of heaven above, and in the presence of the widest compass of earth I ever saw, except once before, I laid my thank-offering on that altar not made with hands, to Him who has been the refuge of his people through all genera- tions ; to Him who, ' before the mountains were brought forth, %cas God.'' I laid my thank-offering to Him there^ for all the deliverances which He has wrought for you, for all the mercies he has conferred iq^on you, for all the good Avhich I believe has been done by you, during your long labors and many sufferings, and especially for this last evidence of his loving-khidness towards you, and towards us, too, in answering our prayers, and bringing you safe to our own land and yours ; and my heart's desire and prayer for you was, that you may yet long be spared to tell of his goodness and his wonderful works. Mr. Hodgson has so fully expressed my feelings in expressing his own, that I need add nothing further than ' God bless you!'* Yea, and you shall be blessed." Mr. Bennett returned alone, after an absence of eight years, his excellent colleague in the deputation. Rev. Daniel Tyreman, having died at Madagascar on his way home, July 30, 1828. The Independent chapel at Newport, in the Isle of Wight, where for seventeen years he was a faithful min- ister of the Gospel, reared a monument to his memory, with an inscription by Montgomery, expressing the fullness of trust with which the dying minister gave himself into the keeping of a faithful and unchanging God : NEW EDITORIAL DUTIES. 273 " ' The covenant of grace ' shall stand "When heaven and earth depart ; On this he laid his dying hand, And clasped it to his heart. In a strange land, where sudden death Stopt his unfinished race, This was the plea of his last breath — ' The covenant of grace.' " The copious journals of the Deputation were now in the hands of the London Missionary Society, to be recast for publication. A suitable editor was needed, and Mr. Montgomery was selected for the task, a work which he undertook with alacrity, from the strong hold which both the Deputation and its object had upon his jDcrsonal affec- tions and Christian sympathies. Some idea of the amount of labor to be done may be gained by thinking of reducing fifty manuscript volumes to a moderate size for jDubhcation. " Most of my leisure time for three months," he tells us, Avhen fairly on it, " has been employed, and it wUl take at least nine months more to complete it. I therefore must stay at home," he says to the solicitations of his out-of-town friends, " or, if I go, take my work with me." Christmas, with the close of the old year (1829), and the beginning of the new, was passed with Mr. Bennett at the house of his friend's nephew, Mr. M'Coy, at Hackney, a little village on the edge of the metropolis. A memorial of the visit, introducing us to the young host and his family is pleasantly jotted down by their poet guest : 274 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. "for MRS. EDWARD m'cOY. " Thus hath the man of wisdom spoken ; ' A threefold cord is not soon broken.' " — Prov. " Three lines of life entwined in one The poet's eye can see, From Time's swift wheel, by moments spim, To reach infinity. " The first your own, my gentle friend, Then his, whom you call 'lord; ' The third, your babe's ; these softly blend, And form a threefold cord. " Long may they thus together hold In sweet communion here. Ere each in turn, infirm and old, From earth shall disappear, " But must they then be sundered ? No, Like minghng rays of light, "Where heaven's eternal splendors glow, These fi-agmcnts shall unite, " To form a threefold cord above, By Mercy interwound. And to the throne of sovereign love Indissolubly bound. " My wish, prayer, hope, these words betoken, That threefold cord be ' never ' broken. "Hackney, January i:^, 1830." This letter is to Mr. Bennett, at Tryon's Place, Hackney : "Sheffield, January 28, 1830. "My Dear Friend, " At length I have an opj^ort unity of sending a line to LETTEli TO BENNETT. 275 you, to say on paper what my heart has said a liundrod times in your presence, if you could have heard it speak, when Ave were together of late, side by side in coaches, arm in arm on open roads, or threading- the everlasting mazes of those live labyrinths, the streets of London, or — for I must go a little further — when Ave have sat to- gether in the house of God, or face to face at the hos- pitable fireside in Tryon's Place [Hackney] and elsewhere. Turn back to the first four lines of the antecedent con- nection — how much I felt myself indebted to your deh- cate, yet assiduous and persevering kindness to me, on our London and country visits during the severe weather of Christmas and the nev,^ year : 1829 and 1830 were ab- solutely frozen together at the meeting pomts, but our hearts were 7iot frozen, — they often burned within us by the way, wdien we talked of those things that were most dear and precious to us both. I am glad to learn from Mr. M'Coy that you continue to bear the sharp winter cold with comparative comfort, notwithstanding your long residence in tropical climates. Your mind must rule your body ; and, as it has a firmness for endurance beyond that of any man I ever knew, it surely communicates to the body a temperature which, if it does not neutralize, qual- ifies the extremes of icy rigor and torrid feiwor to itself. May you long enjoy the blessing of a sound mind in a sound body, but especially of a heart right in the sight of God, which shall render all his dispensations, afflictive or joyous, right in your sight. This is the Christian's secret of happiness ; may you ever be in possession of it in this woi-ld of trials, where faith is perpetually put to proof, and often staggers, not at the promises only, but at the wisdom and goodness of God, from our frailty and ignorance in judging of his works and ways! 276 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. "But I hopo you do not spend all your time in the open air, breathing and bustling through vapors, and clouds, and storms, or plunging through snow-drifts ; some of it, nay, a great deal of it, I trust, is employed in read- ing those delightful manuscripts which I left Avith you, and in writing others yet more delightful for my use, and the future benefit of the pubhc. I want, especially at this time, at least as soon as you can furnish them, accounts respecting your first plunge into the Pacific, when your friend, Mr. Tyreman, overturned the canoe, in mounting from the edge on board of the ship at anchor, the ordi- nation of Ouna and his companion for the mission to the Mai-quesas, and the king Horitia's ' little speech,' &c., and your misadventure, again, when attempting to land on one of the Sandwich Islands. Your personal feelings and situ- ation no one but yourself can describe in the first and latter of these cases. Do not wait for more materials, but let me have these at your earliest convenience : be as brief or as wordy as you please. The other subjects, of which I left memoranda with Mr. M'Coy, you will attend to in succession ; and the earlier the better for yourself, for me, and for the work with which I am proceeding as well as I can ; but, from illuess since my return home, I have yet made but little way, having been becalmed in bed for the greater part of last week. A fresh gale, however, has sprung up, and in a day or two I expect to be sailing with full canvas. Send me your help by furnishing me with matter both of your own and Mr. Tyerman's. At present I have enough to go on with of the latter ; but when you have gone through ten volumes, please to for- ward them by coach to me." "I certainly do not make haste," he again writes j "but LITEEARY LABORS. 277 yet I go on ; and if not with good sjjeed, at least with good will, and unfailing resolution to do my best accord- ing to circumstances. The labor, however, is far more minute than I exjDected. I thought that little more than careful abridgment would be requisite ; but, in truth (ma- terials excepted), it costs me as much as original compo- sition. I do not, however, repent the undertaking, and I will not shrink from any expense of time and thought to do justice, if possible, to the subject, and credit to the cause. "When you come down at Easter, you will, of course, bring with you all the volumes of Mr. Tyerman's Journal you may have, at that time, looked over. . . . I am infirm and spiritless, excejit Avhen I am vexed into something like strong feeling by local and party feuds, out of which I cannot disentangle m3'self, and in which I deliberately involved myself at first, as a victim, I tnay say, that by a well-foreseen sacrifice of personal comfort, and what is more dear to me than pecuniary interest, — peace of mind, — I might mitigate the strife of tongues, and tlie civil war of passions and prejudices, in this town, on the subject of Water Companies." An out-spoken letter this, in reply to an unfledged poet asking advice from a veteran bird : "Deak Sir, "I am almost fretted out of the little meekness that remains to me after the wear and tear of more than three- score years, principally by literary clients who think be- cause they often see ray name in ^^rint, that there must needs be a potency in it not only to command fame and fortune for the owner, but to recommend all who can secure the sanction of it in any way to the same enviable rewards of rhyming labors. ' All is not gold that glitters.' 124 278 LIFE OF MONTGOMEEY. Had not a bountiful Providence otherwise loaded me with benefits, in my humblest estate, equal to my few wants, poetry would not have enriched me. It found me poor, and it would have kept me so to the end, unless I had pursued its reveries in a very different path from that which I chose after the folly and madness of youth had taught me that 'all was vanity and vexation of spirit.' Whether ' fame and fortune ' would have been mine in a greater proportion had I otherwise practised my art, I know not, and regret not to remain ignorant; but hav- ing proved for myself that ' the way of transgressors is hard,' I am deeply and humbly thankful that, as a poet at least, I endeavored to depart from it before an accel- erated bias had carried me onward to irretrievable ruin in it. It is not that I am unwilling to aid young aspirants in their early exertions — I have the will and not the power to serve them. Hence, instead of cheering them on in their course, I am compelled in honesty and truth to warn them against too great reliance cither on their own talents however promising, or the i^atronage of the public however liberally-performing in those splendid cases which are the exceptions and not the usage of the arbitraiy rule in the Chancery of Parnassus, wherein woe to the man Avho has a suit ! Whatever be the equity of his cause, it may last him — not to say it may cost him — his life ; unless he abandons it after the first decree made either in his favor or against him — for of two evils the last is the lesser : if the judgment be against him, he has only lost what he intended to win ; if he wins, what does he do ? retire with gains ? No, he hazards another stake, when it is a hundred to one but he loses what he had got, and thus is not merely disappointed but dishon- ored. ADVICE TO A rOETASTER. 279 " Bat I am running away from you and your letter wliile I am lamenting over other correspondents and their epistles, which I am obliged to answer by breaking to their hearts the promises Avhich they themselves made to their hopes when they determined to make me their counsellor and their guide on their journey up 'the steep,' so 'hard to cUmb,' ' where Fame's proud temple shines from far.' Though you were in some respects one of this number, and I may have more than once made your heart ache with the discouragements which I have in compassion as well as in sincerity thrown in your way as a candidate for poetical honors, yet as you have other views and other resources in your literary exercises and experiments, I may Conscientiously bid you go forward, and congratulate you on having chosen a better part, in your commendable pur- poses to benefit your generation, than by concentrating your energies, and perhaps wasting them on the profitless labors of a versifier. You have been happy also in hav- ing apparently formed a connection with a publisher of that standing and respectability which alFords you the chance of an introduction to a circle or class of readers both numerous and influential ; while the subjects (those in prose, I mean) on which you have hitherto written ai^e adapted to please ray for me, that I may have more faith and patience to employ the Httle strength yet left me." On Monday, February 1st, 1841, the friends of Rev. William Jay, of Bath, commemorated the fiftieth anniver- sary of his settlement as pastor of the Argyle-street Chapel, m that city. Christian men and women without distinction of sects came to testify their respect for the worth and use- fulness of this venerable servant of God ; " a blessed evi- dence," said Montgomery, " of a Philadelphian spirit yet Hving and breathing in a Laodicean age." The poet's presence was invoked ; it breathed out in his hymns, gloAving Avith all the significant memorials of the delightful occasion, the singing of which formed one of the most interesting parts of the special service of the day. " I have read the proceedings," he writes to the chairman of • the Jubilee Committee, in answer to the accounts sent him, " with great delight : for yet, amidst all the strife, envy, and vm charitableness in churches and heticeen churches, so flagrant at this time, you have shown that there arc occa- sions, and there may be found professors, when and of whom even an ungodly world can say, ' See how these Christians love one another !' Alas, how seldom is this exemplified ! " I thought much of you on the two days, especially on the Tuesday, when the meetings — the love-feasts, I ought to call them — were held, because with us the weather was tempestuous, and I feared that many of your friends might be disappointed. It appears, however, that whatever storms might rage without, there was peace within, and as many to enjoy it as the rooms would contain. I am greatly indebted to Mrs. Goodwin for the jubilee medalhon, LETTER TO MR. BENNETT. 327 tlie wovkmansliip of which seems to me admirable ; the likeness of your good pastor is excellent, and the simple register of dates on either side the most appropriate inscrip- tion in such a case. It was a beautiful and aflecting sequel to the solemnities of the Sabbath, and the festivities of the breakfast on Tuesday, that the children and the youth were allowed to bring their offerings of gratitude and love to the father in the gospel of both old and young in your church and congregation, I have only to add ray heart's desire and prayer to God for you all, that every one of the number of those who jjarticipated in the privileges of those two memorable days may be finally associated in that place where, a thousand and ten thousand ages hence, each may remember with adoring gratitude the blessedness of those meetings on earth, which many of you, no doubt, felt to be an earnest and foretaste of the glories and felicities of that house of God, eternal in the heavens, " Where congregations ne'er break up, And Sabbaths have no end." A few weeks later, March 22d, he writes to Mr. Bennett: " Since I wrote last I have been much of the time at Ockbrook, whither I was summoned soon after to visit my long afiiicted brother Ignatius, who appeared as near to the gates of death as life could be without the peril of in- stant dissolution. . . . Nothing can be more affecting nor more consoling than his humble looks and language : yet absent in the body, his spirit is already present Avith the Lord. . . , Mr. Roberts never, in my remembrance, looked better or heartier — brown and ruddy, and full of muscular and mental energy on the verge of fourscore years. You will probably have received proofs of his re- 328 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. doubtable intellect in a new tract of 1 1 2 pages, dononncing the Poor Law Commissioners and the whole system of pauper treatment in this most humane and enlightened Christian country. You and he, when you meet, may discuss the merits of this jDerformance. It is a subject beyond my comprehension. I am not sorry to find that you are already in the field against the War-fiend, who is struggling m various quarters, a second time, to embroil all Christendom in the horrors and crimes of that ' game,' at which ' were their jieople wise, kmgs would not often play.' The Duke of Wellington well said, in reference to the miserable outbreak in Canada, ' England cannot have a little Avar.' Xo ; if we fall out with America, we shall not long be at peace with Fi-ance ; and with the latter we cannot be long at war without all the powers of Europe being involved in the quarrel, some Avith, some against us. Then, in the ' Dance of Death,' ' change hands, cross over,' with each in turn for our partner, and all in turn our enemies, the only worse thing than being our allies, as it happened during the revolution. I heartily Avish you success in your campaign, and that 'the dogs of War,' whether in America, France, the LcA^ant, India, or China, may have nothing to gnaw but their chains, till such engines of wholesale destruction shall be perfected as Bona- parte himself, which, though he would not have scrupled to employ, he Avould not have dared to encounter. Then, ' Farewell, war, forever ! ' " On Easter Monday we find him as usual at the annual dinner of the Chimney SAveeps at Cutler's Hall, this being its thirty-fourth anniversary. In the evening he presided and spoke with his wonted fervor at a meeting of the London Missionary Society. On the foUoAving day he was present at the opening of a BURIAL OF IGNATIUS. 329 small school at Wincobank, where the boys and girls sang the hymn, " A children's temple here we raise," written for the occasion : thus " on benign commissions bent," " Like a patriarchal sage, Holy, humble, cautious, mild, He could blend the awe of age With the sweetness of a cliild," and " prove himself the minister of all." On the 29th of April, his brother beloved, Ignatius, breathed his last, at the age of sixty- five, "having proved himself a good and faithful servant to various congregations of the United Brethren in England and Ireland." May-day Montgomery went to Ockbrook, where he was joined by his only surviving brother, Robert, from Wool- wich. Together they took their last look on the departed one, " and there were yet lingering " [on the face], James tells us, " traces of that i:)lacid resignation which had always marked it in life — the lingering twihght which followed the shining of that Sun of Righteousness amidst which the spirit of a good man has passed into a better world." He "w^as buried near the chapel at Ockbrook, with the touching services of the Moravian church, the lark singing sweetly overhead, and the finches thrilling in the trees during the ceremony. " Never were joy and grief more solemnly and happily mingled," writes the bereaved brother to Mr. Bennett, "than on that occasion, when, after our simple burial-service, the members of our small congregation had a social meeting 28* 330 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. (we call such "love-feasts") in the chapel, where a brief memorial of the departed was read, and an ode of collected verses, according to our practice, of various measures and tunes, was sung, treating of the blessedness of those who are forever with the Lord. " My brother Robert is now with me at Sheffield, and next week accompanies me for a few days to Fulneck. In the beginning of June I am engaged to accompany our friend, the Rev. Peter Latrobe, on a missionary visit to Scotland, my native country, on which I have not set foot since the year 1776, when, as a child, I was transplanted to Ireland, and thence, in 1777, transferred to England, where I have become so rooted, and apparently so irradicable, that neither our late Rowland [Hodgson] nor yourself could, even for a short time, carry me oif to the Conti- nent, or across the Atlantic. But I believe I am where I ought to be, and have no choice that I dare maJce, except manifestly directed by that good Providence which, after I had once made a had choice for myself, has not forsaken me. I feel myself ' faint, yet pursuing.' " It was during this family affliction at Ockbrook, that he wrote the hymn. Father ! thy icill, not J7une be done. CHAPTER XVII. VISIT TO SCOTLAND — RECEPTIOX AT GLASGOW — DR. WARDLAw'S SPEECH OF WELCOME — MONTGOMERY'S REPLY — HIS ACCOUNT OF THE MORA- VIANS — PDBLIC BREAKFAST — RECEPTION AT HIS NATIVE PLACE — RECEPTION AT GREENWICH, STIRLING, DUNDEE, EDINBURGH, ETC. — DR. UUIE'S speech — CONTRIBUTION FOR MORAVIAN MISSIONS — MONT- GOMERY^'S APPEARANCE IN COMPANY. " I AM a Scotchman," said Montgomery, " because I was born in Scotland ; I ought to have been an Irishman, be- cause both my parents were such ; and I pass for an En- gUshman, because I was caught young and imported hither before I was six years old, and have never since seen my native country except as a dim wreath of haze from the top of Helvellyn and Skiddaw." The current of business never seems to have set towards Scotland ; and the multiplicity of his more jDOsitive engage- ments had hitherto left him Uttle time to make pleasure and mere personal gratification the aim of a journey thither. As he grew older, travelling towards his setting sun, its slanting beams, gilding the tree-tops of his early days, retinted the past and awoke an unspeakable yearning to revisit his native town and country. A favorable opportunity at length offered, when Rev. Peter Latrobe invited the poet to accompany him to Scot- 332 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. land in behalf of the Moravian Missions, thus linking a noble object with the enjoyments of the journey. They started from Sheffield on the 24th of September, 1841, and three days after we find them in a large assem- bly in the Trades' Hall of Glasgow, convened on behalf of the cause they came to advocate. After the business of the morning was introduced, Dr. Wardlaw arose, from whose eloquent speech we catch the spirit of the day, and the right hearty hospitaUty of their Scottish welcome. " I never arose," said the revered speaker, " with greater pleasure on any occasion than I now feel in introducing these dear Christian friends, who will best and most efiec- tually introduce themselves, and will recommend both themselves and the cause of their visit to Glasgow. I now rise, however, with the more pleasure, because I take dehght in looking these friends in the face, in seeing them amongst us, in haihng their presence, in giving them the right hand of fellowship, and in co-operating along wdth all who are now present in that good and blessed cause to which we are indebted for their presence. With regard to the friend on your right hand, I have not the pleasure of his personal acquaintance ; but the name of Latrobe is associated wath every hallowed recollection. I cannot for- get the name of him who w^as the intimate friend of Wil- berforce and other eminent Christian j^hilanthropists of his day ; and in connection with the African mission, many a time have I heard the name of Latrobe, under my father's domestic roof, from the lips of the late Dr. Balfour, whose name cannot be mentioned in this city without calling forth feelings of afiection and veneration in every bosom which had the happiness to know him. And it is a very delight- ful thiuw when the work of God is thus handed down from DR. WARDLAWS SPEECH. 333 father to son, carried down from generation to generation, and race after race helps it towards its lierfection. With regard to the other dear friend on your left hand, my ac- quaintance with him is of a far, far more remote date ; for it began in The World before the Flood. I had knoAvn a little of him before ; but it was there that I became first intimately acquainted with the character of his mind, and with the intellect, the genius, the imagination, the taste, the feeling, and the piety with which that mind is distin- guished. I do dehght, Mr. Chairman, and I trust that all here will respond to the exj^ression of delight, in the con- templation of sanctified genius — of genius baptized into Christ, and invested with a halo of heavenly purity and love. There was a time, and that not far distant, when we were accustomed to use the designation of the Christian Poet ; and every one who heard that designation knew to whom it referred — the poet Cowper — and he eminently deserved the designation. But it is the delight of our hearts to know that the definite article is now superseded. We have more Christian poets than one ; and jire-eminent amongst them stands the friend on your left hand. I can- not imagine any responsibiUty more heavy than the pos- session of lofty powers of genius, unconnected with piety, and unconsecrated to the praise of that God by whom they were bestowed. Such powers have always appeared to me like lamps of jiurc oil gleaming in the midst of se- jDulchral darkness and corruption. There is a deep respon- sibility connected with the possession of such powers ; but we rejoice to know that these powers have been in an eminent manner, by our friend, devoted to the honor and consecrated to the service of God, and the advancement of human happiness in the highest degree. He has con- secrated these powers to the service of God and the pro- 334 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. motion of .all that is connected with the present and everlasting happiness of mankind. "We rejoice therefore in having him amongst us ; and we rejoice because we regard him as a Christian poet, and one belonging to our own land. When first I had the happiness of becoming acquainted with him personally, I found him, I may be allowed to say, in the most unpoetical place it was possible for a poet to occupy — in the very centre of the dark, dusky, smoky town of Shefiield ; and it seemed to me as if he had chosen that j^articular place to illustrate the words, ' Ex fumo dare lucem ! ' He has now changed his residence — he is now on The Mount, the very place where a poet ought to be. He belongs to ourselves ; Scot- land claims him for her own ; and it would ' ill the bard beseem ' to be ashamed of Scotland ; but whatever may be the feeling on his part, Irvine and Scotland will never be ashamed, but consider it an honor to have given him birth. But he is now amongst us in another capacity. As has been pubUcly announced to us, he is the son of mission- ary parents, and that is no small honor — of missionary j)arents too, who, after having submitted to terrible calami- ties, sleep, as the poet has told us, where the sun " ' Shines Avithout a shadow on their graves.' I cannot help being struck with that line, not only from the fact it states, that his parents sleep under a vertical sun, but because associated with that fact is the pleasing thought that all is light over that hallowed sjDOt far away, " ' Where rest the ashes of the sainted dead.' " Mr. Latrobe reciprocated this Christian salutation, after which Montgomery presented the claims of the brethren : HIS SPEECH IN GLASGOW. 335 " In this place I ought to address you as brethren and sisters," he said — and as his remarks unfold glimpses of Moravian history, we give them at large — "I am your countryman, and for the lirst time after a lapse of three- score years, I appear on my native soil. I feel it to he a high privilege to be permitted to meet you, and to make my public ajDpearance as your countryman, in a place where, in one of the first sentences I heard from the reverend gentleman who ofiered up the opening prayer, the name of Jesus was mentioned. That is the name in which we meet ; that is the name that is peculiarly preached as Jesus Christ and him crucified — as the only ground of the hoi^e of salvation for perishing sinners. My friend and brother Latrobe alluded to one of the peculiar institutions of our Church, namely, the body of interces- sors, Avhose duty it is to bear the congregation on their hearts in faithful prayer ; but we do not thereby set aside the all-prevailing intercession which is continually made be- fore the throne ; we know only God the Father, and the only mediator we hold is the Lord Jesus Christ. [After explaining this peculiar institution a little more at large, Mr. Montgomery proceeded.] You have heard great, and wonderful, and glorious things spoken this day concerning the United Brethren. Their first denomination was de- rived from those followers of Huss who did not choose to defend their liberty and religion with the sword, but pre- ferred rather to suiFer than to fight. Their first denomina- tion was. Brethren of the Society of Jesus ; but there was a certain reason why it was necessary to change that to a simpler form, and they chose to be called the ' United Brethren ; ' united in Christ as the Head, having the ever- lasting strength to support them, and infinite wisdom to guide them. But who are the United Brethren ? We are 336 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. not a national Chiirch, we are not a i^rovincial Church, we are not a denomination separated from any Church, and confined to any one locality. The United Brethren have been a poor and an afflicted people for four centuries past, but whose trust has been in the Lord ; and they have been scattered here and there over the world. At the time of the persecution, which for two centuries threatened to ex- tirpate the Church, they expatriated themselves. When the Church seemed consumed by the flames of persecution, becoming seven times hotter from century to century, and its members were scattered to all the winds of heaven from the mountains and forests of Bohemia, sparks fell from be- yond the boundary of that country — sparks which the Lord's Spirit breathed upon, till they became a flame, which will not be extinguished so long as there shall exist hearts in which that flame is put, and whose duty it is to keep it continually burning. It Avas not an earthly flame that issued out of that burning persecution, but a light kindled at the altar before the throne of God, and which those who received the gospel in their hearts promised to go forth and preach in the simjilicity of men who were de- termined to know nothing on earth but Jesus Christ and him crucified as the Saviour of sinners. That Church has some other 2)eculiarities. It is the least of all the tribes of Israel ; it is divided into widely separated sections ; yet still it is the Church of the United Brethren at home and abroad, in the islands of the West Indies, in Greenland, in Labrador, in North America, and South Africa. Where- ever it has carried the gospel, it has still been as a united Church — united in sjoirit, and that spirit under the influ- ence and guidance of the Holy Spirit of God. We are peculiar in another respect. The great work we are called to perform is far beyond the temporal means of support of HIS SPEECH IN GLASGOW. 337 those engaged in it. It lias pleased the Lord to make the Church of the Brethren dependent more or less on every other Christian Church with which we hold communion and fellowship in doctrine and worship. The annual e?:- pense of 12,000^. for supporting our missions is not raised amongst ourselves. We cannot, with the utmost exertion, produce more than one fourth, or, at the most, one third of the amount ; but the Lord has made his people willing, on every hand, out of their abundance to communicate to our necessities. The Lord Jesus himself said, ' It is more blessed to give than to receive.' The greater blessing be- longs to those of our friends on whom he has conferred the privilege of giving; and we must hope to enjoy the smaller by receiving of their bounty. What the Lord Jesus Christ has given to you, and what you, as his stewards, have bestowed upon us, must be accounted for by us both to Him and to you ; and when the details of that expenditure come before you, it will be apj^arent that there has been no want of economy in all our arrangements. My friend has intimated how self-denying the Brethren are. Our missionaries labor without hire, exce2:>t a very small provi- sion for the education of their children, and a small retir- ing allowance. But do they labor without wages ? No ; they ask and they receive the greatest reward which thc}^ can enjoy under heaven ; they are not content with a less price for their labors and privations among the heathen than that which will satisfy the Redeemer, when He shall see of the travail of his soul. They require souls for their hire ; and souls in the last day shall rise up and come from the east and from the west, fi-om the north and from tlie south, and shall sit down with them and with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of their father." Mr. Montgomery j^roceeded briefly to sketch the history 29 338 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. of the Moravian Cliurcli, the origui of which he dated about the ninth century, when missionaries came into Mo- ravia, Bulgaria, and Bohemia, with the Scriptures in their hands, and translated them into the languages of these provinces. " It was a remarkable fact," he observed, " that a princess of Bohemia was married to Richard the Second ; and when she came to the Court of Britain she found herself among those who professed the same Chris- tian doctrines as herself; and she became the patroness of WickliiFe and the Reformers in England, as she had patron- ized those in her own countiy who maintained the truth in opposition to the House of Austria, They lield the Scrij> turcs in such respect, that previous to the Reformation three editions of the Bohemian Scriptures were printed by these people, and used throughout that jJi'ovince. The last effort of persecution threw them Avith their families into Alsatia, where they founded a flourishing Church ; and thus they became a missionary Church, as soon as they were called to bear the cross as a Church of martyrs." He could not, after three days of fatiguing travelling, which was more than could well be borne by a bruised reed which was not yet broken, and smoking flax which was not yet qvienched, enter at large into the statement to which Mr. Latrobe had invited him. He proceeded to refer to a few of the features of the West Indian missions. Advert- ing to the Danish island of Santa Cruz, he stated, that it had been proposed to him to suggest to the leading men in the Church the propriety of superseding the mixed French, German, Dutch, and English, which form the language of the islands, with the English alone, which it was proposed shoi;ld be taught in the mission schools. " This," he re- marked, " was a proposal not to be hastily taken up, nor to be hastily laid down ; for he was persuaded that the time HIS SPEECH IN GLASGOW. 339 might come, and he trusted that the tune would come, when all the nations should have one language, and that language the English. The island of Santa Cruz was with- out a parallel in the history of missions, and without an example in the history of the world. It was purchased by a Danish councillor from the French who had deserted it, and left it to lie waste for forty years. They had heard to- day that it now embraces a population of 25,000. It oc- cured to this councillor to call in the aid of the United Brethren, with whose self-denial and patient endurance he was already acquainted ; and he jirevailed upon fourteen of them to settle amongst the negroes whom he placed upon the island. During forty years it had lain fallow, produc- ing rank luxuriant vegetation and poisonous underwood. In the first year, ten of the Brethren, — so it was ordered in the Divine government, — laid their bones in the soil of that inhospitable island ; but others were ready to take their places, and the work of God, under all possible diffi- culties, continued to flourish. lie did not attribute all the pros^^erity which had attended the colony to the mission- aries ; it was not altogether the efiect of their labors, but it was intimately connected with them. It was objected by may who misunderstood the character of missionary labor, that they went among the heathen to Christianize them before they civUized them. " Our brethren," he con- tinued, " go with the gospel in their hands, and the power of the gospel in their hearts. Their system is aggressive. They do not begin with the young, or with the middle- aged, or Avith those who are verging towards the close of life ; they preach to old and young the simple testimony which converted the first Greenlander, and which in every place where the Brethren have carried the gospel, has been the means of conversion ; they simply, faithfully, 340 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. and fervently preach Christ crucified, which jDroves itself to be the power of God and the wisdom of God unto salvation." A few days after, a public breakfast was given at the Black Bull Inn, in honor of the venerable jioet, where a hundred gentlemen assembled to mingle in the social en- joyments of the occasion. Their guest, verging to three-score years and ten, and meeting the company in the three-fold character of coun- trymen, friends, and Christians, seemed thrilled with tender and serious emotions. Briefly rehearsing the leading incidents of his Ufe since leaving Scotland at four years and a half old, and express- ing his strong attachment to Britain, as bound to her by a three-fold cord, having had a home in each of her three principalities, he declared he could in no way better express his feehngs than in the language of a poem written twenty- five years before, " I love thee, O my native isle," which he read with the earnest and simple utterance which marks true feeling. On his arrival at Irvine, his native town, the Provost, magistrates, and council met him at the station, and havmg conducted him to the hall, made him a burgess of that ancient and royal burgh. The heart of all Irvine seemed moved on the occasion, and old and young, rich and poor, " lads running barefoot and lasses glowing with pleasure," came forth to welcome the poet to his birth-place. Dressed in a plain suit of black, his ample shirt-ruffles and locks of snowy whiteness bespeak an age gone by, while the unwrinkled cheek and clear-speaking countenance disclose a fresh and unworn spirit within. With no ordi- nary interest did he seek his cottage home, gaze upon the landscapes that smiled upon his childhood, and receive the KECEPTION AT EDINBURGH. 341 honest grip of an old Scottish grand-dame, who dandled him upon her knee in infancy and smootlied the pillow of his dying sister, and whose rehearsal of his nursery days filled him with a strange and sad delight. Services were held to promote the special object of the visit, and a public breakfast was given in honor of their revered guest. During the visit, he was told that the archives of the town contained a manuscript copy of one of Burns's poems, and that a similar memorial of his genius would be highly prized. On his return, finding among his papers the original copy of The World before the Flood, written in 1813, he sent it to the authorities of his native town, accompanied by a handsome edition of his poems, just issued at London. The deputation visited Paisley, Greenock, Stirling, Perth, Dundee, and many places of historic interest, when we enter Edinburgh with them, where they were received with the same lively interest which marked their recep- tion elsewhere. Gentlemen of all i^arties came forward to welcome Montgomery, and do honor to his genius. "It is refreshing," said Dr. Huie, at a public breakfast, "to see amongst us that venerable bard, on whose writ- ings we have so often dwelt with admiration and delight ; whether we wandered with him over the mountain soli- tudes of Switzerland, or visited with him the tornado- rocked dwellings of the "West Indies, the ice-bound coasts of Greenland, or the enchanting scenery of the Pelican Island ; or whether, surrendering our imaginations more completely to his guidance, we permitted him to carry us back through the vista of departed ages to the World be- fore the Flood, It is no small praise, sir, to say of an un- inspired writer, that the pleasure which we derive from 29* 342 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. his "works is pure and unmingled ; and yet such is the case with the poems of our fi-iend, Mr. Montgomery. Brightly though the cup of his fancy sparkles, there is no poison in the chalice ; sweet though the flowers be which he scatters around us, there is no serpent imderneath to sting the hand that gathers them. But high though this praise is, our honored guest deserves a higher still. He has tuned his lyre to the loftiest theme which can engage the mind or the imagination of man; he has sung in hallowed strains the triumphs of incarnate Deity ; and he has supplied us with befitting language in which to express our devotional feehngs, in almost every conceivable variety of circum- stances. I belicA'C, sir, that there is no one here who has not felt and acknowledged this — whether in teaching the lisping babe upon his knee that " ' Prayer is the simplest form of speech That infant lips can try ; ' or whether, looking forward, in an hour of grief and deso- lation, to the last resting-j^lace of the mourner, he has re- joiced to think that " ' There is a calm for those that weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found ; They softly lie and sweetly sleep Low in the ground ; ' or whether, rising on imagination's wing, he has soared to the third heaven, and, overpowered by the flood of glory which has there burst upon him, has exclaimed, in tones of rapture — " ' What are these in bright array ? Tliis innumerable tlirong? Round the altar, night and day, Tuning their triumphal song? ' SUCCESS OF HIS JOURNEY. 343 It is not only as a poet, then, but as a Christian poet — and not as a Christian poet merely, but as the first Christian poet of the day — the Cowper, as he has been well termed, of the nineteenth century — that, in the name of this meet- ing and of my fellow-citizens, I bid Mr. Montgomery wel- come, thrice welcome, to Edinburgh ; and express a hope, that although this be his first, it will not be his last visit to the metropolis of his native land. But, Sir, I must not forget that we are met here for a higher and a holier pur- pose than to render honor to man for what the grace and the Spirit of God have enabled him to do." The highest respect which could be rendered to the poet was service done to the cause which brought him to Scot- land, and whose advocacy he ever made prominent over all things else. The charms of those literary circles which adorn her metropolis, the almost classic records of her soil, and the distinguished courtesies everywhere proffered him, could never divert his mind from the direct object of his journey as "a messenger from the United Brethren." Personal distinctions, not undervalued or hghtly esteemed, met the child of the Christian missionary, and the poet and advocate of Christian missions, to do him honor, but they were ofierings which he devoutly laid upon the altar of the Redeemer of the world. After a month's sojourn, the deputation left the genuhie hospitalities of their Scottish Christian friends with six hundred pounds for the missionary treasury, and a gain of prayerful interest to the cause which no money could measure. Dr. Iluie, whose hospitable mansion in George-square was the poet's home while at Edinbui-gh, tells us, "with a fire-side unreserve, of his visit there : " His frank, yet gentle and imassuming manners, made 344 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. liim a great favorite with my young people, who showed their regard for him in every possible way, leaving in his apartment so many little tokens of friendship, that he one day said to me in their presence : ' Dr. Huie, I think there must be fairies in your house, for I find so many fairy gifts in my room, that I cannot conceive where they come from, unless they bring them.' But his warm and benevolent heart appeared especially attracted toward my youngest son David, then just eight years of age. Him he always addressed in kind and paternal accents, and sjjoke of him in his absence, and mentioned him in the precious letters which I received from him after his return to Sheffield, in a strain of marked affection. He copied for him on a card his own poetical version of the Lord's Prayer, adding : — " ' Thus, as the Saviour taught to say, May little David learn to pray 1 ' " One day, too, when David showed him a copy of Mil- ton, which he had received as a prize at school, he took it into his hand and said, with much feehng, ' Ah ! David, what would I have given at your age for such a book as that ! ' " The Sunday after his arrival, he enjoyed the privilege of hearing two of our most eminent preachers, and after- wards spent the evening in interesting and edifying con- versation with my family, while I went to assist in taking up the collection in aid of the Moravian Missions, which was made after a sermon preached by Mr. Latrobe, in the largest of our city churches. On every day during the following week, except Thursday, I invited various friends to meet him at breakfast, distinguished either for their celebrity in literature or science, or their attachment to the cause of the Moravian Missions. In this way, or by HIS APPEARANCE IN COMPANY 345 calling with me at their own houses, he made the acquaint- ance of Professor Wilson ; of his brother, Mr. James WU- son, the eminent naturalist ; of Mr. Mob', of Musselburgh, better known as the ' Delta ' of Blackwood's Magazine : O 7 of Mr. Steell, the sculptor ; of Dr. Abercrombie, Dr. Greville, and many of our city ministers of different denominations. I soon found, however, that Mr. Mont- gomery did not shine in a large company; his sensitive nature shrinking from any thing like display. His con- versation, therefore, was usually confined to the friends who sat on either side of him ; and if I addressed a remark to him from the foot of the table, he would briefly signify his assent to it ; or if it were calculated to draw forth some observation from him, as was sometimes intentionally the case, he would express his opinion in as few words as pos- sible, and with much diffidence. But in the domestic circle, where none except myself and family were present, he gave utterance to his thoughts and feeHngs without the least reserve, and his conversation was of a rich and in- structive character. Always cheerful himself, he diffused an atmosphere of cheerfulness around him ; but never did he forget the Apostle's injunction, ' Let your sj)eech be al- ways with grace, seasoned with salt.' His remarks on men and things, and more especially on the hterature and liter- ary men of the day, were those of a man of candor and refinement, a Christian and a gentleman ; and I was de- hghted to find, as the result of nine days of unrestrained and constant interchange of thought and sentiment with him, that his published woi-ks were as truly the transcript of the feelings and conceptions of the inner man, as the hills and groves, mirrored in the glassy lake, are the reflec- tions of the landscape which surrounds it. " On the 25th of October my venerable friend returned 346 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. home, and we continued to correspond at intervals for some years. But as the infirmities of age advanced upon him, he ceased to write ; although he never missed an oppor- tunity of sending me a kind message, in token of his afiec- tionate remembrance." CHAPTER XVIII. DEATH OK MR. r.ENNETT — ROBBERY AT THE MOUNT — VISIT TO IRELAND ■ — DEATH OF SOUTHEY — NEW POET-LAUREATE — VISIT TO BUXTON — • LECTURING AT LIVERPOOL — LETTER TO DR. RAFFLES — PREMONITION OF OLD AGE — INNOVATIONS — WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT'S VISIT — LONGFELLOW — POEM TO " LILY " — CORN-LAWS — LETTER TO HOLLAND — HARTLEY COLERIDGE. Ox his 1-eturn home, Montgomery wrote Mr. Bennett on his birth-day, Nov. 4th, 1841 : " To-day I am three-score years and ten ; how I have spent them. He only who gave, and will soon call to ac- count, can know. The newspajDcrs have informed you of our month in Scotland, and of the Christian kmdness shown to ray excellent companion and myself as messen- gers of our poor little church. I need to watch and pray that I might escape harm, even from all the good which a gracious Providence permitted to befall me, for we are tried by blessings as well as adversities." A week scarcely elapsed, before tidings of the sudden death of this highly valued and truly beloved friend reached The Mount. It was a heavy stroke to Montgomery. " Ah," he wrote, in the closing lines of a little poem, after rallying from the shock, " When some long comfort ends, And Nature would despair, Faith to the heaven of heavens ascends, And meets ten thousand there ; 348 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. First faint and small, then clear and bright, They gladden all the gloom. As stars that seem but points of light The rank of suns assume." Mr. Bennett died in a fit, on the road between London and Hackney, in the 68th year of his age. A monument was erected to his memory in the cemetery of Sheffield, with appropriate inscriptions, by his bereaved friend. An occurrence of lesser note, rudely jarred upon the tranquillity of The Mount ; the robbery of the house one Sabbath evening, during the absence of its master and Miss Gales at a religious service. Among the plunder, which mainly consisted of money and plate, the robbers helped themselves to the massive inkstand, presented to the poet some years before by the ladies of Sheffield : in- deed, most of the loss was such as money could not replace; but the most painful circumstance of all was a strong probability that " perfidy, rather than violence did the deed," the servant girl having herself introduced the thieves, and then suffered herself to be tied up in the cellar, to elude suspicion and excite the compassion of her employers. The matter was never prosecuted, nor were any of the stolen articles ever recovered ; the touching story of the inkstand having been returned by the penitent thief, we are sorry to find, is not " founded on fact." In the latter part of 1842, Montgomery was soUcited to undertake, with Mr. Latrobe, a tour in Ireland, similar to that made in Scotland. The feeble state of his health made him hesitate to start on a journey involving so much labor. In view however of the urgency of the case, he rallied his strength, and lefl Sheffield early in December. DEATH OF THE POET-LAUREATE. 349 Ireland was not remiss in her recejotion of the Christian poet. Greetings like those in Scotland met him at the capital. But waiving all personal considerations, and anxious to bestow his failing strength vipon the cause which he came to present, "I come," he said, 'to those who would do him homage,' " only in one character, and that an exceed- ingly simple one, as a member of the Church of the United Brethren, and in that character as a brother to every Chris- tian throughout the land. I come before you as a little child, pleading for help to carry forward our missionary work, and to bear that blessed burden which it has pleased God to lay upon us." And in this character, the deputation were received and aided with a love and liberality which did honor to the Irish heart. On the 21st of March, 1843, the bard of Keswick breathed his last: — a palace in ruins he had long been. The over-tasked student sat at last a stranger in his own work-shop, his mind gone, or only faintly flickering over the well-read treasures of his ample library. At the time of his death, he was the poet-laureate, and who would succeed to the vacated honor, was a question speedily asked by the inquisitive and suggestive press. " Wordsworth, Campbell, Moore, and our own Mont- gomery, appear to be the only names which we can men- tion in this connection," answers a Slieffield paper. " Upon the last of these, as pre-eminently the ' Christian Poet ' of his country, the honor of successorship to his late respected friend would descend with a grace and propriety which, w^e doubt not, would be highly approved by the good and the wise of all j^a-i'tics." " I perceive you would make me poet-laureate if you 30 350 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. were king," said the poet, on meeting the editor the next morning ; " I think I could guess who Avill be, but his name is not on your list." Milman was the person alluded to, though Montgomery thought him less qualified for the discharge of its duties than likely to get it. A conversation following upon the manner in Avhich the office had been filled in modern times, " some people thought," said Montgomery, " that Southey was too much under the influence of his 'Thalabas,' 'Kehamas,' and 'Madocs,' to be a popular English poet-laureate — but he deserves credit for having rescued the office from that degradation into which it had sunk during the incum- bency of his immediate predecessors, by the execution of those biennial compositions, which were formei'ly set to music by the king's composers." On being asked what he thought should be expected from a laureate of requisite note and abilities : — " A series of grand national odes on grand national subjects," he replied, "of which we do not possess a single popular specimen from the pen of a poet-laureate. They sliould combine, with a strong historical interest, all the charms of the old ballad j^oetry." Wordsworth was the favored individual ; and in a letter of reply to Montgomery's congratulations, a few months afterwards, he says : "I am truly sensible of the kindness of your expressions upon my appointment to the laureateship, which I at first refused on account of my advanced age. But it was after- wards pressed upon me so strongly by the Lord Chancellor, and by Sir Robert Peel himself, that I could not possibly persist in that refusal ; and especially as her Majesty's name and approval were again referred to; and I was as- LETTER TO SAKAII GALES. 351 sured that it was offered me solely in consideration of what I bad already done in literature, and without the least view to future exertions, as connected with the honor. It has since gratified me to learn from many quarters, as you yourself also tell me, that the appomtment has given uni- versal satisfaction. And I need scarcely add, that it has afforded me a melancholy pleasure to be thought worthy of succeeding my revered friend." Friend after friend departing, was not the only token of a long life waning. The infirmities of age began to creep npon him. His over-coat slid on less easily ; and his fingers grew stiff, making writing difficult and painful. " There is as much music as ever in the instrument," he said cheerily, " but the hand has not power over the bow, and cannot call the spirit out." In the autumn he went to Buxton to try the effect of bathing for numbness in his right hand, Avhich, he feared was about " to lose its cunning." Playfully he reports himself to his companion at home, Sarah Gales : "Buxton, Sept. 1, 1843. " My Dear Saeau, " For once at least I am determined to send you a downright dull matter-of-fact letter, having no spirit even to write nonsense, — unless I cannot help it. After parting with you for the five-hundredth time (if my reckoning be right), since we first met, I reached the Tontine in safety, and got into the Buxton coach. The morning was dismal without, and not very bright within that part of me where I live, — that is where I think and feel ; for the rest of my clay tenement is to me but as the unoccupied rooms in our old house in the Hartshead, only visited occasionally when 352 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. special necessity requires. This is a ' matter of fact,' though a mystery, and therefore not quite irrelevant to the theme of this letter. I arrived here on Tuesday : my coach companions were two of ' the better sex,' both mothers, and one, to my inexpressible dismay, had a baby in her arms. I have often said that, when ' I am King,' — that is, when I am ' King, Lords, and Commons, and all ' (for less authority could not do it, even if that could), I will make a law to prohibit, under severe penalties, any woman, old or young, so incumbered, from taking an inside place in a coach, to the annoyance of bachelors like me. In justice, however, to this baby, I must say it was the best fellow-traveller of the size that it was my fate ever to be thus pinfolded with, in all my adventures : it never cried, nor kicked, nor committed any of those nameless little offences which are the besetting infirmities of such little innocents. The worst thing, therefore, that I wish may ever befall it is, that, as it was the best baby that ever was born — every mother having had that baby — it may groAV up to be the best man or woman — and so I have done with it, and turn to less important, or, in lady's phrase, less interesting matters. [Then follow particulars about lodging, living, bathing, &c.] I have taken three hot baths here, but not ventured to plunge into the natu- rally tepid ones, which are the miracle-working waters of Buxton. Every day I have got abroad, and exercise my- self from head to foot with climbing the hills, walking through the plantations, or rambling down the dales . . . If I should make a digression to Ockbrook, instead of pre- senting myself at The Mount, I shall write a line to inform you ; meanwhile, my dear Sarah, do not be uneasy about me : be assured that I shall take as good care of myself, as though I were ten times more precious than I am, or than LETTER TO DR. RAFFLES. 353 I deserve to be ; and yet I am, Avith my heart's best affec- tions, and most earnest prayers for your present, future, and everlasting welfare, your faithful and most grateful friend, for kindnesses which I appreciate, but can never repay." In spite of infirmities, the next year we find him at Liverpool, lecturing upon the poets, but he was compelled to decline all visiting, feeling his need of the restoring power of rest after the exertion of his public efforts. He thus writes Dr. Rafiles of that city after his return : "Sheffield, September 10, 184-1. " My Dear Fkiexd, " Pray permit me still to call you so, though during my late sojourn in Liverpool, by the help of bad manage- ment, I failed, time after time, in my purposes to make you a personal visit, and spend an hour with you, on living over again the days and weeks of former years, when, as your guest, I had the privilege to enjoy, in company with our late friend George Bennett, some of the pleasantest, and not the least profitable hours of Christian society that I ever remember. Twice I adventured through the sea of Liverpool — for to me the town with its high ways and bye- ways was as pathless and bewildering as tlie great deep itself — towards your chapel ; and by inquiring at every corner or open door, I reached the spot in safety. On the first occasion you were absent, but your pulpit was well oc- cupied by good Dr. Urwick of Dublin (as I understood) ; and an excellent discourse he delivered. I was both awed and affected by the largeness of the place, and the multi- tude of the congregation ; but yet more deeply touched on the following Sabbath evening to find that the congrega- 30* 354 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. tion Tras no more diminished than the place, when you, as the ordinary j^reaeher, were on duty. I confess that, though the thought was overpowering, I rejoiced to find that such a burthen of the Lord had been laid upon you, and that He had given, and continued to give to you, bodily strength and mental resources, but above all. His heavenly grace, and His Holy Spirit, to bear up under such ' a weight of glory ' as that ' burthen ' must be, — standing between Him and so many souls, as the one who must give account. This, I do trust, you will be enabled to render, when the thousands to whom you have min- istered shall rise uj? to call you blessed, and be your joy and crown of rejoicing in the day of the Lord Jesus Christ . . . I close this letter with assuring you that, with sin- cere gratitude for many kindnesses at your hands in years gone by, and with confirmed esteem and respect, I am your obliged friend, " J. Mo:n^tgomert." " Ah," he sadly said one day to Mr. Holland, " nothing can prevent us fi-om growing old." But if at times he sighed over the premonitions of decay, which bade him husband his strength for accustomed du- ties, and withheld him from the new and numerous calls of the new era dawning upon him, he did not look with dis- trust upon improvements, or discern more evil than good in these later days. Innovations were never scare-crows to his wide and dis- cerning mind. Speaking of "Wordsworth's sonnet deprecating the pro- jected Kendal and Windemere Railway : — " Poetically, the lines are not unworthy of their author," he said ; " but practically, I think he is wrong. I should have no more BURLESQUE FROM "PUNCH." 355 objection to it, than to the small steamer, 'Lady of the Lake,' which now actually plies on Winclemere itself." " Pmich," remarked his friend, " represents the laureate as exclaiming, at the unwelcome sight of such an object in such a place : " What incubus, my goodness I have we here, Cumbering the bosom of our lovely lake ? A steam-boat, as I live I — without mistake ! Puffing and splashing over Windemere I What inharmonious shouts assail mine ear ? Shocking poor Echo, that perforce repUes, — ' Ease her ! ' and ' stop her ! ' — frightful horrid cries, Mingling with frequent pop of ginger beer." He laughed, and enjoyed the quotation, saymg, " I must confess I always watch the progress of a steamer or of a railway train with pleasure, even amidst the finest of our home scenery at least ; and I was particularly pleased the other day, with observing the transit of an engine and train of carriages along the bank side of the River Don, and through the graceful skirts of Wharncliffe Wood." " In truth I am relinquishing," he writes to a fi-iend, " all my former active exertions in public affairs, holding my tongue in meetings, and refraining from engagements in private company, lest I should be drawn out in excite- ment or sink into apathy." A hard, if wholesome economy, we think, still leaping with the warm pulses of a heart unworn, that rallies " the fortitude And circumspection needful to preserve Its present blessings, and to husband up The respite of the season." 356 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. It was on a bright June morning of 1844, that our own poet, Bryant, paid a visit to The Mount to see one, " whose name," he said, " he had long honored, and of the admir- ation of whom he had given evidence by committing to memory when yomig the whole of The Wanderer of Swit- zerland.'''' The quiet and unaffected manners of his American guest charmed Montgomery, and he felt at home with him im- mediately. " I am anxious," said he, in the course of conversation, " to see your poets give to their works an impression of native originality, more of an mterest derived from the pe- culiar character of their countiy, and imitate less those of our own — on this account I have been much pleased Avith Longfellow." Of Bryant himself this is a marked excellence, whose descriptive writings are essentially American, and the graphic felicity of whose details transport us to all the brilliant peculiarities of our forest scenery. On Montgomery playfully remarking, " You pirate our books so in your country, sometimes reprinting a whole volume in a newspaper," Bryant rejomed : " And you cer- tainly return the compliment ; I say nothing of Longfel- low's poems, which you have named ; but my own have all been reprinted here, without either consultation or concurrence on my part; and I was surprised, when in London the other day, to have put into my hand a me- tropolitan impression of a few pieces wdiich I published only just before I left home to complete a volume. The English printer seems to have thought them equally de- sirable to perfect his surreptitious edition." Longfellow seems to have been a favorite with the Shef- field poet. "THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH." 357 " The Village Blacksmith " delighted him. " It is real poetry," he exclaimed on reading the little poem; "the inspiration of a happy moment ; and not mere rhymes got up on a selected subject, to show the author's skill : they will form a beautiful pendant to Shakspeare's graphic and well-known description of a smith. How happily has the poet described the burning toil of the worthy man ; and even ray own wandering curiosity, when, as a Fulneck school-boy, I used to peep into old John Oddy's smithy at Tonge : " Week in — week out — from morn till night You can hear his bellows blow ; You can hear liim swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat, and slow .... And cliildren coming home from school, Look in at the open door ; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaflf from a threshing floor." And then the moral built upon the blacksmith's " some- thing attempted — something done : " " Thus at the flaming forge of life, Our fortunes must be wrought ; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought ! " But, ah, the flames of his forge were burning dimmer and dimmer: " I have," said Montgomery, " posted to-day, for a gentle- man at Bath, a little poem, which I have had in hand ever since January, on the Grasshopper ; a subject proposed by 358 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. himself, and intended, I believe, to illustrate some state- ment or other in a book on grasses. You will hardly believe me when I tell you, that I made nine or ten tran- scrijits of the piece before I could fully satisfy myself with it. Such a trifle would not, at one period, have cost me so much labor ; but now, literally as well as metaphorically, even ' the grasshopper is a burden ' to me." Lily, a little pet of five years, the grandchild of his friend Samuel Roberts, having suddenly died, the poet thus ex- presses his sympathy : " Deeply and affectionately s^inpathizing wdth you and each respectively of your family, sufferers by the late be- reavement, I can only add, that, though the delight of your eyes has been taken away with a stroke, the desire of your hearts, — their treasure, for so brief a time in possession, — is, I verily believe, where all your treasures ought to be — in heaven, and whither to the end may every one among your number seek it individually, and find it for ever ; since there it cannot be lost, and there its ti'ue value can alone be known, as the purchase of the precious blood of Jesus Christ — the richest ransom which eternal love itself could pay." The following lines were enclosed : '"'• In Memory of JEJ. C. M. {Lily)^ loho died aged Jive years. " She was a spirit, sent Oa earth a little while ; She came among us, peeped, and went Away like her own smile ; Tliat smile, which oft, with childhood's grace, Showed us heaven's image in her face, The mirror of a soul, from whence Sin had not banished innocence. OPINION OF CORN LAWS. 359 " She was a jewel rare, Precious beyond all price ; Not lost, as worldly treasures are, But lodged in Paradise ; Where, at the rising of the just, "We pray, we hope, we humbly trust To see her shine, a glorious gem In the Kedecmer's diadem. " She was a love-knot, tied By Heavenly Love's own hand, To hold, what death could not divide, In one united hand. The cords of many a gentle heart. Which parting only seem'd to part. For Lily cannot cease to be Our love-knot in eternity. "The Mount, June, 1845." J. M. Towards the end of December, great public anxiety was manifested in consequence of the sudden breaking up of Sir Robert Peel's government ; and the attempt, ultimately unsuccessful on the part of Lord John Russell, to form an administration on the basis of a coaHtion of parties favor- able to an immediate abolition of the Corn Laws. This crisis of the Cabinet was rendered still more interesting by the unexpected demise of Lord Wharncliffe, at this time President of the Px'ivy Council. In these occurrences Montgomery seemingly evinced a more lively concern than he had latterly been wont to take in political move- ments. " I have been thinking," he said, " about the Corn Laws : I am, perhaps, not a competent, though I am certainly a disinterested judge in the question, and I must confess I 360 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. can neither perceive in what way they must needs be so mischievous as they are said to be, nor how their aboHtion will certainly lead to all those great national benefits that some persons appear to anticipate ; but stronger heads and sterner wills than mine will determine the issue, I only wish the conflict was well over." He had, a few days pre- viously, rated Mr. Holland for not going to hear Mr. Cobden speak at the Cutler's Hall. " I should have gone to hear myself," said the poet, " if I could have been in- visible, or allowed to make one of the crowd ; but I did not Hke to encounter the risk of being invited to take a seat on the platform." In the autumn of 1846, with Miss Gales, he projected a jaunt to Harrogate. " I am glad you are going," said a friend ; " these autumn days are so fine." " Aye," answered the poet, in a tone of sadness, " they may be so to young men, who talk of those pensive sensa- tions which old men feelP " It was a kind of triumj)h once," is his monody, — " to see " All nature die, and find myself at ease, In youth, that seemed an immortality : But I am changed now, and feel with trees A brotlierhood, and in their obsequies Think of my own." From Harrogate, Sept. 18th, 1846, he writes to his friend, John Holland, as follows : " I ought to have written to you sooner, though there being no high pressure upon my conscience, I have as usual deferred the obligation to the last hour. . . . Miss Gales and I arrived here safely on Tuesday evening. Mr. LETTER TO JOHN HOLLAND. 301 Blackwell met us on our alighting at the entrance of this multifarious collection of all manner of human dwellings, where there are fewer homes than houses ; the latter, in bulk and accommodations, being built and furnished for pilgrims and sojourners rather than for the resident inhabit- ants. Yet at this season so overflowing is the tide of pop- ulation, that on our arrival, had not our friend Mr. B. been warned of our coming, we might, indeed, have found room enough on High Harrogate Common to spread our gar- ments on the green sward, and rested on our mother's lap, and under the infinity of space, where all the host of heaven sleep by day and watch by night ; for no narrower bed or lower roof might have been accessible to afford us shelter. " Our journey was pleasant and easy ; and though I, of course, had forecast in my melancholy and ever-misgiving mind all manner of petty incidents and vexations to cross us by the way, — laying out of the question the 2^osslble possibilities of explosions, crashes, dangers, and deaths, that imperil travellers by railway, we might, undisturbed, have slept and dreamt most marvellously of these horrors, without one hair-breadth 'scape, between The Mount and Cornwall ITouse, where we are now quartered, and which ought to be called ' The Mount ' of Harrogate, being on the highest point yet built upon, and overlooking all below, at a safe distance from the smoke, the smells, the bustle, and ' all the goings on ' (Coleridge's phrase) of human life iu this strange place. Strange, surely, it is, where more is seen, and hoard, and done, and thought, and said, and suf- fered, and all the rest of sublunary things — more of these occur and pass in the three months of which a Harrogate year consists than in the remaining nine in common places where everything is common-place from the first of January 31 362 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. to the last of December. . . . We are very comfort ably lodged under the same roof with Mr. Blackwell's family, having our separate establishments, but being very good neighbors. Miss Gales, with her kind regards, says, you shall be very welcome if you will visit us here, and we will make as much of you as we can. Don't forget to call at The Mount ; and any letters worth sending, forward as soon as you can. ■ I have neither rooin nor time to say Farewell, as witness the word itself" " You mention honey," he replies to a female friend, respecting a promised gift, " and very considerately oifer to send me some if I Uke it, and on a certain condition. I do like it, and consent to the condition, if not to be bound by the letter, yet to keep it according to the spirit. ' What is sweeter than honey?' was one of the jjoints of Samson's riddle. One of the Apocryphal writers (Eccles, xi. 3) says, beautifully, ' The bee is little among such as fly ; but her fruit is the chief of sweet things.' On higher and holier authority, however, I find that there is indeed some- thing on earth, even sweeter than ' the fruit ' of the bee, and no wonder, for it came down from heaven, and is yet more delicious than that ' angels' food,' the manna that was sent to the children of Israel in the wilderness. The inspired Psalmist says, Ps. xix. — see verses 9, 10, and Ps. cxix. v. 103 ; and you know that these things are so, for you 'have tasted the good word of God ; ' and may you ever live thereby ! For this, may I too hunger and thirst, that my soul may live by it through both worlds ; for it is the seed of eternal life when soAvn and quickened in a prepared heart. I have only to add, in answer to your kind enquir- ies, that new maladies, almost necessarily incurable in old bodies, multiply upon me with years ; and I must be thank- ful for comparative exemption from very pamful ones. SONNET FROM HARTLEY COLERIDGE. 3G3 An internal symptom of morbid disease, without anything to be called suffering, is my latest warning of a decaying tabernacle." The friends retunied from their visit to Harrosrate, im- proved in health and spirits. The first business we find him attending to is the disposal of a hundred pounds, given him by Mr. Roberts for the Moravian Brethren, fifty of which he bestowed upon their missions, and fifty for their ministers' fund. This gentle- man had already made him his almoner to the amount of six or seven hundred pounds for similar purposes at various times — tributes of personal friendship, as well as proofs of Christian liberality. A few days afterwards, a stranger called upon the poet, who playfully presented the following epistle of introduc- tion from his friend : " To the Poet James Montgomery. " Poets there are, whom I am weU content Only to see in mirror of their verse, Feeling their very presence might disperse Tlie glorious vision which their lines present ; But never could my shaping vrit invent An image worthy of a Christian bard Such as thou art — but ever would discard Conceit too earthy and irreverent To be thy likeness. Therefore I regret The fate, or fault, or whatsoe'er it be, Hath made thy holy lineament as yet A vague imagination unto me. I more should love and better understand Thy verse, could I but hold thee by the hand. " IIaktley Coleridge." CHAPTER XIX. WILBERFORCE — IIOWITt's " HOMES AND HAUNTS OF THE POETS " — VISIT TO WATU — REMINISCENCES OF YOUTH — ROSCOE CLUB — DEATH OF FRIENDS. The clergy of Sheffield having had a i:)rivate meeting to consider M'hether anything shoidd be done to counteract the spread of po^Dcry, concluded not to make a public demonstration, but to hinder the growth of error by a more diligent sowing of the truth. " They are right," said Montgomery ; " they seem to have acted on the plan of the old penknife cutler, who determined that he would go to bed for a day, in order to devise new patterns ; but his faculty of invention proving wholly unproductive, he got up, resolved to do nothing ; saying, he thought the old patterns were, after all, the best !" " Have you read the Rev. Henry Wilberforce's discourse on Christian unity ?" asked a friend. " I have : the Protestant clergyman is as infallible, in his own opinion, as the Pope himself, and far less reasonable : he assumes, indeed, without one tittle of evidence, or even of argument, that his church is the cnuRCH ; and then, with as much dogmatical gravity as the Roman pontift' could arrogate, he declares that l)eyond the pale of his communion there is no salvation : with equal bigotry does the vicar of East Farleigh pronounce, not only that ' all "HOMES AND HAUNTS OF THE POETS." 3G5 dissent is sin,' but he tells lis, ' how veiy shocking it is, that many good sort of people think nothing of coming to church on the Sunday morning, and then going to meeting in the evening.' " The preacher's excellent father often went to Mr, Jay's chapel, at Bath, as well as to other dissenting places of worship ; and it is lamentable to find his sons not only shirking facts of this kind, but actually rejjudiating, by their own extravagant sentiments of conduct, the evangel- ical catholicity of their revered father's character. This year, also, aj^ijeared Ilowitt's " Homes and Haunts of the English Poets," which Montgomery read with much interest. " He is quite alive to coincidences," remarked the poet, " as in such a work he ought to be. I was amused with his statement to the effect that the house in which Moore was born is now a whisky shop ; that Burns's native cot- tage is a public house ; Shelley's house at Great Marlow, a beer-shop ; the sj^ot where Scott was born occupied with a building used for a similar j^urpose ; and even Coleridge's residence at Nether-Stowey, the very house in which the poet composed that sweet ' Ode to the Nightingale,' is now an ordinary beer-house. Had his visit to Sheffield been only a few months later, my own forty years' residence would doubtless have been added to this list ; for as Miss Gales and I walked up the Hartshead the other day, talk- ing of ' cmld lang syne^ and not forgetful of the very un- complimentary character which Mr. Howitt had given to that locality, what was our consternation to perceive that our old house was actually converted into a Tom-and-Jerry shop ! But what do you think of Mr. Howitt's discov- ery that Wordsworth's system, which so long puzzled the reviewers, is a system of poetical Quakerism ? You know (J] * 366 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. something about the ' haunts ' of George Fox in this neigh- borhood ; and about his Journal, which I never saw ; but which I believe shows him to have been, with all his ex- travagance and enthusiasm, an indefatigable, as well as a sincere, laborer and suiierer in what he considered to be the cause of ev^angelical truth. Now my sur^^rise and re- gret has always been, in reference to some of the most justly celebrated of Wordsworth's poems, that they should be so entirely devoid of all allusion to spiritual things, as the latter are disclosed in the Scrijrtures and in the experi- ence of real Christians." " In the month of April, this year," says Mr. Holland, " the whole kingdom was agitated with discussions relative to the effects likely to be pi'oduced by the operation of certain plans for the general instruction of the poor, pro- pounded in a scries of minutes issued by the Committee of the Coimcil on Education, under the sanction of Lord Lansdowne, the president. The Congregational Dissenters, under the guidance of Mr. Edward Baines, of Leeds, were almost unanimous, not only in rej^udiating the proposed scheme, but in denoimcing all government intervention or aid under any circumstances. For a time Montgomery ap- peared to entertain similar views, as harmonising Avitli the objections to government interference which he had on previous occasions urged in his newspaper. The more, however, he examined the present proposal, the more was he convinced of its impartiality and advantages in a na- tional point of view ; and having thus made up his mind, he joined his friend Samuel Bailey, Esq., in signing the pe- tition from Sheffield in favor of the government scheme of education, in opposition to one which had been adopted at a public meeting against the measure, and to which he was urgently solicited to affix his name." VISIT TO WATH. 367 Mr. Holland, speaking of the odd style of praise be- stowed upon an Independent minister of the city, by one of his parishioners : " Our parson," said the man, " is a devil for preaching." "It is cm-ious," remarked Mont- gomery, " to see how fond certain profane talkers are of referring to the prince of darkness as a model of excel- lence. I recollect dining a few years since, at Derby, with a gentleman, who told me that he had played at cribbage all night in the coach. I replied, innocently enough, as I thought, ' I suppose, sir, you cannot sleep while travelling ?' ' Oh, yes ! ' was the promj^t rejjly, ' I sleep like the devil.' It occurred to me, at the time, to compose an essay on this theme, referring particularly to those arts and employments in which, it may be presumed, that he who was a liar and a murderer from the beginning, is, indeed, a master-Avork- man. I wrote only one passage, in which I described the devil's dream at the close of one of his busiest days, such as that of the battle of Waterloo. The subject was thrill- ing, but not pleasing ; " a little too devilish, perhaps. July, At the solicitation of, and in company with Mr. Holland, the poet visited Wath, his first stopping place after his flight from Mirfield. The railway carried them to within three miles of the village, to which they had a pleasant walk between shady hedges blooming with the flowers of Long Time .Ago. " We presently passed," says the friend, fondly treasur- ing every incident of the day, " the house where Mont- gomery used to visit Brameld, the village bookseller ; and then Swinton Church, in Avhich," he said, " he once ad- dressed a congregation, including some members of the Wentworth House. You will readily believe that my fancy suggested — though I did not mention it — the contrast between the condition of the runaway boy at Wath feel- 368 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. ing his "way to the metropolis, and that of the eloquent Christian poet — and layman — addressing a large audience in this church, in behalf of missionary enterprise, in the presence of Earl FitzwilHam ! " After walking a Httle longer, we came in sight of the ' Queen of Villages ; ' the plain, but not inelegant spire of the church, the large hall, the very handsome "Wesleyan chapel, and about a dozen good houses, forming, with the great number of intermingled orchard and other trees, with some beautiful scenery in the rich valley of the Dearne, a very pleasing picture. A few minutes more, and we were in Wath ; — Montgomery, after an interval of forty years, once more perambulating a village, where, as he said, at the time of his residence, ' there was not one shabby house, nor hardly an indigent family : ' adding, ' I recollect, indeed, there was one pauper died during the overseership of my old master, Hunt, who had a passing- bell rung for him, which, I dare say, is not done even here now-a-days.' As we sauntered along the street our friend mentioned the names of many jjersons who occupied the houses on either hand, half a century before ; till coming to the good, plain gray-stone building, which you well enough remember — ' and this,' said he, ' was our house, the second window over the door there being that of my bed-room.' We entered, and found the tenant very court- eous and ready to show us over the premises. We next proceeded to the house of the parish clerk to obtain access to the church and grave-ground, where the action of the poet's Vigil of St. Mark is laid : " ' That silent, solemn, simple spot. The mouldering realm of peace, Where human passions are forgot, Where human folUes cease.' REMINISCENCES OF YOUTH. 309 " On my naming to the sub-clerical functionary that my companion was Mr. Montgomery, of whom he might per- haps have heard, he promptly expressed his respect for ' the gentleman of that name,' whom he had once known as a youth in Mr. Hunt's shop, and of whose subsequent fame as a poet he had often heard : but he seemed rather to doubt the identity of those characters with the indivi- dual before him. All suspicion, however, vanished instantly that Montgomery adverted to the more than local celebrity of the clerk's father, 'old Billy Evers,' as a fiddler — his music having, we believe, occasionally mingled with that of Dr. MiUer and his protege Herschel, in those private concerts at the adjacent village of Bolton, which are men- tioned by Southey in ' The Doctor.' We took a glass of wine with old Mr. Johnson, a hale and thriving village liquor-merchant, who received us most heartily, but star- tled me not a little by a remark to this eifect : ' Mr. Mont- gomery, I think you have never been married ; I have only this very day been talking to wife about the verses you wrote on Hannah Turner ! ' This was like catching a but- terfly with a pair of blacksmith's tongs ; and I instantly changed the subject of conversation." The gentlemen reached home at evening, having had a day of more than anticipated enjoyment. The aged poet seemed to have renewed his youth : " While old enchantments filled his mind With scenes and seasons far behind — Childhood, its smiles and tears, Youth, with its flush of years, Its morning clouds, and dewy prime, More exquisitely touched by Time. 370 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. " Fancies again are springing, Like May-flowers in the vales ; While hopes, long lost, are singing From thorns, Uke nightingales — And kindly spirits stir his blood Like vernal airs that curl the flood." The sentiment of this exquisite little poem, Youth He- neiffecIjWO can readily believe a transcript of his exjierience. For we behold, with creejiing age, he found it easy " Thus sweetly to surrender The present for the past ; In sprightly mood, yet tender, Life's burden down to cast. This is to taste, from stage to stage, Youth on the lees refined by age ; Like wine well kept and long, Heady, nor harsh, nor strong, With every annual cup, is quaffed A richer, purer, mellower draught." A young clergyman, recently come to Shefiield, having sent the aged poet a poem of his own, Montgomery, with an acknowledgment of its pious sentiment and graceful versification, assumes the jDrivilege of age, and candidly goes on : "I am prompted to encourage you to proceed and prosper, but this I durst not do to the most promising and aspiring youth of the age — an age in which almost every body that is anybody writes, and almost nobody reads poetry. By this I mean that verse, excellent verse, is the least marketable of all literary commodities, not one volimie in twenty, by its sale, defraying the expense of printing and advertising. The only safeguard from abso- lute loss is to secure a subscription list from the author's LETTER TO THE ROSCOE CLUB. 371 personal friends sufficient to cover the outfit of the fragile bark. There probably never was a time in this country when more poetry, even good poetry, was composed by a multitude of contemi^oraries, and published in newspapers, magazines, and reviews, tfcc, than may now be found every day and everywhere. But this is mere scrap-reading^ and the volumes from which these precious things are pil- fered remain on the author's hands, or lie on the booksel- lers' shelves, till they are swept off in the course of nature, that is, of trade, by the dealers in waste paper. This withering information I have so often had occasion to con- vey, that the sight of a manuscript is a terror to me. To set you, as well as myself, at liberty, I will here break off at once by saying, that no particular reference has been made to your experiment in this i:)recarious field of compo- sition. I entered upon these statements solely to make you understand why I could offer no advice that might serve you, if you were disposed to follow, as you honestly and honorably might, poetry, as something more than a delight- ful occupation of a fine talent that might be turned to the benefit and blessing of others beside yourself." A number of gentlemen in Liverpool, having formed a " Roscoe Club," determined upon holding a grand soiree on the evening of the 1st of February. Among other per- sons to whom they addressed invitations, was Montgomery, who returned the following answer : "The Mount, January 29, 1S48. " Gentlemen", " With my best thanks for the courteous invitation to the intended soiree of your members, on Tuesday next, I am under the necessity of stating, that I have neither health nor strength to avail myself of the privilege. For 372 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. some time jiast, I have forborne to take that active part, which was once my delight, in the aflairs of our local in- stitutions, and have consequently declined occasional over- tures to be a sharer in similar engagements elsewhere. When ' the grasshopper is a burden,' enjoyments, not less than labors, become too stimulating and exhausting to an enfeebled frame and discouraged mind, for such are mine — the one never vigorous, and the other never sanguine — though from boyhood, sufficiently aspiring to long for, and aim at, some distinction among those who were themselves distinguished in poetry and criticism, the arts which I loved most. " Forty years ago, when I was timidly creejoing out of obscurity, as an unknown and unpatronised adventurer, both in verse and prose, Mr. Roscoe spontaneously marked me ; and, in several communications through the post, gave me both counsels and consolations, which were jieculiarly seasonable, when I lay under the ban of the Edinburgh reviewers, and the English journalists seemed afraid to say a good word for an excommunicated intruder ' on the lower slopes of Parnassus.' Mr. Roscoe's favorable senti- ments, precious in themselves, were doubly so as 2:)ledges to my hopes — that compositions which such a man com- mended would, to some extent, ' fit audience find, though few,' in other quarters where judgment was not less free, though less arbitrary (in the hard sense of the word), than bcfoj-e a court of infxllible inquisitors, whose motto was, ' Judex damnatur cum nocens ahsolvitur,'' but which ought to have been, ' Lasciate ogni speranza^ vol c/i' intrate? " I am glad of the oj^portunity of acknowledging my early obligation to your amiable and eminent fellow-citizen, and especially to avail myself of this opportunity, because EULOGY OF no SCOE. 373 it is one in a thousand, when his townspeople of a second and third generation, from that Avith Avhich he was contem- porary, have determined to raise a monument worthy of themselves, because worthy of hun, to commemorate his services and their gratitude, not in perishable marble or brass, but in a living, breathing, and intellectual form, which ought never to die, but perpetuate its existence through an endless succession of its members, enjoying, diffusing, and bequeathing to Liverpool, while it lasts, the blessings which accrued to its inhabitants by the residence among them of one who, by importing into its harbor the treasures of Tuscan literature, made them so current through the whole island, that while he ruled the public taste by the revival of their glories in the records of their deeds, the spirits of the Medici seemed to exercise sove- reignty on the banks of the Mersey, as formerly on those of the Arno, and Liverpool became the Florence of Britain, from whence the commei'ce of elegant literature was carried wherever the English and Italian languages were understood. " The names of few of our illustrious poets and men of letters are distinctly associated with the names of the places where they were born, or in which they flourished ; the metropolis most frequently having been the rendezvous and the market for books and their authors. Your great townsman so exalted the provincial press, that its character tlienceforward has never been so disparaged as formerly (perhaps) it deserved to be, for the meanness of its issues, and the poverty of its performances. Bristol and Liver- pool contemporaneously redeemed and established their credit so signally, that with the former the names of Words- worth, and Southey, and Coleridge, are not yet divorced from the city of their first appearance, and lost in the un- 32 374 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. meaning form of " lake poets," while that of Roscoe is so intimately linked with Liverpool, that he cannot be men- tioned, or remembered even without the honorable distinc- tion to himself and his residence, '■ Moscoe of Lwerpooll'' The collocation here is unexceptionable and unambiguous. As ' Roscoe,' then, cannot be divided from ' Liverpool,' let ' Liverjiool ' never be unmindful of her ' Roscoe,' or cease to benefit by the influence and the effects of his long and useful connection with it in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. " These are crude remarks, but accept them, as they have come from my heart through my pen, for I have not time to revise them." Another breach was now made in the narrowing circle of Montgomery's old friends and friendships in the death of Samuel Roberts, Esq., at his residence. Park Grange, near Shefiield, in the 86th year of his age. This was July 24th, 1848. " Three of my fellow-pilgrims have now finished their course, and left me the last of four friends," he says, mournfully; — an intimacy "born to do benefits," hav- ing none of the " delirious blood and wicked spells " of the wine bottle with its long train of remorseful mem- mories. Having written a short obituary of him, " I could not go into any detail of my friend's course of life," he Avrites to Mi-. Holland ; " he Avas one of whom little could not be said, if anything were attempted. Four- and-twenty years ago, towards the close of Tlic Pelican Island^ I said, " The world grows darker, lonelier, and more silent, As I cro down into the vale of tears. THE LOSS OF FRIENDS. 375 " You -will understand this better twenty and four years hence, and also find out that there is something to a livino- man darker than darkness, more lonely than loneliness, more silent than silence. What is that ? The space m our eye, our ear, and our mind, which the jDresence of a friend once filled, and Avhich imagination itself cannot now fill. Infinite space, invisible, inaudible, dimensionless, is not more inajiprehensible than that remembered range in which, to us, he lived, moved, and had a being. 'Absent from the body,' is a far diSerent separation from that which the earth's diameter interposes between two breath- ing conscious beings, each iwesent with himself and con- temporary with the other, but as utterly beyond personal communication as the living with the dead, or the dwellers in the dust, each resting in his bed, side by side. I must not rhapsodize any more. We two yet can meet and part ; and how much of life's acting and sufiering these two monosyllables comprehend ! I have only another to add ; and that is that I am, very sincerely, your Friend.'''' On the 29th Mr. Roberts was interred at Church- Anston. Montgomery attended the funeral — a sincere as well as a ceremonial mourner ; his feelings, after reaching home, be- ing embodied in the following lines : " We will remember thee in love : Thy race is run — thy work is done ; Now rest in peace, Where sin, and toil, and suffering cease ; Meanwhile, in hope to meet above, When these with us no more sliall be, In love we will remember thee." 376 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. On opening the will of the deceased, although it did not comprise any formal testamentary bequest to any of his friends, it contained a pencilled memorandum to the effect, that the executor (Samuel Roberts, Jun.) should give some memento of his late father's esteem to the poet : " a wish, which we happen to know," says Mr. Holland, " was not less cheerfully than promptly and Uberally realized by a present of one hundred guineas." CHAPTER XX. EXTINCTION OF THE IRIS — LIFE OF KEATS — SHELLEY — MISSIONART JUBILEE — TRACT SOCIETY JUBILEE — SICKNESS — POEMS — RECOVERY — VISIT TO FULNECK — CELEBRATION OF IIIS BIRTII-DAY — TREE- PLANTING AT THE MOUNT — VISIT TO BUXTON. In September, 1848, the Iris, wliicli Montgomery estab- lished fifty-four years before, and which at one period was the only newspaper in Sheffield, closed its existence. A few weeks later, the Sheffield Mercury, with which Mr. Holland had been connected for fifteen years, merged itself into a new sheet, and thus an interesting link between the old editor and the younger, his future biographer, was broken, " Every Saturday afternoon," Mr. Holland tells us, " he took care to be found in his room at the Music Hall, be- cause at 4 o'clock, to a minute, the beloved and venerable bard uniformly made his aj^pearance, gliding down the pas- sage as quietly as a ghost ; and after sitting and chatting for half an hour, carried off" with him the newspaper." " And so this is the last Sheffield Mercury we are to have, and you are no longer Mr. Editor," said Mont- gomery, on his last visit to this old haunt ; " I confess I am sorry on every account." " So the ' march of intellect ' leaves behind first one and then another, in succession," answered his friend ; " its hard hoof, which, as you once intimated, trampled on you 378 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. SO sternly nearly thirty years ago, has now trodden me down." " You must come up to The Mount, and let us talk over these momentous changes ; " an invitation which needed no renewal, for Mr. Holland's society and friendship now formed almost a daily part of Montgomery's social enjoy- ment. A day or two after, we find him at The Mount, bringing the Life of Keats by Milnes, for the j^oet's jicrusal. " Glad to see it," answered Montgomery, " though I feel loth just now to be drawn away from a very interest- ing subject — the journal of the founder of the Quakers, an extraordinary book, which I wonder I never read before. I can understand the religion of George Fox better than the poetry of Bysshe Shelley and John Keats. Members of the Society of Friends — to their honor be it spoken — were among the earliest advocates for the emancipation of slaves." " Yes," answered Mr. Holland, " but it is curious to per- ceive that, even among tJiem, the principle, in its practical application at least, was one of growth ; for you will find George Fox, on his visit to the West Indies, in 1671, tell- ing the planters that, with respect to their ' negroes or blacks, they should endeavor to train them up in the fear of God ; as well them that were bought with their money, as them that were born in their families, that all might come to the knowledge of the Lord. I desired them also,' he adds, ' that they would cause their overseers to deal mildly and gently with their negroes, and not use cruelty towards them, as the manner of some hath been, and is ; and that after certain years of servitude they would make them free.' I do not know how the thing strikes yon, but to me it appears that a good deal of the reproach which, THE USE OF A DEVIL. 379 in connection with current reports of the growth and atrocities of the slave trade as now clandestinely carried on, we so constantly find to be cast upon the party who paid the twenty millions of British money for emancipation, originated with those who are at best but half-hearted abo- litionists themselves." " I am afraid there is too much truth in your remark," rejoined Montgomery. " One does not always catch a new idea at a public meeting ; but there was to me some- thing of novelty in an anecdote told by one of the speakers at the Wesleyan Missionary Meeting on Monday night : — Two British sailors were engaged in assisting at the de- barkation of a cargo of negroes from a cajjtured slaver ; on seeing the shocking condition of the poor creatures as they were brought np, and the sinister looks of the captain, who was thus disai^pointed of his prey — ' Jack,' exclaimed one of the sailors to his companion, ' the devil will be sure to have that fellow.' ' Dost thou really think so ? ' was the reply of his shipmate. ' To be sure he will ; or else what's the use of having a devil ? ' This story," proceeded Mont- gomery, " reminded me of one which I heard soon after I came to Sheffield ; there appeared in some of the meetings of the Jacobins, as they were at that time called, an elderly man of the name of Gibbs ; he was regarded, and no doubt correctly, by Mr. Gales and othei's, as a Government spy, for he had played that part in America during the "War of Independence. Franklin, who knew him, is said to have exclaimed, ' If God had not made a hell, he ought to make one for the punishment of such miscreants as Gibbs ! ' This observation savors somewhat of profanity ; but it is remarkable that the philosophic statesman and the rude sailor were alike horrified at atrocities, for which they saw no competent retribution hi this world." 380 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. Having read Keats's life, brought liim by his friend, he confessed it a work of considerable elegance and a labor of love, but fails in being convinced that Keats, had he lived would ever have proved himself a great l^oet. " It is very j^robable," he said, " that if, instead of falling early and entirely into the so-called ' Cockney-school,' ad- mirably described by Mr. Milnes, Keats had been thrown among the ' Lakists,' the result might have been every way more favorable ; for the ' worship of Nature,' however re- mote from the sjiirit of Christianity, is at least a thousand- fold more allied to the sympathies of universal humanity, than any reflex image, however brilliant, which modern in- genuity can exhibit of the old mythologies of Greece and Home. The sonnets are to me the green spots in the sparkling but arid poetry of Keats." At the annual meeting of the Church Missionary Society, held in Exeter Hall on the 2d of May this year, it was re- solved to commemorate the jubilee of that institution in all its departments throughout the world. " Montgomery," Mr. Holland tells us, " was requested by Mr. Bickersteth to compose a hymn for the occasion ; with this request the poet gladly complied, and in due course this composition, commencing, " The King of Glory we i^roclaim," was not only printed and circulated in its original form, wherever the mother-tongue of the Church of England found an ut- terance in her services, but it was translated also into Tamul, for the use of the native converts in Tinnevelly, Madras, and Ceylon." This high festival was appropriately held on the first of November, a day which the Church has dedicated to the commemoration of the " one communion and fellowship " in which all the members of Christ's mys- tical body are knit together ; and the subject is adverted CHURCH MISSIONARY JUBILEE. 381 to liere somewhat in detail by his loving friend Holland, " because," as he says, " Montgomery is, perhajjs, the only Christian poet who had ever the high distinction of bemg called upon by the Church of Christ to compose, and by the great Head of that Church permitted to take part in singing, a strain which might literally be said to have sur- rounded the earth with one unrolled melody, carried on simultaneously with an entire ' circuit of the sun.' " This holy concord of evangehcal churchmen in Great Britain, with their brethren in the Lord scattered throughout " all nations, and kindreds, and peoples, and tongues," in the same intercessory and eucharistical strains, is thus antici- pated in one of the tracts published at the time : " Before the auspicious day dawns upon us, the sun will have risen in the far East, and shone upon some even in Chma, the latest of the missions of the Society, where little companies will be gathered together in the name of the Lord. India and Ceylon will next swell the chorus with their numerous bands of native Christians, all taught to sing the same new song, though in various tongues (the Bengalee, Hindoo, Teloogoo, Tamul, Singhalese, Malayalim, Mahratta) — East Africa, with its as yet lisping babes in Christ : — Egypt, Smyrna, and Syria, the scanty representa- tives of the ancient Arabic and Greek tongues — the newly discovered tribes of West Africa at Abbeokouta will swell the strains. And then the full concert of voices from the elder brethren of Great Britain, throughout the various Associations of our land — not on this day meeting as al- moners to commiserate the destitute, but as fehow-heliDers of the joy of brethren in the Lord — Uke the 'joyful mother' with her children — grown up to a spiritual equa- lity, and to an intelligent participation in divine worshij?. Then, as the sun completes his circuit, the hearty voices of 382 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. liberated Africans, made 'free indeed' by the early and tearful labor's of this Society — soon to be resjionded to across the wide Atlantic by their kindred race, the emanci- pated laborers of the West Indies, and from the free wan- derers of North-West America. Then, when the shades of evening have closed the lips of the eastern tribes, ere yet the song has died away from the lips of the mother Churches of Great Britain, the New Zealander will pro- long the nniversal anthem with the manly but softened tones of that noble race. Thus for a double day — ' from the going forth of the sun from the end of the heaven, and his circuit unto the ends of it ' — for twenty-four hours, the Jubilee notes will be prolonged." * "The poet had only just closed his part in the theme of thanksgiving for the mercies which had marked the first fifty years' proceedings of the Church Missionary Associa- tions," his biographer goes on to say, " when he was called upon, and consented to renew the strain on the recurrence of a similar event in the history of a kindred institution — the Religious Tract Society. At the jubilee festival of this ' Parent of the Bible Society,' which was held at Queen street Chapel, Sheffield, November 13, Montgomery pre- sided ; and, although he made no formal speech, he read a copy of original verses, the appropriateness of which to the occasion will be obvious from the following extract, which will also show that, however the venerable poet might mis- trust his lips or his memory in the advocacy of a cause that had never lacked his active support throughout the whole half century of its existence, his right hand had lost none of its cunning in embodying a fine thought in fitting rhyme : * Jubileo Tracts, Xo. 1, p. 9. TRACT SOCIETY JUBILEE. 383 " ' The sunbeani3, infinitely small, In numbers numberless, Eeveal, pervade, illumine all Nature's void wilderness. " ' But, meeting worlds upon their way, Wrapt in primeval night, In language without sound, they say To each — God sends you light. "'Anon, with beauty, life, and love, Those wandering planets glow, And shine themselves as stars above, On gazers from below. " ' Oh ! could the first archangel's eye In everlasting space. Through all the mazes of the sky A single sunbeam trace I " ' He might behold that lovely one Its destiny fulfill, As punctual as the parent sun Performs its Maker's will. " ' The Sun of Kighteousness, with rays Of uncreated light. His power and glory thus displays Through nature's darkest night " ' Rays from that Sun of Righteousness Our humble missiles dart ; Mighty at once to wound and bless, To break and bind the heart. " ' And could the first archangel's sight The least of these pursue. He might record — in its brief flight, Each had a work to do.' " aS4 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. As a contrast between the operations of the Tract So- ciety in 1798 and 1848, Montgomery pointed with much interest to what might, without impropriety, be called a Polyrjlott tract, circulated in Sheffield at the latter date ; it was in English, French, German, Italian, Welsh, and native Irish ! The winter of 1849 battered the decaying tabernacle of the aged poet. Fever-turns confined him to his bed, a slight paralysis affected one of his arms, and a severe in- flammation attacked one of his eyes. His friends became alarmed; and Miss Gales wrote to his brother Robert. The tidings brought to his bedside a favorite niece, one Betsey Montgomery, the beautiful and blooming girl who charmed her uncle on her first visit to Sheffield, twenty- eight years before, now Mrs. Foster, a gentle and sympa- thizing matron, better qualified perhaps to be the nurse and comfort of her aged relative. Mr. Holland proves the attentive friend, ever at The Mount, answering letters, reading favorite authors, or re- hearsing the news of the day. " He placed in my hands," he tells us of one of their in- terviews, " transcripts of a portion of his original Hymns, several of which, he said, I should find quite new to me. He wished me to read aloud the first line of each composi- tion ; and, as I did so, he not only gave me a little history of the origin of most of them, but indicated such as he thought I had not seen before. Several of the latter I read through ; but witnessing the strong emotions which they excited in the poet's mind, and wishing also to avoid participation in such a scene of trying sympathy, I apolo- gized and desisted. ' Read on,' said he, ' I am glad to hear you ; the words recall the feelings which first suggested them, and it is good for me to feel affected and humbled "AT HOME IN HEAVEN." 385 by the terms in which I have endeavored to provide for the expression of similar rehgious exi^erience in others. As all my hymns embody some portions of the history of the joys or sorrows, the hopes and the fears of this poor heart, so I cannot doubt that they will be found an acceptable vehicle of expression of the experience of many of my fellow-creatures who may be similarly exercised during the pilgrimage of their Christian life.' " We can hardly forgive Mr. Holland for not eliciting and recording the biographical antecedents which gave them birth, for are they not experiences of " the truths, for whose sweet sake "We to ourselves and to our God are dear ? " None of his poems more choicely embodies his feelings at this time than At Home in Heaven, glimpses of which break on the believer's eye as " life's little day draws nearer to its close," and " that evening-time when it shall be light " dawns upon his soul : " Here in the body pent, Absent from Him I roam, Tet nightly pitch my moving tent A day's march nearer home. " My Father's house on high — Home of my soul — how near, At times, to Faith's foreseeing eye The golden gates appear I " Ah ! then my spirit faints To reach the land I love, The bright inheritance of saints, Jerusalem above. 33 386 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. " Yet clouds will intervene, And all my prospect flies ; Like Noah's dove, I flit between Eough seas and stormy skies. " Anon the clouds disperse. The winds and waters cease, "While sweetly o'er my gladdened heart Expands the bow of peace." " I have received," he once said, " directly and indirectly more testimonials of approbation in reference to those verses than perhaps any other which I have written of the same class, M'ith the exception of those on Prayer." The poem commences " For ever with the Lord," and ends with " That resurrection- word I That shout of victory ! Once more — ' For ever with the Lord !' Amen, so let it be." We have only extracted the part of a beautiful whole. Many days' march yet to the heavenly home. Heahng came and Montgomery was again able to leave his room, and take his old seat at the table and the fire-side. " How grateful after an interval of sickness is the return to common food," he exclaimed. " Nor is the least appropriate condiment," rejoined a friend, " ' a cheerful heart,' as the jioet says, ' that tastes those gifts with joy.' " "If Addison had written nothing but those two lines," said Montgomery, " they ought to be sufficient to transmit VISIT TO FULNECK. 387 his name to posterity ; they admirably express a striking sentiment which, I believe, occurs nowhere else in the whole range of our iDoi:)ular hymnology, and which is, per- haps, but rarely ap23reciated as it deserves to be by many persons who are very familiar with the poem from which your quotation is derived." After three months' imprisonment within doors, he again reappeared in the streets — but " how faded and infirm !" said the passers by. " Early m the month of April," — we extract from his English biography, — "he was sufficiently recovered to make a visit to Fulneck, where he enjoyed, with his brethren, those solemnities which mark the festival of Easter in the Mora- vian communities, especially the ' Love Feast,' which is held on what they call the ' great Sabbath,' or Saturday, which occurs between the days on which all the Western churches commemorate the crucifixion and the resurrection of Christ. Calling on Mr. Holland immediately after his return to Sheffield, the poet was evidently still under the peculiar in- fluence of those feelings which he had experienced during his brief but hallowed intercourse with Alma Mater / the music, the singing, the prayers and the addresses of the oc- casion, strongly recalling similar exercises of the paschal season in the days of his childhood and youth." One fine morning in May, Mr. Law, the curator of the Sheffield Botanical Gardens, happening to meet Montgom- ery and Miss Gales walking in those beautiful grounds, when no other company were present, asked the poet to gratify him by plantmg an oak. The request was at once complied with. He afterwards, at the request of the com- mittee, planted two Chilian pmes at the head of the principal walk, and immediately in front of the conser- vatory. 388 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY, His '78th year also, a few months afterwards, was inaug- urated by a tree-planting ; Mrs. Mitchell, one of the resi- dents of The Mount, having gracefully got up a little f6te champetre on his birth-day, " that his name might live on The Mount long after he becanie a ' Tree of Life at God's right hand.' " On a bright Saturday afternoon, the little party escorted him from his own door to the centre of the lawn, where the gardener gave him a young beech-sai^ling, which, with Mrs. Mitchell's help, he put into the soil. " I thank you, my dear sir ! may you see many winters' snow upon its naked branches, and many spring renewals of its beautiful foliage." " If all that is done under the sun this day," said the aged man, " were to be recorded in a book, this transaction would appear very insignificant, but the planting of a tree in the midst of our little Avorld of The Mount is an event of more than every day importance to us, assembling us to witness the introduction of a new object to our eye, a new companion of our walks within this jDleasant enclosure, and a new association of ideas on which memory may hereafter sometimes delight to dwell. " When a child is born," he continued more gravely, " there is only one thing that can be surely foretold con- cerning its destiny — that sooner or later it wiU die. Be- tween the cradle and the grave there arise numberless changes and contingencies, kept hidden in the covmcils of God, and never by searching to be known, till their gradual development — their mysteries are manifestly revealed, and. their purposes understood. When a tree springs out of the ground, something different may be certified ; and here I might take up my parable, and proj^hesy concerning this which we have seen planted to-day, that from henceforth, CELEBRATION OF HIS BIRTH-DAY, 389 in the ordinary dispensation of Providence, it may be ex- pected to rise to maturity, and there continue till, if spared by the axe and the storm, it has fulfilled every purpose for which it was created, and sustained through its appointed existence. And how will it do this ? Simply by never losing a moment of time, and never misspending one, " Time is lost by not occupying it ; and misspent by not occuj^ying it well. O how different a being in your pre- sence had the utterer of these words been, if at this hour it could have been said of him, through seventy-seven years of pilgrimage on earth (to borrow the language of an inspired projihet), 'As the days of a tree only have been his days,* not in number only, but in the performance of duties ! Far otherwise, however, I must testify of myself. Time is lost in not employing it, and misspent in employing it ill. Milhons of moments have I lost by idleness, and millions more have I misspent, if not doing positive evil (though no small portion may be charged to that account), misspent in not doing that which alone is good iu the sight of God. It needs no affectation of humility to make this confession before my friends around me on this peculiar occasion, when they are delighting to do me honor, which I can only return, as I do, with gratitude. I trust I have not gone beyond the license of the occasion so jDointedly personal : nor will it be out of place or out of season, if I express my heart's desire and prayer, that we may henceforth, by the grace of God, which alone can enable us, — make the tree thus planted an example and an argument, that what the tree unconsciously, yet unvaryingly, does, we may con- scientiously and heartily do at all times, and under all cir- cumstances ; so shall God, even our own God, give us his blessing, and make us blessings to one another in our gen- 33* 390 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. eration ; so may we all be trees of righteousness — trees of his own planting here ; and in his Paradise above undying trees of life, by the river of life flowing out of the throne of God and the Lamb." " The brightness of the day," says one of the party, "the general beauty of the landscape — the age and venerable aspect of the speaker — the attention of the grouj) which surrounded him — a thousand associations of the past in his history — the light in which imagination beheld the after-interest of the tree just planted, conspired to give a peculiar charm to the foregoing expressions. " At the close of the address the comj)any were invited by Mr. Mitchell to return to his house, and drink a glass of wine in honor of the occasion. Here, again, they found that the ingenuity of their hostess had provided an api^ro- priate memento of the day for the children present, in the shape of a dozen Testaments, each appropriately inscribed, and presented by the hand of Montgomery, and each hav- ing on its first leaf the following lines : " Behold the book whose leaves display Jesus, the Life, the Truth, the Way. Read it with diligence and prayer : Seek it and you will find him there. "J. M." The next day he gave Mrs. Mitchell the following lines, written on an embossed card : " Live long, live well, fair Beechen Tree ! And oh ! that I might live like thee, Never to lose one moment more, As millions I have lost before ; VISIT TO BUXTON. 391 Nor e'er misspend another lent, As millions past have been misspent; Each in our place would then fulfill Our Maker and our Master's will. " Moments to ages train a tree ; To man, they bring eternity. Though as the tree falls, so it lies, Man ends not thus ; unless he rise, His fall is final — spirit never dies." As pilgrims wei'e pointed to the hoary head of the Penshurst Oak, or sat reverently beneath the "pensile boughs " of Pope's Willow, or wrought " traps " from Shakespeare's immortal Mulberry, so might travellers have sought this Beech tree on The Mount, to invoke the holy fervors of the Bard of Sheffield — but for the ruthless hand of mischief, which a few months later destroyed many an arboral ornament of the lawn, and the Beechen Tree among the rest. An August flitting to Buxton. Miss Gales accompanies him. " Time takes so much killing," he playfully remarks to a correspondent, a few days after his arrival, in excuse for not having written earUer, " when you have nothing else to do with him, that there seems no end of the work, and in- deed there is none ; for iti doing nothing^ as there is no progress, there can be no end ; while in doing everything you cannot escape from a finality in a world where all that is is mortal, and that only which is not is interminable." After jotting down the minor interests of the journey for his friend's perusal, he continues : " On Monday, however, I did seriously sit down to the duty, but was interrupted by being carried off in Mr. Black- 392 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. well's carriage iu the forenoon, in one direction among the mountains, and in the afternoon, on a '•visit of mercy,'' on behalf of our kind-hearted neighhor, Mrs, Mitchell, who was here a few weeks ago, to the cottage of a poor family ; that errand Miss G. and I performed on foot ; and if you have an opportunity of calling on Mrs, M,, next door to us, at The Mount, please to tell her that we dehvered her packet to the poor mother, saw her and her baby (the latter a very weakly little thing, which she nurses most tenderly) and her manned husband, Avho is apparently re- covering, though slowly, from his aAA'ful accident. How ought such as I to be humbled at the sight of real poverty and severe suffering borne with quiet, and patience, and resignation to the will of the Lord, even where they little understand his loving kindness, from the neglect of those who ought to be their teachers and exemj)lars. However, in all the dark places of this land, whatever may be said of Methodists or Methodism, of Fly-Sheets and their authors, it is a glorious thing to say of that people, that, go where- ever you will, through the length and breadth of this whole land (of England, at least), you can hardly get out of the sound of the gospel from Wesleyan lijys. In this I do re- joice, and will rejoice ; and may their sound continue to go forth to the ends of the earth, speaking in all the languages under heaven ! I must end here. Miss Gales sends kind regards, and believe me ever truly." A fortnight's abandonment to the social varieties of Bux- ton, and a few days at dear Fulneck, renovated the elderly pair, and they returned to Sheffield early in Sei^tember to receive the Archbishop of York, who had engaged to preach a sermon in behalf of the General Infirmary, a charity in which the poet was strongly interested. CHAPTER XXI. CONGREGATIOXAt. DXION — EBENEZER ELLIOTT — MORAVIAN HYMK-BOOK — LETTER TO MR. LATROBE — NEW EDITION OF HIS WORKS — LETTER FROM LUCY AIKIN — TENNYSON — THE DEAKIN CHARITY — AXTI- CATHOLIC MEETING — CRYSTAL PALACE — BIRTH-DAY PRESENTS — MONTGOMERY MEDAL — MEMORIAL TREES — VISIT TO THE SCHOOL OP DESIGN — LECTURE BEFORE THE LITERARY AND PHILOSOPHICAL SO- CIETY — MEETING OF THE METHODIST CONFERENCE — GRAY'^'S POETRY — "original HYMNS " FROM LUCY AIKIN — AUTUMN TRAIT — AT HIS POST TO THE LAST — DEATH — FUNERAL — CONCLUSION. Although now exceedingly averse to making his ap- pearance in public, Montgomery consented to dine with the ministers of " The Congregational Union," assembled at Sheffield, October, 1849. In doing this, he not only yielded to the imj)ortunity of old friends, who were anx- ious to gratify their younger brethren by even a brief in- terview with one who had taken so active a part with their fathers in the formation and advancement of their religious institutions, but, by occupying a place at the right hand of the Rev. President of the meeting, testified his unabated oneness of spirit with this section of the Church of Christ. His health being proposed from the chair, he was led to make a short speech, in which he adverted to his first knowledge of the meetings and worshii? of the Indejiend- ents, by casually attending, when a youth, and while resid- ing at Wath, the cottage-preaching of ti man whose name 394 LIFE OF MONTGOMEKY. had passed into the history of that revival of religion begun by the Methodists, namely, the Rev. Mr. Graves, one of six students who had previously been expeUed from the University of Oxford for " singing, praying, and exjDounding the Scriptures." He mentioned also, as in- deed he had done on previous occasions, that one of the very first persons whose friendship he enjoyed, after he came to reside at Shefiield, was a man who held no second place among Congregational theologians, — the Rev. John Pye Smith, D. D. " This kind friend," added the speaker, with much ndivete and feeling, and amid the reiterated cheers of his audience, " when on a certain occasion, I had to leave Shefiield for six months, stepped into my place, and looked after my afiairs : we were, indeed, alike young and inexperienced politicians, committing many mistakes, and getting into some scrapes, which the possession of older and colder heads might probably have enabled us to avoid." Ebenezer Elliott, the " Corn-Law Rhymer," died on the 1st of December, and the publisher of the Shefiield Inde- pendent, while preparing a memoir of the poet for that paper, wrote to Montgomery to ask if he could furnish any particulars ; the following was his reply : "The Mount, December 6, 1849. "Dear Sir, " I am sorry that I cannot serve you with any infor- mation respecting the late Mr. Ebenezer Elliott, of whose decease I was not aware till I received your letter. I do not remember ever having been for an hour in his com- pany. Our occasional meetings were few, and short, and far between, though he Avas known and admired by me as a poet before the world would either know or honor him TRIBUTE TO ELLIOTT. 395 as such. He published several small volumes at mtervals, the manuscripts of which (mostly) he had confidentially submitted to me; and they had my best encouragement on the ground of their merit ; but not one of these could command public attention, till he broke out in the ' Corn- Law Rhymes,' as Waller said of Denham, ' Hke the Irish Rebellion, ybr^y thousand strong^ when nobody thought of such a thing.' Then, indeed, he compelled both aston- ishment and commendation from all manner of critics — Whig, Tory, and Radical — reviewers vying with each other who should most magnanimously extol the talents which they had either not discovered or had superciliously overlooked, till, for their own credit, they could no longer hold their peace, or affect to desjiise what they had not had heart to acknowledge when their countenance would have done service to the struggling author. A few of his smaller pieces did find their way into the Iris^ but I believe these were all republished by himself in his succeeding miscarry- ing volumes. I, however, am quite willing to hazard any critical credit by avowing my persuasion that, in origin- ahty, power, and even beauty — when he chose to be beautiful — he might have measured heads beside Byron in tremendous energy, — Crabbe, in graphic description, and Coleridge, in effusions of domestic tenderness ; while in intense sympathy with the poor, in whatever he deemed their wrongs or their sufferings, he excelled them all, and perhaps everybody else among his contemporaries in prose or verse. He was, in a transcendental sense, the Poet of the Poor^ whom, if not always ' wisely ^^ I at least dare not say he loved ' too loelV His personal character, his for- tunes, and his genius would require, and they deserve, a full investigation, as furnishing an extraordinary study of human nature." 396 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. A book was published this year which had cost our poet no Httle study and solicitude — a revised edition of the Moravian Hymn Book. As early as 1835, he was officially invited by a Confer- ence of the Brethren's Church to undertake an entire re- vision of their large Hymn Book, The earliest specimens of Moravian psalmody in English appeared in 1746, a cu- rious volume, which gave place ten years later to one prepared by Bishop Gambold, and published by "autho- rity." This book had formed the basis of rej)eated editions since 1789, each expurgated and refined in its turn, imtil the book has assumed its final character in the version issued in 1849 under the prudent and zealous co-operation of " Brother James Montgomery" and the authorities of the Brethren's Church in Great Britain. " The labor," Mr. Holland tells us, " which Montgomery bestowed upon this work, can only be apprehended by any one who will compare, as we have done, the matter of the book now in use in the Brethren's English congregations with the text of the same book — if, indeed, it can be called the same — previous to the last revision. The vol- ume contains 1200 Hymns; and it is hardly too much to say, that the time and thought spent in the reformation of such a mass of matter, much of it of a peculiar charac- ter, Avas not less than would have sufficed for the composi- tion of a like quantity of original verse. Whether the result has been, in every respect, equal in value to the amount of toil and skill expended on the task, has been doubted by some persons; for the poet, having had to deal with compositions which had already undergone re- peated ordeals of a similar kind at the hands of men who attached much more importance to directness of doctrinal meaning, and fervor of pious expression, than to anything MONTGOMERY AN "INTERCESSOR." 397 like poetic euphony or grace, he was often compelled either to change an obsolete or equivocal term, to soften down a too striking sentiment into a general meaning, or entirely to remodel the structure of a verse, or even of a whole liymn. The inevitable consequence of this procedure has been, that while the greater portion of the book has been rendered such as almost any congregation of Christians might adopt as to the sentiments, and any experienced poet approve as to the style, many of the hymns have certainly lost a good deal of their original and peculiar flavor — their ' race,' or, as Dr. Johnson explains it, ' the flavor of the soil on which they grew.' " As illustrating at once a feature of the Moravian com- munities and the spirituality of Montgomery's mind, it may be mentioned that he Avas appointed, as he had been on previous occasions, one of the " intercessors " of the Brethren's congregation at Fulneck, for the first quarter of the year 1850, This ofiice requires that the persons nominated to it " by lot, in the Elders' Conference," simultaneously devote a set evening in the week to prayer in behalf of the rehgious body to which they belong. CalUng one morning on Mr. Holland, to procure the volumes of the Quarterly Review for the years 1811-1812, "I have," he said, "just been reading the third volume of the Life of Southey, and I concluded it with painful feel- ings in reference to the tone of ignorance and prejudice in which he speaks of evangelical religion in general, and of Chi'istian missions in particular. I must, of course, have read the articles in question, when first published, but with less interest, as not then certainly knowing who was the author : besides, the letters just printed breathe a spirit of triumph on the part of the reviewer, both as to his purpose 3i 398 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. and materials of defamation, that stimulates my cm-iosity to see how he really dealt with what he evidently so little either understood or approved." Rev. Mr. Latrobe wishing to dedicate his little volume of songs and hymns to him, Montgomery thus replied : "Sheffield, June 1, 1850. " Rev. akd Deae Sir, " I thank you heartily for meeting my difficulty on the subject of the proposed inscription of your forthcoming Hymns to myself, — in a manner to which I catmot pretend to offer any objection. . . . What you say concerning the late Mr. Wordsworth aifected me much, as correspond- ing nearly with certain strictures of my own on the cha- racteristics of his moral system, as developed especially throughout his greatest jDoem, ' The Excursion ; ' on that work, at its first appearance, I wrote a critique for the ' Eclectic Review,' in which I intimated, in language as courteous as I could, that ho forbore, when he describes his solitary skeptic searching from every other imaginable source, for consolation or hope, in his bewilderment of mind, — the poet forbore sending him to the only fountain whence refreshment and rest can be found for a wounded spirit and a heavy-laden soul, — the Gospel of Christ ; at the same time frigidly as well as vainly, though with won- derful pomj) of diction and splendor of illustration, ascrib- ing to the healing influences of Nature through her ele- mentary operations^ effects, which nothing but the grace of God can produce. Our good old brother Gambold's hymn, " That I am thine, my Lord, my God," reveals a personal experience^ in comparison of which all the theories and speculations of philosophers and philosophy falsely so NEW EDITION OF HIS WOKIvS. 399 called, are vanities of vanity, and vexations of spirit, ut- terly unappeasing to the immortal part of mortal man. But I must break off; I have neither hand nor heart to proceed further than to pray that I could now sit down, and sing even to myself that jorecious testimony, laying the whole emphasis of my soul upon every line, especially on the second clause of the eighth verse : " ' Ah ! my heart throbs, and seizes fast That covenant which will ever last ; It knows — it knows these things are true^ " May you, and I, and all who may hereafter read or sing our hymns, be enabled to witness xhe same good con- fession !" May 6th. He presided, as usual, at the Wesleyan Mis- sionary Anniversary in Sheffield, Copies of the new edition of his works, which he was desirous of living to see, reached him on that day. The publishers having been instructed to transmit a copy to his old friend, Lucy Aikin, she acknowledges it with all her youthful vivacity : " Wimbledon, May 23d, 1850, " Accept my best thanks, my dear old friend, for the token of continued kind remembrance which I have re- ceived from you in the shape of a copy of the new edition of your poems. I rejoiced to see them in a shape so acces- sible to ' the million,' to use a fashionable phrase suited to our gigantic notions, I rejoiced to find them retaining all their popularity after so many years, and thus giving proof how true an echo they find in the hearts and imagin- ations of readers. " It pleased me even more to find that you still retained 400 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. health and vigor to continue writing, and to undertake the labor of conducting so goodly a volume through the press. Would that I could still exert such energies ! but I have long given uj) the use of the pen from discouragement, and contented myself with feeding on the minds of others, and sometimes introducing young spirits to the works of the immortal masters. " Here, at Wimbledon, I reside nnder the roof of my dear brother Charles's eldest daughter, Mrs. Le Breton, with her husband and eight children, mostly girls, so that objects of tender interest are not wanting to me. " The last particular account of you which I heard, was from my old friends, the Aston Yateses, and a very pleasant picture they drew of you in your retirement. It seemed as if your health continued good, Avhicli I hope is still the case, and that you yet exchange gallantries with the young ladies [i.e., the Muses]. I am persuaded that the poetical temperament retains its elasticity best of all. I used to observe this in Mrs. Barbauld, who never lost her youth- fulness of fancy. ]\Iy dear brother Arthur, now the only brother left me, continues to occupy himself with chemistry. He still lectures on this science at Guy's Hospital, besides em- ploying himself very diligently in the many analyses which he is employed to make for various pu^rposes. A happier old man I nowhere know, and certainly not a more benevolent one. " You never visit London now, I fear ; and, as for me, my longest journeys, for some years past, have stretched no further than the eight miles between Wimbledon and London. Li this world, therefore, in all human probability, we shall meet no more ; but we may still think of each other with esteem and affection, and ho2:)e to meet in that world whither so many of our nearest and dearest have taken their flight before us." CRITICISM OF "IN MEMORIAM." 401 Tennyson's " In Memoriam " is the talk of the literary TTorld. Has Montgomery read it ? He replies : — "I have read the poem carefully, I should say, resolutely through, M'hich I susf)ect not ten other persons in Sheffield have done; but I confess I cannot enjoy it. The title-page itself is an affectation of unmeaning simphcity, so much so, indeed, that I, who was not otherwise in the jjoet's secret, was some time before I could make out his subject from the opening verses, which, while they flowed as smoothly and brightly as transparent oil over a pohshed surface, might apply to a butterfly, or a bird, or a lady, as well as to the individual who I found after a while was indicated as their subject. If I had published such a volume forty years ago, Jeffrey would have gone down on both knees to curse me most earnestly. But times and tastes have altered, and Tennyson is the pet poet of the day." A few days after, its author was announced as Words- worth's successor to the i^oet-laureateship. Thomas Deakin, Esq., of Sheflield, who died in the month of August in the preceding year, having left by will the sum of three thousand j^ounds towards the found- ing of a charity for elderly unmarried women, on condition that a like sum of three thousand pounds should be raised by others, within two years after the death of the testator, Montgomeiy willingly joined a number of gentlemen in an effort to reahze this benevolent object. He also took part in what some of his townspeople regarded as a more ques- tionable proceeding, namely, in caUing, and seconding a resolution at, an anti-Catholic meeting. The resolution, indeed, was simply a vote expressive of gratitude to Lord John Russell for his recent admirable letter to the Bishop of Durham, for the thoroughly Protestant spirit which breathed through it ; and a promise of support to his lord- 34* 402 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. sbip in all bis endeavors to neutralize the aggressive policy of Rome, The proposition was objected to by a party in the meeting, on the ground of its inconsistency, — his lordship having, it was alleged, j^reviously acted in such a way towards the Papists as might well encourage them to aggressions like those complained of; nor did the few words used by Montgomery, — "I second the resolution with all my heart," — escape popular censure. The subject coming up in conversation afterwards, he said, that while he had never been a thorough-going party-man, and had never sought or expected to please people who were such, in the present case, as he had entirely agreed with Lord John Russell in reference to the necessity if not in the extent of Parliamentary reform, so he agreed with him generally in reference to Catholic emancipation ; but he perfectly agreed with him in his present protest against the recent act of Papal aggression. With an unabated interest in every public work, the talked of " Great Exhibition of the Industry of all Na- tions" early attracted his attention. The magnitude of the scheme, at first, almost awed him ; and the Crystal Palace seemed to him far surpassing all the dreams of poetry. He read with avidity the details of its progress and completion, and more and more regarding the exhibition as significant of the supremacy of the peaceful, and therefore the true industries of the world, he wept for joy over the account of its inauguration, splendor, and enthusiasm. Overcoming the timidity and feebleness of age, he determined once more to revisit London, and look upon this wonder of the age. Accompanied by Miss Gales, and convoyed by his neighbor, Mr. Mitchell, early in July, 1851, an easy journey was efiected to the metropolis. His brother Robert's house in Woolwich was their tarrying-place. But a single TOKENS OF ESTEEM. 403 visit was paid to the Palace, liavclly sufficient for a passing glance at its princely galleries, lined with the skill and produce of all forms of Christian civihzation. The com- partment which i^articularly arrested the attention of the poet, was that containing printed specimens of the Scrip- tures in one hundred and sixty-five different languages. Renewed expressions of personal affection greeted him on his eightieth birth-day. On entering his sitting-room that morning, an elegant easy-chair of carved walnut oc- cupied his place, and what was to him of more value than any personal luxury, a purse of fifty sovereigns for the " Moravian Fund," and sixty sovereigns for the " Aged Female Society" — gifts which could only flow from the delicate perceptions and Christian sensibilities of wo- man. " Thanks, thanks, thanks," exclaimed the venerable old man ; " thrice and four times thanks to my birth-day bene- factors, for their precious tokens of good-will ' to a poor octogenarian.' " ' Goodness and mercy have followed me all the days of my life,' and my heart's desire and prayer is that I may realize the fulfilment of the verse, ' to dwell in the house of the Lord forever.' " The same friends induced him to allow an artist to model his hkeness in profile for a " Montgomery Medal," to be given annually as a prize for the best drawing or casting of wild flowers produced by a pupil in the Sheffield " Govern- ment School of Design." At noon, resj^onding to a request which had been made at the annual meeting of Governors of the General In- firmary, Montgomery planted an oak tree on the lawn in front of the noble building ; and he stood there the sole survivor of all its founders fifty years before. 404 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. " Montgomery ought to become expert in the use of the spade," said one of his friends. At the annual meeting of the School of Design the fol- lowing year, the Duke of York presiding, the revered bard was called upon to present the prize medal to the success- ful competitor. "This pubUc compliment is a testimony that you have done well," said he ; " always do your best, then you are sure always to do better." In July, he appeared for the last time as a public lec- turer, before the Literary and Philosophical Society, with whose origin and growth he was so closely identified. Many of liis friends felt it to be an outlay of pain he could ill afford, but many wished again to hear him, and to a repeated invitation he hesitatingly acquiesced. At the meeting of the Methodist Conference held in Shcfiield on the following month, though no laymen were allowed to attend its sessions, the general rule was in this instance set aside, and Montgomery received and accepted an invitation to be present, introduced by Dr. Hannah as a " venerable friend to whom Methodism was under great obligations." The services which they, as a religious body, had received from him having been gratefully acknowl- edged by the President, their distinguished visitor arose and, with patriarchal simplicity, replied with deep emotion, " I have little to say. Christian fathers, friends and brethren, but that little, so important in itself, I utter from my heart. ' The Lord bless and keep you ! The Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious unto you ! The Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace ! ' in the name of Jesus. Amen." "No incident," says Dr. Bunting, "more tended to brighten and beautify the Conference of 1852 ;" for, as another preacher said, "even the venerable men present, RELIGION OF GRAY'S ELEGY. 405 who had been the contemporaries of Wesley himself, seemed to be in the presence of an elder, when Mont- gomery, a member of the ancient Moi-avian Church, blessed the Conference, and the ' People called Methodists,' with the blessing wherewith Aaron and his sons blessed the children of Israel." In December, the Earl of Carlisle delivered before the Mechanics' Institution a lecture on the Poetry of Gray, and though Montgomery had long ceased to attend evening meetings, he was present on this occasion. Preceding the Earl to the platform, he was greeted with applause scarcely less enthusiastic than the welcome given to the lecturer, — a right hearty burst of English appreciation of her true men. The glowing expression of the old poet's face disclosed his interest m the lecture, his own views harmonizing with those of the sjieaker, in everything except that which related to the religious element of Gray's poetry and character. Montgomery, in his introductory essay to the Christian Poet, has already asked and answered an impartial question in reference to it : " WJiat God is intended in the last line of the Elegy, ' The bosom of his father and his God ?' " he inquires. " Search every fragment of the writings of the celebrated author, and it will be difficult to answer this question, simple as it is, from them ; from the Elegy itself it would be impossible ; except that the God of the ' Youth to for- time and to fame unknown' is meant ; and that this may have been the true God, must be inferred from his worship- per having been buried ' in a country church-yard.' There is, indeed, a couplet like the following, in the body of the poem : " ' And many a lioly text around she strews, To teach the rustic moralist to die,' 406 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. but throiigliout the whole there is not a single allusion to ' an hereafter,' except what may be inferred, by courtesy, from the concluding line already mentioned. After the couj)let above quoted, the poet leaves his ' rustic moralist to die,' and very pathetically refers to the natural unwilling- ness of the humblest individual to be forgotten, and the 'longing, lingering look,' which even the miserable cast behind, on leaving ' the warm precincts of the cheerful day ;' but hope nor fear, doubt nor faith, concerning a future state, seems ever to have touched the poet's ap- prehensions, exquisitely affected as he must have been with all that interests ' mortal man ' in the composition of those imrivalled stanzas; — unrivalled truly they are, though there is not an idea in them beyond the church-yard, in which they ai'e said to have been written." On the first of February, 1853, appeared "Original Hymns for Public, Social, and Private Devotion, by James Montgomery : " with the folio whig verse from one of them, as a motto, on the title page : " From young and old, with every breath, Let prayer and praise arise ; Life be ' the daily offering^ — death ' The evening sacrifice.^ " In the preface, the author adverts to the extent to which his compositions of this class have been appropriated by compilers ; adding, tliat " of this he has never complained, being rather humbly thankful that any imperfect strains of his should be tlius employed in giving glory to God in the highest, promoting o>i earth jyeace, and diffusing good-will towards man." But of the liberties taken by some of these in modifying certain passages according to their peculiar tastes and notions, he must complain ; very properly sug- LETTER FROM LUCY AIKIN. 407 gesting to such, that if they cannot " conscientiously adopt his diction and doctrine, it is surely unreasonable in them to impose uj^on him theirs, which he might as honestly hesitate to receive." He closes what he calls this " long preamble to the most serious work of a long life — now passing four-score years " — with the following appropriate lines from Bishop Ken : " And should the well-meant song I leave behind, With Jesus' lovers some acceptance find, 'Twill heighten even the joys of heaven to know That LQ my verse saints sung God's praise below." Lucy Aikin, to whom he sent a volume, thus pleasantly acknowledges it : " Dear Friend, " Many thanks to you for your kind present of your volume of Hymns. They were very agreeable and accept- able to me, not alone as a proof of your never-failing re- membrance and friendship, but for their own merits. I tell you the sunplest truth in saying, that I regard you as quite at the head of all living writers of this kind of poetry "within my knowledge. Your hymns have an earnestness, a fervor of piety, and an unmistakeable sincerity which goes straight to the heart. In the style, too, you are per- fectly successful, and it is one in which few are masters. Cleai', direct, simple, plain to the humblest member of a congregation, yet glowing with poetic fire, and steeped in Scripture : not in its peculiar phrases so much, which might give an air of quaintness, as filled with its sj^irit, and with allusions to its characters and incidents often extremely happy, and what might well be called ingenious. My father would not have for^-otten to add a merit to which 408 LIFE OF MONTGOMEKY. he was extremely sensible, as indeed am I — that the lines flow very harmoniously, and are richly rhymed — with their full complement of two to a stanza. This is an aid to the memory as well as the immediate eflect. I rejoice that you lend your powerful support to the anti-Calvinistio theology, and strenuously inculcate that every man may he saved if he pleases. " Although you may think it right to bridle your indig- nation against the interpolators of your Hymns, there is no reason I should : and I do not. It is an intolerable fraud — worse by far than forging one's name to a cheque ; and nothing, I suppose, but the paucity of really good hymns which speak exactly the language of this or that compiler for a congregation, could have temjited decent people to be guilty of it. Poor Dr. Watts has been victimized to such an extent in this manner for a century past, that I have been told a genuine Watts is now a curiosity scarcely any- where to be met with. Better fate be yours ; but I dare not promise it you, if you will write so well, and enounce your doctrines with so much point and force, instead of dwelling in neutral generalities, equally suited to all sects of Christians. "Are you aware that I have again taken up my abode in the old spot where we saw each other's face for the last time, doubtless, in this world ? Yes ; last Christmas twelve month, I quitted Wimbledon with my niece and her family, after what had been to me a five years' sojourn in a strange place, and came with them to dear old Hampstead, where I have a few friends and relations still remaining, whose society is worth far more to me than the most splendid new acquaintances could possibly be. One dear brother, my eldest, is still left me ; and we are but three miles apart. Here I am in the midst of an amiable young HIS LAST HYMNS. 409 flimily, to whom I feel myself almost a grandmamma. Many, many blessings to be thankful for at the age of seventy-one ! Of your health I have lately heard good tidings. Long may it continue ! Believe me ever, dear and respected friend, yours most sincerely, " Lucy Aikin. " Hampstead, February 13, 1853." The year 1854 broke stormily over England. The sever- ity and length of the cold kept all prudent invalids within doors, and especially barred the aged from their accus- tomed out-door air and exercise. Montgomery imprisoned himself for many weeks, and went out but seldom, until longer days gave promise of warmer weather. Tardy spring at last threw its emerald folds over the fields, and the poet again went forth rejoicing in the joy of beautiful and well-created things. His friends marked an increasing feebleness of body, while the mind, with occasionally a slight failure of memory, retained its wonted relish for books, conversation, and all the stirring incidents of the times. His correspondence had flagged ; the hand, not the heart, rendering unwil- ling obedience to the monitions of friendship or of poetry. Two hymns, composed in April, were, " the last fruit off an old tree ;" one to gratify a friend, and the other for the " little ones " of the Sunday-school Union, an evangel- ical alliance alw'ays dear to the poet's heart. Easter, a high festival among the Mora^dans, Montgom- ery designed to spend at Fulneck. Listead of going, how- ever, he despatched a letter, excusing his absence. It was addressed to his favorite niece Harriet, now Mrs. Mallalien, who says : " My dear micle frequently spent part of the Passion 35 410 LIFE OF M02s'TG0jiEiiY. Week and Easter with us, both at Ockbrook and Fulneck. I heard from Iiim very early in AvsrU ; and his last letter to me was dated on the 12th, not much more than a fortnight before he left his earthly for his heavenly home. I was looking at his letter last night, and cannot help transcribing a sentence or two from it. He says : " ' To-morrow, had I been free from hindrance otherwise than personal, I should have indeed been happy to have made an Easter campaign to the scene of my childhood, and the best days of my youth : to live the latter over again ; and especially to spend another Maundy Thursday, which then was (I may frankly own it) to me the happiest day in the year : the evening reading in the chapel, of our Saviour's agony and bloody sweat in the Garden of Gcth- semane, was almost always a season of holy humbling and affecting sympathy of my soul with His, who then was wont to make His presence felt. And on Good Friday, Great Sabbath, and Easter Sunday, each had its peculiar visits in spirit, and of these the remembrance is sweet and consoling ; and even yet, after so many years of estrange- ment and unfaithfulness on my part, since I chose my poiv tion for myself in the world, rather than in my Father's house and among my Christian brethren, I can say, — " Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his bene- fits ! " — hoj^ing, praying, and earnestly desiring that I may yet add the context — (Ps. ciii. 3, 4,) " Who forgiveth all tliine iniquities ; who healeth all thy diseases ; who re- decmeth thy life from destruction ; who crowneth thee with loving-kindness and tender mercies." ' Then he adds, with all his own warmth of affection, ' Now my dear, dear Harriet, may you and your children, and your best of mothers, ever, ever be enabled to offer such thanksgivings daily and to the end.' THE CLOSING SCENE, 411 " I do value that letter, wi'itten so shortly before his death. The season of the year coming round again [Easter, 1855], too, has made the last year dwell much on my mind ; so fondly had my dear mother and I hoped to have seen uncle here ; and now they have both joined the Church Triumphant ! " For, the places which knew him so intimately and so long, were soon to know him no more. On the last Friday in April he attended as usual the weekly board-meeting of the Infirmary, of whicli, for many years he had been chairman ; and on Saturday after- noon called upon Mr. Holland at his oiEce in the Music Hall, To an inquiry about his health, " I feel considerable oppression Aere," he answered, laying his hand on his breast — and a shade of more than usual thoughtfuhiess rested upon his countenance. At evening worship, he requested Miss Gales to read the Scriptures, when he led the devotional service with an earnestness and pathos which excited the attention of the family. No comjilaint, however, fell from his lij^s, and he retired as usual with nothing to indicate that this was his last " good night." Sabbath morning dawned, and at eight one of the serv- ants knocked at his door, but receiving no answer, she opened it and saw her master insensible on the floor. The family were soon aroused, and assistance speedily came, and he was returned to his bed, while consciousness seemed flitting back. A physician was summoned, and the patient ralHed, so rap- idly, indeed, that everything promised a speedy restoration. As Miss Gales sat and watched at his bedside during the aftei'noon, a sudden change came over his face. He seemed to have been sleeping — 412 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. "'No — life had s-weetly ceased to be : It lapsed in immortality ;" and soon the solemn tolling of the church-bell spread the tiduigs round that Sheffield had lost its most beloved and distinguished citizen. A great and good man had fallen. It Avas the 30th of April, 1854. The funeral took place on the 11th of May, amidst such demonstrations of respect as were never paid to any indi- vidual in Sheffield before. The shops were generally closed. Manufactories and other places of business were deserted. The houses showed signs of mourning. Along the route of procession, the house-tops and windows, and the sides of the streets, were filled with respectful specta- tors. Great numbers of people were upon the parish and St. Paul's churches, in the church-yards, and on every eleva- tion that commanded a view of the route. The following was the order of the procession, and of the proceedings at the place of interment : Mounted Police. Two Mutes. Deputations from the Committees and Managers of the Church of England Instruction Society ; the Sheffield Mechanics' Library ; the Athenseum ; the Lyceum ; the Red Ilill Schools ; Sunday-school Union ; Lancasterian Schools ; People's College ; Government School of Design ; Rotherham College ; Slicfficld Library ; Literary and Philosophical Society. Gentlemen of the Town and Neighborhood in Carriages ; Managers of the Savings' Bank ; CDUimittee and Medical Officers of the Sheffield Public Dispensary ; Managers of the Aged Female Society ; Directors of the United Gas-Light Company ; Board of Guardians for Sheffield ; The Weekly Board and Medical Officers of the Sheffield General Infirmary j ORDER OF FUNERAL PROCESSION, 413 The Police Commissioners ; The Ecclesall Highway Board ; The Board of Highways for the Townslaip of Sheffield ; Dissenting Ministers ; Wesleyan Ministers ; The Church Burgesses ; The Town Regent, and Trustees ; The Master Cutler (W. A. Matthews, Esq.), and Company ; Bishop and Ministers of the Church of the United Brethren ; The Vicar of Sheffield and twenty-four of the Clergy ; Officers of the West Eiding Yeomanry ; Coroner and Deputy Coroner for the District: •« The Magistrates for the Borough ; The Magistrates for the West Riding; Clerk to the Magistrates ; The Judge and Treasurer of the County Court ; The Mayor, (Francis Hoole, Esq., attended by Mr. Raynor, Chief Constable,) and Corporation ; G. Hadfield, Esq., M.P. for Sheffield ; The Funeral Committee ; William Favell, Esq., Surgeon to the Deceased ; Thomas Gould, Esq., SoUcitor to the Deceased ; PALL-BEARERS. PALL-BEARERS. Rev. H. Farish. Rev. Thomas Best. Rev. Jas. Metliley. THE BODY, Rev. S. D. Waddy. Rev. C. Larom. In a hearse drawn Rev. J. H.' Muir. SamL Roberts, Esq. by six horses. Samuel Baily, Esq. Four Mourning Coaches ; In the first coach, Robert Montgomery, of Woolwich, brother of the deceased ; the Rev. John James Montgomery, Miss Gales, and Mrs. Foster, niece of the deceased ; Second coach, Mrs. MallaHen, niece of the deceased ; Mrs. John James Montgomery, Mr. John Holland, and the Rev. W. Mercer ; Third and fourth coaches, the Pall-Bearers. Each coach was drawn by four horses : 35* -^ 414 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. Gentlemen of the Town and Neigliborhood on foot ; Deputation of the Montgomery Sick Society, Deputation of Scripture Readers ; Masters of Wesley College ; Twenty Gownsmen and one hundred of the Scholars of Wesley College; Pupils of Dr. Munro's School , Gentlemen of the Town and Neighborhood on horseback ; Mounted PoHce. About an hour elapsed from the arrival of the first i^art of the procession at the gates of the cemetery before the hearse, with its attendants, reached the consecrated enclo- sure, where the coffin was taken out of the hearse, and the pall-bearers assumed their places ; the vicar in his gown, and the Rev. George Sandford in his suiplice, preccdmg the solemn cortege u^) the avenue, and through the winding roads of the cemetery. It had been arranged to admit ladies into the cemetery ground at an early hour in the forenoon, and they formed its principal occupants when the funeral en- tered. But crowds of spectators were to be seen at all the adjacent points commanding a view of the ground ; and on the hill-side, across the valley, were hundreds of observers. When the procession had entered, the gates were opened to the public, and a dense assemblage quickly filled the ground. The favorable state of the weather permitted the whole of the burial service to be performed in the open air ; the Rev. T. Sale, M.A., the vicar, and the Rev. G. Sandford, M.A., the chaplain of the cemetery, officiating. At its conclusion, the vicar said : " Having committed the body of our dear , brother to the grave, in the full belief of his triumphant resiu'rection, let us sing over his grave one of tlinse hymns which in past days he composed for one gone before him : * * Dr. Owen, Secretary of the Bible Society, who died 1822. HIS rUNEEAL HYMN. 415 " ' Go to tlie grave ; though, like a fallen tree, At once with verdure, flowers, and fruitage crowned, Thy form may perish, and thine honors be Lost in the mouldering bosom of the ground ; — " ' Go to the grave, which, faithful to its trust. The germ of immortality shall keep ; While safe, as watched by cherubim, thy dust Shall, till the judgment-day, in Jesus sleep. " ' Go to the grave, for there thy Saviour lay In Death's embraces, ere He rose on high ; And all the ransomed, by that narrow way, Pass to eternal life beyond the sky. " ' Go to the grave ; — no, take thy seat above ; Be thy pure spirit present with the Lord, Where thou, for faith and hope, hast perfect love, And open vision for the written Word.' " After the retirement of the mourners, liunclreds of per- sons crowded round the grave to take a farewell look at the coffin, of plam oak, with a silvered plate bearing the following inscription : James JiIoxtgomery, Died April the 30th, 1854, In the 83rd year of his Age. Montgomery left an estate of £9,000. Generous legacies were willed to several Moravian institutions and city char- ities. But dear friends were not forgotten, and the re- mainder was equally shared between the two families of his brothers. Thus peacefully closed a long and useful life. Changes, almost marvellous, took place within its more than four- score years. The American colonies had broken from the parent stock and grown to a mighty nation. England 416 LIFE OF MONTGOMERY. had had her Foxes, Pitts, and Wellingtons. Steam had changed rough Atlantic voyages into holiday trips. Lum- bering mail-coaches 'svere outrun by the furious drive of the fieiy horse. Gas had left the laboratory of the chemist and become drilled to nightly service. The Avildest freaks of electricity had entered into the soberest calculations of busi- ness. Protestant Christianity burst forth with new power. Its agencies had spanned the world. The Bible, with its sturdy vitality, became the recognized civilizer of man. Missionary institutions grew into a commercial value. And all around, the common industries of life are vigorous and gainful only as they are nourished by the redeeming influ- ences of the gospel. "With the religious progress of his time, Montgomery identilied himself Life was an earnest and responsible work with him. He had something to do for the moral ren- ovation of others, and his heart was in doing it. England and the world are better that he and such men have lived. His piety embalms his genius. And long after j^rouder literary achievements shall have been buried in the dust of the Past, his simple hymns will linger on the lip of devo- tion, and nestle in the loving hearts of believers from the Moravian altars of Herrnhut to the " forest sanctuaries " of the tropics. The worth of a Christian life, time cannot diminish, and nothing can destroy. It has an imperishable value in the treasury of that Kingdom which will finally swallow up all the powers and principalities of earth. THE END,