of preparing myself, in case I should succeed in getting to College, in what little leisure I could boast, left no room for the flights of the imagination.

In another letter he speaks, in still stronger terms, of what he had suffered from the unfeeling and iniquitous criticism.

"The unfavourable review (in the "Monthly") of my unhappy work, has cut deeper than you could have thought; not in a literary point of view, but as it affects my respectability. It represents me actually as a beggar, going about gathering money to put myself at college, when my book is worthless; and this with every appearance of candour. They have been sadly misinformed respecting me: this review goes before me wherever I turn my steps; it haunts me incessantly, and I am persuaded it is an instrument in the hands of Satan to drive me to distraction. I must leave Nottingham."

It is not unworthy of remark, that this very reviewal, which was designed to crush the hopes of Henry, and suppress his struggling genius, has been, in its consequences, the main occasion of bringing his Remains to light, and obtaining for him that fame which assuredly will be his portion. Had it not been for the indignation which I felt at perusing a criticism at once so cruel and so stupid, the little intercourse between Henry and myself would not have taken place; his papers would probably have remained in oblivion, and his name, in a few years, have beeen forgotten.

I have stated that his opinions were, at one time, in

:

clining towards deism: it needs not be said on what slight grounds the opinions of a youth must needs be founded while they are confined to matters of speculation, they indicate, whatever their eccentricities, only an active mind; and it is only when a propensity is manifested to such principles as give a sanction to immorality, that they show something wrong at heart. One little poem of Henry's remains, which was written in this unsettled state of mind. It exhibits much of his character, and can excite no feelings towards him, but such as are favourable.

MY OWN CHARACTER.

Addressed (during illness) to a Lady.

DEAR Fanny, I mean, now I'm laid on the shelf,
To give you a sketch—aye, a sketch of myself.
'Tis a pitiful subject, I frankly confess,

And one it would puzzle a painter to dress;

But however, here goes, and as sure as a gun,

I'll tell all my faults like a penitent nun;

For I know, for my Fanny, before I address her,

She wont be a cynical father confessor.

Come, come, 'twill not do! put that purling brow down;

You can't for the soul of you, learn how to frown.
Well, first I premise, its my honest conviction,
That my breast is a chaos of all contradiction;
Religious-Deistic-now loyal and warm;
Then a dagger-drawn democrat hot for reform:
This moment a fop, that, sententious as Titus;
Democritus now, and anon Haraclitus;
Now laughing and pleas'd, like a child with a rattle:
Then vex'd to the soul with impertinent tattle;

Now moody and sad, now unthinking and gay;
To all points of the compass I veer in a day.

I'm proud and disdainful to Fortune's gay child,
But to poverty's offspring submissive and mild;
As rude as a boor, and as rough in dispute;
Then as for politeness-oh! dear--I'm a brute!
I shew no respect where I never can feel it;
And as for contempt, take no pains to conceal it.
And so in the suite, by these laudable ends,
I've a great many foes, and a very few friends.

And yet, my dear Fanny, there are who can feel
That this proud heart of mine is not fashion'd like steel.
It can love (can it not?)—it can hate, I am sure;
And its friendly enough, tho' in friends it be poor,
For itself tho' it bleed not, for others it bleeds;
If it have not ripe virtues, I'm sure it's the seeds;
And tho' far from faultless, or even so-so,

I think it may pass as our worldly things go.

Well, I've told you my frailties without any gloss;
Then as to my virtues, I'm quite at a loss!

I think I'm devout, and yet I can't say,

But in process of time I may get the wrong way.
I'm a general lover, if that's commendation,
And yet can't withstand you know whose fascination.
But I find that amidst all my tricks and devices,
In fishing for virtues, I'm pulling up vices;
So as for the good, why, if I possess it,
I am not yet learned enough to express it.

You yourself must examine the lovelier side,
And after your every art you have tried,
Whatever my faults, I may venture to say,
Hypocrisy never will come in your way.

I am upright, I hope; I am downright, I'm clear!
And I think my worst foe must allow I'm sincere ;
And if ever sincerity glow'd in my breast,

'Tis now when I swear

About this time Mr. Pigott, the curate of St. Mary's, Nottingham, hearing what was the bent of his religious opinions, sent him, by a friend, Scott's Force of Truth, and requested him to peruse it attentively, which he promised to do. Having looked at the book, he told the person who brought it to him, that he could soon write an answer to it; but about a fortnight afterwards, when this friend enquired how far he had proceeded in his answer to Mr. Scott, Henry's reply was in a very different tone and temper. He said, that to answer that book was out of his power, and out of any man's, for it was founded upon eternal truth; that it had convinced him of his error; and that so thoroughly was he impressed with a sense of the importance of his Maker's favour, that he would willingly give up all acquisitions of knowledge, and all hopes of fame, and live in a wilderness unknown, till death, so he could insure an inheritance in heaven.

A new pursuit was thus opened to him, and he engaged in it with his wonted ardour. "It was a constant feature in his mind," says Mr. Pigot, "to persevere in the pursuit of what he deemed noble and important. Religion, in which he now appeared to himself not yet to have taken a step, engaged all his anxiety, as of all concerns the most important. He could not rest satisfied till he had formed his principles upon the basis of Chris

1

tianity, and till he had begun in earnest to think and act agreeably to its pure and heavenly precepts. His mind loved to make distant excursions into the future and remote consequences of things. He no longer limited his views to the narrow confines of earthly existence; he was not happy till he had learnt to rest and expatiate in a world to come. What he said to me when we became intimate is worthy of observation: that, he said, which first made him dissatisfied with the creed he had adopted, and the standard of practice which he had set up for himself, was the purity of mind which he perceived was every where inculcated in the Holy Scriptures, and required of every one who would become a successful candidate for future blessedness. He had supposed that morality of conduct was all the purity required; but when he ob served that purity of the very thoughts and intentions of the soul also was requisite, he was convinced of his deficiencies, and could find no comfort to his penitence, but in the atonement made for human frailty by the Redeemer of mankind; and no strength adequate to his weakness, and sufficient for resisting evil, but the aid of God's spirit, promised to those who seek them from above in the sincerity of earnest prayer."

From the moment when he had fully contracted these opinions, he was resolved upon devoting his life to the promulgation of them; and therefore to leave the Law, and, if possible, place himself at one of the Universities. Every argument was used by his friends to dissuade him