ings are not habitual to his mind, but are merely assumed to give effect to his sonnets, can there be a more unpleasing verbiage ?-if they are genuine, can we conceive a more deplorable calamity? On the latter consideration, much of melancholy illustration might be thrown from the memoir now before us: but we decline to do more than suggest a hint to those, who, from the most benevolent motives, extend their patronage to youthful, self-instructed, and necessitous men of talents.

As soon as the little volume of poems was ready for publication, the writer's friends; anxious to procure for it the protection of some exalted female character, successively thought of the late dutchess of Devonshire, the countess of Derby, and the margravine of Anspach. It was ultimately dedicated, by her grace's permission, to the lady first mentioned; to whom the book, when published, was sent, but from whom no answer was ever returned. Let ters were also despatched to periodical criticks, stating the age, the disadvantages, the prospects, and the hopes of the author, and requesting an indulgent notice. Our opinion of the poems was given in our number for February, 1804; to which, or to this biographical memoir, where it is reprinted at p. 17, we refer our readers. We commended the talents and application of the young literary advocate, his exertions, and his laudable endeavours to excel; and, thinking that the case privately laid before us would plead strongly in the author's favour with a liberal publick, we suggested the propriety of a subscription with a similar statement, and expressed our wish that he might obtain some respecta ble patron: while we did not disguise our doubts, from the specimen then before us, whether the poems were calculated to win their way by their own intrinsick merit. To us, although we certainly cannot now boast so much impartiality on this subject as

we might truly claim at the time of writing the review, it really appears that the expectations of this young man must have been somewhat unreasonably excited by the injudicious encomiums of his friends, since he was severely mortified and disappointed by our remarks. He addressed to us at the time an affecting remonstrance; to which, in our following number, we replied with evident anxiety to heal his wounded feelings, but without deviating from our opinion. With sincere regret, and, we must add, with astonishment, we find that our effort to calm his mind was unsuccessful; and that a critique, which we continue to regard as extremely mild, but by which he thought that his talents were much undervalued, still gave him pain, and was actually considered by him as "an instrument in the hands of Satan to drive him to distraction!" This feeling, no doubt, we share in common with all his readers, though it is heightened in our minds by the circumstance of having been the instruments, yet the innocent and well-intentioned instruments, of inflicting pain on a mind thus profoundly and thus lamentably sensible: but we desire Mr. Southey, who has condescended to direct against us some coarse and common-place language, to be most positively assured, that we maintain our former judgment, and that our regret is wholly unmixed with a sin gle feeling of self-accusation, or any consciousness of injustice.

This unfortunate youth persuaded himself that his strong displeasure against us was not awakened by our literary strictures, but that our recommendation to him to make his case publick" affected his respectability," and that it represented him as a " beggar." Yet the avowed object of his work was, by obtaining notoriety and credit for its author, to ensure such a circulation and such a sale as should enable him to raise a sufficient sum of money for a par

ticular purpose! Moreover, in order to obtain such credit and notoriety, applications for patronage and protection were made to ladies of rank, who were perfect strangers to the author: and reviewers, who were equally unknown to him, were requested to speak with indulgence of a work which it was their duty impartially to examine. All these applications, too, are sanctioned and fortified by a statement of his case. It is preposterous, then, to contend, that our advice to make that case at once publick would have trenched on Mr. White's respectability, or ought to have affected his feelings. As soon would a fair and accurate reasoner adopt Mr. Southey's doctrine [p. 18] that however bad these poems might have been, "a good man would not have said so."

The present volumes have inspired us with unfeigned, though not excessive nor indiscriminate admiration for the talents, and with esteem for the amiable virtues of Mr. White; and we could not silently submit to the imputation of ha ving, in his instance, indulged in that propensity to wanton, illiberal, and insulting censure, which may, perhaps, have been sometimes justly ascribed to criticks by profession, but to which we trust that we could produce satisfactory evidence of our own determined hostility, not only from the uniform tenour of the Monthly Review for above sixty years, but from almost every single number of it. To the principles by which it is our pride to regulate our conduct in this particular, we are confident that neither our observations on the author's poems, nor our answer to his complaint, will appear to any unprejudiced mind to form an exception. On the contrary, we must repeat, on closing this subject, our astonishment at the complexion of the article in question having Deen so darkly represented to Mr. White's "mind's eye," and at our remarks having been termed by

him "extreme acrimony," Really, at this distance of time, and with much increased sympathy and respect for the deceased author, on reconsidering what we then wrote, and the tenour attributed to it by Mr. White, and his biographer, we must declare that we understand not our native language if the terms which we used are, in any degree, susceptible of the character which is applied to them. The verse which we quoted was an incontrovertible evidence of the justice of our criticism; and we suspect that Mr. White himself was hence led to perceive the defects of his composition, and to attempt the correction of them afterwards, since he says in a letter to Mr. Southey: "I have materials for another volume, but they do not now at all satisfy me."

As to Mr. Southey, we have only farther to inform him, that his fancied discernment has wholly misled him, in the supposition that the article on Clifton Grove, and the reply to the author's letter, were written by different persons; and to whisper in his ear that his own boast of indifference to criticism, because he has been reviewed "above seventy times," is not very felicitous. If he has, “seventy times," received commendation, his indifference is ingratitude; and if he has, " seventy times," suffered inefficacious castigation, he can only be likened to the idle school boy, who, having been almost daily punished for his negligence, at length becomes insensible to either pain or shame, and systematically prefers a flogging to amendment.

Soon after the hopes of our young poet had been thus inflamed, they encountered serious disappointment, in the failure of an attempt to place him at the university; and from this cause, as well as from his own prejudicial habits of study, his health became very seriously affected, and he was visited by the apprehension of a consumptive disorder. A letter of introduction, however, to the

rev. Mr. Simeon, of King's College, Cambridge, induced him to visit that gentleman, who received him with kindness, formed a just opinion of his attainments, procured him a sizarship at St. John's College, and promised, with the aid of a friend, to, supply him with an annuity of 30%. To this provision, his brother Neville generously agreed to add 201. and his mother was expected to be able to allow fifteen or twenty more, for his maintenance at college. In the mean time, he became a candidate for the bounty of the Elland Society, which, after a long and strict examination, pronounced him to be qualified to receive that bounty, and admitted him on their list of young men to be educated for the ministry. On obtaining this success, he disinterestedly communicated it to Mr. Simeon, and declined the intended beneficence of his unknown friends, as no longer necessary: but that gentleman, with feelings that did him equal honour, obliged him to give up the assistance of the society.

He spent a year of preparation for his academical studies, in the same course of unwearied industry, under the tuition of the rev. Mr. Grainger, of Winteringham, in Lincolnshire; and in October, 1805, he commenced his residence at college. We shall pursue his affecting and instructive history in the words of his biographer:

"During his first term, one of the university scholarships became vacant, and Henry, young as he was in college, and almost self-taught, was advised, by those who were best able to estimate his chance of success, to offer himself as a competitor for it. He passed the whole term in preparing himself for this, reading for college subjects in bed, in his walks, or, as he says, where, when, and how he could, never having a moment to spare, and often going to his tutor without having read at all. His strength sunk under this, and though he had declared himself a candidate, he was compelled to decline; but this was not the only misfortune. The general college examination came on; he was utterly unprepared to meet it, and believed that a

failure here would have ruined his prospects for ever. He had only about a fortnight to read what other men had been the himself beyond what his shattered health whole term reading. Once more he exerted could bear; the disorder returned, and he went to his tutor, Mr. Catton, with tears in his eyes, and told him that he could not go into the hall to be examined. Mr. Catton, however, thought his success horted him, with all possible earnestness, here of so much importance, that he exto hold out the six days of the examina tion. Strong medicines were given him to enable him to support it, and he was pronounced the first man of his year. But life was the price which he was to pay for such honours as this, and Henry is not the first young man to whom such honours have proved fatal. He said to his most intimate friend, almost the last time he saw him, that were he to paint a picture of Fame, crowning a distinguished under-graduate, after the senate house examination, he would represent her as concealing a death's head under a mask of beauty.

"When this was over he went to London. London was a new scene of excite. ment, and what his mind required was tranquillity and rest. Before he left college, he had become anxious concerning his expenses, fearing that they exceeded his means. Mr. Catton perceived this, and twice called him to his rooms, to assure him of every necessary support, and every encouragement, and to give him every hope. This kindness relieved his spirits relaxed a little from his studies, but it of a heavy weight, and on his return, he was only a little. I found among his pa pers the day thus planned out: Rise at half past five. Devotions, and walk till seven. Chapel and breakfast till eight. Study and lectures till one. Four and a half clear reading. Walk, &c. and dinner, and Woollaston, and chapel to six. Six to nine, reading-three hours. Nine to ten, devotions. Bed at ten."

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Among his latest writings are these resolutions:-'I will never be in bed after

Every additional sentence will Convey to our readers a more correct idea of the powers of Mr. White's mind; his honourable principles; his amiable disposition; and his affectionate heart, than any statement of ours can present:

"The exercise which Henry took was no relaxation. He still continued the habit of studying while he walked; and in this manner, while he was at Cambridge, committed to memory a whole tragedy of Euripides. Twice he distinguished himself in the following year, being again pronounced first at the great college exami. Bation, and also one of the three best heme writers, between whom the exa

miners could not decide. The college offered him, at their expense, a private tutor in mathematicks during the long va cation; and Mr. Catton, by procuring for Jim exhibitions to the amount of 661. per ann. enabled him to give up the pecuniary assistance which he had received from Mr. Simeon and other friends. This inten. tion he had expressed in a letter, written twelve months before his death. With Begard to my college expenses,' he says, 'I have the pleasure to inform you, that I shall be obliged, in strict rectitude, to wave the offers of many of my friends. I shall not even need the sum of Mr. Simeon mentioned after the first year; and it is not impossible that I may be able to live without any assistance at all. I confess I feel pleasure at the thought of this, not through any vain pride of independence, but because I shall then give a more unbiassed testimony to the truth, than if I were supposed to be bound to it by any ties of obNigation or gratitude. I shall always feel as much indebted for intended, as for actually afforded assistance; and though I should never think a sense of thankfulness an oppressive burthen, yet I shall be happy to evince it, when in the eyes of the world the obligation to it has been discharged' Never, perhaps, had any young man, in so short a time, excited such expectations. Every university honour was thought to be within his reach; he was set down as a medallist, and expected to take a senior wrangler's degree; but these expectations were poison to him; they goaded him to fresh exertions when his strength was spent. His situation became truly miserable. To his brother, and to his mother, he wrote always that he had relaxed in his studies, and that he was better, always holding out to them his hopes, and his good fortune: but to the most intimate of

his friends, Mr. Maddock, his letters told a different tale. To him he complained of dreadful palpitations; of nights of sleeplessness and horrour; and of spirits depressed to the very depth of wretchedness, so that he went from one acquaintance to another, imploring society, even as a starving beggar entreats for food. During the course of this summer, it was expected that the mastership of the freeschool at Nottingham would shortly become vacant. A relation of his family was at that time mayor of the town. He suggested to them what an advantageous situation it would be for Henry, and offered to secure for him the necessary interest. But though the salary and emoluments are estimated at from 4 to 6001. per annum, Henry declined the offer; because, had he accepted it, it would have frustrated his intentions with respect to the ministry. This was certainly no common act of forbearance in one so situated as to fortune; especially as the hope which he had most at heart, was that of being enabled to assist his family, and in some degree requite the care and anxiety of his father and mother, by making them comfortable in their declining years.

"The indulgence shown him by his colleague, in providing him a tutor during the long vacation, was peculiarly unfor tunate. His only chance of life was from relaxation, and home was the only place where he would have relaxed to any purpose. Before this time he had seemed to be gaining strength; it failed as the year advanced: he went once more to London to recruit himself; the worst place to which he could have gone; the variety of stimulating objects there hurried and agitated him, and when he returned to college, he was so completely ill, that no power of medicine could save him. His mind was worn out, and it was the opinion of his medical attendants, that if he had recovered, his intellect would have been affected. His brother Neville was just at this time to have visited him. On his first seizure, Henry found himself too ill to receive him, and wrote to say so; he added, with that anxious tenderness towards the feelings of a most affectionate family which always appeared in his letters, that he thought himself recovering; but his disorder increased so rapidly, that this letter was never sent; it was found in his pocket after his decease. One of his friends wrote to acquaint Neville with bis danger. He hastened down; but Henry was delirious when he arrived. He knew him only for a few moments; the next day sunk into a state of stupor; and on Sunday