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must afford mutual satisfaction, I could not refuse the request with which Mrs. Carter honoured me; though it is made on the supposition of my having some degree of interest with you, to which I have no claim, except from the very sincere admiration I have ever felt for your talents, and the regard and esteem with which I am, dear Madam,

"Your obliged and affectionate humble servant,
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"H. M. Bowdler.'

"P. S. If Mrs. Carter does not deliver this letter herself, she will, I believe, take an early opportunity of waiting on you, with a very amiable friend of mine, Miss Shipley, who has promised to carry her in her carriage.'

"I intreat you to excuse the length of my communication on these subjects, in consideration of the feelings with which it is unavoidably made. In other respects, the reception which Mrs. Radcliffe experienced far exceeded her hopes. Praise, unsolicited praise, reached her ear, directly or indirectly, from professed critics, from some of the first scholars of the age, and even from statesmen, whose attention she had little expected to excite. Of censure she had as small a share as could be, considering her distinction; and that, too, chiefly from the writers of other novels or romances, whose candour upon the subject may be suspected; since it is certain that no writer of fictitious narrative is required, otherwise than by his or her own motives, to deliver an opinion upon contemporaries. She never spoke of their writings, except when she could have the delight, which she often had, of expressing admiration; or when, indeed, she had the other entertainment, of observing that those who betrayed a wish to expel her violently from the field of literature, or at least to close it roughly against her as she retired, seldom failed to imitate her in one part of their works, after having endeavoured to proscribe her by another. If these had been only the feeble, they might be pitied, or unnoticed: but there were others; and I cannot refrain from saying of the latter, that, as the

degree of temptation determines in some measure the degree of an offence, so the poverty of their hearts must be nearly in proportion to the greatness of their talents. Had there been any unworthy intention, or tendency, in her writings, there can be few classes of composition in which it would not be meritorious to reprobate them: but it is beyond dispute that her works were never injurious to morality; and that their tendency, however feeble in this respect, was often to promote benevolent moderation in prosperity, and pious confidence under affliction.

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The following is a list of Mrs. Radcliffe's works, nearly, we believe, in the order in which they were published:

The Castles of Athlin and Dumblaine.

The Sicilian Romance.

The Romance of the Forest.

A Journey through Holland, in the Year 1793.

The Mysteries of Udolpho.

The Italians.

We understand that Mrs. Radcliffe left several manuscripts, some of them in a fit state for the press; but we do not know whether or not the public may expect the gratification of their perusal.

No. V.

MR. ROBERT BLOOMFIELD.

Ir ever there was an instance of poetical genius triumphing over every possible disadvantage and difficulty, it was in the case of the amiable, but eventually unfortunate subject of the present memoir. We are not aware that our annals afford any precedent of a writer doing so much, with so little assistance from art or accident. Dodsley, though once in a menial capacity, had subsequently an opportunity of cultivating his talents by an association with the wits of his age; Bruce, the son of a poor weaver, and Burns, himself a ploughman, were born and lived in a country, in which poverty is little or no bar to the acquisition of learning; the education of Chatterton was not wholly neglected; and Falconer, who, as it is believed, was bred a common sailor, must evidently have had friends who attended to his earlier years. But of Robert Bloomfield, whose name posterity will rank with some of those we have mentioned, the following is the simple and concise history:

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He was born the third of December, 1766, and was the youngest child of George Bloomfield, a taylor, at Honington, a village between Euston and Troston, about eight miles N.E. of Bury St. Edmund's, in Suffolk. Robert lost his father when he was about six months old. His mother, whose maiden name was Elizabeth Manby, was a pious and exemplary woman. She was the village schoolmistress, and instructed her own children with the others. Little Robert thus learned to read as soon as he learned to speak. As his mother, though left a widow with six small children, was desirous, with the assistance of friends, to give each of them some edu

cation beyond what she herself was capable of imparting, Robert was sent to a very worthy man, a Mr. Rodwell, of Ixworth, a neighbouring village, to be improved in writing. At Mr. Rodwell's school, however, he did not attend for more than two or three months; nor was he ever at any other; his mother, when he was about seven years old, marrying a second husband, John Glover, by whom she had another family.

When Robert was not above eleven years of age, his uncle by marriage, in other words, his mother's sister's husband, a farmer of Sapiston, (a village adjoining Honington,) of the name of William Austin, took him into his house; by which means Robert's mother was relieved of any other expence than that of finding him a few things to wear. Even that,

however, was more than she well knew how to accomplish. She wrote therefore to her sons, George and Nathaniel, then journeymen shoemakers, in London, to assist her; mentioning that their brother Robert was so small of his age, that Mr. Austin said it was not likely he would ever be able to earn his living by hard labour. George, the elder of the brothers, replied, that if his mother would let him take the boy, he would give him board and lodging, and teach him to make shoes; and Nathaniel promised to clothe him. Upon this offer, the mother removed him from Mr. Austin's on the 29th of June, 1781, and accompanied him to London; observing, that she should never be happy if she did not herself put him into his brother's hands. She charged her son George, as he valued a mother's blessing, to watch over his little brother, to set him a good example, and never to forget that he had lost his father; a solemn and pathetic adjuration, which seems to have been most religiously attended to. The personal appearance of Robert at this time, is thus pleasingly and affectionately described by his brother: -

"I have him in my mind's eye, a little boy, not bigger than boys generally are at twelve years old. When I met

him and his mother at the inn (in Bishopsgate Street), he strutted before us, dressed just as he came from keeping sheep, hogs, &c.; his shoes filled full of stumps in the heels. He, looking about him, slipped up: his nails were unused to a flat pavement. I remember viewing him as he scampered up, — how small he was! Little I thought that that fatherless boy would be one day known and esteemed by the most learned, the most respected, the wisest, and the best men of the kingdom."

Mr. George Bloomfield then lived at Mr. Simm's, No. 7, Pitcher's Court, Bell Alley, Coleman Street. It is customary in such houses as are let to poor people in London, to have light garrets, fit for mechanics to work in. In the garret of the house just described, in which there were two turn-up beds, and in which five journeymen shoemakers worked, Mr. George Bloomfield received his young brother.

Being all single men, lodgers at a shilling a week each, their beds were coarse, and their accommodation of every kind far from being clean and snug, like what Robert had left at Sapiston. Robert was their little messenger, and was employed to procure every thing they required. At noon, he fetched their dinners from the cook's shop; and if any of the workmen wanted some particular article, he would send Robert for it, and then assist him in his jobs, and teach him, as a recompence for his trouble. Every day, the boy who came from the public house for the pewter pots, and to know what porter was needed, brought the newspaper of yesterday with him. The journeymen had been accustomed to take the reading of the paper by turns; but after Robert arrived, he generally read to them; because his time was of least value. In the execution of this task he frequently met with words that he was unacquainted with; of which he always complained. One day, his brother George happening to see at a book-stall a small dictionary, which had been very ill-used, bought it for Robert for four-pence. Thus aided, he was able in a short time to read the Parliamentary debates with ease; and

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