it a second reading, and correct what I thought amiss."

To this proposal, which was printed, was added the Sonnet to the Setting Sun; and we presume that it was in this form that Mr. found it when he was struck by its character, and waited upon Clare. The poet's effort to gain subscribers proved fruitless: "I distributed my papers," says he, "but as I could get at no way of pushing them into higher circles than those with whom I was acquainted, they consequently passed off as quiet as if they had still been in my possession, unprinted and unseen." His friend at Market Deeping, offered to print the work if only one hundred subscribers were obtained, and after that he proposed to commence his operations, if Clare would advance him fifteen pounds: this demand was subsequently reduced to ten pounds, but Clare's subscribers did not increase with this temptation; their number was only seven, and it may be said that they answered with the little girl in Wordsworth's Poems, "Nay, Master, we are even:" and so far from Clare having ten or fifteen pounds to spare, that he had not at that time fifteen pence to call his own.

After this failure, his Poems found their way into print in the manner above mentioned, and the present publishers gave Clare twenty pounds for them. On their publication they had a very extensive run, and were promptly purchased by many as a mere act of benevolence. About a month after their appearance, the noble family at Milton Abbey, sent for Clare, and inquired into the state of his circumstances and those of his parents. Lord Milton then gave him ten pounds, to which Earl Fitzwilliam added five pounds; and on the following day, several articles of clothing and furniture were sent in, to contribute to the comforts of his father and mother. Soon after the Marquis of Exeter promised to allow him an annuity of fifteen guineas for life, in order that, since he supposed him capable of earning thirty pounds per annum, by his daily labour, he might, without injury to his income, devote half that time to poetry. But Clare was disenabled to realize any such sum, as he has been often called away from the harvest field three or four times a-day, to gratify the curiosity of persons, visiting Helpstone, for the purpose of seeing

VOL. I.

D

him. His good fortune, however, soon found a counterpoise to every disadvantage. Earl Fitzwilliam sent one hundred pounds to Clare's publishers, which, with a like sum kindly advanced by them, was laid out in the purchase of stock, with the view of securing our poet from the condition of extreme poverty, which otherwise might await him, when, like other novelties of the day, he in his turn should be forgotten. This fund was immediately augmented by the contributions of several noblemen and gentlemen, which were follows:- Prince Leopold, £10. The Dukes of Bedford and Devonshire £10. each; The Duke of Northumberland, £10. The Earls of Cardigan, Browlow, Winchelsea, Manvers and Egremont, £10. each; The Earl Rivers, £5. Lords Kenyon, Norwich, and Russell, £10 each; Lord Arden, £5.5.; Sir Thomas Baring, £10.; Sir Thomas Plumer, Jesse Watts Russell, Esq. M. P. and Edward Lee, Esq. £5. each; with several smaller donations.

num.

as

The sums thus collected, amounting to £.220 13s. were, with the former £.200 invested in the Navy five per Cents. in the name of trustees; and at midsummer the interest resulting from this source, amounted to £.20 per anThe Earl of Spencer hearing of Clare's penury and talents, allowed him 4.10 per annum, for life. From these various gifts and annuities, the poor Poet became possessed of an income of forty-five pounds a year, which may be said to have been conferred upon him from the 1st of January, 1820,-the respective payments having all commene ed from that day.

In the spring of 1820, Clare married "Patty of the Vale!"-"The Rosebud in Humble Life"-or in other words, Martha Turner, the daughter of a cottage farmer, residing at WalkherdLodge, in the neighbourhood of BridgeCastleton, whose portion consisted of nothing beyond the virtues of industry, frugality, neatness, good temper, and a sincere love for her husband; qualities, indeed, which contribute more than wealth to the happiness of the marriage state; but money is still a desirable ac complishment, and for want of it, Clare's finances are not so conducive to his com fort as might be wished. His household consists at the present time, of his father and mother, who are aged and

infirm, his wife, and a little girl who bids fair to be the eldest of a family, which at this date may be expected to be pretty numerous. They all reside in the Cottage in which our Poet was born.

Inaddition to Clare's first volume of poems published in 1820, there has lately appeared two more volumes. He seems to have improved much, and his style has somewhat received a polish, which doubtless will be enhanced as his reading and observation increase. There are, however, many solecisms in his compositions which Clare would do well to correct, and as a guide to do this, he may see them pointed out by the respective Reviewers of his works.

The particulars of his life here put together, are not offered as something new they are collected from the introductions to his poems, and the only motive in view, by here presenting them to our readers, is, that by bringing his distresses before the public, benevolence may be awakened, and that in encouraging the poor and simple bard, our country may do honour to itself by thus fostering in its bosom a child of misfortune, and a son of the Muses. Clare's poetry will ever be esteemed; at least as long as Bloomfield is classed in the rank of our bards.Those who read his effusions will not be disappointed, if they have a heart to forgive many inaccuracies, and impartiality enough to distinguish and to applaud his performances of merit.

NOCTURNAL BIRDS. The narrative from which the following is extracted, abounds with much interest and instruction; and, as such we lay before our readers this short account of the nocturnal bird-the Guacharo.

"The Guacharo is the size of our fowls, has the mouth of the goat-suckers and procnias, and the port of those vultures, the crooked beak of which, is surrounded with stiff silky hairs. Suppressing, with Mr. Cuvier, the order of picæ, we must refer this extraordinary bird to the passares, the genera of which are connected with each other by almost imperceptible transitions.

have noted it under the name of steatornis, in a particular monography, contained in the second volume of my Observations on Zoology and Compara

tive Anatomy. It forms a new genus' very different from the goat-sucker, by the force of its voice, by the considerable strength of its beak, containing a double tooth, by its feet without the membranes that unite the anterior phalanxes of the claws. It is the first example of a nocturnal bird among the passares dentirostrati. In its manners, it has analogies both with the goat-suckers and the alpine crow. The plumage of the guacharo, is of a dark bluish grey, mixed with small streaks and specks of black. Large white spots, which have the form of a heart, and which are bordered with black, mark the head, the wings, and the tail. The eyes of the bird are hurt with the blaze of day: they are blue, and smaller than those of the goat-suckers. The spread of the wings, which are composed of seventeen or eighteen quill-feathers, is three feet and a half. The guacharo quits the cavern at night-fall, especially when the moon shines. It is almost the only frugiferous nocturnal bird that is yet known; the conformation of its feet sufficiently shows that it does not hunt like our owls. It feeds on very hard fruits; as the nut-cracker and the pyrrhocorax. The latter nestles also in clifts of rocks, and is known under the name of night-crow. The Indians assured us, that the guacharo does not pursue either the lamellicornous insects, or those plalance, which serve as food to the goat-suckers. It is sufficient to compare the beaks of the guacharo and goat-sucker, to conjecture how their manners must differ. It is difficult to form an idea of the horrible noise occasioned by thousands of these birds in the dark part of the cavern, and which can only be compared to the croaking of our crows, which, in the pine forests of the north, live in society, and construct their nests upon trees, the tops of which touch each other. The shrill and piercing cries of the guacharoes, strike upon the vaults of the rocks, and are repeated by the echo in the depth of the cavern. The Indians showed us the nests of these birds, by fixing torches to the end of a long pole. These nests were fifty or sixty feet high above our heads, in holes of the shape of funnels, with which the roof of the grotto is pierced like a sieve. The noise increased as we advanced, and the birds were affrighted by the light of the torches of

copal. When this noise ceased a few minutes around us, we heard at a distance, the plaintive cries of the birds roosting in other ramifications of the cavern. It seemed as if these birds answered each other alternately.

The Indians enter into the Caeva del Guacharo once a year, near midsummer, armed with poles, by means of which they destroy the greater part of the nests. At this season, several thousands of birds are killed; and the old ones, as if to defend their brood, hover over the heads of the Indians, uttering terrible cries. The young, which fall to the ground, are opened on the spot. Their peritoneum is extremely loaded with fat, and a layer of fat reaches from the abdomen to the anus, forming a kind of cushion between the legs of the bird. This quantity of fat in frugiferous animals, not exposed to the light, and exerting very little muscular motion, remirds me of what has been long since observed in the fattening of geese and oxen. It is well known how favourable darkness and repose are to this process. The nocturnal birds of Europe are lean; because, instead of feeding on fruits, like the guacharo, they live on the scanty produce of their prey. At the period which is commonly called at Caripe, the oil harvest, the Indians build huts with palm leaves, near the entrance, and even in the porch of the cavern. Of these we still saw some remains. There, with a fire of brush-wood, they melt in pits of clay, the fat of the young birds just killed. This fat is known by the name of butter, or oil, (manteca, or aceite,) of the guacharo. It is half liquid, transparent, without smell, and so pure that it may be kept above a year without becomingrancid. At the convent of Carpe, no other oil is used in the kitchen of the monks, but that of the cavern; and we never observed that it gave the aliments a disagreeable taste or smell. The quantity of this oil collected, little corresponds with the carnage made every year in the grotto by the Indians. It appears that they do not get above 150 or 160 bottles* of very pure manteca; the rest, less transparent, is preserved in large earthen vessels. This branch of industry reminds us of the harvest of pigeons"

* Sixty cubic inches each.

oil,t of which some thousands of barrels were formerly collected in Carolina. At Caripe, the use of the oil of guacharo is very ancient, and the missionaries have only regulated the method of extracting it. The numbers of an Indian family, which bears the name of morocoymas, pretend, as descendants of the first colonies of the valley, to be the lawful proprietors of the cavern, and arrogate to themselves the monopoly of the fat; but, thanks to the monastic institutions, their rights at present are merely honorary. In conformity to the system of the missionaries, the Indians are obliged to furnish guacharo-oil for the church lamp: the rest, we were assured, is purchased of them. We shall not decide either on the legitimacy of the rights of the morocoymas, or on the origin of the obligation imposed on the natives by the monks. It would seem natural, that the produce of the chase should belong to those who hunt: but in the forests of the New World, as in the centre of European cultivation, public might is modified according to the relations which are established be. tween the strong and the weak, the victors and the vanquished.

"The race of guacharoes would have been long ago extinct, had not several circumstances contributed to its pieservation. The natives, restrained by their superstitious ideas, have seldom the courage to penetrate far into the grotto. It appears also, that birds of the same species dwell in neighbouring caverns, which are too narrow to be accessible to man. Perhaps the great cavern is re peopled by colonies that abandon the small grottoes; for the missionaries assured us, that hitherto no sensible diminution of the birds had been observed. Young guacharoes have been sent to the port of Cumana, and have lived there several days, without taking any nourishment; the seeds offered to them not suiting their taste. When the crops and gizzards of the young birds are opened in the cavern, they are found to contain all sorts of hard and dry fruits, which furnish under the singular name of guacharo seed, semilla del guacharo, a very celebrated remedy against intermittant fevers. The old birds carry these seeds to their young.

This pigeon ail comes from columbs migratoris.

They are carefully collected, and sent to the sick at Cariaco and other places of the low regions, where fevers are prevalent. -(Humboldt's Narrative.)

Poetry.

THOUGHTS AND IMAGES.

"Come like shadows, so depart."— Macbeth.

The diamond, in its native bed,

Hid like a buried star, may lie,
Where foot of man must never tread,
Seen only by its Maker's eye;
And though imbued with beams to grace
His fairest work in woman's face,

Darkling, its fire may fill the void,
Where fixed at first in solid night;
Nor, till the world shall be destroyed,
Sparkle one moment into light.

The plant, up springing from the seed,
Expands into a perfect flower :
The virgin daughter of the mead,

Woo'd by the sun, the wind, the shower;
In loveliness beyond compare,
It toils not, spins not, knows no care;
Train'd by the secret hand that brings
All beauty out of waste and rude,

It blooms a season, dies, and flings
Its germs abroad in solitude.

Almighty skill, in ocean's caves,

Lends the light Nautilus a form
To tilt along th' Atlantic waves,

Careless and fearless of the storm;
But should a breath of danger sound,
With sails quick furl'd it dives profound,
And far beneath the tempest's path,
In coral grots, defies the foe,

That never brake, in all its wrath,
The sabbath of the deep below.

Up from his dream, on twinkling wings,
The sky-lark soars amid the dawn;
Yet while in Paradise he sings,

Looks down upon the quiet lawn,
Where flutters in his little nest,
More love than music e'er express'd:

Then, though the nightingale may thrill The soul with keener ecstacy,

The merry bird of morn can fill
All Nature's bosom with his glee.

The elephant, embower'd in woods,
Coeval with their trees might seem,
As if he drank, from Indian floods,

Life in a renovating stream:
Ages o'er him have come and fled,
Midst generations born and dead,

His bulk survives, to feed and range,
Where ranged and fed of old his sires,
Nor knows advancement, lapse, or change,
Beyond their walks, till he expires.
Gem, flower, and fish, the bird, the brute,
Of every kind, occult or known,
(Each exquisitely form'd to suit

Its humble lot, and that alone,)
Through ocean, earth, and air, fulfil,
Unconsciously, their author's will,

Who gave, without their toil or thought, Strength, beauty, instinct, courage, speed; While through the whole his pleasure wrought

Whate'er his wisdom had decreed.

But Man, the master-piece of God,
Man, in his maker's image framed,-
Though kindred to the valley's clod,
Lord of this low creation named,-
In naked helplessness appears,
Child of a thousand griefs and fears:

To labour, pain, and trouble, born,
Weapon, nor wing, nor sleight, hath he ;-
Yet, like the sun, he brings his morn,
And is a king from infancy.

For him no destiny hath bound
To do what others did before,
Pace the same dull perennial round,
And be a man, and be no more!
A man?a self-will'd piece of earth,
Just as the lion is, by birth;

To hunt his prey, to wake, to sleep,
His father's joys and sorrows share,

His niche in nature's temple keep, And leave his likeness in his heir;

No, infinite the shades between

The motley millions of our race;
No two the changing moon hath seen
Alike in purpose or in face;
Yet all aspire beyond their fate;
The least, the meanest would be great;
The mighty future fills the mind,
That pants for more than earth can give;
Man, in this narrow sphere confined,
Dies when he but begins to live.

Oh! if there be no world on high
To yield his powers unfetter'd scope;
If man be only born to die,

Whence this inheritance of hope?
Wherefore to him alone were lent
Riches that never can be spent?

Enough-not more-to all the rest, For life and happiness, was given;

To man, mysteriously unblest, Too much for any state but Heaven.

It is not thus ;-it cannot be,

That one so gloriously endow'd With views that reach eternity,

-

Should shine and vanish like a cloud: Is there a God? - All nature shows There is, and yet no mortal knows; The mind that could this truth conceive, Which brute creation never taught,

No longer to the dust would cleave, But grow immortal at the thought.

A dying Daughter to her Mother. "Cease here longer to detain me,

Fondest mother! drown'd in woe,
Now thy kind caresses pain me,
Morn advances let me go.

"See yon orient streak appearing !
Harbinger of endless day:
Hark a voice the darkness cheering,
Calls my new-born soul away!
"Lately launched a trembling Stranger,
On the world's wild boisterous flood,
Pierc'd with sorrows, toss'd with danger,
Gladly I return to God.

"Now my cries shall cease to grieve thee,
Now iny trembling heart finds rest:
Kinder arms than thine receive me,
Softer pillow than thy breast.

"Weep not o'er these eyes that languish,
Upward turning toward their Home:
Raptur'd they'll forget all anguish,
While they wait to see thee come.
"There, my Mother! pleasures centre:-
Weeping, panting, Care or Woe
Ne'er our Fathers house shall enter. -
Morn advances
Let me go.
"As through this calm, holy dawning
Silent glides my parting breath,
To an everlasting Morning,-
Gently close my eyes in death.

"Blessings endless, richest blessings, Pour their streams upon thy heart! (Though no language yet possessing) Breathes my Spirit e'er we part.

"Yet to leave thee sorrowing rends me,
Though again His voice I hear:
Rise! May every grace attend thee!
Rise! and seek to meet me there."

A HEBREW CANTICLE.

As the lily among the rude thorns -
As the apple 'mid trees of the wood,
Even so my beloved adorns

The banquetting-house where he stood.

His banner of beauty above,

With flaggons he stayed my soul;
I faint, oh! I languish with love
When I think of the kisses he stole.

I charge ye Jerusalem's daughters!

By the roes, and the hinds, and the trees, And the soft flowing rivers of waters, Awake not my love till he please.

But, hark! from the mountains his voice,
How sweetly it breaks on mine ear;
My fair one arise and rejoice,

The spring time of beauty is near.
Already the winter has fled;

The rain it is over and gone, Lift up, oh, my fair one! thy head, And hear the soft turtle-doves moan. The fig tree puts forth her green fruit With new clustre the vineyards abound; Myrrh, spikenard, and calanus root,

On Lebanon's monntain are found.

Come away
-let us haste to the field,
And see how the pomegranates blow-
Taste the fragrance Engedi may yield,
Or gaze on the budding aloe.

My sister, my spouse, come away,
I am lovely and young to behold,
Oh, haste thee and make no delay,
To the feast of the apples of gold.
Who is she that looks forth as the morn,
So comely and fair to my view,
Whose eyes like the evening adorn,
Their heavenly arching of blue?
The locks o'er her temples flow down
Like fleeces of fatlings, that feed
On the grapes that Gilead crown ;-
Her breath is the frankincense reed.

'Tis midnight-and there is no moon in heaven:
And not a star lights up the heavy gloom;
And all is sad and silent as the tomb;
And to and fro the restless mind is driven,
Ay, to and fro, across the weltering seas

Of earthly doubt; and through futurity
Glances with dim and melancholy eye
Mid shapes that startle, and mid shapes that
freeze:

Portentous gloom, aud clouds inscrutable, The weary heart oppress.- - Mid solitudes, O'er blasted heath, or under forest gloom, Ever to man unknown, where only dwell' Serpent and beckoning forms, the vision broods Fearful, and shrinks from some unhallow'd doom.

The Autumnal Eve.

We met and parted on an Autumn eve, When moonlight, with its beauty, steeped the vale,

Silent, and not a cloud was seen to sail Athwart the azure firmament. Believe,

Ye who have felt the ecstacies of love, What were my feelings, when I gazed on her; Whom-absent-life had nothing to confer; Whose presence rendered earth like heaven above!

Upon a rock, above the murmuring sea, Linked arm and arın, in thoughtfulness we stood;

And, as I marked our shadows on the flood, I dream't that Fate intended us to be United always-'twas a dream; and, lo Between us mountains rise, and oceans flow!

The Consultation.

Three Doctors met in consultation,
Proceed with great deliberation.
The case was desperate, all agreed;
But what of that? they must be fee'd.
They write then (as 'twas fit they should)
But for their own, not patient's good.
Consulting wisely, (don't mistake, Sir)
Not what to give, but what to take, Sir.