Chapter 5

You ask me for literary news. I have very little of a kind likely to interest you. Have you seen in the 'Edinburgh Review' an account of some poems by Elliott, a Sheffield workman? In his rhymes on the Corn Trade are not 'words that burn,' but words that scald. In his 'Love' there is a story told in a very affecting manner. In short they are the only new things I have been struck with for some time, and that before I knew who the writer was. I heard lately that our friend Mr. Lamb was very well, and his sister just recovered from one of those illnesses which she is often afflicted with. I have just sent to the press a translation of an old Greek poet. I do not expect he will please you much, as he treats of little but charioteering, boxing, running, and some old heathenish stories. But I will send you a copy, not requiring you to read it. Mrs. C., if she were at my elbow, would, I am sure, desire to be kindly remembered to you.

Believe me, dear Clare,

Sincerely yours,

H. F. CARY.

British Museum, Oct. 30th, 1832."

LETTERS FROM MRS EMMERSON

Clare remained in London for several weeks, at the end of which time he was suddenly recalled to Helpstone by alarming reports of the state of his wife's health. It is to be feared that in more respects than one this second visit to the metropolis had an unhealthy influence upon the poet's mind and habits. At this time he appears to have made very little effort to resist the pressing hospitality of his friends, and to have complied only too readily with the convivial customs of the time. He returned to Helpstone moody and discontented, and in his letters to Mrs. Emmerson he complained fretfully of the hardship of his lot in being compelled to spend his days without any literary companionship whatsoever. About this time that lady wrote to him two letters, which as illustrations of the style of her correspondence are here given:--

"20 Stratford Place, 17th June, 1822.

My very dear Clare,--

"Your letter reached me this morning, and from the nature of its contents it leaves me nothing to express in reply but my sincere regrets that any necessity should have occurred to hasten your departure from London without our again seeing each other. I wish, my dear friend, you had expressed more fully the real cause of this sudden measure, for you leave me with many painful fears upon my mind for the safety of your dear wife, who I hope, ere this, has blessed you with a little namesake, and that she is doing well with the dear babe. I have also my own fears about yourself, your own health, your state of mind, your worldly interests, &c., but perhaps I am wrong to indulge in all these anxieties. Mr. Emmerson and myself had looked for days past with great solicitude for your return to us, and we had planned many little schemes for our mutual enjoyment while you were with us, but these, with many other matters with which my mind and heart were full, are now at an end, and God only knows when, or if ever, we may meet again; but of this be assured, as long as my friendship and correspondence are of value to you, you may command them. In our, alas, too short interviews we had some interesting conversations. These will not be forgotten by me, and I will hope on your return to your own dear cot you will take the earliest opportunity to write to your friend 'Emma.' Tell her all that affects your happiness, and may you, my dear Clare, when restored to the calm delights of retirement, experience also the restoration of mental peace and every domestic blessing! Mr. E. desires his kindest regards to you, and his sincere regrets you could not spend a few days with him ere you quitted London. Our noble and dear friend [Lord Radstock] will also feel much disappointment at not seeing you again. This is not what we had hoped for and expected from your visit to Town. Yet let me not reproach you with unkindness, though I feel much, very much, at this moment. Mr. Rippingille spent last evening with us and took his final leave. He goes off for Bristol this afternoon. I have sent your silk handkerchief, with another for you, my dear Clare, as a trifling remembrance of your very sincere and attached friend,

ELIZA L. EMMERSON.

P.S. Please let me know as soon as you reach home of your safe arrival, and if the little stranger has entered this world of woe, and if she bears the name of E. L. Lord R. has just left me, and sends his kind regards, and regrets at not having the opportunity to see you in Portland-place. Farewell.

'EMMA.'"

"Stratford Place, 26th June, 1822.

My very dear Friend,--

If it is necessary to make an apology for writing to you again so soon, the only one I shall attempt to make is that of offering you my sincere congratulations upon the birth of your sweet girl, Eliza Louisa, if I did not misunderstand you when you were in Town, and the certainty of which I wish to know in your next letter; also, if I may be allowed to stand godmother to my little namesake, and likewise if you have accepted the kind offer of Lord R. to become her noble godfather. You mention your dear wife in language that alarms and distresses me much for her safety. I hope in God, for your sake, and for the sake of your dear children, that all danger is over, and that she is now in a fair way to be speedily restored to you. Pardon me, my clear Clare, when I entreat you to do all in your power to comfort and compose her mind under her present delicate situation. Recollect if she is now a faded flower she has become so under your influence, and well may you be loth to lose the object who has shed her brightest hues on you, and who in giving birth to your sweet offspring may chance to fade almost to nothingness herself. But this should serve to bind your affections still stronger to her. Forgive me for talking thus to you, my dear Clare. I have no other motive than your domestic happiness, which I anxiously pray may be undisturbed by any event. I lament to learn by your letter that to stifle recollections of the past, &c., you should have fled to such resources on your journey home. Now you become the sufferer by such means. Why not exert your philosophy, instead of seeking that which serves to destroy your health and peace? You know, my dear Clare, that you are injuring yourself in the deepest sense by such habits. For God's sake, then, for your own dear children's sake, arm yourself with a determination, a fortitude, which would do honour to your excellent heart and good understanding, to fly from such a mode of consolation as from a poison that will quickly destroy you. Remember poor Burns! Let the solemn and affectionate warnings of your friend 'Emma' dissuade you, my dear Clare, from habits of inebriety. Independent of the loss of your health and mental powers, your moral character will be seriously injured by such means. You will charge me with preaching a sermon, I fear, and will be inclined to commit my good wishes to the flames, but you must not hate me for my counsel. I can readily suppose how the 'good Quaker' would be shocked at your 'disguise' and I heartily regret the event, altho' I honour your liberality and candour in telling me of it. I have not heard from our friend Rippingille, but expect to do so daily. When I write to him I will make known your wishes to correspond with him. You tell me you 'have many things to say to me in future about your journey, &c. &c.' Pray do not be long, my dear Clare, ere you make such communications, with all else that concerns you, for I shall be most anxious to hear good accounts of your dear wife and the sweet babe. Mr. E. desires me to say everything that is kind to you for him, as does our noble and dear friend. Heaven bless you, my dear Clare.

Ever sincerely yours,

'EMMA.'"

FRIENDS AT "THE PALACE"

In 1823, Clare suffered from a long and serious illness; brought on, in all probability, by an insufficiency of food, and by mental anxiety caused by his inability to free himself from the importunity of creditors. During his illness he was visited by Mr. Taylor, who had come down to Stamford to attend the funeral of Mr. Gilchrist, and Mr. Taylor, shocked at the poet's appearance, procured for him at once the services of the principal physician in Peterborough. Clare had also an excellent and warm-hearted friend in Mrs. Marsh, wife of the Bishop of Peterborough, who corresponded with him frequently, in a familiar and almost motherly manner, from 1821 to 1837. When Clare complained of indisposition, a messenger would be dispatched from "The Palace," with medicines or plaisters, camphor lozenges, or "a pound of our own tea," with sensible advice as to personal habits and diet. At another time hot-house grapes are sent, or the messenger bears toys for the children, or a magnifying glass to assist Clare in his observations in entomolgy, or books, or "three numbers of Cobbett's penny trash, which Mr. Clare may keep." One day Mrs. Marsh writes--

"To show you how I wish to cheer you I am sending you cakes, as one does to children: they are harmless, so pray enjoy them, and write to tell me how you are."

Engravings of the new chain pier are sent from Brighton, and on one occasion (in 1829) a steel pen was enclosed in a letter, as a great curiosity. Clare was on several occasions a visitor at the Bishop's Palace, and in July, 1831, Mrs. Marsh wrote the following note, which confirms the impression received from the perusal of other letters, that about that time Clare's mind had been much exercised with respect to his soul's health:--

"My dear Mr. Clare,--I must take my leave, and in doing so must add that in thinking of you it is my greatest comfort to know that you fix your trust where our only and never-failing trust rests."

Lady Milton also frequently sent her humble neighbour presents suitable to his invalid condition.

ANOTHER VISIT TO LONDON

Clare had not entirely recovered from this illness, when in May, 1824, he once more accepted the invitation of his publishers to visit London. They were desirous that he should have the benefit of the advice of Dr. Darling, the kind-hearted physician already mentioned. On seeing him in Fleet Street, Dr. Darling ordered that he should be kept perfectly free from excitement of all kinds, but at the end of two or three weeks he was permitted to meet a literary party composed chiefly of contributors to the "London Magazine." Among the guests were Coleridge, Lamb, De Quincey, Hazlitt, and Allan Cunningham. In the manuscript memoir to which reference has already been made, Clare noted down his impressions of Coleridge and others, and they are embodied in Mr. Martin's account of this visit. He was a frequent visitor to Mrs. Emmerson, and a few days before he left London was once more thrown into the society of Rippingille, who declared that he had left Bristol solely for the purpose of meeting his friend. Clare, obeying implicitly the injunctions of Dr. Darling, declined all invitations to revelry, and therefore the companionship was less prejudicial to his health and spirits than on the occasion of his former visit. At his publishers, Clare made the acquaintance of Mr.(afterwards Sir Charles) Elton, brother-in-law of Hallam, the historian, and uncle to the subject of "In Memoriam." Mr. Elton, who was a friend and patron of Rippingille, was much pleased with Clare, and while he was yet in London sent him from Clifton the following metrical epistle, which afterwards appeared in the "London Magazine." It contains several interesting touches of portraiture:--

So loth, friend John, to quit the town! 'T was in the dales thou won'st renown; I would not, John, for half a crown, Have left thee there, Taking my lonely journey down To rural air.

The pavement flat of endless street Is all unsuited to thy feet, The fog-wet smoke is all unmeet For such as thou, Who thought'st the meadow verdure sweet, But think'st not now.

"Time's hoarse unfeather'd nightingales" [3] Inspire not like the birds of vales: I know their haunts in river dales, On many a tree, And they reserve their sweetest tales, John Clare, for thee.

I would not have thee come to sing Long odes to that eternal spring On which young bards their changes ring, With buds and flowers: I look for many a better thing Than brooks and bowers.

'T is true thou paintest to the eye The straw-thatched roof with elm trees high, But thou hast wisdom to descry What lurks below-- The springing tear, the melting sigh, The cheek's heart-glow.

The poets all, alive and dead, Up, Clare, and drive them from thy head! Forget whatever thou hast read Of phrase or rhyme, For he must lead and not be led Who lives through time.

What thou hast been the world may see, But guess not what thou still may'st be: Some in thy lines a Goldsmith see, Or Dyer's tone: They praise thy worst; the best of thee Is still unknown.

Some grievously suspect thee, Clare: They want to know thy form of prayer: Thou dost not cant, and so they stare, And hint free-thinking: They bid thee of the devil beware, And vote thee sinking.

With smile sedate and patient eye, Thou mark'st the zealots pass thee by To rave and raise a hue and cry Against each other: Thou see'st a Father up on high; In man a brother.

I would not have a mind like thine Its artless childhood tastes resign, Jostle in mobs, or sup and dine Its powers away, And after noisy pleasures pine Some distant day.

And, John, though you may mildly scoff, That hard, afflicting churchyard cough Gives pretty plain advice, "Be off, While yet you can." It is not time yet, John, to doff Your outward man.

Drugs! can the balm of Gilead yield Health like the cowslip-yellow'd field? Come, sail down Avon and be heal'd, Thou Cockney Clare. My recipe is soon reveal'd-- Sun, sea, and air.

What glue has fastened thus thy brains To kennel odours and brick lanes? Or is it intellect detains? For, faith, I'll own The provinces must take some pains To match the town.

Does Agnus (1) fling his crotchets wild-- "In wit a man," in heart a child? Has Lepus (2) sense thine ear beguiled With easy strain? Or hast thou nodded blithe, and smiled At Janus' (3) vein?

Does Nalla, (4) that mild giant, bow His dark and melancholy brow? Or are his lips distending now With roaring glee That tells the heart is in a glow-- The spirit free?

Or does the Opium-eater (5) quell Thy wondering sprite with witching spell? Read'st thou the dreams of murkiest hell In that mild mien? Or dost thou doubt yet fear to tell Such e'er have been?

And while around thy board the wine Lights up the glancing eyeballs' shine, Seest thou in elbow'd thought recline The Poet true (6) Who in "Colonna" seems divine To me and you?

But, Clare, the birds will soon be flown: Our Cambridge wit resumes his gown: Our English Petrarch trundles down To Devon's valley: Why, when our Maga's out of town, Stand shilly-shally? The table-talk of London still Shall serve for chat by rock and rill, And you again may have your fill Of season'd mirth, But not if spade your chamber drill Six feet in earth.

Come, then! Thou never saw'st an oak Much bigger than a wagon spoke: Thou only could'st the Muse invoke On treeless fen: Then come and aim a higher stroke, My man of men.

The wheel and oar, by gurgling steam, Shall waft thee down the wood-brow'd stream, And the red channel's broadening gleam Dilate thy gaze, And thou shalt conjure up a theme For future lays.

And thou shalt have a jocund cup To wind thy spirits gently up-- A stoup of hock or claret cup Once in a way, And we'll take notes from Mistress Gupp (8) That same glad day.

And Rip Van Winkle (9) shall awake From his loved idlesse for thy sake, In earnest stretch himself, and take Pallet on thumb, Nor now his brains for subjects rake-- John Clare is come!

His touch will, hue by hue, combine Thy thoughtful eyes, that steady shine, The temples of Shakesperian line, The quiet smile, The sense and shrewdness which are thine, Withouten guile.

The following key accompanied the letter on its publication:--

1. Agnus = Charles Lamb.

2. Lepus = Julius Hare, author of "Guesses at Truth."

3. Janus = The writer in the "London Magazine" who signed himself Janus Weathercock.

4. Nalla = Allan Cunningham.

5. Opium-eater = De Quincey, author of "The Confessions of an English Opium-eater."

6. The Poet true = The writer who assumes the name of Barry Cornwall.

7. The English Petrarch = The Rev. Mr. Strong, translator of Italian sonnets.

8. Mistress Gupp = A lady immortalized by her invention to keep muffins warm on the lid of the tea-urn.

9. Rip Van Winkle = E. V. Rippingille, painter of the "Country Post Office," the "Portrait of a Bird," &c.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM

The friendship of Allan Cunningham was always highly prized by Clare, and shortly after his return from London he sent him an autograph of Bloomfield, the receipt of which Cunningham acknowledged in the following letter:--

"27, Belgrave Place, 23rd September, 1824.

Dear Clare,--

I thank you much for Bloomfield's note, and as much for your own kind letter. I agree with you in the praise you have given to his verse. That he has living life about his productions there can be little doubt. He trusts too much to Nature and to truth to be a fleeting favourite, and he will be long in the highway where Fame dispenses her favours. I have often felt indignant at the insulting way his name has been introduced both by critics and poets. To scorn him because of the humility of his origin is ridiculous anywhere, and most of all here, where so many of our gentles and nobles have come from the clods of the valley. Learned men make many mistakes about the value of learning. I conceive it is chiefly valuable to a man's genius in enabling him to wield his energies with greater readiness or with better effect. But learning, though a polisher and a refiner, is not the creator. It may be the mould out of which genius stamps its coin, but it is not the gold itself. I am glad to hear that you are a little better. Keep up your heart and sing only when you feel the internal impulse, and you will add something to our poetry more lasting than any of the peasant bards of old England have done yet.

I remain, dear Clare, your very faithful friend,

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM."

GEORGE DARLEY

George Darley, another member of the "London" brotherhood, conceived a sincere regard for Clare, and frequently wrote to him. He was author of several dramatic poems, and of numerous works on mathematics, and was besides a candidate for the Professorship of English Literature at the founding of the London University. The following are among the more entertaining of the letters which he addressed to the poet:--

"Friday, March 2 1827,

5, Upper Eaton Street, Grosvenor Place.

My dear Clare,--