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almost five months old. It is not the most ex traordinary performance in the world : but, from the circumstance of Chatterton's parentage and education, it is unlikely, if not impoffible, that he should have met with any asistance or correction. Whereas, when we read the ode whichi Pope wrote at twelve, and another of Cowley at thirteen, we are apt to suspect a parent, friend, or tutor, of an amiable dishonesty, of which we feel, perhaps, that we should be guilty. Sufpicions of this nature touch not Chatterton. He knew no tutor, no friend, no parent---at least no parent who could correct or affist him. This poem appears to have been aimed at somebody, wbile be was young. In the works this poem is dated April 1694 A friend affured me has seen it in a miscellany, with this recommendation, « written by Mr. Addison, when be was only twentySeven." Some recommendation is required by a poem which concludes with these four lines (Addison's works, fto. Torlon, 1721, vol. 1. page 41.)

I leave the arts of poefy and verse
To them that practice them wiih more fuccefs.
Of greater truths I'll now prepare to tell,

And so, at once, dear friend and mure, farewell. Chaulieu, a French poet, alks indulgence for a little rondeau, because, at the time he wrote it, he was Poëte NAISSANT, Eastern PORT jeune (@vres de Chaulieu, à la Haye, 1777.) The apology will hold,, if a man bee xceedingly young and a fucking poat-ats forty, which was Chaulieu's age when he wrote the rondeau in: question.


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who had formerly been a Methodist, and was lately promoted (to the dignity, perhaps, of opening a pew or a grave; for C. was the fexton's son) in the established church. Satire was his fort, if any thing can be called his fort, who excelled in every thing he undertook. Catcott has another later poem of C.'s, called, I think, • The Exhibition.” The church here also supplied his indignation with a subject. But, as the satire is rather severe, and the characters are living, Catcott does not permit it to be copied. He has suffered it to be read, and the three following couplets are in different parts of it. At the fame time that the lines are surely not bad, they Thow that music was one of the many things Chatterton found means to acquire during the few months he lived. He is known to have been musical; a fact we have upon poetical record only of him and Milton, I believe. They are not lovered in

estimation on this account.--. Ci's father had a remarkable turn for music. An old female relation says he talked little, was very absent in company; and used very often to walk by the river side, talking to himself, and flourishing his arms about.---The first and second couplets I mentioned, are in ridicule, the last in praise, of some organist.



Sacred' to Neep, in his inverted key,
Dolt doleful diapasons die away.

Wanfe jarring humdrum symphonies of flats
Rival the harmony of midnight cats

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He keeps the passions with the sounds in play,
And the soul trembles with the trembling key.

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The e in key is, I believe, in the Somersetshire pronunciation, a.

Now, for the poem.

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In days of old, when Wesley's pow'r
Gather'd new strength by every hour ;
Apoftate Will, just funk in trade,
Resolv'd his bargain should be made :

Then ftrait to Wesley he repairs,
! And puts on grave and folemn airs;
Then chus the pious man address’d,
Good Sir, I think your doctrine best ;
Your servant will a Wesley be,
Therefore the principles teach me.
The preacher then instruction gave,
How he in this world should behave :
He hears, affents, and gives a nod,
Says every word's the word of God,
Then lifting his diffembling eyesy;
How blessed is the sect! he cries ;
Nor Bingham, Young, nor Stillingfieet,
Shall make me from this sect retreat.

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He then his circumstance declar'd',
How hardly with him matters, fard,
Eesgd him next meeting for to make
A small collection for his sake.
The preacher said, Do not repine,
The whole collection shall be thine.
With looks demure and cringing bows,
About his business straic he goes ;
His outward acīs were grave and prim,
The Methodist appear'd in him i
But, be his outward what it will,
His heart was an Apustate's itill;
He'd oft profess an hallow'd fame,
And every where preach'd Welley's names
He was a preacher and what not,
As long as money could be got;
He'd oft profess with holy fire,
The labourer's worthy of his hiie.

It happen'd once upon a time,
When all his works were in their primeye
A noble place appear'd in view,
Then to the Methodists, adieu ;
A Methodist no more he'll be,
The Protestants serve best for be.
Then to the curate strait he ran,
And thus address’d the rev'rend man:
I was a Methodist, 'tis true,
With penitence I. curn to you;
O that it were your bounteous will.
That I the vacant place might fill!
With justice I'd myself acquit,
Do every thing that's right and fite.


The curate straićway gave consent-
To take the place he quickly went.
Accordingly he took the place,

And keeps it with diffembled grace.
April 14th, 17646

Though it may not be the next in order of composition, for I shall send you nothing which is already printed, I shall now transcribe for you a poem dated 1769; of which Catcott tells, that talking one day with Chatterton about happincss, Chatterton said he had never yet thought on the subject, but that he would. The next duiy he brought Catcott these lines, and told him they contained his creed of happiness. There can in this be no deceit; for the pewterer produces the poem, and in the simplicity of his vanity, imagines it to contain a panegyric on himself.

We want no more

Since Happiness is not ordain’d for man,
Let's make ourselves as happy as we can;
Poffest with fame or fortone, friend or whore,
But think it happiness-

Hail Revelation ! sphere-envelop'd dame,
To fome divinity, to most a name,
Reason's dark-lanthorn, fuperftition's sun,
Whose cause mysterious and effect are one-
From thee, ideal bliss we only trace,
Fair as ambition's dream, or bounty's face,


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