The bright and fascinating picture, which is thus shown to us, as it were, by a temporary burst of sunshine, is now presented in a sombre light : But the cold world its legions sends Of cares and toils and griefs and pains; Some that it took long years to rear Friendships, afflictions, early love, And manhood comes, and all are gone, At last there comes a calmer hour, And wisdom fills the mental void." Many poems in these volumes appear without title, the author not thinking it necessary to make one by setting up the first line above itself in capital letters. In this respect he followed the example of Tennyson in "In Memoriam." Perhaps the most difficult of all tasks that an author is called upon to perform is that of finding a striking and truthful designation for his book, or for his separate poems or chapters. David Holt got over the difficulty by ignoring it. The following poem is perhaps none the worse for being sent into the world without the usual accompaniment of the rite of baptism : "Who so soweth, he shall reap Who so sleepeth, he shall sleep If we strive not, God will never God's help lacking, we for ever To the strong in heart is given Which unlock the gates of heaven From the weak of heart is taken Tempest-beaten and doubt-shaken Let us, then, be busy sowing "Twill be joy to watch it growing Into righteous deed.' These lines, I admit, can be easily found fault with, but is there nothing to appreciate? And will any but the "man of vague demurs, and notions born of tavern-talk and spite" deny that David Holt the younger was a true poet because he did not revel in martial music," the strains of which "suggest life's endless toil and endeavour," but in the quieter melodies that lead to desired rest? He died on the 15th of March, 1880, at Altrincham, in the 52nd year of his age. SAMUEL BAMFORD. I have next to speak of one whose reputation as a political reformer has perhaps to some extent overshadowed his fame as a poet. I refer to Samuel Bamford, the well-known author of "Passages from the Life of a Radical." Bamford was born at Middleton on the 28th of February, 1788, and in his youth was apprenticed to a weaver, having previously received some education at the ancient Grammar School of his native town. He then passed a short time on board a coaster as a sailor, and made several voyages between London and Shields. Subsequently he was a warehouseman in Manchester, and finally a weaver again in Middleton. He played a prominent part in the agitation for Parliamentary reform between the years 1815 and 1819, being present as the leader of a contingent from Middleton at the great reform meeting which is known as the field of Peterloo. He was tried at York with orator Hunt and others on a charge of "conspiracy to alter the legal frame of Government and constitution of these realms and with meeting tumultuously in Manchester," and being condemned to twelve months' imprisonment was incarcerated in Lincoln Castle. He was afterwards a reporter for several London and district journals, was seven years a clerk in the Board of Inland Revenue Office, Somerset House, and at length at the age of 70 settled down in Moston, where he spent the last four 66 teen years of his life. His poetical works consist of Passages from the Life of a Radical," published in 1840; "Walks in South Lancashire," 66 Early Days," "Life of Amos Ogden,” "Dialect of South Lancashire; or, Tim Bobbin's Tummus and Meary, with his rhymes and a glossary." Bamford had a highly poetical temperament, and wrote with facility. His most perfect poem is undoubtedly "The Pass of Death," which was written soon after the decease of the Right Hon. George Canning, to which it had reference. Of Canning the Critic was able to say, "George Canning is a solitary instance in English history of talents lifting their possessor from a station comparatively low to the highest places of political distinction. Yet were not these talents such as of themselves to justify so remarkable a fortune. Many a man has written better things-many have spoken finer speechesand yet they died as they had lived, in the station to which they were born, and which an insurmountable barrier appeared to prevent their passing. There is more in fortune and circumstances than we are willing to allow. They lifted Canning to be Prime Minister of England, as they have chained many better men to the drudgery of the desk or the penury of the garret." Canning, however, did not rise all at once, but by many stages to the highest place. And, then, how sadly brief was the enjoyment of it! His triumph was indeed his death-blow. "The harrass and excitement of an office that exposed him to every species of hostility, public and private, were too great for his delicate nerves. In four months from the attainment of his proud dignity he was a corpse." The effect of Canning's death upon Bamford may be imagined, and with the sad story in his mind you will fully enter into the spirit of the following solemnly grand lines: 66 THE PASS OF DEATH. "Another 's gone, and who comes next And is humanity perplexed Because this man hath died? The sons of men did raise their voice, And cried in despair, 'We will not come, we will not come, Whilst death is waiting there! But Time went forth, and dragged them on By one, by two, by three; Nay, sometimes thousands came as one- And still they go, and still they go- For Death stood in the gap of Time, The beggar fell across his staff, The soldier on his sword, The king sank down beneath his crown, The priest beside the Word. And Youth came in his blush of health, And Avarice, grasping still at wealth, And age stood trembling at the pass, The bride came in her wedding robe- Her ruby lips went cold and blue, And some were hurried from the ball, And some were eating to the last, And some were ravenous for food, Death quickly stopped their noise; Amid the world to weep; And the mother died whilst her babe Lay smiling in its sleep! And some did offer bribes of gold But he drew his arrow to the head, And some were plighting vows of love, And one had just attained to power, 'Till the arrow smote his stream of life, And left the cistern dry! Another's gone, and who comes next Because this man hath died? And still they come and still they go, The hungry grave is yawning yet, Or doth the slayer turn to smite Bamford died in the year 1872, and was interred in the cemetery near Middleton Church in the presence of a concourse of people and many literary friends. A monument was subsequently raised over his grave, which is suitably inscribed. The last names on my list are those of two ladies, MARIA JANE JEWSBURY. each of whom attained a fair amount of celebrity in their day and generation. I refer to Maria Jane Jewsbury, afterwards Mrs. Fletcher, and to Dorothea Browne, better known under her married name of Mrs. Hemans. Miss Jewsbury was born at Manchester in the year 1800, and lived for the greater part of her life in this neighbourhood. She published a number of verses, which gained her no inconsiderable reputation, and prove her to have possessed lyrical power of no mean order. Her death took place at sea on the 3rd of October, 1883, whilst on her way from Shalapore to Bombay. As a specimen of her work I will read "THE LOST BRIDE. Beneath the Indian waters, One of the West's bright daughters And where she sleeps are pearls Would not know her raven curls. |