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Another extraordinary feature in the question, is the following; there are preserved in the British Museum, numerous deeds and proclamations, by Thomas Rowley, in Chatterton's writing, relating to the antiquities of Bristol, all in modern English, designed no doubt, by the young bard, for his friend Mr. Barrett; but the chrysalis had not yet advanced to its winged state.
It must be recollected, however, that much might be done in the time which was at Chatterton's disposal, when that time was undivided by the study of any other language but his own.
But afflictions like this were small to Polly now, and although for the next hour it rained dolls into Phronsie's puzzled hands, Polly helped her to thank the givers and to dispose them safely on neighboring chairs and tables and sofas. Mrs. Chatterton's was the pattern of old Mr. King's phonograph doll, at which discovery he turned upon her with venom in his eye.
This immediately raised the question of their authenticity; they having been pronounced a forgery of Chatterton's. Goldsmith was warm for their being genuine.
"Nothing's happened to that child I hope!" cried Madame Dyce, paling. "Now, Mr. Taylor, you are not going to harrow our feelings by telling us anything has harmed that lovely creature," exclaimed the two young ladies excitedly. "Phronsie can't be found," said Mr. Taylor. "Can't be found!" echoed all the voices, except Mrs. Chatterton's. She ejaculated "Ridiculous!"
How strangely happy were those hours, when, lured on by her silent sympathy, the young scholar spoke of his early struggles between circumstance and impulse, musing amidst the flowers, and hearkening to the fountain; or of his wanderings in the desolate, lamp-lit streets, while the vision of Chatterton's glittering eyes shone dread through the friendless shadows.
"Now, Phronsie," turning to her, "you are to take that doll," pointing to a gorgeous affair reposing on the sofa, with Mrs. Algernon Chatterton's card attached to it, "and go over to Mrs. Chatterton, and say, very distinctly, 'I cannot accept this gift; mind you say it distinctly, Phronsie, that there may be no mistake in the future." "Oh, Grandpapa!" cried Phronsie in dismay.
Henderson tells you, just as soon as she speaks," said Phronsie slowly, and turning her head to look at the different rows. "I hope we'll be forgiven for sitting here and listening to old lady Chatterton's praises," whispered Mrs. Hamilton Dyce to her husband. "It makes me feel dreadfully wicked to swallow it all without a protest."
It had evidently belonged to some contemporary of the poet's, apparently an inhabitant of Bristol, some one who had gathered up many anecdotes respecting Chatterton's habits, and who appeared even to have seen him, nay, been in his company; for the book was interleaved, and the leaves covered with notes and remarks, in a stiff clear hand, all evincing personal knowledge of the mournful immortal dead.
Come with me to Chatterton's rooms ye'll make him the happiest man in England. He's wud wi' love mad with affection, as a body may say. He thought you had run off with his sweetheart, and it was only her sister!"
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