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Religious Musings, though it has had its admirers, is terribly poor stuff. The Monody on the Death of Chatterton might have been written by fifty people during the century before it. The Destiny of Nations is a feeble rant; but the Ode on the Departing Year, though still unequal, still conventional, strikes a very different note.
"'Cause if you does, I can tell you that what I does, I does right out on top; an' I guess by the looks o' you, that ain't your style." "You impertinent creature!" exclaimed Mrs. Chatterton, her long face crimson with passion, not allayed by seeing that her friend could with difficulty control her amusement. "She'll tell this everywhere," she fumed within. "I shall go and speak to my cousin, Mr.
"I will go and give it to him now," said Phronsie, her fingers closing over the bit. "No, no," said Mrs. Chatterton sharply, "do as I say. Remember, on no account to let any one see it till after you have started. You are a good child, Phronsie. Now, remember to do as you are bidden. And now, will you kiss me, child?"
I forgot," exclaimed Polly, when at last they gathered in the wide hall, disposing themselves on the chairs and along the stairs, all tired out. "She has gone to evening meeting with Auntie. How stupid of me not to remember that." "Well, I declare!" cried a voice above them, and looking up they met the cold blue eyes of Mrs. Chatterton regarding them over the railing.
Mary Redcliffe, standing upon a red sandstone rock on the south side of the Avon, is the finest church in Bristol, and Chatterton calls it the "Pride of Bristowe and Western Londe."
This cool audacity effected its purpose, though one long and closely hunted by the law evaded the authorities of the town, when this singular being took his seat by the little package which contained his scanty wardrobe. "My nobiel liege! all my request Ys for a nobile knyghte, Who, tho' mayhap he has done wronge, Hee thoughte ytt stylle was righte." Chatterton.
"Why, doesn't Charlotte Chatterton sing well?" asked Miss Salisbury, in surprise. "Oh, frightfully well," said Alexia, "that's just the trouble. And now Polly's Recital will all be part of that Chatterton girl's glory. And it was to be so swell!" And Alexia sank into a chair, and waved back and forth in grief. "Swell! Oh, Alexia," exclaimed Miss Salisbury in consternation.
Everybody else appears to be blind and idiotic to the last degree; you seem to have a little quickness to catch an idea." As Polly did not answer, the question was repeated very sharply: "Do you understand what your position is in this house?" "Yes," said Polly, in a low voice, and dashing out the violet water with a reckless hand, "I do." "Take care," impatiently cried Mrs. Chatterton.
This is true as a judgment of that constellation which we call our drama, of the meteor Byron, of Milton and Dryden, who are the Jupiter and Mars of our poetic system, and of the stars which stud our literary firmament under the names of Shelley, Keats, Wordsworth, Chatterton, Scott, Coleridge, Clough, Blake, Browning, Swinburne, Tennyson.
Few are the heroes of Morven in a land unknown." Thomas Chatterton, who died by his own hand in 1770, at the age of seventeen, is one of the most wonderful examples of precocity in the history of literature. His father had been sexton of the ancient Church of St. Mary Redcliff, in Bristol, and the boy's sensitive imagination took the stamp of his surroundings.
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