alluded to, and the article on Sacred Poetry in the 'Church of England Review,' is my quondum young friend whom I hail as an old one-the 'Harrovian,' from whose early essays I expected much, and had a right to expect it, because they promised it, and it was the promise of genuine as well as of ingenuous youth, earnest and eager to excel in things themselves excellent."

Many of the verses in this volume breathe the sadness that care had already wafted over its author's early years. His "Farewell to Harrow," and the "Last Lay of the Harrovian," present some affecting remembrances. The prose sketches, also, possess many specimens of the same tone of mind, and the following extract is not unprophetic of later times:

"Children are destitute of reflection: they look upon the clear and joyous brows of their companions, and think not that years will wrinkle them-that their youth will fade away even in their summer leaf-that their limbs will fail them ere their hearts grow cold, and the eyes wax dim before the one upon whom they delight to gaze is departed. The thought never crosses the mind of youth, that the arm now so sociably linked in his own may be withdrawn in the crowd of the world, and the lips once so vehement in professions of affection and esteem, in the space of two or three years forget that such a person ever existed as Frederic."

In the same year that the "Harrovian was published, Mr. Willmott's prospects began to wear a cheering aspect. He was elected by the guardians

of his friend, Thomas Green, Esq., to be his private tutor. Testimonials from the head-masters of Harrow and Merchant Tailors' bearing witness to the high character, abilities, and fitness of the youthful author for such a position, were voluntarily forwarded, but considered unnecessary by those who were responsible for the appointment.

A letter to his mother, in October 28, speaks of this new arrangement :—

"MY DEAR MOTHER,

Athlington, Suffolk.

"It is with feelings of the most heartfelt delight that I write to inform you of the entire change which has taken place in my prospects since my last letter.

"Mr. Green received, two or three days ago, a letter from Mr. Jenkins, which, after rallying him upon his long silence, begins upon the old subject, a tutor, and concludes by thinking that your humble servant, whom he is pleased to say he considers 'fully equal to the office,' might be prevailed on to undertake the situation. R. A. W. does not require much persuasion to induce him to accept three hundred guineas per annum. I have this day written to Jenkins, accepting the tutorship. The change has been so sudden and unexpected that I can scarcely imagine it real. Certainly not the least-may I not say the chiefest-pleasure I shall derive from the possession of so considerable an income is the power of assisting my beloved parents, my sisters, and my honoured friend."

The last-named relative was his maternal grand

mother. We are unable to tell the exact length of time Willmott continued to act as tutor to his friend, but believe it was about two years; and conclude, from references in a letter of Mr. Green's to his approaching marriage, that the appointment had then terminated.

During Willmott's residence at Athlington he was much engaged in literary occupation-writing for various periodicals, and preparing translations, both in poetry and prose, from Greek, Latin, and French authors, for the press. Allusion is frequently made, in his correspondence with his family, to the manner in which his writings were received. The following passage is interesting:-"I see, in the notices of 'Fraser's Magazine,' my Paper on 'Simonides' is spoken handsomely of in two instances. The enclosed note to 'Fraser' contains a laudatory notice of the last number in the 'Ipswich Journal,' a paper of considerable circulation among the gentry and clergy of the county."

The tone of deep feeling, and strength of the religious principles, that marked Willmott's later years, shone with a scarce fainter lustre in the earlier part of his career. An extract from a letter to his mother gives a pleasing example :

:

"MY DEAR MOTHER, Athlington, March 25. "If my eyes had always closed in peace and opened in gladness-if a shadow had never been in my path, nor a sigh of sorrow on my heart, I might then, perchance, have lifted up my voice and cried, as the darkness gathered round me and mine, 'Where and

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what art thou?' Sometimes I soothe myself with the thought that I have, indeed, discovered something which is hid from the wise and prudent—that I have garnered up into the treasury of sweet and holy thoughts some faint whisperings, some dying cadences, of that voice that hath been with me from my childhood even to this present time. It is certainly both happy and soothing; it may be imaginary, but still it is soothing. Little, indeed, did I think that these beautiful dawnings of spring which are now waking upon the fields were shining upon the pale cheek I love so lastingly and so well. Your silence was only another part of that tenderness which has been the covert of a wing' over my cradle and my bed. I have not wept with you in your sickness, for I knew it not; but I will rejoice in your partial recovery. I was reading the other day a charming little poem by Caroline Bowles, the Death of the Flowers,' and the burden of every verse is, 'Oh, could we but return to earth as easily as they.' I have written some lines on this subject, and remember two stanzas, which, in default of anything better, I will send you :—

"When my mother's voice is gone, that dear, familiar tone, So musical to every wish, so link'd unto my own,

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And the heart is cold that I have clasp'd from the moment of my birth,

And my sister's voice is silent, too—would I return to earth!

Spirit of my early days, the lovely and the fair,

The beauty of my boyish thoughts, the music of my pray'r! Oh, I would give the fairest flowers of childhood in its play, If thou couldst but return to earth as easily as they!

"That my wish has been everything to you it requires but little to convince me. She hath chosen that narrow path with Mary and with Ruth: she hath become a partner in that hope which Milton, in his exquisite sonnet to a lady, describes as reaping no shame.

"And so, my dear mother, your forty-seventh year has been completed in the house of Rachel; yet not altogether Rachel's, for she would not be comforted. But it has not been so with you-you have been Miriam in your heart. If your child's wishes might be the destiny of your future years, they would be bright and peaceful and happy,—and I think they will.”

Alas for those unblossomed hopes!

One more selection from the Athlington correspondence, and we close this period.

"I cannot but be pleased," he says, in another letter to Mrs. Willmott, "with the gratifying notice of James Montgomery; there is a kind sympathy in his letter quite delightful. May his hope be realized and the next waking of my spirit become bright and glorious! The contribution I mentioned, containing the most picturesque chorus in Euripides, is inserted in the London Magazine' for this month. You will find it, page 360. I think it one of my most finished efforts in classical writing.

"I rode over last Sunday to Framlingham in time for the morning service, and returned to dinner at three o'clock, being a distance of twenty miles. Framlingham Church is the most beautiful in the county; some of the monuments are the most magnificent you can conceive. The singing is very sweet, and the