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music, of which he was passionately fond, served as relaxations from the dry study of the law.

He now became a member of a literary society in Nottingham, where his superior abilities procured him to be elected a professor of literature. He wrote occasionally for the Monthly Preceptor, (a miscellany of prose and poetical compositions,) and gained a silver medal for a translation from Horace; and, the following year, a pair of twelve-inch globes for an imaginary tour from London to Edinburgh.

These little testimonies of his talents were grateful to his feelings, and urged him to further efforts, accordingly, we find him contributing to the Monthly Mirror, which fortunately procured him the friendship of Mr. · Capel Lloft, and Mr. Hill, the proprietor of the work. An anecdote is related of him, during his connexion with this work, which is highly interesting. His modesty prevented him from confiding the efforts of his muse to any other criticism than that of his own family. They, however, were proud of the young poet's talents, and would occasionally show portions of his works to their friends. The natural envy which genius is sure to excite, prevented these pieces from being justly appreciated, and Henry was subjected to some ridicule on their account. One friend, in particular, was extremely sar. castic on the occasion, and calling on the family one day, while the poet was present, he produced a number of the Monthly Mirror, and directed Henry's attention to a poem, which it contained, saying, “when you can write like this, you may set up for a poet.” White cast his eyes over the article, and found it was one of his own performances. He informed his friend of the fact; and it may well be imagined experienced no small gratification in thus disarming the satire of his ungenerous antagonist.

At the request of Mr. Hill, he was induced, at the close of 1802, to publish a small volume of poems, with the hope that the profits might enable him to prosecute his studies at College, and qualify him to take holy orders, for which he had a strong inclination. He was persuaded to dedicate the work to the Countess of

Derby, the once fascinating actress, Miss Farren, to whom lre applied ; but she returned a refusal, on the ground that she never accepted such compliments. Her refusal, was, however, couched in kind and complimentary language, and enclosed two pounds as her subscription. The Duchess of Devonshire was next an. plied to, who, after a deal of trouble, consented, but took no further notice of the author.

He enclosed a copy of his little work to each of the then existing Reviews, stating, in a feeling manner, the disadvantage under which he was struggling, and requesting a favourable and indulgent criticism. The Monthly Review, then a leading journal, affected to sympathize with the penury and missortune of the au. thor, but spoke in such illiberal and acrimonious terms of the production, as to inflict a wound on his mind which was never wholly cured. Ample justice was sub. sequently done to his memory, through this very review, by the laureate Southey, whose “Life and remains of White” is justly considered an ornament to British biography.

He now determined to devote himself to the church. His employers agreed to cancel the articles of his apprenticeship, and freely gave up the portion of the time that remained unexpired, and further exerted them. selves in his behalf. The difficulties that presented themselves were numerous. At length, with the aid of a few friends, he was enabled to enter the University of Cambridge ; where his intense application to study speedily brought on an alarming disease, which al length terminated in his death, on Sunday, October 19, 1806.

A generous tribute to his worth and talents has been paid to his memory by Francis Boot, Esq. of Boston, who, on a visit to Cambridge, caused a splendid monu. ment, executed by Chantry, to be erected in All. Saint's church, Cambridge ; and which remains as a striking contrast to the apathy and neglect with which the unfortunate poet was treated during his life.


(Continued from page 65.) It is a matter of deep and lasting regret, that the character of the Indians, who occupied this wide-spread and goodly heritage, when men of pale faces came over the pierceless solitudes of the mighty ocean, with their large canoes, and were received with all the kindly feelings of native innocence-I say that it is deeply to be regretted, that their character should be so grossly misrepresented and misunderstood. They have been accused of cruelty and perfidy of the basest nature-of crimes and vices of the most degrading cast. Again and again are the people of this happy land referred back to the period of its early settlement, and their attention directed to the smoking ruins of villages, and the cries of suffering and distress. Scenes like these, I grant, are sufficient to harrow. up the mind; but in contemplating the sufferings of their early brethren, the whites seem almost to forget the corroding sorrows of the poor Indians—the wrongs and calamities which were heaped upon them. Follow them into the deep recesses of their wilderness solitudes-hear their long and loud complaints, when driven by the pale faces whom they had kindly received, and cheerfully, in the fulness of their friendship sustained through days, and months of sorrow, and want, and affliction,~from their happy homes, the resting place of their fathers. Can you wonder, friends, that they should have resisted, manfully, against the encroachment of their white neighbors ?

But I think that history declares, that when this continent was first discovered, that its inhabitants were a harmless, inoffensive, obliging people. They were alike free from the blandishments and vices of civilized life. They received the strangers from the“ world beyond the waters," with every token of esteem ; highminded, noble, generous, and confident to a fault, they placed implicit confidence in the profession of their visiters : they saw not the aim and design of the white man, and the chains of a cruel bondage were firmly entwined around them before the illusion was dispelled ; and when their eyes were opened, they beheld naught as the portion of their cup but servitude and sorrow. Hundreds of thousands perished before the face of the white man. Suffice it to say, what is already known, that the white man came upon our shores—he grew taller and taller until his shadow was cast over all the land in its shade the mighty tribes of olden times wilted away

a few, the remnant of multitudes long since gathered to their fathers, are all that remain ; and they are on their march to eternity.

(To be continued.)


(Concluded.) Do you feel that God is just in bringing upon you such great afflictions? “I am not afflicted, and if I were, God is just." But you are unhappy, to lie in this wretched condition? “I am not unhappy; it is better to be as I am now than as I was once, for then I thought too much of the world.” If then you are happy, and reconciled to your condition, you must have found something more than the happiness of this world. “I have that which the world cannot give." Have you no hope of recovery? "I have no wish to recover." Have you no fear of death? “I am not afraid to die, God is so good that I am safe with him.” Yes, God is good, but we are wicked. “Oh yes (clasping her emaciated hands) I have been so wicked that I do not suffer half so much as I deserve, but Christ is merciful.” Have you no fears that you may be deceived ? “No fears now-perfect love casteth out fear." Are you not sometimes in darkness when you are in great pain?, “I do not think of pain, I am happy, and shall soon go home.” There was an afSecting artlessness in all she said which I cannot describe, and a promptness which beautifully illustrated

the inspired truth, that out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh. I found myself in the presence of one who had learned much in the school of Christ, and who seemed just spreading her wings for the mansions of rest. Consolation, instruction, sympathy--she needed none, for she had already passed within the veil. I remained silently admiring the pure influence of Christianity, while religion herself seemed to stand bending over her child in all the loveliness with which inspiration has arrayed her. This child of affliction, for such without her permission I must call her, had for two years indulged the Christian hope. No ambassador of Christ had been here to lead her within the inclosure of the church-no pious visitant had entered the humble dwelling to impart the bliss of Chris. tian fellowship. But ministering angels had descended, and she had learned of the Father. Resigned to the lot of humanity, and supported by that faith which is “the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen,” she had bid adieu to the world, and was waiting to be called to the abodes of the blessed. The widowed mother too, could plead the promise made to the widow and the fatherless.

Having commended to the Great Shepherd this little group of afflicted secluded beings, and bade them adieu for ever, and as I silently retraced my steps to the more busy scenes of life, I indulged the train of reflections suggested by the scene I had witnessed. The impression which it stamped so indelibly upon my mind I need not describe. There is still a freshness in the scene (for I am relating facts) which can be lost only with the power of recollection. The reader, when he is assured that the page he peruses contains no fiction, will make his own reflections, and he will be impressed with the truth that true happiness is found in the humbler as well as in the more elevated walks of life. The gay and beautiful whose attention is devoted to the walks of pleasure, while they pity this afflicted sister of the wilderness, will feel the importance of seeking that religion which supported her in the hour of affliction, and which constituted the loveliness of her character. The

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