Some forty years ago, the literary world rapturously hailed the
appearance of a new poet, brought forward as 'the Northamptonshire
Peasant' and 'the English Burns.' There was no limit to the applause
bestowed upon him. Rossini set his verses to music; Madame Vestris
recited them before crowded audiences; William Gifford sang his praises
in the 'Quarterly Review;' and all the critical journals, reviews, and
magazines of the day were unanimous in their admiration of poetical
genius coming before them in the humble garb of a farm labourer. The
'Northamptonshire Peasant' was duly petted, flattered, lionized, and
caressed--and, of course, as duly forgotten when his nine days were
passed. It was the old tale, all over. In this case, flattery did not
spoil the 'peasant;' but poverty, neglect, and suffering broke his heart.
After writing some exquisite poetry, and struggling for years with fierce
want, he sank at last under the burthen of his sorrows, and in the spring
of 1864 died at the Northampton Lunatic Asylum. It is a very old tale, no
doubt, but which may bear being told once more, brimful as it is of human
interest.
The narrative has been drawn from a vast mass of letters and other
original documents, including some very curious autobiographical memoirs.
The possession of all these papers, kindly furnished by friends and
admirers of the poet, has enabled the writer to give more detail to his
description than is usual in short biographies--at least in biographies
of men born, like John Clare, in what may truly be called the very lowest
rank of the people.
London, _May_, 1865.
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