The few weeks' martial glory which John Clare enjoyed had the one good
effect of weaning him from the roisterous company at the Bachelors' Hall,
and bringing him once more to his former peaceful studies. While a
recruit in the militia, he had seen so much of rioting and debauchery, on
the part of the vilest of his companions, as to be cured from all desire
to follow in their footsteps, and he now made the firm vow to lead a more
respectable life for the future. A change of scenery, too, had cured him
of the all-absorbing fear that he should never be able to write poetry,
for want of grammar, and the proper understanding of 'Lowe's Critical
Spelling-book.' It seemed to him, on reflection, that, as he could make
himself understood in speaking to his fellow men without knowing grammar,
he would be able to do so likewise in writing. He therefore began, more
eagerly than ever, to collect small strips of paper, and to fill them
with verses on rural scenery, fields, brooks, birds, and flowers. His
daily occupation, as before, consisted in working as an out-door farm
labourer, and doing occasional odd jobs in gardening and the like, which,
though it was barely sufficient to maintain him, had the to him
inestimable advantage of leaving him completely his own master. This was
the more valuable to John Clare at the present moment, in consequence of
an affair which occurred soon after his return from Oundle, and which was
nothing less than his falling in love, for the second time in his life.
He met, saw, and was conquered by Elizabeth Newton, the daughter of a
wheelwright, at Ashton, a small hamlet close to Helpston. She was but a
plain girl, but possessed of all the arts of coquetry; and though John
Clare did not care much for her at first, she gradually entangled him
into fervent affection, or what he held to be such. It was not Platonic
love, by any means, like that for sweet Mary Joyce; and less so on the
part of the lass than on that of her lover. John, as always, so at his
meetings with Elizabeth Newton, was shy, reserved, and bashful, while she
was frank and forward, professing to be deeply in love with him. This had
the desired effect upon John Clare, whose easily-touched heart could not
withstand the charms and wiles of female enchantment. Having got her
lover thus far, Elizabeth began to talk of marriage, at the mentioning of
which word John felt somewhat startled. His old studies in arithmetic
brought to his mind the difficulties there must be in keeping a
matrimonial establishment upon ten shillings a week, the average amount
of his income, not only for the time, but in all probability for years to
come, if not for his whole life. Elizabeth, on her part, did not share
these arithmetical apprehensions, in consequence of which there were
quarrels, bickerings, and misunderstandings without end. To please his
Elizabeth, John Clare was made to go frequently to the house of father
Newton, the wheelwright, a curious old man, who was constantly reading in
the Bible and trying to find out the meaning of the Apocalypse. He had
quotations upon every subject, none of which, however, showed John
clearly how to get over the great difficulty of keeping a wife upon nine,
or at the best ten, shillings a week. Seeing that her lover was unwilling
to do the one thing she wanted, Elizabeth Newton at last jilted him
openly, telling him, before a number of other girls, that he was but a
faint-hearted fool. After this, she refused to see him again, although
John Clare would have been willing to renew the acquaintance, and even,
if necessary, to marry her. He felt, now she had parted from him, and,
probably, because she had parted from him, a strong affection for the
girl, not to be overcome by many inward struggles. For a short time he
sank into melancholy, from which he roused himself, however, by a new
resolution.
On Helpston Heath and the neighbouring commons there were always some
gypsy tribes in encampment, the two largest of them being known by the
names of 'Boswell's crew,' and 'Smith's crew.' While out on his solitary
rambles, John Clare made the accidental acquaintance of 'King Boswell,'
which acquaintance, after being kept up by the interchange of many little
courtesies and acts of kindness, gradually ripened into a sort of
friendship. John Clare thought the dark-eyed gypsies far more intelligent
than his own working companions in the fields, and he was attracted to
them, besides, by their fondness for and knowledge of plants and herbs,
as well as their love of music. Expressing a wish to learn to play the
fiddle, the most expert musicians of King Boswell's crew at once began to
teach him the art, in their own wild way, without notes or other
scientific aid, but with the net result that he was able to perform to
his own satisfaction in the course of a few months. He now became a
constant visitor at King Boswell's tent, which he only neglected during
his courtship with Elizabeth Newton. This being broken off, in his grief
of unrequited affection John Clare was seized with a real passion for the
wild life of his gypsy friends, and resolved to join them in their
wanderings. He actually carried out this resolve, and enrolled himself as
a member of Boswell's crew for a few days; but at the end of this period
left them with much internal disgust. The poetry of gypsy life utterly
vanished on close examination, giving way to the most disagreeable prose.
Accustomed as John Clare was to humble fare under a poor roof, his nerves
could not stand the cookery at King Boswell's court. To fish odds and
ends of bones, bits of cabbage, and stray potatoes from a large iron pot,
in partnership with a number of grimy hands, and without so much as a
wooden, spoon, seemed unpleasant work to him, not to be sweetened by all
the charms of black eyes and a tune on the fiddle. He therefore told his
new friends that he could not stop with them; at which they were not very
sorry, seeing in him but a poor hand for making fancy baskets and
stealing young geese. Thus King Boswell and his secular friend parted to
their mutual satisfaction, John Clare returning once more to his
accustomed field and gardening operations. However, the poet, all his
life long, did not forget the gypsies; nor did they forget him. Whenever
any of 'Boswell's crew,' or, in their absence, their first cousins of
'Smith's crew' happened to be near John Clare, on a Saturday evening,
after he had drawn his weekly wages, they did not fail to pay him a
friendly visit, singing some new song to the ancient text of 'Auld lang
syne.'