Acting upon Mr. Drury's advice, John Clare, at the end of a few days,
visited his former employer, Mr. Wilders, at Bridge Casterton, who, upon
his earnest application, set him to work at once, first as a gardener,
and, after a while, as labourer in one of his lime-kilns. Here John
stayed the whole of the spring and summer of 1819; in many respects one
of the most pleasing periods of his whole life. At the end of each day's
hard work, he visited his beloved mistress at Walkherd Lodge, with whom
he was becoming very intimate--too intimate, alas!--while the spare hours
of morning, noon, and evening were devoted to poetry, and the whole of
Sunday to reading and music. Mr. Drury, beginning to feel more and more
sympathy with his young friend, invited him to spend every Sunday at the
shop in the High Street, unrestrained by any forms and ceremonies
whatever, and acting entirely as his own master. John Clare accepted the
first invitation with some shyness; but before long felt himself fully at
home at his friend's house, examining the books, maps, and pictures
spread out before him with a blissful enjoyment never before known. The
Sunday visits to Stamford, after a while, became to him such an intense
delight that he could scarcely await the happy day, and even neglected
his love affairs in its expectation. There were no visits to Walkherd
Lodge on Saturday evenings, when John went early to bed, in order to rise
earlier the next morning. The Sunday found him awake hours before the
cock had sounded the alarm, and many a time he had got over the two miles
of road from Casterton to Stamford, and stood in front of the 'New Public
Library,' before even the sun had risen. Good-natured Mr. Drury now had
to get out of bed, let his friend into the shop, and compose himself as
best he could, to sleep again. John now read for an hour or two; but when
he thought his friend had slept long enough, he took up his fiddle,
safely kept among the books, and began playing a merry gypsy tune. This
had the invariable effect of bringing Mr. Edward Drury, passionately fond
of music, down to his books and his friend, and, coffee having been
prepared, the long day of talking, reading, and fiddling set in for both.
While these proceedings were going on, the fate of Clare's poems had been
decided; unknown, however, to the poet. Mr. Drury, after the very
unfavourable judgment of the Rev. Mr. Twopenny, resolved upon sending his
odd bundle of verses to London, to get the final opinion of his
experienced relative, Mr. John Taylor, the publisher of Fleet Street. Mr.
Taylor, a talented author as well as bookseller, at a glance perceived
the true poetic nature of John Clare. He saw that, under an uncouth garb,
there were nameless beauties in the verses submitted to him; a wealth of
feeling, and a depth of imagination seldom found in poetic descriptions
of the external aspects of nature. Mr. Taylor saw--perhaps somewhat
dimly, but still he saw--that Clare was one of the born poets of the
earth; a man who could no more help singing, than birds can keep from
pouring forth their own harmonious melodies. But he saw also that John
Clare's works were diamonds which wanted polishing, and this labour he
resolved to undertake. He informed Mr. Drury of his intention to bring
out the poems under his own editorship and supervision, telling him to
encourage John Clare to devote himself more and more to the study of
style and grammar, as well as to the improvement of his general
education. Mr. Drury, who, by this time, knew his young friend
intimately, hesitated to communicate Mr. Taylor's advice and directions.
Thoroughly acquainted with the excitable nature of the poet, he feared
that, in launching him again on a sea of expectations, which, after all,
might remain unfulfilled, he would do far more harm than good, and he
therefore resolved to keep his imagination in leading-strings. He told
John Clare that Messrs. Taylor and Hessey were willing to publish his
poems, Mr. Taylor himself making the necessary grammatical and other
corrections; but that the success of the publication, as of all other
books, being doubtful, he must not, for the present, indulge in too
sanguine hopes of gaining either fame or fortune through his book. John
was quite content with this information, and kept on steadily in his
course; reading and fiddling the first day, and making love and burning
lime the other six days of the week.
The love-making, after a while, took a turn not entirely creditable to
the interested parties. Having re-established his confidential
intercourse with Martha Turner, yet not won the good graces of her
parents, who more than ever favoured the suit of the rival shoemaker,
John induced his sweetheart to meet him at places where she should not
have gone, and made proposals to which she should not have listened. Poor
Patty, loving not wisely but too well, did go and did listen to her
lover, with the ordinary sad consequences. The sequel was as usual. She
got sad and he got cold; and her complaints becoming numerous and
frequent, he left her and began flirting with other girls, trying to
persuade himself that he was the injured party, inasmuch as Patty's
parents treated him with scorn and contempt. An accidental occurrence, in
the summer of 1819, contributed much to make him forgetful of his moral
obligations. At a convivial meeting of lime-burners, held at a Stamford
tavern, Martha Turner, who was present, frequently danced with another
man, which so irritated John Clare that he, in his turn, paid his
attentions to a young damsel of the neighbourhood, known as Betty Sell,
the daughter of a labourer at Southorp. Betty was a lass of sixteen,
pretty and unaffected, with dark hair and hazel eyes; and her prattle
about green fields, flowers, and sunshine, of which she seemed
passionately fond, so intoxicated John that he got enamoured of her on
the spot. It was a mere passing fancy; but to revenge himself upon Patty
for coquetting, as he thought, with others, he did not go near her, and,
at the end of the entertainment, accompanied Betty Sell to her home, some
three miles distant The quarrel, thus commenced, did not end soon. Patty
was angry with John; and John, in consequence, renewed his attentions to
Betty Sell. Not long, and his first liking increased to a feeling akin to
real love. Betty was so sweet and artless in her doings and sayings, and,
above all, hung with such evident fondness on every word of her admirer
about his life and his struggles, his intense admiration of nature, his
poetry, and his hopes of rising in the world through his poetry, that the
susceptible heart of John Clare soon got inflamed to ardent devotion of
his new mistress. His infatuation rose to such a height that he neglected
even his visits to Mr. Drury, preferring, for once in his life, glowing
eyes and lips to verses, music, and books. The Stamford bookseller was
somewhat surprised on missing his young friend and his fiddle on several
subsequent Sundays, and on inquiring the cause, was met by replies more
or less unsatisfactory. Taking a real interest in John's welfare, Mr.
Drury thereupon determined to get at the bottom of the affair, and
succeeded in discovering the secret one evening, after a merry supper.
Having taken an unusual quantity of drink, John Clare became
confidential, and his friend learnt all that was to be learnt respecting
Martha Turner and Betty Sell. Like an honourable man, Mr. Drury was not
slow in catechising John, telling him in a severe tone that unless he
returned to his old love and gave up all acquaintance with the new, he
would withdraw his friendship from him, as a creature unworthy of it.
This had a deep effect upon Clare, and though the immediate promise of
reform made by him, was not fulfilled to the letter, his life, for the
next seven or eight months, was a constant struggle between duty and
affection, in which duty at last got the upper hand.
After the severe admonition of his friend and patron, John renewed his
frequent visits to the 'New Public Library,' spending not only his
Sundays, but many evenings of the week at the shop in Stamford. It was on
one of these evenings that he was startled by the appearance of a
sedate-looking gentleman, in spectacles, who went up to him with much
ceremony, inquiring whether he had the pleasure to address Mr. John
Clare. John, very confused, scarcely knew what to answer, until Mr. Drury
came up, introducing the visitor as Mr. John Taylor, of London, the
editor and publisher of his poems. A lengthened conversation followed,
which, though it seemed to delight Mr. Taylor, was not by any means
pleasant to the shy and awkward poet. Deeply conscious, as always, of his
defective education, his rustic mode of expressing his thoughts, and,
most of all, his tattered and dirty garments, he had scarcely the courage
to look Mr. Taylor in the face, but kept hiding himself in a corner,
looking for an opportunity to escape from the room. The opportunity,
however, did not come, and worse afflictions remained behind. After Mr.
Taylor was gone, and John had settled down to his favourite books, a
servant appeared in the shop, inviting Clare to visit the house of Mr.
Octavius Gilchrist, a few doors from the 'New Public Library.' John was
fairly inclined to run away, as soon as he heard the message; but found
that escape was not so easy. Mr. Drury told him that it was a matter, not
of pleasure, but of duty; that Mr. Gilchrist was a very influential man
in the literary world; that at the house of Mr. Gilchrist he would meet
Mr. Taylor, and that the success of his first volume of poems depended,
to a certain extent, upon this interview. This ended all opposition on
the part of Clare. He allowed himself to be dragged, like a lamb, into
Mr. Gilchrist's house, which, though it was but a grocer's shop on the
ground-floor, seemed to him a most magnificent dwelling. The drawing-room
was lighted with wax candles, and was full of gilded paintings, carpets
and fine furniture, amidst which his dirty clothes, fresh from the
lime-kiln, appeared entirely out of place. Nevertheless, he was
graciously received by Mr. and Mrs. Gilchrist, and warmly welcomed by his
previous acquaintance, Mr. John Taylor.
Mr. Octavius Gilchrist, in whose house John Clare now found himself, and
who came to exercise a considerable influence over his future career, was
a literary man of some note in his day. He was born in 1779, the son of a
gentleman settled at Twickenham, who had served during the German war as
lieutenant and surgeon in the third regiment of Dragoon Guards. Octavius
was destined by his parents to be a clergyman, and went to Magdalene
College, Oxford; but before taking his degree, or entering holy orders,
his means began to fail, upon which he went to Stamford, to assist a
well-to-do uncle in the grocery business The change from the study of the
classics at Magdalene College to the weighing-out of halfpenny worths' of
soap and sugar to the rustics of Lincolnshire, amounted to a melancholy
fall in life; however, Octavius Gilchrist bore it gaily, softening the
drudgery by a continuation of his studies in spare hours, and frequent
attempts to contribute to the periodical literature of the day. The
Stamford Mercury having inserted several of his articles, he got bolder,
and sent essays to several London Magazines, which met with, a like
fortunate fate. In 1803, the Stamford uncle died, after willing all his
property, including the profitable grocery business, to his nephew. This
induced Mr. Gilchrist to devote himself more than ever to literature,
leaving the shop to his assistants, and taking to the scales only on Fair
days and other solemn occasions. Having married, in 1804, the daughter of
Mr. James Nowlan, of London, he was drawn still more into literary
society, got acquainted with William Gifford, and became a contributor to
the 'Quarterly Review.' He assisted Gifford in his edition of Ben
Jonson's works, and in 1808 published a book of his own, entitled
'Examination of the charges of Ben Jonson's enmity towards Shakspeare.'
This was followed, in the same year, by 'Poems of Richard Corbet, Bishop
of Norwich, with notes, and a life of the author;' and in 1811, by a
'Letter to William Gifford, Esq., on a late edition of Ford's plays.' On
one of his periodical visits to London, Mr. Gilchrist made the casual
acquaintance of Mr. John Taylor. The acquaintance soon ripened into
friendship, leading to much personal intercourse and a variety of
literary schemes. Mr. Gilchrist first started a proposal to publish a
'Select collection of Old Plays,' in fifteen volumes, and on the failure
of this scheme, owing to the sudden appearance of a flimsy kind of work
called 'Old Plays,' Mr. Taylor and he agreed to launch a new monthly
publication, under the revived title of 'The London Magazine.' The
negotiations for carrying out this work were pending between writer and
publisher, when the first instalment of Clare's manuscripts was sent by
Mr. Drury to his relative Mr. John Taylor. The latter read and liked the
verses, and being desirous to know something of the writer, requested
information from Mr. Gilchrist. 'I know nothing whatever of your poet,'
was the reply; 'never heard his name in my life.' This somewhat surprised
the cautious publisher; he thought that Stamford being so near to
Helpston, and poets being not quite as plentiful as blackberries in the
fen-country, John Clare and his prospectuses ought to be of at least
local fame. To clear the matter up, as well as to make some further
arrangements respecting the early issue of the 'London Magazine,' Mr.
Taylor went down to Stamford, called upon his relative at the 'New Public
Library,' where, as accident would have it, he met John Clare, and then
went to take up his quarters at the house of Mr. Gilchrist. The latter
saw John Clare for the first time when introduced to him in his
drawing-room over the grocery shop.
Clare was more than ever shy and awkward when ushered into this
drawing-room, and it took a considerable time to make him feel at his
ease. To do so, Mr. Gilchrist engaged him in conversation, and with the
aid of Mr. Taylor and sundry bottles of wine, succeeded in getting from
him a rough account of his life and struggles. Wine and spirits were
temptations which John Clare was totally unable to withstand, indulging,
on most occasions, far more freely in drink than was warranted by
propriety and good sense. Perhaps, at Mr. Gilchrist's house, the host was
as much to blame as the guest; the former encouraging Clare's weakness
for the purpose of overcoming his extreme shyness and getting at the
desired autobiographical information. By the time this was extracted, the
poet had taken decidedly too much wine, and when a young lady in the room
sat down to the piano and sang 'Auld Robin Gray,' he began crying. The
sight was somewhat ludicrous, and Mr. Gilchrist sought to annul it by
reading an antiquarian paper on Woodcroft Castle, which had the effect of
driving John Clare out of the room and back to his bookshop. Here he sat
down, and, still under the influence of the entertainment, wrote some
doggerel verses called 'The Invitation,' which Mr. Gilchrist had the
cruelty to print in number one of the 'London Magazine,' in which the
English public received the first information of the existence of 'John
Clare, an agricultural labourer and poet.'
It seems somewhat doubtful whether at this time either Mr. Gilchrist or
Mr. John Taylor thoroughly appreciated John Clare. Both, although
encouraging his poetical talent, never did justice to the noble and
manly, nay lofty heart that beat under the ragged lime-burner's dress.
Mr. Taylor, on his part, wanted a hero for his forthcoming monthly
magazine, and he seemed to think that John Clare was the best that could
be had. He therefore induced Mr. Gilchrist to limn the rustic novelty to
the greatest advantage, which was done accordingly in the first number of
the 'London Magazine.' A paper headed, 'Some account of John Clare, an
agricultural labourer and poet,' intended evidently as a preliminary puff
of the poems, and consisting of a rather pompous description of the visit
of Clare to Mr. Gilchrist's house, was, on the whole, in the tone in
which a _parvenu_ might speak of a pauper. The chief fact dwelt upon was
the extreme kindness of 'the person who has generously undertaken the
charge of giving a selection of Clare's poems to the press,' thus trying
to make the world believe that a London publisher should so far forget
himself as to neglect his own interest in favour of that of a poor
author. Though perhaps well-meant in the first instance, this patronizing
manner in speaking of Clare, and attracting public attention to him, less
as a poetical genius, but as happening to be a poor man, did infinite
mischief in the end. It did more than this--it killed John Clare.
After his first interview with Mr. Gilchrist, John continued to visit at
the house, and was openly taken under the great literary man's
protection. By his desire, William Hilton, R.A., happening to pass
through Stamford, consented to paint Clare's portrait for exhibition in
London. The poet was delighted; and all went on well, until one day when
Mr. Gilchrist, desirous of aiding to his utmost power the success of the
forthcoming volume, asked, or ordered, Clare to write to Viscount Milton,
eldest son of the Earl Fitzwilliam, humbly requesting permission to
dedicate the poems to his lordship. John Clare, remembering his former
visit to Milton Park, in company with the nimble parish clerk of
Helpston, refused the demand, to the great annoyance of Mr. Gilchrist. At
length, however, giving way to Mr. Drury's importunities, Clare sat down
and penned his humble epistle, which was duly despatched by Mr.
Gilchrist. But there never came an answer from Viscount Milton, who,
probably, at the time, held it to be a vile conspiracy to extract a
five-pound note from his pocket. Mr. Gilchrist was mortified; but John
Clare was rather pleased than otherwise. He was more pleased when, a few
weeks after, Mr. Drury showed him an advertisement in a London paper,
announcing, 'Poems descriptive of rural life and scenery, by John Clare,
a Northamptonshire peasant.' It was stated, in capital letters, that the
book was 'preparing for publication.'