erected to him, and an inscription, written by himself, was engraved on his tomb.

ROBERT BLOOMFIELD.

THIS exquisite rural poet was born in the year 1766, at a village named Honington, which is situated eight miles from Bury St. Edmund's, and near Euston, the seat of his Grace the Duke of Grafton, in the county of Suffolk. He lost his father, Mr. George Bloomfield, a tailor by trade, when he was scarce a year old. His mother was a schoolmistress, and instructed her own with other children; and from her, our poet had his first rudiments of learning. Though a widow with six children, she contrived to send Robert to a Mr. Rodwell, to be improved in writing; but, she marrying soon after, he did not continue long with him.

His mother had now a second family; and though our poet was not above eleven, he was sent to a Mr. William Austin, a farmer in the neighbourhood, who took him into his house; but his mother was to furnish him with a few things: this was more than she was able to do, which induced her to solicit aid from his two brothers, George and Nathaniel, at London, as

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Mr. Austin said, he did not think he would obtain a living by hard labour. George offered to take his brother and teach him to make shoes, and Nathaniel promised to clothe him. On this, the mother was so careful of him, that she took coach herself, and put him into the hands of his brothers. "She charged me," said Mr. George Bloomfield, in a letter, "as I valued a mother's blessing, to watch over him, to set good examples to him, and never to forget that he had lost his father." His brother, Mr. G. Bloomfield, then lived at No. 7, Pitcher's-court, Bell-alley, Coleman-street.

"In a garret, where we had two turn-up beds, and five of us worked," says his brother, "I received little Robert." Robert became their errand-boy, for which each agreed to teach him.

The boy from the public-house used to come every day for pots, and to learn what was wanted, and he always brought the yesterday's newspaper, which they used to read by turns; but Robert's time being of least value, he became reader, and, by the help of an old Dictionary, which his brother bought for him for fourpence, in a little time he was able to read the speeches of Fox, Burke, &c. From attending the lectures

of a Mr. Fawcet, our poet learned to accent hard words, as he called them; add to this two or three old folios, they were the principal sources of his learning. "I, at this time," says his brother, “read the London Magazine,' about two sheets of which was set apart for a review: this, and the Poet's Corner,' always attracted Robert's attention. One day, he repeated a song which he had composed to an old tune. I was much surprised that a boy of sixteen should make such verses, and persuaded him to try whether the editor of our paper would give it a place in the Poet's Corner.' He tried, and succeeded."

He continued to reside with his brother till 1784, when the question came to be decided, whether those who had not served an apprenticeship should work at the trade of a shoemaker. The master who employed Robert was threatened with a prosecution if he continued so to do. He returned home, and was received by his old patron, Mr. Austin. It was during this short stay of two months, he probably formed his plan for that charming poem, the "Farmer's Boy." He again returned to London, and was bound apprentice to a Mr. John Dudbridge.

“It was in a garret," says his brother, “amid six or seven workmen, his active mind composed the Farmer's Boy.'" He amused himself by studying the violin, upon which he became a good player; but afterwards, he wrote to his brother George, who had then left London, " I have sold my fiddle, and got a wife."

The

Farmer's Boy" fortunately fell into the hands of Capel Lofft, every way able to appreciate its beauties; and, to his honour be it said, he did not permit genius to languish in obscurity. Bloomfield died in 1823.

SELF-DEVOTION IN A BARD.

THE Ancient History of Ireland has preserved a remarkable instance of extraordinary selfdevotion, in the person of a bard, named Feircheirtne, who evinced, in the manner of his death, a strength of affection for his patron, and sublimity of soul, scarcely to be paralleled. Feircheirtne was bard to Conrigh, a celebrated chieftain, who lived in splendor on the banks of the Fiounglaise, in the county Kerry. This warrior was married to Blanaid, a lady of transcendent beauty, who had been the meed of his prowess in single combat with Congculionne,

a knight of the Red Branch. But the lady was secretly attached to the knight, and, in an accidental interview which she had with him, from the battlements of her castle, offered to follow his fortunes, if he would at a certain time, and on receiving a certain signal, storm the castle, and put her husband and his attendants to the sword. Congculionne promised to observe her directions, and executed them to the letter, inundating the castle with the blood of its inhabitants. Feircheirtne, however, probably in consequence of the veneration paid to his character as bard, escaped the slaughter, and followed, at a distance, Blanaid and her ravisher to the Court of Concovar Mac Nessa, determined to sacrifice his perfidious Mistress to the manes of his murdered patron.

When the bard arrived at Emania, he found Concovar and his Court, together with the lovers, walking on the top of a rock called Rinchin Beara, and enjoying the extensive prospect which it commanded. Blanaid hap

pening to detach herself from the rest of the company, stood wrapt in meditation on that part of the cliff which overhung a deep precipice. The bard, stepping up to her, began an