Local Communications. ON ERECTING A MONUMENT TO CHATTERTON. 'No marble marks his couch of lowly sleep.' Byron. WITH the view of bringing before my fellow citizens the name of one who was too much neglected when living, I have been induced to make a few observations on his literary existence, which had its birth in our city, and from the romantic edifices and environs of which, he drew the principal imagery that adorns his writings. The beautiful Church of St. Mary's at Redcliffe, has ever been an object of attention and admiration; and curiosity, concerning its founder, and its history, was particularly awakened by the publication of the works of Chatterton; whilst the appearance of the Poems ascribed to Rowley, which were said to have been found there, amongst some old parchments, drew upon it the attention of the antiquary and the learned world in general. I was very young when these extraordinary compositions fell into my hands, and I read them with all the enthusiasm with which youthful minds are inspired by novelty and such is the force of early impressions, and so indelibly do they imprint themselves on the mind, that I retain even now, a vivid recollection of the amusement I derived from their perusal; indeed, so lively was the interest I took in these works, that for several years after, I went on Whit-Sunday to Redcliffe, merely to see the Corporation, according to its annual custom, visit that Church, where many of the ceremonies described by Rowley, as practised at its opening, in honour of its beautifier and benefactor Canynge, are still observed. There, aided by the poet's fictions, my imagination peopled it with human beings of other generations; the breath of inspiration was upon them; like the vision of the Prophet of old, in the valley of dry bones, there came up before me a great multitude. Time seemed to open for a moment the gate of his eternal dominion, and presented to my mind's eye the occurrences of ages he had triumphed over. By these illusions of fancy, I was hurried back for centuries, till I became in idea the companion, the associate, of the monastic orders of the dark ages; I was with them in their churches, and in their cloisters, knelt at their shrines, or bowed before the images of their Saints and Martyrs. Awakened from these reveries, in which I loved to indulge, I instinctively looked on the pavements upon which I was treading, and endeavoured to trace the half legible letters that once gave 'note and character' of those who rest beneath my eye wandered over the walls in search of a plain monumental stone: a tribute to the memory of one long dead, but not forgotten: a tablet on which might be found inscribed- Here rests his head upon this lap of earth, but in vain; I sought the name of Chatterton in vain! Of Chatterton the child of nature, for whom she unfolded her loveliest charms, which he contemplated with delight; he gazed upon them till his mind was imbued with all her most romantic and luxuriant colourings, and with these were painted every object of his lonely contempla tions; his very existence formed as it were a mental romance; the beings who figured there were not the offspring of this world's creation; they were of a higher origin; they were enlivened by an etherial flame, and he acted with them, till like Prometheus, he fell the victim of his own temerity. His actions took their tone and character, from his heated imagination, that in its creative energy formed schemes and projects of such airy stuff as dreams are made of.' From these wanderings he was brought back again, to the cold and cloudy atmosphere of a neglecting world; he saw in it nothing but a dreary, a dark, a chilling apathy, the apathy of unspiritualized mortals, to whom the name of genius was unknown. Neglect, that bitter cup, which none can bear to taste 'froze the genial current of his soul.' In the height of his disappointments he hugged a serpent to his bosom that stung him to madness. Misanthropy appeared and he became her convert; he hated life which seemed but as a chain to link him to creatures of a too earthly mould; he shut himself out from the world's realities, for his world was ideal, and there he dwelt alone. But now, in his own simple, yet emphatic words 'Alas! he is dead, Gone to his death bed, All under the willow tree.' and no storied urn, nor animated bust, directs the eye of inquiring sympathy to his grave; no cenotaph is reared to sooth the injured shade of this lamented heir of genius and misfortune. Sacred are his ashes, and sacred the spot where they repose; the dew of heaven descends upon him, and the earliest flowers of spring blossom over him. To the honour of Scotland, she has lately erected to the memory of her native Poet, Burns, a handsome mausoleum; but when we look around and see buildings for philosophical and literary purposes erected at a vast expence, and on a magnificent scale, we are at a loss for a reason to account for the neglect which the memory of Chatterton has so long experienced from his fellow citizens; and we cannot but wish for their honour, and for the honour of our native city, that she should exhibit within her walls, at least one memento of her literary fame and native talent. Having now directed your attention to a subject that has too long been a reproach to us, I will not trespass on your valuable pages by further urging the credit it would be to the supporters of literature to raise a subscription for the erection of a handsome statue of the young poet, which might be erected in the most conspicuous part of Redcliffe Church Yard; not to mention its ornamental effect, it would reflect great honour on the inhabitants of a city, who have too long borne the stigma of discouragers of all literary and scientific pursuits. Besides, who can venture to estimate the advantage the world might derive from such a monument? Who can tell what youthful bosom it may stimulate to the noblest exertions? Who shall say that it may not be the means of producing a Milton, a Shakspeare, a Pope, or a Cowper? Should such a subscription be set on foot, as I trust it shortly will, I shall be proud to lend my individual assistance to an undertaking that requires, I am convinced, only a little public spirit, to be brought to a favourable and honourable conclusion. W. M. ANNALS OF BRISTOL. (Continued from p. 201.) 1671. THIS year, on the 4th of March, about 12 of the clock at night, the backward part of the Bell Taverne in Broad Street, lying towards the Key, fell on fire, and was burnt down to the ground, to the damage of about £600. 1673. This year John Drivar, Sherriffe, dyed, and Wm. Hassell was chosen Sherriffe in his place. And this year, the Conduit that stood in the midst of St. Thomas Street was pulled down, and new built at the end of the Church Lane in the said street; and the Sheep market kept in a court there adjoining, over which is new built and kept the Wooll market: before which time it was kept on the Northside of the Church, which was pulled down, and four houses and the said Wooll market built by Mr. Henry Gliston, paying to the value of 20s. per annum to the Church for 41 years. This year also was the Cathedral church, Christ church and spire, and St. Stephen's pinicles, tower & church, new mended and flourished. And also this year, about the begining of June, there was built a water Mill to grind corne upon a Lyter, at Gibb Taylor, by Thomas Jayne, house carpenter; which Mill went every tide, upon the ebb, and did grind two bushells an hour, which turned to profitt, but was pulled to pieces on St. James' tide following. 1674. This year King Charles the 2d. his Effigie was removed on the Leads, nearer the Council house, by the perswasion of the Dutches of Cleveland being then in Bristol, it being before (as she said) as a Porter, or a Watchman. |