46 Not e'en an osier'd hillock heaves to show Forc'd by hard fate to seek parochial care. "Yet when the awful mandate claim'd thy breath, Thy humble, happy spirit wing'd its flight, "From this gross orb, to spheres of perfect light!" His conduct was in general, perfectly harmless, and inoffensive. At fairs, wakes, and frolics he was a cons'ant and delighted attendant; was doatingly fond of military sights and spectacles, especially when enlivened by the music of a fife or drum ; and was always to be seen, with his tin-kettle, in the rear of every recruiting party that paraded the town of Hadleigh. CONSIGN'D to mingle with his parent earth, His name in distant lands will ne'er be known; Dull apathy presided at his birth, And ignorance mark'd the infant for her own. Confined within the workhouse' lofty wall, And sallied forth with shreds of ribbands, gay. Soldiers, at wake or fair, he lov❜d to meet, Their martial trophies view'd without a fear; And when in gay parade they pass'd the street, With shouting boys he follow'd in the rear. On batter'd water-pot in lieu of drum, With varied measure beat the loud tattoo; Press'd through the crowd, regardless of its hum, Nor would his clattering melody forego. When wrangling blockheads, for contention ripe, Disturb'd with clam'rous din the evening's cheer; Unmindful of the noise, he smok'd his pipe, Or bade the waiter fill his mug with beer. While thus abroad unwittingly he stray'd, The love of freedom in his bosom burn'd; The lapse of time unconscious he survey'd, Nor to his dwelling willingly return'd. When prying scouts explor'd his snug retreat, Unvex'd by cares that reasoning mortals goad; Reluctant then, they forc'd him from his seat, And loud reproaches urg'd him on the road As thus through life he ran his even course, Impartial death, that levels all below, Nor spares the conqueror's wreath, nor monarch's crown; Aim'd at his breast the inevitable blow, To mix in dust with names of high renown. When o'er his bier the solemn knell had toll'd, Near the dull spot where he was wont to dwell; Consign'd to mingle with his kindred mould, His friends attendant sigh'd a last farewell. Clerio, From the "MARKET TOWN," a MS. Poem: BY MR. JOHN WEBB. The Rev. John Whitmore, the unfortunate subject of the following verses, was for many years a resident at Helion-Bumpstead, a village in Essex about a mile and a half distant from Haverhill. He was born at Wiston in this county, where his father was a miller, admitted of Caius College, Cambridge, in 1741, and proceeded to the degree of B. A. in 1744. After his derangement, he lived entirely secluded in the house of an elderly widow, who took great care of him. He usually walked once a week to Haverhill to have his face and head shaved, always bathing the latter with some gin after the operation. He never went into company, and was very singular in his opinions and conduct, although perfectly harmless and inoffensive. He did no duty in the neighbourhood, except occasionally burying a corpse. Being once asked by a neighbouring clergyman to marry a couple for him, he positively declined performing the ceremony, alledging as his reason, that he did not chuse to encumber himself with other people's curses. His time was mostly spent in rambling through the rural scenes, which surrounded his cottage retreat; or when at home, in reading, and in preaching sermons-no one present. His understanding had been long impaired, and latterly became deranged; but this derangement appeared to have. been much augmented by an unfortunate habit of drinking, which increased upon him towards the end of his life. In person he was tall and comely ; wore a large wig, and a very long blue great coat ; and generally walked with a large staff headed by an enormous knob. He was commonly known by the vulgar appellation of the "draggled-tail Parson" He died Dec. 4th, 1790, at Helion-Bumpstead, and was buried there in a genteel manner : but no monument has been crected to his memory. THERE liv'd in yon green dale, that skirts a grove, His down-cast eyes, that roll'd with vacant stare, Or form'd of noble mould, or humble clay, Banish'd mild peace, white fairy! from his breast. A safe defence against the dart of love. |