The Northampton General Lunatic Asylum stands at a little distance from the town, on the brow of a hill, in a very beautiful position, overlooking the smiling plain traversed by the River Nene. It is a large establishment, containing, on the average, some four hundred patients, the great majority of them paupers. The private patients have to themselves a large sitting-room, somewhat similar to a gentleman's library, the windows of which overlook the front garden, the valley of the Nene, and the town of Northampton. In the recess of one of these windows, Clare spent the greater part of his time during the twenty-two years that he was an inmate of the asylum. Very melancholy at first, and ever yearning after his 'Mary,' he became gradually resigned to his fate, and after that never a murmur escaped his lips. He saw that the world had left him; and was quite prepared himself to leave the world. During the whole twenty-two years, not one of all his former friends and admirers, not one of his great or little patrons ever visited him. This he bore quietly, though he seemed to feel it with deep sorrow that even the members of his own family kept aloof from him. 'Patty' never once showed herself in the twenty-two years; nor any of her children, except the youngest son, who came to see his father once. The neglect thus shown long preyed upon his mind, till it found vent at last in a sublime burst of poetry:--

'I am! yet what I am who cares, or knows?

My friends forsake me like a memory lost.

I am the self-consumer of my woes, They rise and vanish, an oblivious host, Shadows of life, whose very soul is lost.

And yet I am--I live--though I am toss'd

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise, Into the living sea of waking dream, Where there is neither sense of life, nor joys, But the huge shipwreck of my own esteem And all that's dear. Even those I loved the best Are strange--nay, they are stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man has never trod, For scenes where woman never smiled or wept; There to abide with my Creator, G.o.d, And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept Full of high thoughts, unborn. So let me lie, The gra.s.s below; above the vaulted sky.'

This was the last poem which Clare wrote--the last, and, we think, the n.o.blest of all his poems. Clare's swan-song, we fervently hope, will live as long as the English language.

For the last ten or twelve years of his existence the poet suffered much from physical infirmities. Previously he was allowed to go almost daily into the town of Northampton, where he used to sit raider the portico of All Saints' Church, watching the gambols of the children around him, and the fleeting clouds high up in the sky. When these excursions came to be forbidden, he retired to his window-recess in the asylum, reading little and speaking little; dreaming unutterable dreams of another world.

Sometimes his face would brighten up as if illuminated by an inward sun, overwhelming in its glory and beauty. This life of contemplation, extending over many years, was followed by a singular change in the physical const.i.tution. The head seemed to expand vastly; the bushy eyebrows grew downward until they almost obscured the eyes, and the abundant hair, white as snow, came to fall in long curls over the ma.s.sive shoulders. In outward appearance the poet became the patriarch.

The inmates of the asylum treated Clare with the greatest respect--far greater than that previously allotted to him by the world without. To his fellow-sufferers he always was John Clare the poet; never Clare the farm-labourer or the lime-burner. An artist among the patients was indefatigable in painting his portrait, in all possible att.i.tudes; others never wearied of waiting upon him, or rendering him some slight service.

The poet accepted the homage thus rendered, quietly and unaffectedly, as a king would that of his subjects. He gave little utterance to his thoughts, or dreams, whatever they were, and only smiled upon his companions now and then. When he became very weak and infirm, they put him into a chair, and wheeled him about in the garden. The last day he was thus taken out, and enjoyed the fresh air and the golden sunshine, was on Good Friday, 1864. He was too helpless to be moved afterwards; yet would still creep, now and then, from his bed to the window, looking down upon the ever-beautiful world, which he knew he was leaving now, and which he was not loth to leave, though he loved it so much.

Towards noon on the 20th of May, the poet closed his eyes for ever. His last words were, 'I want to go home.' So gentle was his end that the bystanders scarcely knew when he had ceased to breathe. G.o.d took his soul away without a struggle.

Clare had always expressed a wish to sleep his last sleep in the churchyard of his native village, close to his 'own old home of homes.'

In the very first poem of his earliest published book of verses, he summed up all his aspirations in the one that he should--

'As reward for countless troubles past, Find one hope true: to die at home at last.'

Accordingly, when the poet's spirit had fled, the superintendent of the Northampton asylum wrote to his patron, Earl Fitzwilliam, asking for a grant of the small sum necessary to carry the wish of the deceased into effect. The n.o.ble patron replied by a refusal, advising the burial of the poet as a pauper at Northampton.

But this lasting disgrace, fortunately, was not to be. Through the active exertions of some true Christian souls, real friends of poetry, the requisite burial fund was raised in a few days, and the poet's body, having been conveyed to Helpston, was reverently interred there on Wednesday, the 25th of May, 1864. There now lies, under the shade of a sycamore-tree, with nothing above but the green gra.s.s and the eternal vault of heaven, all that earth has to keep of John Clare, one of the sweetest singers of nature ever born within the fair realm of dear old England--of dear old England, so proud of its galaxy of n.o.ble poets, and so wasteful of their lives.

Allen, Dr. Matthew, of Fair Mead House.

'Anniversary,' annual, edited by Allan Cunningham.

Artis, Edward, friend of Clare.

Bachelors' Hall, Helpston, meeting at.

Bains, Granny, cowherd of Helpston.

Baring, Sir Thomas, patron of Clare.

Bedford, Duke of, patron of Clare.

Behnes, Henry, sculptor, makes a bust of Clare; spends an evening with.

Bell, Dr. makes Clare's acquaintance; defends his friend; threatens him with the 'canister of the Blue Devils'.

Bellamy, 'Mr. Councillor' of Wisbeach.

Benyon, Tom, head-porter of Messrs. Taylor and Hessey; teaches political economy.

Billings, John and James, of 'Bachelor's Hall.'

'Blackwood's Magazine,' on Clare.

Bloomfield, Robert, letter from; death.

'Book of Job,' Clare's rendering of.

Boston, Clare's visit to; the mayor of.

Boswell, king of the gipsies.

Bowles, Rev. Wm. L. editor of Pope; quarrel with Mr. Gilchrist.

Bridge, Casterton, Clare working at.

Bullimore, Mrs. schoolmistress.

Burghley Park, Clare's first visit to; working as gardener at; received as visitor.

Burkhardt, Herr, watchmaker of the Strand.

Burns and Clare, compared by Professor Wilson.

Byron, Lord, funeral of.

Campbell, Mr. at Dr. Allen's asylum.

Cardigan, Earl, patron of Clare.

Gary, Rev. H. T. receives Clare at his home; at the 'London Magazine'

dinner.

Chiswick, Clare's residence at.

Clare, John, birth; parents; in search of other worlds; at the dame-school; first pleasures of song; learns threshing; is attacked by the ague; goes to Mr. Merrishaw's school; studies algebra; travels to Wisbeach; interview with Mr. Councillor Bellamy; fails in becoming a lawyer's clerk; promoted to be potboy at the 'Blue Bell;' growing love of nature; takes to reading fairy tales; first love; meets with Thomson's 'Seasons;' efforts to obtain the book; the first poem; attempts to learn a trade; apprenticed to the head gardener at Burghley Park; dissipation; flight from Burghley Park; returns home; poetical aspirations; verses 'wanting fire'; consults a rural critic; becomes conscious of terrible ignorance; devours 'Lowe's Spelling-book;' unable to master 'quartacutes'

and 'quintacutes;' in search of a patron; visits 'Bachelors' Hall;'

enlists in the militia; swears fidelity to King George; is taught the goose-step; returns to Helpston; Love and the Apocalypse; turns gipsy under King Boswell; limeburning; zeal in writing verses; first meeting with 'Patty;' narrow escape from being drowned; attempts to publish a book; writes a prospectus; issues an 'Address to the Public;' quarrels with his mistress; bids farewell to 'Patty;' enlists in the Royal Artillery; determines to quit Helpston; meets with a patron; makes arrangements for printing his poems; gets intimate with Mr. Drury; meeting with Mr. John Taylor; first interview with Mr. Gilchrist; hears of the success of his 'Poems of Rural Life;' visit to Holywell Park; romance of fugitive love; patronized by Viscount Milton; by Earl Fitzwilliam; by the Marquis of Exeter; marries 'Patty;' first visit to London; troubles of fame; defends himself against patronage; has an annuity settled upon him; ignored by Sir Walter Scott; publication of the 'Village Minstrel;' correspondence with Bloomfield; visited by Mr. John Taylor; second trip to London; adventure in a hackney coach; short stay at Chiswick; visit to Charles Lamb; attempts to purchase a freehold; falls very ill; third visit to London; Fleet Street philosophy; is present at a meeting of lions; returns to Helpston; fails in getting work as a labourer; great poverty; takes to farming; publication of the 'Shepherd's Calendar;' writes for the annuals; Platonic love; last visit to London; turns pedlar; journey to Boston; glimpse of happiness; removal to Northborough; mental alienation; cry for help; publication of the 'Rural Muse;' excitement at the Peterborough Theatre; burst of delirium; is taken to Dr. Allen's asylum; escape from the madhouse; writes the diary of his escape; taken to Northampton asylum; his last poem; physical changes; death.

Clare, Parker, birth; marriage; poverty and sufferings; dependent upon alms; accompanies his son to Burghley Park; reproves John for writing verses; struck down by illness.

Clark, Mr. editor of a literary magazine.

Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, at a soiree.

'Cottage near the wood,' Clare's poem of.