St. Landry democrat. (Opelousas, La.) 1878-1894, 1891-02-07
CHAT TERTON.
The Boy Poet of a Century Ago-HIs
Haunts in London-His Won
derflIl PreCocitv Etc

In tie year of Grace ITO, and on the
evening of Tuesday, April "a young Chat
| tertOn babe adieu to his mother and sister
| in the quaint and ancient city of Bristol,
| England, where he had dreamed out his
| famous fabrication of the old Monk Row
| Iey's medieval poems which long deceived
the whole literary world by their beauty
and ingt nuity, ard with his pale, intellec-
tual face, surmounted by dark, clustering
| hair, and his luminous gray eyes lighted
with enthusiasm and delight, rolls from
the inn door away into the night, to seek
fame and reputation in the great metropo
lis He has looked his last upon his home,
his kindred; this wondrous youth leaves
his birthplace, his friends, to return no
more be reaches the city, but fame
hovers afar off, ever beyond his grasp
The body must be fed, aud those he left
remembered, and so the young aspirant
became the drudge of petty journalists and
magazine proprietors. Terrible must have
been his disappointment the reaction was
enough to crush his proud and delicate
spirit. For proud he was, in certain way
to a marvellous degree.
He speaks of this quality in his nature
| thus, in letter to a friend, Mr., Barrett,
| of Bristol, who had expostulated with him
once, and given him good advice: 81
| keep no worse company than myself. |
! never drink to excess, and have, without
| vanity, too much sense to be attached to
! the mercenary retailers of iniquity. No,
| it is my pride, my native, uncoi querable
| pride, that plunges me into distraction.
| You must know that nineteen-tweBtieths
of my composition is pride | must either
| live a slave, p servant, to have no will of
my own, which | may freely declare as
such, or die. Perplexing alternativel but
it distracts me to think of it. | will en-
deavor 10 learn humility, but it cannot be
here. " hat it may cost me in the trial,
heaven knows. | am your much obliged,
unhappy, humble friend. T. G"
He had fondly expected that he was but
to make himself known, and the world
would acknowledge him among its in el,
lectual lords. His lofty and daring spirit
deemed itself fully worthy OF the ROYAL
diadem, but his impotence and sanguine
temperament could not brook the toll and
time necessary for success, and hence came
his lsmentabe fate.
But here let me make mention Of three
points in his character, which stand forth
so nobly and grandly that they deserve
COMMUNICATION to inspire the young, and
teach them useful lesson. Chatterton
was remarkable for his temperate and alb
stemious habits. His diet frequently was
bread and water, and in regard to other
food he once said che had work on hand,
and must not make himself more stupid
than God had made him His industry
was also unparalleled he left no stone
unturned, during his first two months IN
London, to advance his interests, calling
upon publishers, authors and the Lord
Mayor, while far into the night he was
busly engaged writing every conceivable
kind of literature. Essays, reviews, cpl
grams, poems, political letters, tales, and
even a Burletta, flowed from his versatile
pen His labors were interchangeable, but
poorly compensated yet still he worked
on, determined to make himself famous.
His affection, also, for his poor mother and
sister was peculiarly marked, and il THRILLS
the heart cords now most strangely after
the lapse of one hundred and nine years TO
read the letters Chatterton wrote to those
loved ones. Through all the long weary
days of his four months stay in the me-
trcpolis, although at least his brain was
on the verge of madness, and his hand
weak for want of food, still he could pen
lines breathing ia every sentence the warm
outgushings or his soul toward the dear
ONES at home, never for a moment permit
ting them to suspect what fierce contest
he was waging with lean and haggard
starvation, but telling all the while that
soon he should be able to realize all his
magnificent promises, and that they should
be hOnored and courted as the mother and
sister of Chstterton While along with
the letter would come some hanC some
present which had consumed the greater
portion of his scanty earnings.
Days and weeks glued by, and the truth
became more and more evident TO his i'm
patient and restless disposition that fame
and reputation were only to be attained by
long and painful labor. Rough crags of
prejudice jutted in his way l,n'y paths
of difficulty led to his goal; his feet were
torn and bleeding with only the beginning
of the journey, and as he glanced ahead
he saw that many steep ravine of caste
was to be crossed, many mountain sum-
nit crowned with chilling SHOWS of dis
enlargement was to be scaled ere he could
reach the lofty eyrie where he might rest
His spirit quailed before these obstacles
in spite of his ardent and fiery empera-
ment, he was completely broken down and
cowed. Disguised and d'sheartened, he left
the old paths, which, if he had persevered
III, "Ouiu nave Ilul safety OUT,
and crowned him with perennial laurel at
last. He endeavored to get the situation
of surgeons mate upon vessel bound for
a foreign land Unsuccessful and bstfled
on every side, he sank into the apathy of
despair.
Oh, what fall. What wreck of all
his brilliant visions and dreams of glory
He awoke to find that the ladder on which
l. hoS hor.I 10 al: he, lo;c e
renown had been withdrawn-that the
angels who had so often held communion
with him had taken their flight and he
was reposing on pillow of stone. Slowly
and sadly do we approach the last sad
scene of the poets life, the closing act of
this dreadful tragedy
Reduced lower and lower by failing re-
sources (for finally he could not get en-
ployment), he became for the last three
days of his life bereft of food altogether
and of other comforts necessary even with
his abstemious habits to keep body aud
soul together. His pride prevented him
from appealing to his relations and friends
who could have saved him. Wandering
about the streets o. London in a state of
feverish excitement, writing, up to the
small hours, without rest or sleep, no
WONDER bndb OVerSJTdlu6U DTdlu anu nerve !
gave way The faint of hereditary insan-
ity was in the blood, and now neglect and
want had pushed him over the line. All |
those pavements and streets that he trod
in those last wanderings are haunted with
associations that never can perish from re-
membrance.
1t was only few years since that had
lodgings for several weeks in the Strand, |
not MANY b1ocks from the housa 90 RrOoka |