A few sentences will complete our sketch, and bring us to the close of the poet’s pilgrimage. He had come out of the general collapse of commercial affairs in 1837, with a small portion of the wealth he had realised by diligent and continuous labour. He took a walk, on one occasion, into the country, of about eighteen miles, reached Argilt Hill, liked the place, returned, and resolved to buy it. He laid out in house and land about one thousand guineas. His family consisted of Mrs. Elliott and two daughters—a servant-maid—an occasional helper—a Welch pony and small gig,—“a dog almost as big as the mare, and much wiser than his master; a pony-cart; a wheel-barrow; and a grindstone—and,” says he, “turn up your nose if you like!” From his own papers we learn that he had one son a clergyman, at Lothedale, near Skipton; another in the steel trade, on Elliott’s old premises at Sheffield; two others unmarried, living on their means; another “druggisting at Sheffield, in a sort of chimney called a shop;” and another, a clergyman, living in the West Indies. Of his thirteen children, five were dead, and of whom he says—“They left behind them no memorial—but they are safe in the bosom of Mercy, and not quite forgotten even here!” In this retirement he occasionally lectured and spoke at public meetings; but he began to suffer from a spasmodic affection of the nerves, which obliged him wholly to forego public speaking. This disease grew worse; and in December, 1839, he was warned that he could not continue to speak in public, except at the risk of sudden death. This disorder lingered about him for about six years: he then fell ill of a more serious disease, which threatened speedy termination. This was in May, 1849. In September, he writes, “I have been _very, very_ ill.” On the first of December, 1849, the event, which had so long been impending, occurred; and Elliott peacefully departed in the 69th year of his age. Thus, then, the sun set on one whose life was one continued heroic struggle with opposing influences,—with ignorance first, then trade, then the corn laws, then literary fame, and, last of all, disease: and thus the world saw its last of the material breathing form of the rugged but kindly being who made himself loved, feared, hated, and famous, as the “CORN LAW RHYMER.” * * * * * Monthly Supplement of ‘HOUSEHOLD WORDS,’ Conducted by CHARLES DICKENS. _Price 2d., Stamped 3d._, THE HOUSEHOLD NARRATIVE OF CURRENT EVENTS. _The Number, containing a history of the past month, was issued with the Magazines._ Published at the Office, No 16, Wellington Street North, Stand. Printed by BRADBURY & EVANS, Whitefriars, London. ------------------------------------------------------------------------