coach, he had dreams of unsullied waters and unsmoked rainbows; and he counted over his country joys as a miser adds up the total of his various coins. At the top of his treasures stood his wife and baby, for, with all his Platonic declensions from the state most comfortable to Martha, he was an affectionate husband and father. About this time several hearty friends strove with might and main to secure a competence for the poet. A sum of four hundred and twenty pounds was the result of their earnestness; but when it is remembered that Earl Fitzwilliam and CLARE’S publishers were between them responsible for no less than two hundred of this amount, the harvest of solicitation is not notable for bounteousness. Dr. Bell--a friend of the right complexion--extracted an annual ten pounds from Earl Spencer, so that, what with this gift, the Marquis of Exeter’s donation, and the fund, the genius of Helpstone was possessed of an income of forty-five pounds per annum. CLARE felt a very mendicant throughout all these transactions, and even went so far as to disavow them in letters despatched to his noble helpers. Had it not been for the persuasions of Mr. Gilchrist and the amusing invectives of Dr. Bell, he would have kicked with greater persistence against the pricks of charity. As soon as the harvest was over, CLARE made an end of labouring in the fields. He was under agreement to hand over another volume of poetry to Messrs. Taylor and Hessey for publication early in 1821. It was now his earnest endeavour to fulfil his share of the bargain, and he bared his forehead to inspiration. CLARE always felt himself cheated and empty of ideas when shut up within four walls. The Muse would not follow him to his fireside, but she would frolic with him the live-long day in the open air, filling him with buoyancy, kissing his lips, and smoothing out his wrinkles. Seated inside an old oak, whose heart had gradually passed into the atmosphere, CLARE was wont to pour his soul in song, and so fruitful were the hints of his unseen companion that he soon had a great collection of new verses. All that he approved he desired to publish, but Mr. Taylor spoke a few strong words in favour of weeding, suggesting to CLARE that he should play the part of Herod toward some of the children of his imagination. A deadlock ensued. For a time the poet was adamant, the publishers marble. In this difficulty CLARE bethought himself of Mr. Gilchrist as an excellent agent for the casting of oil on the troubled waters. This gentleman, however, was thick in a squabble of his own, and when CLARE appeared unsympathetic he displayed a spirit very much huffed. At last the tension between poet and publishers became less, with the result that in the middle of September “The Village Minstrel” was ready for purchasers. The two volumes were handsomely presented; the type was beautiful, and a couple of steel engravings made a brave show. Despite the attractions of genius, despite the various