A

BIOGRAPHICAL

SKETCH

OF

JAMES MONTGOMERY.

MONTGOMERY, the Author of the Wanderer of Switzerland, &c. and the subject of this short biographical sketch, was born in Scotland, at Irvine, in Ayrshire, November 4, 1771; his father was a Moravian Minister. In the fifth year of his age his parents removed with him to Grace-hill, in the county of Antrim, Ireland. In the following year he was separated from them for ever, and placed in the seminary of the United Moravian Brethren, at Fulneck, near Leeds, in Yorkshire. His parents were, afterwards, sent as missionaries to the West-Indies, to preach, to the poor negro slave, the consoling doctrine of another and a better world; "where the wretched hear not the voice of the oppressor," and where "the servant is free from his master:" in this service both died. In the Fulneck academy, amongst a people remarkable for their ardour in religion, and their industry in the pursuit of useful learning, James Montgomery received_ 1*

VOL. I.

his education. He was intended for the ministry, and his preceptors were every way competent to the task of preparing him for the important office for which he was designed. His studies were various; the French, German, Latin, and Greek languages, history, geography, and music: but a desire to distinguish himself as a poet, amongst his school-fellows, soon interfered with his more beneficial pursuits. When only ten years old, he began the unprofitable employment of writing verses, which was continued, with unabating ardour, till the period when he quitted Fulneck, in 1787; they were chiefly on religious subjects. This early devotion to poetry he has ever regarded as the source of many troubles. It was this unpropitious attachment which, at school, stood in the way of his improvement; this which finally altered his destination in life, and seduced him to exchange an almost monastic seclusion from society, for the hurry and bustle of the world which, hitherto, has but illy repaid him for the sacrifice.

When removed from Fulneck, the views of his friends were so far changed, that we find him placed by them in a retail shop at Mirfield, near Wakefield. Here, though he was treated with great kindness, and had only too little business, and too much leisure to attend to his favourite employment, he became exceedingly disconsolate, and, after remaining in his new situation about one year and a half, he privately absconded, and with less than five shillings in his pocket, and the wide world before him, began his career in

pursuit of fame and fortune. His ignorance of mankind, the result of his retired and religious education the consequent simplicity of his manners, and his forlorn appearance, exposed him to the contempt of some, and to the compassion of others, to whom he applied. The brilliant bubble of patronage, wealth, and celebrity, which floated before his imagination, soon burst, and on the fifth day of his travels he found a situation, similar to the one he had left, at the village of Wath, near Rotherham. A residence in London was the object of his ambition; but wanting the means to carry him thither, he resolved to remain in the country till he could procure them; accordingly he wrote to his friends, amongst the Moravian Brethren, whom he had forsaken, requesting them to recommend him to his new master, conscious they had nothing to allege against him, excepting the imprudent step of separating himself from them; and not being under articles of apprenticeship at Mirfield, he besought them not to compel him to return.-He received from them the most generous propositions of forgiveness, and an establishment more congenial to his wishes. This he declined, frankly explaining the causes of his late melancholy, but concealing the ambitious motives which had secretly prompted him to withdraw from their benevolent protection. Finding him unwilling to yield, they supplied his immediate necessities, and warmly recommended him to the kindness of the master he had chosen.

It was this master, with whom he remained

only twelve months, that many years afterwards, in the most calamitous period of Montgomery's life, sought him out amidst his misfortunes, not for the purpose of offering consolation only, but of serving him substantially by every means in his power. The interview which took place between the old man and his former servant, the evening previous to his trial at Doncaster, will ever live in the remembrance of him who can forget an injury, but not a kindness. No father could have evinced a greater affection for a darling son the tears he shed were honourable to his feelings, and were the best testimony to the conduct and integrity of James Montgomery.

From Wath he removed to London, having prepared his way by sending a volume of his manuscript poems to Mr. Harrison, then a bookseller in Paternoster-row. Mr. Harrison, who was a man of correct taste and liberal disposition, received him into his house, and gave him the greatest encouragement to cultivate his talents, but none to publish his poems; seeing as he observed no probability that the author would acquire either fame or fortune by appearing at that time before the public. The remark was just; but it conveyed the most unexpected and afflicting information to our youthful poet, who yet knew little of the world except from books, and who had permitted his imagination to be dazzled with the accounts which he had read of the splendid success, and munificent patronage, which poets had formerly experienced.

He was so disheartened by this circumstance, that, on occasion of a misunderstanding with Mr. Harrison, he, at the end of eight months, quitted the metropolis, and returned to Wath, where he was received with a hearty welcome by his former employer. While in London, having been advised to turn his attention to prose, as more profitable than verse, he composed an eastern story which he took one evening to a publisher in the east end of the town. Being directed through the shop, to the private room of the great man, he presented his manuscript in form. The prudent bookseller read the title, marked the number of pages, counted the lines in a page, and made a calculation of the whole; then turning to the author, who stood in astonishment at this summary mode of deciding on the merit of a work of imagination, he very civilly returned the copy, saying, "Sir, your manuscript is too smallit won't do for me-take it to he publishes these kind of things." Montgomery retreated with so much confusion from the presence of the bookseller, that in passing through the shop, he dashed his unfortunate head against a patent lamp, broke the glass, spilled the oil, and making an awkward apology to the shopmen, who were tittering behind the counter, to the no small mortification of the poor author, he rushed into the street, equally unable to restrain his vexation or his laughter, and retired to his home, filled with chagrin and disappointment at this ludicrous and untoward

misadventure.