MON JAMES MONTGOMERY. and infernal. It was the subject of his day-dreams when he should have been poring over his arithmetic or his Latin night, when he should have been asleep. ONTGOMERY wrote verses at a very early age. Before he had completed his tenth year he had imitated quite a number of those fantastic pieces of dog-grammar, and of his feverish visions by gerel sung by the Moravians, and misnamed hymns. From hymn-writing he soared, in his boyish imagination, to the production of a grand epic. His theme was The World-the scene, away back, myriads of ages before the creation of angels. "I meant," says he, "to begin at the beginning, or rather earlier still; for my plan contemplated a representation of the Almighty, happy and alone in the solitudes of eternity." Then angels were to be created, wars in heaven were to be described-a dreadful battle between Michael and his hosts on the one side, and Lucifer and his legions on the other. In fact, the poem was to be a magnificent epitome of all history, celestial, secular, Pretty well for a boy of fifteen! and not wonderful that the young poet was turned out of the Moravian school, in Yorkshire, on the charge of incorrigible indolence. That expulsion, a grief to his parents, who had intended him for the ministry among the United Brethren, altered the whole current of his life. Employment was found for him as a shop-boy with a baker of bread and biscuits, where his conduct was even less satisfactory than at school; the time which should have been devoted to the interests of the shop being occupied with poetic inventions, versemaking, the composition of original music, and "blowing out his brains with a haut boy." In this situation he did not continue long, nor allow himself the disgrace of being turned off. He ran away. With a fairly written copy of one of his shorter poems in his pocket, he approached one of England's affable noblemen, the Earl Fitzwilliam. With a low bow and a palpitating heart, the young fugitive presented the verses to his lordship, who read them on the spot, and gave the lad a guinea. This was the first-fruits of his muse in the shape of gold. It was a long time before she got any more for him. As an assistant of a general shop-keeper in a country town, Montgomery earned his bread for a year or two longer; and then, to the great joy of his heart, found his way to London, where he was employed by a book-publisher of some celebrity. The duties of this new position were somewhat congenial to his temperament, and the bookseller spoke words of encouragement to the young poet. He was not willing, however-sagacious man!—to run the risk of publishing his poetry. Then our hero prepared a little story-book for children, which did not take; and then he wrote a novel on the model of Tom Jones, which nobody would print. Disheartened and discouraged, but still bent on authorship, we next find him in Sheffield, a clerk in the office of a weekly paper called the Register. In addition to his specific duties Montgomery wrote an occasional article for its columns; and when, after a service of about two years, the Register was discontinued, in company with a partner, who furnished the necessary cash, he bought the presses, type, and other printing material, and commenced, as editor-in-chief, the publication of the world-renowned Sheffield Iris. Now, in his twenty-third year, he had a vehicle of communication with the public. He aimed to make the Iris an intellectual and interesting paper, and he succeeded. He filled its columns with condensed abstracts of the news of the day, with well-written essays, with an occasional original tale, and with poetry. Politics he always hated, and the indispensable editorial task of preparing an occasional political article, in those stormy times, was the most irksome and unpleasant of his duties. On the exciting topics of the day he was exceedingly cautious, not so much from fear of consequences as from inclination. But his prudence was of no avail. The Iris was printed on the same presses from which had issued the Register, and the Register had made itself obnoxious to the government officials by the boldness of its tone, and more especially by the escape of its editor, for whose seizure a warrant had been prepared. In the sapience of the authorities, and in token of their disinterested loyalty, it was deemed essential that vengeance should light somewhere; and if the Register man could not be found, his successor of the Iris could, and alas for our unlucky poetical editor, he was seized, imprisoned, tried, condemned, found guilty, fined twenty pounds, and incarcerated six months. What for? Simply this. poor man, who made a living by hawking ballads, was taken up for having treason in his possession. It was found in his basket. Where did he get it? At the office of the Iris, was the answer. That was enough. The result we have already stated. But the curious reader may want to know the shape, size, color or quality of the treason. Here it is, a stanza found in a ballad printed at Montgomery's office, and which Montgomery, in all probability, never saw until he read it in the indictment to which he was called to plead : «Europe's fate on the contest's decision de pends A "Whatever some persons may say or think of me, no man is a firmer friend either to his king or his country than myself. All private resentment and animosity against those who have hitherto been my enemies and persecutors I have left behind in my prison, and may they never escape thence! If I cannot obtain, I will at least endeavor to deserve the public favor." After his release, scarcely four months elapsed before the bird was caught again, and caged this time for "a false, scandalous, and malicious libel." Harsh terms to be used against so gentle a spirit; and the warrant for them was found, or said to be found, in an account given by the editor of a riot in Sheffield, in which several of his townsmen were wounded and two killed by a company of Volunteers. Here is the libel referred to : "R. A. Athorpe, Esq., Colonel of the Volunteers, who had been previously ordered to hold themselves in readiness, now appeared at their head, and, in a peremptory tone, commanded the people instantly to disperse, which not being instantly complied with, a person who shall be nameless plunged with his horse among the unarmed, defenseless people, and wounded with his sword men, women, and children promiscuously." His sentence this time was a fine of thirty pounds, with sureties for good behavior in future, and imprisonment for six months. The fine was readily paid, and the sureties were found without difficulty; but the imprisonment was hard to bear, and weighed grievously upon his spirits. He solaced himself with the composition of short poems, and sought there the consolations of that religion, a lively faith in which, prompting ever to good works, was thenceforth a distinguishing trait in his character. After this second imprisonment, to the end of a long life of usefulness and honor, his course was smooth and tranquil. Ever ready to assist the unfortunate, and to befriend the friendless; to speak boldly for the oppressed, and by his presence, his poetry, and his substance, to give countenance and aid to every effort for the furtherance of Christianity; no man was more highly honored in his life-time, and few more sincerely lamented in death. It is our purpose, however, to speak of him more especially as a poet, and although in this respect he attained not to the first rank, yet is Montgomery "One of the few, the immortal names His first successful poetic publication was The Wanderer of Switzerland. Edition after edition was called for in quick succession, and the author's share of the profits amounted to eight hundred pounds sterling. The poem, written in the swiftfooted trochaic measure, is remarkable for terseness of expression, and is full of noble sentiments. In 1809 he gave to the world The West Indies, a poem of entirely different structure and character. It was written in commemoration of the abolition of the slave-trade by the British government. The introductory lines give a good specimen of the whole : "Thy chains are broken! Africa, be free!' zone, Where Europe's curse is felt, her name unknown, The World before the Flood, Greenland, and The Pelican Island, appeared at intervals, and tended to increase the reputation of the author. In each of these poems are to be found passages of great beauty, noble thoughts nobly expressed, and rapturous bursts of vivid and daring imagination. As tales, however, they are deficient in incident, and are apt to weary the reader with the slow pace of the narrative, while they cloy him with their sweetness. Montgomery is not equal in dramatic power to many far inferior writers, and his constructive faculty was comparatively small. His minor poems, however, are, many of them, faultless; and upon them, rather than his larger works, his fame will mainly rest. We know not where is to be found anything of the kind more perfect than The Battle of Alexandria, commencing with that melodious stanza : "Harp of Memnon! sweetly strung To the music of the spheres; While the HERO'S dirge is sung, Breathe enchantment to our ears." How vividly does he paint the battlewords, depict its horrors!— scene, and, in a few admirably chosen "Then the mighty pour'd their breath, "T was the vintage of the grave." And the death of the chieftain in the arms of victory : "Charged with ABERCROMBIE's doom, "Felt-and raised his arm on high; And the force of France o'erthrew." In a similar strain is his Ode to the Volunteers of Britain on the Prospect of Invasion: "The lowering battle forms Its terrible array; Like clashing clouds in mountain storms, "The rushing armies meet; And while they pour their breath, The strong earth shudders at their feet, The day grows dim with death." And then the apostrophe to England's departed heroes, how full of poetic fire! "Ghosts of the mighty dead! Your children's hearts inspire; "The dead to life return; Our fathers' spirits rise; My brethren, in YOUR breasts they burn, The poet follows the volunteers to the battle-field and to victory, and then comes the noble stanza : "Spirit of vengeance, rest; Sweet mercy cries, Forbear!' She clasps the vanquish'd to her breast; But the victory is not gained without loss : "Daughters of Albion, weep; On this triumphant plain Your fathers, husbands, brethren sleep, O, gently close the eye That loved to look on you; "With knots of sweetest flowers Their winding-sheet perfume; And wash their wounds with true-love And dress them for the tomb. "For beautiful in death The warrior's corse appears, And bathed in woman's tears." But it is in sacred poetry more especially that our author excels, and these efforts of his muse will be embalmed in the heart of the militant Church, until all of every name who love the Lord Jesus unite in the songs of the Redeemer in the Church triumphant. Not the least attractive feature of the Methodist HymnBook-pronounced, by a competent critic of another denomination, the best compilation in the language-is its large selection from the lyrics of the Sheffield Bard. Charles Wesley, as was proper, holds the first place, more than one half of the hymns in the book being from his pen. Watts is next in rank as to the number of his contributions; and Montgomery follows him, being credited with more than fifty of the hymns in the volume. One of the best of his productions is a part of his version of the seventy-second psalm. It is Hymn 126 in the Methodist collection, beginning with the line, "Hail to the Lord's Anointed." Owing to its length the compilers omitted several stanzas, some of which are fully equal to those retained. As, for instance, the following, from the middle of the Psalm : "Arabia's desert ranger To Him shall bow the knee; The Ethiopian stranger His glory come to see. With offerings of devotion Ships from the isles shall meet, To pour the wealth of ocean In homage at his feet." And yet another stanza, even more beautiful, and in the very strain of King David: "The mountain dew shall nourish Whose fruit shall spread and flourish, And shake like Lebanon. O'er every foe victorious He on his throne shall rest, Montgomery is remarkable for the vigor of his thoughts and the terseness of his expressions, more especially at the close of his compositions. If he is ever feeble, it is in the middle. He almost always ends well, as in that expressive hymn on the descent of the Holy Spirit, which has already become a favorite in many congregations. The whole hymn is perfect, but mark the closing stanza : "Spirit of truth, be thou In the Christian Psalmist, published by himself, the adverb is in italics, as here printed. So too in that most appropriate sacramental hymn, (No. 268,) each stanza ending with the line "I will remember thee," when he comes to the close, he varies it thus :— Perhaps the best specimen of his sacred poetry, and, as a hymn, unsurpassed if equaled by any in the language, is entitled the Song of Jubilee. It is No. 1,004 in the Methodist Collection. It is a specimen of the lively trochaic measure, which Watts seldom attempted, and in which most of the best hymns of Wesley are written. The poetical versions of a part of the twenty-third Psalm are very numerous. There are four of them in the Methodist Hymn Book, each by a different author, and each distinguished for peculiar beauties. The first is the well-known para phrase of Addison, in the stately iambic measure. It is No. 848, beginning, "The Lord my pasture shall prepare." The transposition of the third and fourth stanzas, as found in the Methodist Collection, was suggested by the late Bishop Hedding. It is a manifest improvement. Charles Wesley's version, which is less literal than either of the others, and seems indeed indebted to the sweet singer of Israel only for the key-note, is in the anapæstic measure. It is No. 916, beginning, "Thou Shepherd of Israel and mine." The middle stanza, in which the poet takes one of his loftiest flights, is omitted by our compilers, on the ground, perhaps, of the startling boldness of the sentiments, as indicated in the lines here italicized:— "O show me that happiest place, The place of thy people's abode, And hang on a crucified God. "Thy love for a sinner declare, Thy passion and death on the tree; To suffer and triumph with thee." It is The third version of the Psalm under consideration (No. 915) was first, published in the Wesleyan Magazine for the year 1804. It is from the pen of T. Roberts. The metre is peculiar. a faithful paraphrase, and a good hymn. Montgomery's version is No. 849; and, all things considered, we are inclined to give it the first place. In the third stanza our compilers have, by a simple transposition of two words, improved the rhythm of the original : "In the midst of affliction my table is spread; With blessings unmeasured my cup runneth o'er; With oil and perfume thou anointest my head: O what shall I ask of thy providence more?" In the original the third line reads "With perfume and oil," &c. The following beautiful verses were written by Montgomery when imprisoned in the castle of York. They were occasioned by the death of one of his fellowprisoners, Joseph Browne, a Quaker, who, with seven others of his religious community, had suffered the loss of all his worldly goods for conscience' sake. By comparing them with hymn 1,101 in the Methodist Collection, the reader will see |