partly through the failure of his father's resources; and he now found himself thrown upon the world without any visible means of support, his relatives offended, and a dowerless maiden about to become his bride. "I could not enter the Church," he afterwards wrote, "nor had I finances to study physic; I have not the gift of making shoes, nor the happy art of mending them; education has unfitted me for trade, and I must perforce enter the muster-roll of authors." But the alternative pleased him. A secret gratification accompanied his perplexities. Why should he fret, if opposing circumstances pushed him from the ordinary track? They but afforded him a pretext to tread that thorny ascent he was inwardly resolved to attempt. As he paced the streets wearied, desolate, not knowing where to obtain the morrow's meal, he felt little concern on that account; he was busied on better things, shaping high themes of tragic dignity, and giving a language to the craving thoughts that crowded his fertile imagination.
His uncle, Mr. Hill, who held a chaplaincy at Lisbon, to wean him from his imprudent attachment, and to withdraw him from the influence of his theorizing friends, proposed that he should accompany him on his return to Portugal. But the love for his fair Edith was of that equable but ardent nature, which can see no obstacles to its consummation. When it was settled that he should leave England, he fixed a day for his marriage. The ceremony was performed within the fine old pile of Redcliffe Church (Nov. 14th, 1795), and he then immediately prepared for his voyage. "My Edith persuades me to go, and then weeps that I am going;" and sadly his maiden-wife watched his departure, with her wedding-ring hanging round her neck. The affection thus strangely testified, deepened with advancing years, and knew no cold vicissitude till made holy by the touch of death.
