the opportunity of correcting these mistakes by | ". was buried" for "we buried;" and in a publishing an authentic copy of the poem. Dr. copy now before us of "Lough Bray," "thy Anster stated the fitness of this being done by the mild and random majesty" is printed for academy, not only from its being the natural and proper guardian of every thing relating to the lit-"thy wild," &c., and "the mountain's dusky erature of Ireland, which alone would seem to him locks" are altered into "dusty locks." But a sufficient reason, but even yet more, from the circumstance that the academy's proceedings must command a circulation over the continent, which it would be in vain to expect from any private publication. The poem has been often translated, and the strange blunders which have often got into our copies are faithfully preserved in the translations. In a German translation of the ode, three stanzas of a poem, consisting of but eight, are spoiled by the translator's manifestly having read an imperfect copy of the original. In one it is quite plain that the stanza, which closes with the lines

And we heard the distant and random gun,
That the foe was sullenly firing,'

and in which the word 'suddenly' is often substi-
tuted for sullenly' was printed falsely in the copy
before the German translator. In the second stan-
za, The struggling moonbeam's misty light,' is
lost, probably from some similar reason.
The gen-
eral effect of Wolfe's poem is exceedingly well
preserved in the translation, but there are several
mistakes in detail, most of which, perhaps all, arise
from the translator's having used an incorrect copy
of the original. The translation is printed in the
octavo edition of Hayward's Faust,' p. 304."

the printer's are not the only mistakes to be guarded against. The caprices of vanity are quite inexplicable. In a York paper, a few years ago, Mr. Shelton Mackenzie met a copy of Wolfe's poem, with the title, "The Burial of Sir John Moore, by the Rev. Charles Wolfe," with two additional stanzas, in no way whatever distinguished by any printer's mark, or any note or com ment from the rest, but appearing as part of the poem. We print them:

"And there let him rest, tho' the foe should raise,
In zeal for the fame they covet,

A tomb or a trophy to swell the praise
Of him who has soar'd above it.

"By Englishmen's feet when the turf is trod,
On the breast of their hero pressing,
Let them offer a prayer to England's God-
To him who was England's blessing."

Mr.

He

The date of Wolfe's letter to Mr. Taylor in all probability gives us the year at least in which the ode was composed. O'Sullivan and the Bishop of Meath assign an earlier date to it, but Mr. O'Sullivan's Dr. Anster's suggestion was adopted. recollection does not fix the year with acWolfe's autograph letter has been litho- curacy, though the evening walk during graphed and published by the Academy. which two stanzas of the poem were comWith anxiety to have this interesting doc- posed, makes it probable spring or early ument preserved, Dr. Luby generously pre- summer was the time. The Bishop of sented the letter in his possession, on which Meath's recollection is more precise as to he naturally placed a high value, to the the year, and would decidedly fix it as Academy, who have undertaken the custody written in an earlier year than 1816. of it. We are not sure whether the follow-remembers having read the poem to Hering incident may not be worth mentioning, cules Graves in rooms which he had ceased which would be alone, were the authorship to occupy before 1816. So many of Wolfe's of the poem a question of doubt, sufficient to fix it. Mr. Downes, a friend of Wolfe's, favorably known to the public by his published works, before this copy of the poem was examined, expressed considerable curiosity to see it; mentioning a conversation in which Wolfe expressed a doubt whether in the seventh stanza he should have "the clock struck the hour for retiring," or "the clock struck the 'note' for retiring." Every copy previously known gives it "the clock struck the hour for retiring." This accidentally confirms Mr. Downes's recollection, as the word in this copy is "note."

The fitness of having the autograph preserved for the reasons given by Dr. Anster, which might at first appear too strongly stated by him, is amusingly proved by the misprints in the best editions of the Remains. The printed sheets of the eighth edition contain this error in the first stanza,

compositions were handed about in manuscript among his friends, that we cannot but think it more probable that twenty-six years after the incident, a friend recollecting an incident of the kind should mistake one poem for another, than that Wolfe, writing a year or more after the poem was composed, should use the language which we have quoted from his letter to Mr. Taylor.

In November of the next year-1817Wolfe took orders. His first curacy was at Ballyclog, in Tyrone. A letter to one of his friends describes the position in which he found himself. It is dated in December. He describes himself sitting opposite a turffire, "with my Bible beside me, in the only furnished room of the glebe-house-surrounded by mountains, frost, and snow, and by a set of people with whom I am wholly unacquainted, except e disbanded artillery: man, his wife, and , who

me-the churchwarden, and clerk of the
parish." In another letter he describes him-
self as
"surrounded by grandees, who
count their income by thousands, and cler-
gymen innumerable; however I have kept
out of their reach: I have preferred my
turf-fire, my books, and the memory of the
friends I have left, to all the society that
Tyrone can afford-with one bright excep
tion. At M-'s [Meredith's-we feel it
a duty to supply the name] I am indeed
every way at home. I am at home in
friendship and hospitality, in science and
literature, in our common friends and ac-
quaintances, and in topics of religion."
This last letter from which we have quoted
was written from Castle Caulfield, the prin-
cipal village of Donoughmore, the parish
of which (after a few weeks' service at
Ballyclog) he became the curate. After a
short visit to Dublin we have a few letters
from his parish, one of which we must tran-

scribe:

"Castle Caulfield, January 28th, 1818. "A man often derives a wonderful advantage from a cold and fatiguing journey after taking leave of his friends; viz. he understands the comfort of lolling quietly and alone by his fireside, after his arrival at his destination a pleasure, which would have been totally lost, if he had been transported there without difficulty and at once, from the region of friendship and society. Every situation borrows much of its character from that by which it was immediately preceded. This would have been all melancholy and solitude, if it had im: mediately succeeded the glow of affectionate and literary conviviality; but, when it follows the rumbling of a coach, the rattling of a post-chaise, the shivering of a wintry-night's journey, and the conversation of people to whom you are almost totally indifferent, it then becomes comfort and repose. So I found at my arrival at my own cottage on Saturday: my fireside, from contrast, became a kind of lesser friend, or at least, a consolation for the loss of friends.

Nothing could be more fortunate than the ate of things during my absence: there was no duty to be performed; and of this I am the more sensible, as I had scarcely arrived before I met a great supply of business, such as I should have been very much concerned if it had occurred in my absence. I have already seen enough of service to be again fully naturalized. I am again the weather-beaten curate: I have trudged roads, forded bogs, braved snow and rain, become umpire between the living, have counselled the sick, administered to the dying, and to-morrow shall bury

family, (with the exception of a cow which was driven alongside of the wagon,) and its contents were two large trunks, a bed and its appendages; to make a very commanding appearance, sat a and on the top of these, which were piled up so as woman (my future housekeeper) and her three children, and by their side stood a calf of three weeks old-which has lately become au inmate in my family."

"Castle Caulfield, Oct. 20th, 1818.

* "I have no disasters now to di

versify my life-not having many of those enjoyments which render men obnoxious to them, except when my foot sinks up to the ankle in a bog, as I am looking for a stray sheep. My life is now nearly made up of visits to my parishioners-both is so large that I have yet to form an acquaintance sick and in health. Notwithstanding, the parish with a very formidable number of them. The parish and I have become very good friends: the congregation has increased, and the Presbyterians sometimes pay me a visit. There is a great number of Methodists in the part of the parish surrounding the village, who are many of them very worthy people, and among the most regular attendants upon the church. With many of my flock I live upon affectionate terms. There is a fair proportion ance of profligates. None of them rise so high as of religious men amongst them, with a due allowthe class of gentlemen, but there is a good number of a very respectable description. I am particularly attentive to the school: there, in fact, I think most good can be done, and besides the obvious advantages, it is a means of conciliating all sects of Christians, by taking an interest in the welfare of their children.

tended by the Roman Catholics and Presbyterians. "Our Sunday-school is very large, and is atThe day is never a Sabbath to me; however, it is the kind of labor that is best repaid; for you always find that some progress is made-some fruit soon produced; whereas, your labors with the old and the adult often fail of producing any effect, and, at the best, it is in general latent and gradual. Yours, &c.

66

C. W."

"Castle Caulfield, May 4th, 1819,

"I am just come from the house of mourning! Last night I helped to lay poor Min his coffin, and followed him this morning to his grave. The visitation was truly awful. Last Tuesday (this day week) he was struck to the ground by a fit of apoplexy, and from that moment until the hour of his death, on Sunday evening, he never articulated. I did not hear of his danger until Sunday evening, and yesterday morning I ran ten miles, like a madman, and was only in time to see his dead body. It will be a cruel and bitter thought to me for many a day, that I had not one farewell from him while he was on the brink of this world. one of my heart-strings is broken. The only way I have of describing my attachment to that man is by telling you that next to you and D-, he was the person in whose society I took the greatest delight. A visit to Ardtrea was often in prospect to sustain me in many of my cheerless labors. My gems are falling away; but, I do hope and trust, it is because God is making up his "One wagon contained my whole fortune and jewels.' Dr. M- was a man of a truly Chris

the dead. Here have I written three sides without coming to the matter in hand. *

"Yours affectionately,

*

*

C. W." In another his migration from Ballyclog to his cottage at Castle Caulfield is desscribed:

Oh!

tian temper of mind. We used naturally to fall which he mainly agreed with them, and, above all, upon religions subjects; and I now revert with by a patience of contradiction, yet without a surpeculiar gratification to the cordiality with which render or compromise of opinion, on the points we took sweet counsel together" upon those upon which they differed. It is a curious fact that topics. You know that he was possessed of the some of the Methodists on a few occasions sought first and most distinguished characteristic of a to put his Christian character to the test, by purChristian disposition-humility. He preached posely using harsh and humiliating expressions tothe Sunday before, for —, and the sermon was wards him in their conversations upon the nature unusually solemn and impressive, and in the true of religion. This strange mode of inquisition he spirit of the Gospel. Indeed, from several circum- was enabled to bear wth the meekness of a child; stances, he seems to have had some strange pre- and some of them afterwards assured him that they sentiments of what was to happen. His air and considered the temper with which such a trial is look some time before his dissolution had, as endured as a leading criterion of true conversion, told me, an expression of the most awful and pro-and were happy to find in him so unequivocal proof found devotion. * Yours, &c. C, W." of a regenerate spirit.

gratitude so characteristic of the Irish peasantry. | now in full possession of the whole concern, enMany fell upon their knees invoking blessings tertaining him merely as a lodger, and usurping upon him; and long after they were out of hear- the entire disposal of his small plot of ground, as ing, they remained in the same attitude, showing the absolute fords of the soil." ́

He was induced for a while to leave his

by their gestures that they were still offering up prayers for him; and some even followed the carriage a long distance making the most anx-curacy in the hands of another, and went ious inquiries about his health. He was sensibly to Dublin and the neighborhood for medmoved by this manifestation of feeling, and met ical advice and change of air and scene. it with all that heartiness of expression and that There were alternations of health and debiaffectionate simplicity of manner, which made lity; he was even able occasionally to preach him as much an object of love, as his exalted virtues rendered him an object of respect. The in Dublin, but the disease continued to make intimate knowledge he seemed to have acquired its sure and insidious progress. Towards the of all their domestic histories, appeared from the approach of winter (1820) he was advised short but significant inquiries he made of each to go to the south of France. He sailed for individual as he was hurried along; while at the Bordeaux, but was twice beaten back by same time he gave a rapid sketch of the particu- violent gales, and then abandoned the plan; lar characters of several who presented them- and settled near Exeter during the winter selves-pointing to one with a sigh, and to ano-and ensuing spring. The summer months ther with looks of fond congratulation. It was indeed impossible to behold a scene like this, of 1822 he passed in Dublin and the vicinity. which can scarcely be described, without the In August he sailed to Bordeaux and back, deepest, but most pleasing emotions. It seemed to realize the often-imagined picture of a primitive minister of the Gospel of Christ, living in the hearts of his flock-'willing to spend and to be spent upon them—and enjoying the happy in terchange of mutual affection. It clearly showed the kind of intercourse that habitually existed between him and his parishioners, and afforded a pleasing proof that a faithful and firm discharge of duty, when accompanied by kindly sympathies and gracious manners, can scarcely fail to gain the hearts of the humbler ranks of the people.

"It can scarcely be a matter of surprise that he should feel much reluctance in leaving a station where his ministry appeared to be so useful and acceptable; and accordingly, though peremptorily required by the physician he had just consulted, to retire for some time from all clerical duties, it was with difficulty he could be dislodged from his post and forced away to Dublin,

where most of his friends resided.

"It was hoped that timely relaxation from duty and a change in his mode of living to what he had been originally accustomed, and suitable to the present delicate state of his health, might avert the fatal disease with which he was threat

ened. The habits of his life while he resided on his cure, were in every respect calculated to confirm his constitutional tendency to consumption. He seldom thought of providing a regular meal, and his humble cottage exhibited every appearance of the neglect of the ordinary comforts of life. A few straggling rush-bottomed chairs, piled up with his books-a small rickety table before the fire-place, covered with parish memoranda-and two trunks containing all his papers, serving at the same time to cover the broken parts of the floor, constituted all the furniture of his sitting-room. The mouldy walls of the closet in which he slept were hanging with loose folds of damp paper; and between this wretched cell and his parlor was the kitchen, which was occupied by the disbanded soldier, his wife, and their Bumerous brood of children, who had migrated with him from his first quarters, and seemed

as some benefit was anticipated from the
voyage. In November he removed to the
Cove of Cork-a town sheltered by the sur-
rounding mountains from the winds. Mr.
Russell and a female relative of Wolfe's ac-
For a while he seemed to
companied him.
revive, then sank again. He died on the
morning of the 21st of February, 1823, in
the thirty-second year of his age. On the
day before his death the physician who
attended him, astonished at the solemn
fervor with which he spoke, exclaimed,
when he left the room of his dying patient,
"There is something superhuman about
that man. It is astonishing to see such a
mind in a body so wasted-such mental
vigor in a poor frame dropping into the
grave!"

The plan of our work renders it, if not impossible, yet inconvenient that we should give any extracts from his sermons, or enter into any detailed examination of his theological opinions. This is done by Archdeacon Russell, and we have quoted sufficient from his book to render it unnecessary for us to express our opinion of the good sense and good feeling with which his task has been performed, with more distinctness. To those who have time and opportunity to study the character of Wolfe more in detail than we can give it, there is much interesting matter, communicated chiefly we believe by the late Mr. Taylor, to be fouud in the tenth volume of THE ANNUAL BIOGRAPHY AND OBITUARY; and his character and progress are sketched with great beauty in a volume to which we have before alluded, entitled, COLLEGE RECOL❘LECTIONS.

A.