Democratic Sentinel, Volume 11, Number 33, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 September 1887 — Alas, Poor Poet! [ARTICLE]

Alas, Poor Poet!

James Chambers, the beggar-poet, born in Sobam, Cambridgeshire, in 1748, though by no means an ignorant savage, was absolutely untamed, and his life was more like that of a hare or bird than a civilized human creature, but with this notable exception, that hares and birds are scrupulously clean, whereas he was not so. and endured every vexation that accompanies uncleanliness. He slept in sheds, pigstyes, in the open fields, under hedges and in the shelter of haystacks; barns were his favorite sleeping places, but they were luxuries rarely enjoyed, as farmers were disinclined to let him enter them for the purpose. He was always in rags; and in the portrait which was taken as a frontispiece to his poems he is presented in a tattered soldier’s jacket, breeches too short and unbuckled at the knees, a sort of stocking on one leg and one shoe down at the heel; his hair hangs about in disorder and his countenance has the inquiring look, “What will the kind lady or gentleman do for me?” His elbows stand out awkwardly, and over his right arm hangs a roll of ballads. When a child he was at school for one month; he was never christened, nor did he ever marry; but it is said that “He formerly made some progression toward matrimony by forming an acquaintance with a young woman, who after a number of successful solicitations and hapless endeavors left him a prey to the pangs of pungent disappointment. ” He consoled himself with dogs, keeping a great number of them always about him for companionship, probably on the principle of that German philosopher who said that the older he grew and the more he knew of mankind the more he loved dogs. He had only vague notions of how to behave himself, for although he was gentle and sensitive, and burned with hatred of injustice and cruelty, and really felt grateful for kindnesses rendered, he scarcely ever gave thanks for them, even for a draught of well-beloved home brewed beer. Although so scant in the expression of civility, he was sober and strictly honest, and moreover faithfully performed whatever he had promised to do, while the utmost confidence might be placed in his truthfulness. He must have been constructed of a singularly tough fiber, for his ways of life hardened him to the endurance of a wild animal. After supping on hard, moldy crusts, he would sometimes wake in the morning covered with snow driven through the crevices of the shed wherein he had been sleeping, his limbs so benumbed that he could not feel the cold, and though his constant complaint is of hunger, his health seems not to have suffered from these distresses, for at the age of seventy-two, though his wretchedness is fondly dwelt upon by his biographer, no allusion is made to his bodily health.— Nineteenth Century.

The Prince and the Freemason’s Sign. While at Osborne, Prince Albert, the late husband of the Queen, was in the habit of getting up early and walking about his farm. Passing a farmer’s house, he stopped to make some inquiries, knocked at the door, and asked the servant if his master was in ? The servant replied: “He is in, but not down stairs.” “Oh, very well,” was Prince Albert’s reply, and he was about to leave. “Would you be kind enough to leave your name, sir?” said the servant ; “my master would be angry if I did not tell him who called.” “Very well, ” said his royal highness; “you may say Prince Albert.” Opon which the man drew back, looked up significantly, put his thump to the tip of his nose, extended his fingers, and exclaimed: “ Walker. ’’ — The Highlander. If it were possible to rise above the atmosphere which surrounds the earth we should see nothing but an intense and sharply defined ball of fire, while everything else would be wrapped in total darkness. There could be no difference of light without an atmosphere or some similar medium for it to act upon; but, if the air around us extended to a height of 700 miles, the rays of the sun could not penetrate it, and we should be left in darkness. At the depth of 700 feet in the ocean the light ceases altogether, one-half of the light being absorbed in passing through seven feet of pure water.