ternational_ an interesting account of the
"marvellous boy" Chatterton, who "perished in his pride," and the
memoirs of Southey recall to us the almost as unfortunate Herbert
Knowles, who died in 1817. Knowles was a poor boy of the humblest
origin, without father or mother, yet with abilities sufficient to
excite the attention of strangers, who subscribed 20_l._ a year towards
his education, upon condition that his friends should furnish 30l. more.
The boy was sent to Richmond School, Yorkshire, preparatory to his
proceeding as a sizer to St. John's, but when he quitted school the
friends were unable to advance another sixpence on his account. To help
himself, Herbert Knowles wrote a poem, sent it to Southey with a history
of his case, and asked permission to dedicate it to the Laureate.
Southey, finding the poem "brimful of power and of promise," made
inquiries of the schoolmaster, and received the highest character of the
youth. He then answered the application of Knowles, entreated him to
avoid present publication, and promised to do something better than
receive his dedication. He subscribed at once 10_l._ per annum towards
the failing 30_l._, and procured similar subscriptions from Mr. Rogers
and the late Lord Spencer. Herbert Knowles, receiving the news of his
good fortune, wrote to his protector a letter remarkable for much more
than the gratitude which pervaded every line. He remembered that Kirke
White had gone to the university countenanced and supported by patrons,
and that to pay back the debt he owed them he wrought day and night
until his delicate frame gave way, and his life became the penalty of
his devotion. Herbert Knowles felt that he could not make the same
desperate efforts, and deemed it his first duty to say so. "I will not
deceive," he writes in his touching anxiety.

"Far be it from me to foster expectations which I feel I cannot gratify.
Two years ago I came to Richmond totally ignorant of classical and
mathematical literature. Out of that time, during three months and two
long vacations I have made but a retrograde course. If I enter into
competition for university honors I shall kill myself. Could I twine,
to gratify my friends, a laurel with the cypress I would not repine; but
to sacrifice the little inward peace which the wreck of passion has left
behind, and relinquish every hope of future excellence and future
usefulness in one wild and unavailing pursuit, were indeed a madman's
act, and