‘My dear Sir,—Without preface or apology, let
me tell my story. Some little time ago I received a letter requesting me to
peruse a manuscript poem, and allow the writer to dedicate it to me, if I
thought it worthy of publication. The writer stated himself to be very young,
and that his reason for publishing was necessity. I received the poem, it was
brimful of genius, with more of Lord Byron
in it than of any other writer; but no more than showed a proper and
discriminating sense of Lord Byron’s powers. It was
crude, exuberant, and ill-planned, had it not been so, I should have thought it
far less hopeful. Enquiring into the circumstances of the author, I find that
his name is Herbert Knowles, that he is
an orphan, taken from a very low situation and placed at an excellent school at
Richmond in Yorkshire by the contributions of some persons who had discovered
his uncommon talents, the Dean of
Canterbury giving ten pounds a year, two other clergymen five
pounds each, his relations had promised among them thirty more, and it was
intended when he was fit for college to place him upon this allowance as a
sizar at St. John’s. These times have pressed heavily upon his relations,
and they could not fulfil their promise; so that his hopes were struck down at
once, and he was advised to go as usher
| 236 | ROGERS AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES |
‘Sure I am, that Poets can best appreciate each other’s merits, and in looking for friends for this unfledged Eagle (indeed I think he is of eagle breed) of whom could I think more properly than you. Among all the Pleasures of Memory there is none so lasting as that of the good which we have done.
‘Believe me, my dear Sir, with the highest esteem, very truly and respectfully yours,
