At this period, the whole country is stirred to its depths by the political agitation originating in the French Revolution. A fervid spirit like Montgomery's, especially in such a scene as Sheffield, is not likely to escape the contagion. At a vast assemblage of several thousand persons, convened in February, 1794, by the "Friends of Peace and of Reform," a hymn of his is sung in full chorus, three of its stanzas running thus :— "O Thou, whose awful word can bind Make bare thine arm, great King of kings! Burst every dungeon, every chain; Speak-and the world shall smile in peace." Drawn into this vortex of political excitement, not by a mere unbridled passion for change, but by a generous patriotism, which, like charity, beginning at home, goes forth from that centre everywhere in search of objects whom it may love and bless-he is not the man either to be browbeaten by threats, or to be cajoled by tempting bribes. Accordingly, no sooner has his employer been compelled by stress of weather to quit the helm, than our poet starts a new enterprise in the shape of the "Sheffield Iris". a weekly newspaper, to which for years to come the energies of his vigorous mind are to be dedicated. Whatever Montgomery does, he does courageously and well. In those days of political excitement, an earnest spirit like the editor of the "Iris" is not likely to go unscathed. In 1795, he is sentenced to three months' imprisonment for uttering words which in calmer times would have secured him a niche among his country's most leal-hearted and worthiest citizens. Accordingly, whilst "cheerfully resigning himself to suffering," he enters the Castle of York, "not blushing for his intentions." A human verdict may pronounce him "Guilty;" but it cannot make him guilty. "I do feel," he writes from the prison; "but I will not sink. Though all the world should forsake me, this consolation can never fail me, that the great Searcher of hearts, whose eye watches over every atom of the universe, knows every secret intention of my soul; and when, at the bar of eternal justice, this cause shall again be tried, I do indulge the humble hope that His approving voice shall confirm the verdict which I feel His finger has written upon my conscience." A second time-not long after his liberation-he is indicted for libel, and is found guilty; and a second time he is incarcerated at York, his conscience still unburdened. A few weeks before the six months' imprisonment expires, he forwards from his "den" to the "Iris" some verses, in which he writes: "Blest with freedom unconfined, Dungeons cannot hold the soul: And again, thus: 'I know-and 'tis my proudest boast, Ten thousand deaths in every nerve But, notwithstanding these valorous contendings and patient endurances, he does not feel at home in politics; his mission is poetry. "In early life," he remarked, one day, long afterwards, "I sometimes dipped into political controversy; but politics become more and more disagreeable to me; I enter no further into them than my duty, as an editor of a newspaper, compels me to do: frequently do I wish I had nothing to do with them." And on another occasion :-"Surely never was moon-struck lunatic more vexatiously haunted by the foul fiend than I have been through every nook and alley of life by the Muses!" The Manor-Lodge, an ancient building, since removed, was a favorite haunt in his meditative hours; and it was here that many of his earlier poems were conceived or constructed. And his inner life is passing through a discipline, tempering his poetic genius into that calm pensiveness which is to be the characteristic tone of |