first. The vain confidence which he placed in his good stars on this
occasion shall be told in his own words, which are as follows:

While he was deeply engaged in his biographical compositions he used to
say, 'I have not leisure to wander from my hermitage, and look into the
world in quest of a wife; but I feel a strong persuasion that if it is
really good for me to venture once more on marriage,

that step
Of deepest hazard and of highest hope,

my kind stars will conduct to my cell some compassionate fair one, fond
of books and retirement, who may be willing to enliven, with the songs
of tenderness, the solitude of a poetical hermit.'

Such was the frame of mind in the recluse when an incident occurred,
that gradually seemed to accomplish a completion of his prophecy. This
incident was a visit from an old ecclesiastical acquaintance, attended
by two young ladies, Mary and Harriet Welford, daughters of an aged and
retired merchant on Blackheath.

The countenance and musical talents of the elder sister made a strong
impression on the sequestered poet. Their accidental visit gradually led
to his second marriage, on the 23d of March 1809, an event attended with
much general exultation and delight, though evidently, like the usual
steps of poets in the world, rather a step of hasty affection than of
deliberate prudence.

In three years they were separated; I know not for what reasons. On
shewing me some gaps in his library, he said that they had been made by