In London only could he hope to prove whether the verse, of which he was accumulating a store, was of a kind that men would care for.

He must discover, and speedily, whether he was to take a modest place in the ranks of literature, or one even more humble in the shop of an apothecary.

After weighing his chances and his risks for many a weary day he took the final resolution, and his son has told us the circumstances:-- "One gloomy day towards the close of the year 1779, he had strolled to a bleak and cheerless part of the cliff above Aldeburgh, called The Marsh Hill, brooding as he went over the humiliating necessities of his condition, and plucking every now and then, I have no doubt, the hundredth specimen of some common weed.

He stopped opposite a shallow, muddy piece of water, as desolate and gloomy as his own mind, called the Leech-pond, and 'it was while I gazed on it,' he said to my brother and me, one happy morning, 'that I determined to go to London and venture all'" About thirty years later, Crabbe contributed to a magazine (_The New Monthly_) some particulars of his early life, and referring to this critical moment added that he had not then heard of "another youthful adventurer," whose fate, had he known of it, might perhaps have deterred him from facing like calamities.

Chatterton had "perished in his pride" nearly ten years before.