CHAUNCEY HARE TOWNSEND, poet, was born in London on April 20, 1798, only son of Henry Tare Townsend, a man of considerable property in Tottenham, Godalming and Norfolk, by his wife, Charlotte, daughter of Sir James Winter Lake of Edmonton. He was educated at Eton and Trinity hall where he won the Chancellor's medal for poetry in 1817, and graduated with an MA. Took holy orders but was early disabled by illness from following this profession, and spent most of the following years at his villa Monloisir, Lausanne, where Charles Dickens and Angela Burdett-Coutts visited him in 1856. He published several books of poetry and wrote books on other subjects, notably, mesmerism, which he studied and practised and was one of its earliest exponents.

He married Elisa Frances, daughter of Sir Amos Godsill Robert Norcott, but left no issue. On his death at his residence in Park Lane, London, on February 25, 1868, he bequeathed his paintings and his jewellery collection to the South Kensington Museum (now the Victoria and Albert), and his books and curiosities to the museum at Wisbech. He left a trust fund for the furtherance of elementary education in London. Most of his money came from his grandfather, James Townsend, Lord Mayor of London in 1772, and from his wifes marriage settlement. He adopted the name of Townshend (with an 'h') because he considered himself to be a descendant of the Tounshends of Rainham in Norfolk.

GLIMPSES OF JOHN CLARE AT HOME.

During the summer of 1821, Clare gave up his agricultural labours almost entirely. The greater part of the time he spent in roaming through woods and fields, planning new poems, and correcting those already made. Visits to Stamford, also, were frequent and of some duration, and he not unfrequently stayed three or four days together at the house of Mr. Gilchrist, or of Mr. Drury. The stream of visitors to Helpston had ceased, to a great extent, and the few that dropped in now and then were mostly of the better class, or at least not belonging to the vulgar-curious element. Among the number was Mr. Chauncey Hare Townsend, a dandyfied poet of some note, particularly gifted in madrigals and pastorals. He came all the way from London to see Clare, and having taken a guide from Stamford to Helpston, was utterly amazed, on his arrival, to find that the cottage, beautifully depicted in the 'Village Minstrel,' was not visible anywhere. His romantic scheme had been to seek Clare in his home, which he thought easy with the picture in his pocket; and having stepped over the flower-clad porch, to rush inside, with tenderly-dignified air, and drop into the arms of the brother poet. However, the scheme threatened to be frustrated, for though the village could easily be surveyed at a glance, such a cottage as that delineated in the 'Minstrel,' with more regard to the ideal than the real, was nowhere to be seen. In his perplexity, Mr. Chauncey Hare Townsend inquired of a passer-by the way to Clare's house. The individual whom he addressed was a short, thick-set man, and, as Mr. Hare Townsend thought, decidedly ferocious-looking; he was bespattered with mud all over, and a thick knotted stick, which he carried in his hands, gave him something of the air of a highwayman. To the intense surprise of Mr. Chauncey Hare Townsend, this very vulgar person, when addressed, declared that he himself was John Clare, and offered to show the way to his house. Of course, the gentleman from London was too shrewd to be taken in by such a palpable device for being robbed; so declining the offer with thanks, and recovering from his fright by inhaling the perfume of his pocket handkerchief, he retreated on his path, seeking refuge in the 'Blue Bell' public house. The landlord's little girl was ready to show the way to Clare's cottage, and did so, leaving the stranger at the door. Mr. Townsend, now fairly prepared to fall into the arms of the brother poet, though not liking the look of his residence, cautiously opened the door; but started back immediately on beholding the highwayman in the middle of the room, sipping a basin of broth. There seemed a horrible conspiracy for the destruction of a literary gentleman from London in this Northamptonshire village. Mrs. Clare, fortunately, intervened at the nick of time to keep Mr. Townsend from fainting. Patty, always neatly dressed--save and except on washing days,--approached the visitor; and her gentle looks re-assured Mr. Chauncey Hare Townsend. He wiped his hot brow with his scented handkerchief, and, not without emotion, introduced himself to the owner of the house and the neat little wife. The conversation which followed was short, and somewhat unsatisfactory on both sides, and the London poet, in the course of a short half an hour, quitted the Helpston minstrel, leaving a sonnet, wrapped in a one-pound note, behind him. Clare frowned when discovering the nature of the envelope; but he liked the sonnet, and for the sake of it, and on Patty's petition, consented not to send it back to the giver.