Henry’s native sweetness was further impaired by a number of prizes won in magazine competitions.  A silver medal and a pair of twelve-inch globes shortly became his for meritorious contributions to the Monthly Mirror.  He was also admitted a member of a famous literary society then existing in Nottingham, and although the youngest of the sodality he promptly announced that he proposed to deliver them a lecture.  With mingled curiosity and dismay the gathering assembled at the appointed time, and the inspired youth harangued them for two hours on the subject of Genius.  The devil, or his agent in Nottingham, had marked Henry for destruction.

In such a career there can be no doubt as to the next step.  He published a book of poems.  His verses, dealing with such topics as Consumption, Despair, Lullaby of a Female Convict to Her Child the Night Previous to Execution, Lines Spoken by a Lover at the Grave of His Mistress, The Eve of Death, and Sonnet Addressed by a Female Lunatic to a Lady, had been warmly welcomed by the politest magazines of the time.  To wish to publish them in more permanent form was natural; but the unfortunate young man conceived the thought that the venture might even be a profitable one.  He had found himself troubled with deafness, which threatened to annul his industry in the law; moreover, his spirit was canting seriously toward devotional matters, and thoughts of a college career and then the church were lively in his mind.

The winter of 1802-3 was busily passed in preparing his manuscript for the printer.  Probably never before or since, until the Rev. John Franklin Bair of Greensburg, Pennsylvania, set about garnering his collected works into that volume which is the delight of the wicked, has a human heart mulled over indifferent verses with so honest a pleasure and such unabated certainty of immortality.  The first two details to be attended to were the printing of what were modestly termed Proposals—­i.e., advertisements of the projected volume, calling for pledges of subscription—­and, still more important, securing the permission of some prominent person to accept a dedication of the book.  The jolly old days of literary patronage were then in the sere and saffron, but it was still esteemed an aid to the sale of a volume if it might be dedicated to some marquis of Carabas.  Accordingly the manuscript was despatched to London, and Neville, the philistine brother, was called upon to leave it at the residence of the Duchess of Devonshire.  A very humble letter from honest Henry accompanied it, begging leave of her Grace to dedicate his “trifling effusions” to her.

Henry’s letters to Neville while his book was in preparation are very entertaining, as those of minor poets always are under such circumstances.  Henry was convinced that at least 350 copies would be sold in Nottingham.  He writes in exultation that he has already got twenty-three orders even before his “proposals” are ready: