seclusion from the world. From this time, to form a proper estimate of her character we must put away those ideas which accompany our reflections on the virtues of the rich and noble. We are not to weigh some occasional acts of benevolence against a life of habitual dissipation, or indolent luxury; the strict or ostentatious observance of some moral duties against the indulgence of peculiar frailties; religion, with all the trappings of vanity; and charity, with all the incense of applause: but we must consider the unwearied exercise of all these virtues during long tedious years of solitude and sickness.

The weakness and even the hu. manity of our nature, when with. drawn from the cheering intercourse of society, requires some object on which to rest its sufferings; some period of hope, however distant, when its sorrows shall be done away. Lady Bath found this object in religion, this hope in the firm assurance of a future life. "You do well," said she to one who visited her in her last illness, "to come so far to see a sick friend; it is by such actions as these we prepare ourselves for another world, which is all in all."

Her devotion, though ardent, was simple and unobtrusive, and if it partook of the glow of enthusiasm, it had none of the austerity of bi gotry or gloominess of supersition. When she spoke of her religion, it was the overflowing of a grateful heart, cager to communicate to others a share in those blessings it deemed most precious.

For those who differed from her. self in belief or practice, she had only pity; for those who injured ker only forgiveness. In her dis

position, religion had no obstacles to overcome. It consequently im bibed neither pride nor bitterness. The finer feelings of the soul were not blunted, nor the milk of hu. man kindness soured by the con. tinual contest between duty and inclination: nor did offended nature seek to compensate its sacrifices by the self-homage of spiritual pride.

Love and charity towards our fellows is the first approach to the Supreme Being; and it is then only we worship Him, when our hearts expand with benevolence, and are raised to Him as our common Fa ther the great bond of social feeling and affection upon earth. This was truly the principle of that amiable character, we now attempt to describe. She loved her God in heaven, as her fellow croatures on earth; and in such feelings no bitterness could dwell.

To a casual observer, constant habits of seclusion might seem to have tinged her temper with melancholy; but in the few moments she could steal from indisposition, her spirits had an appearance not only of cheerfulness but gaiety, with a flow of conversation enriched with anecdotes in a style of naiveté and elegance not unworthy the bril. liant societies of which she had been a member. Her education, chiefly in France, had given her a taste for polite literature; and there were few works of celebrity in either that language or her own, which she had not only read, but of which she was capable of judging. When we add to this, the most unas. suming simplicity of manners, the most unaffected good-nature, a strength of mind to know and to discern, and a heart to feel, we

shall

shall look round with a sigh, to think, that the choice of death is not biassed by the feelings and wishes of mankind.

She died at Brighton, July 14th, 1808, aged 41; and was buried in Westminster Abbey. A long train of her illustrious connections followed her to the grave; but the real mourners were the poor and unfriended, who felt that they had lost their benefactress.

Character of William Wilkie, D.D. Professor of Natural Philosophy, in the University of St. Andrews; Author of the Epigoniad; a Volume of Fables; and a Dream, in the manner of Spenser.

THOUGH Dr. Wilkie was exceedingly admired by all who knew him, and were capable of estimating his learning and genius as a philosopher, a poet, and a man of wit; his character is, perhaps, less generally known than that of any other man of our times, equally entitled to fame. It must be owned, that there is somewhat of a whimsical appearance in a philosopher's writing a poem, at this time of day, about the sons of the Grecian heroes who fought in the first war against Thebes. In this age of philosophical precision, so destructive of all faith in fable or machinery; there is scarcely any kind of poetry that is tolerable, except the satirical and descriptive, this last including the dramatic. The epic poem, languishing under the pier

cing rays of science, has died a natural death. The last efforts in this way, at all respectable, are, the Leonidas of Glover, the Henriade of Voltaire, and Wilkie's Epigoniad. Still, however, the admirable genius of Wilkie might have been better employed; notwithstanding all that he says in his preface to the Epigoniad, universally allowed to be a piece of masterly criticism. There are few, it is presumed, who can work up their imagination, or be so wrought upon by others, as to feel any interest in the characters or fortunes of the Epigoni. But there is no one who does not admire the variegated harmony of Wilkie's versification, formed, it would appear, on the model of Milton's Paradise

Lost, and of Thomson's Seasons ; the splendour of his descriptions, and the wonderful powers and apparent facility with which he enters into the genius of the times of which he writes, and the very soul of Homer. He was, as will be readily imagined, a most excellent Greek scholar. With the writers of Greece; poets, historians, and philosophers, he was familiarly acquainted, and could not only describe, but even imitate, the dis tinguishing turn or manner of each. His Fables possess both aptness and a beautiful simplicity. As to his Dream, he might be praised for the felicity with which he has imitated Spenser, if an imitation of Spenser had not been, as observed by Mr. Hume, in his History of England, so easy a matter.*

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Dr.

Dr. Wilkie was once urged by a friend, (who thought that the rare admixture of a genius for poetry and philosophy, in him united, qualified him in a singular manner for such an undertaking,) to write a didactic poem. This, however, he declined, saying, that he did not know of any one who had succeeded in that species of composition. His friend mentioned, as an instance of success, Lucretius" Lucretius," said Dr. Wilkie," reminds me of a cobler I once knew, who would now and then take up his fiddle and play himself a tune, but soon throw it aside, and fell a-hammering again on his last."

There were circumstances in Dr. Wilkie's life which had a tendency to nourish, if not originally to implant in his mind, a turn and faculty for poetry. He was not born or bred in a crowded city, nor confined to one occupation or pursuit, nor to one set or circle in society; but in a village, or rather hamlet; bred at a parochial school in the country; and after an university education, and while he was occasionally employed as a preacher of the Gospel, engaged in the business of a farmer and all this in a finely variegated, pleasant, and pic turesque part of the country. One who is born, and bred, and lives chiefly in the country, possesses

many important advantages over the native and constant inhabitant of a town or city. He acquires, without any effort or study, a great deal of knowledge in natural history, and of the manners and ways of men in a state more similar to those of simple and heroic times. Wilkie throughout the whole of his life was placed in situations that gave him opportunities of mingling study, with actual observation on the course of nature, both physical and moral. He was not cramped by the monotony of one employment, or of one class of men. His occupations and acquaintance were finely and fortunately diversified. By this variety his mind was enriched and expanded, as well as invigorated.

The advantages arising from the establishment of parochial schools in Scotland are many and various. And among these, it is none of the least, that in many places a boy may receive a Latin, or what in England is called a classical education, by going to the parish-school in the morning, and returning after school-hours to his father's house. Thus parental affection, and filial respect, unavoidably weakened by the separation required by boarding-schools, or grammar-schools in towns, are nourished and strengthened; modesty is preserved; health is promoted; the face of nature, the vicissitudes of the seasons, the

growth

growth and decay of vegetables, grasses, herbs, plants, and trees, and the habits and economy of animals, reptiles, insects, fishes, birds, and beasts, ever present to the view of a youth of sensibility and genius, solicit his mind to mount up from such various and interesting effects, to causes, and to the grand first Cause from nature to the God of nature: an eternal and all-ruling Mind. His soul is roused, harmonized, and disposed to contemplation, and a pursuit of knowledge. -Such a youth was William Wil. kie; and such the circumstances in which he received the rudiments of his education, and his mind was formed.

Having learned the Latin tongue at the parish-school of Dalmeny in West Lothian, in which parish he was born in 1721; he was, at the age of fourteen, sent to the university of Edinburgh: where, in the usual space of three years, he went through the accustomed course of philosophy; and, in the year thereafter, entered his name in the hall, as a student in divinity. During the recess, or vacation of the philosophy college, which took up from five to six months in the year, and the still longer vacation of the divinity college, he lived, of course, in the family of his father, who was a respectable farmer, and was much employed in superintending agricultural concerns; which at length devolved on him wholly on the death of his father: which happened nearly at the time when Wilkie, having attended for the usual time the divinity-hall, was ordained by the presbytery of Linlithgow a preacher of the Gospel. Preachers of the Gospel, otherwise

called probationers, are not attached to any particular kirk or congregation, nor yet do they admi nister the sacraments. They are employed, occasionally, in preaching, catechising, visiting and exhorting families, and frequently retained by ministers of parishes as their assistants.

Mr. Wilkie had remained for ten years in this situation; in which it was that he composed the Epigoniad, carefully attending at the same time to the business of the farm, on which his mother and sisters, as well as himself, depended for support; when it was his good fortune to be called to perform divine service one Sunday, the kirk being vacant through the death of the minister, at Ratho. In this parish lies Hatton, the seat of the late earl of Lauderdale, who, with his family, was in the habit of attending the church regularly. This noble and truly respectable family, had waited a long time in the gallery appropriated to their use in the church, of which they were the patrons, and still there was no appearance of any clergyman. The earl at last said to the countess, "My dear, I think we had better go home."

But the beadle, who had learned what his lordship was thinking of, came up to him, and said, "O my lord, I see the minister coming. There he is! your lordship may see him from the window." Here it is necessary to observe, that Wilkie was a very great sloven in his dress. His wig sat always awry. His coat was any thing, at that time, but fashionable. He wore large coarse stock. ings instead of boots. He had a stick in his hand instead of a whip.