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broad, his hair dark and thick, his eye-brows black and bushy, his com plexion tinged with a yellow hue. In his youth he was celebrated for his agility; but of late years he had be come obese and unwieldy, while his lower extremities sometime past began to exhibit the diagnostics of that disease which proved fatal to him, at six oclock on the afternoon of Satur day the 13th of September; 1806, without pain, and almost without a struggle, in the fifty-ninth year of his age. Ars

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He expired at the house of his. friend the Duke of Devonshire, in the arms of his nephew, Lord Hol land, at Cheswick House, hitherto celebrated as one of the masterpieces of Palladio's art; but which will henceforth be viewed with a new degree of interest by Englishmen, as, thee. spot within the sanctuary of which a Fox uttered his läst sigh,

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His facer and figure will be long recollected for there was something uncommon in both. His bust has been repeatedly carved by the chissel of Nollekens; the last labours of Sir Joshua were bestowed on his, por trait while Jones is supposed to have excelled in a mezzotintolikeness, and Smith and Opie in whole lengths: these are the more transitory em blems of the person; for to whom is it given to depict the animated flashes of his eye in the course of an argument, or the menacing action of his hand during debate, to describe the wisdom of his head, the kindness

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And to the menac'd world a sea-mark stood!

Oh! had his voice in Mercy's cause prevail'd,

of his heart, or the eloquence of What grateful millions had the States

tongue?

No man has ever been more ready. to bestow praise on others; and in return he himself has been gratified with the eulogiums of almost everý distinguished person of the present age. The great Lexicographer, al though pensioned by the Ring, and unfriendly to his principles, avowed his attachment to his person, and his admiration of his genius. His schoolOct. 1806.

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Reflections on a Stand of HACKNEY dragged along, what reflections must

COACHES.

By SIR JOHN SINCLAIR.

THERE is no situation which furnishes more ample room for reflection, than where a stand of hackney coaches, and all the incidents connected therewith, can for some time be contemplated. A volume might be written upon the subject. I shall confine myself to a few particulars, which must strike even the most careless observer.

When a stand is full, what a variety of characters appear among the coachmen! You will see one sleeping on his box, another drinking with the waterman, a third feeding his horses, a fourth cleaning his car. riage, and a fifth watching with anxiety and eagerness to catch the approaching passengers. The person who is foremost on the stand is in general first employed, but how often is it that the most active attracts the carliest notice, and is preferred to his more careless neighbours. Is it not the same in other situations; and can there be a better rule to go by, for obtaining success in other professions, besides that of a hackney coachman, than to adopt activity for your maxim?

The regular order in which the generation of coaches, (if I may be allowed that expression,) arrive at, and depart from, their respective places, is an exact emblem of the progress of human life. One is cal led off the moment it arrives, another remains an hour unnoticed one gets a good job, another goes but a short distance, and is paid but a trifle: one is fortunate to-day, another tomorrow. The whole is a lottery, like that of human life, where the fate of each is diversified according to a thousand accidents.

If from these topics, the attention is directed to the unfortunate beings by whom these carriages are heavily

not occur! You will observe the noblest of our domestic animals, redu

ced. probably from a state of case, of comfort, and of luxury, to the most miserable of all situations; kept almost perpetually in harness; exposed, unsheltered, to all the vicissitudes of the seasons; living on scanty fare; forced by stripes to exert himself beyond his strength; and at last perishing, at a premature age, unknown and unpitied. Alas! how similar, at the same time, to the lot of a majority of the human species.

If from them our attention should be directed to the coach itself, what a source of contemplation! What art has not been employed in the construction; what ingenuity in adjusting the different parts, and combining them together;-what taste was displayed in its original formation, in the elegant paintings with which it was adorned, in the emblazoning of the almost-faded arms, in the decoration of the proud supporters! How taudry and unfashionable does it now appear! and, after all, what is human life, but a coach! At first, it is strong and powerful, and capable of surmounting, without difficulty, the roughest roads, or any other obstacle it has to encounter. In the gay period of its youth, it is splendidly ornamented, and attracts the admiration of all beholders. It gradually falls off, old age creeps on; first one wheel gives way, then another; its springs are broken down, the machine itself rapidly decays, it becomes an object of neglect, and is thrown. aside to perish.

If from the coaches, we turn our eyes to the passengers who hire them from time to time, what a variety of reflections must not strike the mind. The same carriage conveys sometimes the wrangling pleader, at other times the thoughtful citizen; sometimes the gay Adonis to the midnight ball,

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at other times the devout methodist to church: sometimes it is filled with the old, sometimes with the young; sometimes with the sick, sometimes with the healthy; sometimes with the voracious epicure, hastening to a luxurious banquet, at other times with a miserable corpse, for whom a grave is already prepared, to receive its lifeless tenant.

In short, if any man wishes to be a true philosopher, let him resolve, to contemplate a Stand of Coaches.

Vindication of DR BEATTIE from an Attack in the LITERARY JOURNAL. To the Editor.

SIR, I Am a constant and attentive reader

of the Review published in London, known by the name of The Li terary Journal." The conducters of it appear to possess as much learning and talent as any other class of literary journalists in Britain, and they seem to be animated by a spirit of liberality, which is not the less conspicuous in them, that it is a virtue by no means common among their brethren. Their principles, as far as I can pretend to judge, are correct in the leading characteristics of opinion their politics are those of independent men, of intelligent friends to liberty; their religion is rational: and the morality which they inculcate and support, is of that kind which must have the approbation of every pure heart, and every enlightened understanding. I mention thus particularly my opinion of the general character of that collection of criticism, and its authors, because I am about to lay before your readers an instance of gross misconduct in the exercise of their censorial functions, and because I wish it to be understood that I do not adduce that case as an example of the ordinary way in which "the Literary Journal" is con.

ducted. I regard the case to which I allude as an aberration from the path of impartial criticism which the conductors of that Journal are wont to tread; but it is an aberration from whence they must be recalled, and for which they deserve a chastisement fully as severe as they have ever them. selves inflicted upon any literary delinquent.

In the Number for July, there is a criticism on the work lately presented to the world by Sir William Forbes, "An account of the life and writings of Dr James Beattie." Towards the conclusion of the paper, the following passages occur:

"The letters in the present collection, which we think the most exceptionable, both in matter and manner,

are those, or at least a considerable part of those to the Duchess of Gordon. From some notion of gallantry, or from having been in an extraordinary degree flattered by the attentions of that distinguished lady, there is an overstraining in his letters to her which is any thing but graceful. After enjoying the company of her Grace during a long visit at Gordon Castle, we could have heartily sympathised with the Professor teling her, in his first letter, that he had felt much regret in parting from such company, and such a place; but who can bear to hear Dr Beattie saying, that he had wept copiously on such an occasion," &c.

"Those who are acquainted with the character of the Duchess, or even who have witnessed her career during a pretty long life will smile at the Doctor's fears expressed in the following letter, [a letter is after. wards quoted,] that she was becom ing too grave and serious, and at his solemn advices to her, not to indulge in melancholy and religious books."

"We have no doubt that the light-hearted Duchess would have a very hearty laugh with her compa

nions on the receipt of this sagacious epistle. We the more regret a few of these things, that they tend to confirm an impression which is very general among the people about Aberdeen, and which we have heard frequently expressed, that the Doctor danced, or rather dangled attendance upon the Duchess during the few years that she thought it worth her while to attend to him, in a manner not very consistent with the dignity of philosophy, and not very impres

sive on the esteem of the fair and il

lustrious lady herself; as appeared by the levity with which she treated him, and the amusement she often derived at his expence *."

When these sentences met my eye, I felt an emotion such as arises in the

mind on hearing an imputation of unworthiness attached to a much-valued friend. I regarded Dr Beattie as a genuine poet-not the mere manufacturer of lines and stanzas, not the mechanical fabricator of verses, and a mercenary dealer in figures of speech-but as a man whose poetry reflected the powers and the virtues of his mind; whose soul was impressed with the liveliest images of moral excellence, and whose spirit was an emanation of "beauty immortal." I was therefore unwilling to believe a statement which degraded the author of "The Minstrel" into a sneaking parasite, a contemptible beggar of smiles from one who despised and derided him. Under this feeling. (which many others must have experienced in common with me) I enquired of a gentleman who had long been honour. ed with the most endearing friendship of Dr Beattie, and to whom I had the pleasure of being known, whether there was any truth in the remarks made by the reviewer? His answer I terday received, and I received it with the more satisfaction, that it was ac

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On looking into the Literary Journal for July 1806, I was pleased

to observe the first article to be a
criticism on Sir William Forbes's ac-

count of the Life and Writings of
Dr Beattie; and from the candour
apparent at the beginning, I hoped
to find those sentiments of gratifica-
tion and instruction confirmed which
every person I had conversed with
expressed on reading that book.
Some fault indeed is found with the
author for not furnishing more mi-
on Dr Beattie's
nute information
life. But it is often a
education, and the early part of his
very difficult
thing indeed to find such minute in-
formation, especially such as is both ac-
curate and instructive. The genius
that is to appear afterwards is not
always indicated by outward appear-
ances in early life; and frequently
the man who has made no literary fi
pro-
gure afterwards, has given as fair
mises as he who has shone most

brightly at a future period. A great deal depends on accidental circumstances. A young man of fine mental powers may by chance be placed in a counting-house, or in the army, where his employment shall lead him away while another, of no superior, perfrom speculation to constant action': haps of inferior powers, shall, by his company, or by his position in life, be stimulated to mental exertion, and by industry arrive at a high literary station. Often also the changes going on in the mind of a student can 'be known only to himself: perhaps in his anxiety to advance he does not mark

mark those changes, or more proba- such a person, therefore, honoured bly still does not record them. But Dr Beattie with her approbation and it is known that Sir William For- favour, is it to be wondered at that bes had written many particulars of a man of his just taste and grateful the life of Dr Beattie which do not turn of mind should express himself now appear; being omitted by the with warmth in writing to her? advice of eminent friends, for the sake of brevity, and to secure a perusal to things still more useful.

"

In this censure, however, though there was diversity of opinion, there was DO want of candour on the part of the reviewer: but, on the contrary, both Dr Beattie and his biographer meet with much just commendation. But how much was I surprised to find at the end of the paper a total dereliction of all can dour, by insinuations of such meanness as would have rendered Dr Beattie unworthy of that respect which Sir William Forbes shews such solicitude to claim for him, and which the most honourable persons in the nation so liberally bestowed. The art of vilifying great characters consists in ascribing to them, not great crimes, for that the world would not so easily receive; but such meannesses as imply little criminality, but much sordid ness of mind. For this purpose, the writer has endeavoured to give currency to some vulgar aspersions, founded solely on the misrepresentations of those who smarted under his reproof, or envied his success. What still more aggravates the fault is, that a lady of the bighest respectability and rank is petulantly introduced as a subject of vulgar and groundless obloquy. Those

who have had the honour of the Du chess of Gordon's acquaintance have always declared her elevated above the generality of the species, not more by her beauty, and by her rank, than by her merit, and by the powers of her mind-by her wit, her erudition, her exquisite sense and approbation of all excellency, moral and intellectual by her unrivalled skill in managing conversation, and by the charm of making all around her happy. If

The reviewer dislikes both the matter and manner of Dr Beattie's letters to the Duchess of Gordon : but many, seemingly as good judges, have thought those letters as excellent as any in the whole collection, He blames the gallantry in them; but I may truly affirm, that if the letters she received from many of the most eminent persons in the nation, whose intellectual exertions have delighted and benefited the world, were before the public eye, they would appear to be not less complimental. As to that letter on which the Doctor says he wept after parting ing with the Duchess, perhaps a little more of her history and of his would be necessary for fully understanding it. The truth is, the Doctor wept, not barely for leaving the society of the Duchess, however delightful it was to him; but because he left her in a very low state of health and spirits, and was himself at that time, in such a state of affliction, as excited a tender sympathy with the sufferings of his friends.

The Duchess was not the only one of the family that honoured Dr Beattie with esteem and friendship. The Duke ever shewed the highest respect for him, and invited him to spend as much time at Gordon Castle as he could spare; and whether his Grace or the Duchess most admired him might have been hard to determine. Nor was his gratitude to the Duke, and affection for him and his family less ardent, as appears from the high regard with which he ever spoke of that nobleman, and from his dedicating a favourite part of his works to his son the Marquis of Huntly.

The writer of the article in question sneers at Dr Beattie's advice to the Duchess, not to yield too much

to

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