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About this time, some letters pas necessity dropped.

Dr Beattie exo sed between him and Dr Priestley .eried himself a good deal in favour on occasion of the attack made by of the measure ; but on finding it the latter on the doctrines of his Es fruitless, he very properly did his say on Truth. In his correspondence utmost to heal any little animositics with this ingenious, but petulant to which it might have given rise. adversary, Dr Beattie shews a great The concluding part of Dr Beatdeal of candour and diginity. He tie's life was oppressed with misforhad at first intended to answer, but tunes of peculiar severity. The most this intention he appears, afterwards, afflicting of these was the death of to have dropt : “ Dr Priestley, says his eldest and favourite son. He had he, having declared that he will ait. long bestowed peculiar attention on swer whatever I may publish, in my

the education of this young man, own vindication ; and being a

whose talents and dispositions apwho loves bustle and bookmaking, pear to have been extremely promihe wishes above all things that I sing. On his coming to the age of should give him a pretext for con. twenty.one, Dr Beattie made an aptinuing the dispite. To silence him plication to have him appointed his by force of argument, is, I know, im- assistant and successor, which (after possible."

a short delay on account of ihe busiA long interval now elapses with. ness of the union, which was then out any event of importance occurring agitated) was cordially agreed to by in Dr Beattie's life, till the year the university. Before he entered 1786, when a proposal was made for upon his office, however, symptoms the union of the two colleges of of consumption made their appearAberdeen (those of King's and Ma. ance; and though he recovered so rischal). The advantages of this far as to be able to teach the class, measure seem to be extremely ob- a relapse soon took place, and his vious. The two universities are at constitution gradually sunk, under the present quite distinct and separate violence of his disease. Dr Beattie establishments; and for many sciences published a very interesting little there is a professor. in both universi. volume, containing some of his select ties. Now one professor might be pieces, and a short sketch of his quite suflicient to teach all the stu. life. In a few years after, he lose dents in any one science, while the his sister Mrs Valentine, and then his salaries, which would be thus thrown youngest and only surviving soo, vacant, might be employed in estab. Montagu, to whom, after the death lishing new professorships, which do of his elder brother, he had devoted not at present exist in either. This all his leisure. He gives a very afproposal originated with the Maris. fecting account of this last event ia chal College, but was opposed by a a letter to Dr Laing. great majority of the other, who .

His (Dr Campbell's) death was looked urged, ibat as they were by much the for, and by himself much desired. Monbest endowed, all the advantages of tagu's came upon me in a different manof the proposed arrangement would His delirium, which was extremebe on the side of their rivals. Our ly violent, ended in a state of such author hints, however, that this op- apparent tranquillity, that I was position might perhaps arise from gratulating myself on the danger be. the omission of some punctilio in the

ing over, at the very time when Dr

came, and told me, in his own manner of bringing it forward. How

name, and in that of the other two phy. ever, the King's College persisting in sicians that attended Montagu, that he their opposition, the matcer was of could not live many hours a tinis was at

a

ner.

COST

*****

2

eleven at night, and he died at five next minds mangled with madness * !" When morning. I hope I am resigned, as my he looked for the last time on the dead duty requires, and as I wish to be; but body of his son, he said, “ I have now I have passed many a bitter hour, done with the world:” and he ever af. though on those occasions nobody sees ter seemed to act as if he thought so. me. I fear my reason is a little disor. For he rever applied himself to any dered, for I have sometimes thought of sort of study, and answered but few of late, especially in a morning, that Mon- the letters he received from the friends tagu is not dead, though I seem to have whom he most valued. Yet the receia remembrance of a dream that he is. ving a letter from an old friend never This you will say, what I myself believe, failed to put him in spirits for the rest is a symptom not uncommon in cases sic of the day. Music, which had been milar to mine, and that I ought by all his great delight, he could not endure, means to go from home as soon as I can. after the death of his eldest son, to hear I will do so when the weather becomes from others; and he disliked his own tolerable. luclination would draw me favourite-violoncello. A few months to Peterhead; but the intolerable road before Montagu's death, he did begin forbids it, and I believe I must go to play a little by way of accompanisouthward, where the roads are very ment when Montagu sung : but after he good : at least I hear so.

lost him, when he was prevailed on to “ Being now childless, by the will touch the violoncello he was always dis. of Providence, (in which I trust I acqui- contented with his own performance, esce) I have made a new settlement in and at last seemed to be unhappy my small affairs ; the only particular of when he heard it. The only enjoywhich that needs to be mentioned at ment he seemed to have was in books, present is, that the organ, built by my and the society of a very few old friends, eldest sop and you, is now yours.

It is impossible to read the melancholy “ I am much obliged to the kind picture which he draws of his own sifriends who sympathise with me. Mon- tuation, about this time, without droptagu was indeed very popular, wherever ping a tear of pity over the sorrows he went. His death was calm, resign. and the sufferings of so good a man, ed, and unaffectedly pious; he thought thus severely visited' by affiction, who, himself dying from the first attack of at the same time, was bearing the rod his illness. “I could. wish,” said he, of divine chastisement with the utmost “ to live to be old, but am neither a patience and resignation. fraid nor unwilling to die.”

Vol. II. P. 310.

In the beginning of April 1799,

Dr Beattie had a severe attack of His Biographer adds :

the palsy, which he survived four

years, but in the most melancholy conThe death of his only surviving child dition. Repeated strokes at length completely unhinged the mind of Dr deprived him altogether of the power Beattie, the first symptom of which, ere

of motion, till, on the 18th of Aug. many days had elapsed, was

temporary but almost total loss of memory respec

1803, he was happily relieved from ting his son. Many times he could not his sufferings, in the sixty.cight year recollect what had becone of him; and of his age. after searching in every room of the He had early expressed a wish to

house, he would say to his niece, Mrs be buried in the church yard of : Glennie, “ You may think it strange, Lawrencekirk, whose situation he has

" but I must ask you if I have a son, and beautifully described in his Minstrel. “ where he is?” She then felt herself under the painful necessity of bringing Afterwards, when he was in the hato his recollection his son Montagu's bit of visiting Peterhead, he had fixsufferings, which always restored him ed on a small retired spot, where he And he would often, with

had many tears, express his thankfulness that he had no child, saying, “ How * Alluding, no doubt to their mo“ could I have borne to see their elegant ther's melancholy situation.

P. 307

to reason.

had oftea said that he would wish to I reflect on the many sleepless nights and be interred. But a short time be.' anxious days, which he experienced from fore his death, when Mrs Glennie, Mrs Beattie's malady, and think of the his niece, spoke to him on this sub. unwearied and unremitting attention he ject, he replied, that he would wish paid to her during so great a number of

years, in that sad situation, his character his body to be laid beside that of his

is exalted in my mind to a degree which two sons, rather than beside that of may be equalled, but I am sure never the greatest monarch upon earth." can be excelled, and makes the fame of His remains were accordingly depo. the poet and the philosopher fade from sited in the church yard of St Nic my remembrance: cholas, Aberdeen.

The strictness and regularity of Dr Sir William has concluded with a by a regular attendance; while his health

Beattie's piety was shown, not merely character of Dr Beattie, which seems permitted, on the public ordinances of to be written with a great degree of religion, but by the more certain and candour and impartiality, and with. unequivocal testimony of private de. out any undue partiality. We can

votion. I have been informed by his afford to extract only a small part.

niece, Mrs Glennie, that after he had

retired at night to his chamber, she freThroughout the whole course of his quently overheard his voice rendered aulife, Dr Beattie was most exemplary in the dible in the ardour of prayer. And discharge of the relative duties of a son,

she has also told me, that even througha brorher, a husband, a father, and a

out the day, when she knew his spirit friend. Of his conduct towards his un

to be more than usually depressed, happy wife, it is impossible to speak in

while he thought himself alone, she terms of too high commendation. It could occasionally perceive that he was has already been mentioned that Mrs offering up his orisons to Heaven with Beattie had the misfortune tovinherit; the utmost fervour.

His pious resignafrom her mother, that must dreadfui tion to the Divine. Will, under some of of all human ills, a distempered imagi. the hardest trials that • flesh is heir to," nation, which; in a very few years af. was indeed but too severely proved du. ter their marriage, showed itself in cap. ring the greatest part of his life ; but it rice and folly, that embittered every is consoling to know, that it was not hour of his life, while he strove at first tried ia vain. to conceal her disorder from the world,

Great tenderness of heart, and the and if possible, as he has been heard to

keenest sensibility of soul, qualities say, to conceal it even from himself; very frequently, the concomitants of till at last from whim, and caprice, and genius, were eminently conspicuous in melancholy, it broke out into down

the character of Dr Beattie. They ren. right insanity, which rendered her se.

dered him " tremblingly alive" to the clusion froni society absolutely neces

sorrows and sufferings of others, and sary. During every stage of her illness, produced in him the warmest emations he watched and cherished her with the of friendship, with an earnest desire to utmost tenderness and care; using eve

perform every service in his power to ry means ar first, that medicine could all within his reach. furnish for her recovery, and afterwards,

Vol. II. P. 333. when her condition was found to be per- We meant to have concluded with fectly hopeless, procuring for her every suggesting a few retrenchments which accommodation and comfort that could tend to alleviate her sufferings*. When might have been made with advan

tage, particularly in the notices of

the different eminent characters menOf this last part of Dr Beattie's con

tioned duct, I am fully able to speak from my own personal knowledge; as, during at no great distance from Edinburgh. several years, I had the sole charge of She still survives him in the same mea her and her concerns, while she resided lantholý tondition. Nov, 1806.

.

asm.

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tioned in the course of the work, is somewhat juvenile and eccentric, it most of whom were already quite fa. often displays considerable elegance, miliar to English readers. But this and is marked by a spirit of benevo. js unhappily rendered superfluous by lence, and a not unpleasing enthusithe melancholy event which has oc- The most considerable is en. curred since our first sitting down to titled “ Melody the Soul of Music," write this article. The author sur. which has been long before the pub. vives no longer, either to enjoy the lic, and has in general been favourably success of his work, or to bestow on animadverted upon, as appears by a it any farther improvement. The long list of criticisms which the aulast paragraph, in which he anticipates thor has drawn out, somewhat whimthis mournful event, must, at the pre- sically, with observations of his owo gent moment, be read with peculiar on the opposite page. There is also interest ; and if it cannot claim tbe an essay on Intoxication, which gives praise of eloquence, it certainly dis. a favourable view of the author's ta. plays excellencies of an higher kind. lents as a popular moralist. There

are different proposals for charitable On thus reviewing the long period of institutions in Glasgow, which prove forty years that have elapsed since the

his active benevolence. One is for commencement of our intimacy, it is impossible for me not to be deeply af. spreading manufactures through the fected, by the reflection, that of the nu. Highlands; another for relieving the merous friends with whom he and I poor under the storm of 1795 ; a were wont to associate, at the period of third for supplying them with clothes. our earliest acquaintance, all, I think, The biographical account of Mr except three, have already paid their David Dale, which appeared in our debt to nature; and that is no long Magazine, and for which we were time (how soon is known only to Him; chiefly indebted to Mr Molleson, will the great Disposer of all events) my gray-hairs shall sink into the grave, and give an idea of the style of his prose I also shall be numbered with those composition. who have been. May a situation so A considerable proportion of this awful make its due impression on my volume consists also of poetical pieces, mind! and may it be my earnest en- which are of various merit. Mr deavour to employ that short portion of Molleson sometimes fails in the quanlife which yet remains to me, in such a manner, as that when that last dread tity of his lines, and his humorous hour shall come, in which my soul shall poems are not of the first excellence ; be required of me,

I
may

look forward but there are others which deserve a with trembling hope to a happy im. different character. Among these is mortality, through the merits and me. his longest poem, entitled the "Sweets diation of our ever-blessed Redeemer.

of Society," which appears to have Vol. II. P. 342.

been very popular, being now reprinted for the second time. The

following passage may serve as a speII. Miscellanies in prose and verse, by cimen.

Alex. Molleson. 12mo. 221 pp. (Glasgow.)

Now sportive play delights the in(R MOLLESON seems here to have

fant throng; MR

collected all the pieces, both in They jump, and roll, and lightly frisk prose and

along,
which he had writ.
verse,

Check not severe their heartfelt social ten on different occasions. We have

glee, read many of them with very consi. But cheer the scene, and let them sport derable pleasure ; for though the style with thee:

Age

the groun

Agesilaus thus, tho' far renown'd, ing the idea of its being the Evening His off pring pleased, and danc'd along of the Year.-Pitlivie, October 1801. Thus mere, their warm affection you N°Autammn's close,

OW Nature drops her robes, at will gain ; And trial love and rev'rence both re.

Panmure's majestic woods and walks tain.

among ; Hence health, and strength, and blythe And calls her simple offspring to repose, good humour grow;

While solemn echoes swell her iwillag And spirits volatile in channels flow.

song. These, when deprest, corrode the infant Soon will the gloomy night of Winter mind,

come ; To brooding angry passions thus in.

And, raging, blast the beauties of the clined,

day, Now springs the boy, on high, in soar

Snatch the green relics of the songster's

dome, ing swing, His shouting comrades form a wond'r

And deluge deep the weary trav’ller's, ing ring;

way. And gazing, while the hero mounts in Yet not for ever lasts the dismal time air,

At Spring's bright morning cheering All eager strive, the envied seat to share. beams arise ; Thus when Blanchard, in high aerial car, The Greenwood joys, the balm-eni ven, Ascends in clouds, and views the earth

ed clime afar,

Sends Music to our ears, and Beauty The daring fight th' admiring people

to our eyes. awes, And, from ten thousand tongues, bursts Thus, Brother! when the storms of

Woe approach, loud applause.

Thus let us hope that Comfort shall Lo! serpent wreathes of puny tablets

appear, stand

As morning beams, tho' gloomy shades In circ’lar order, rear'd by th' infant encroach, band;

As Spring revives the delug'd droopTill one is struck; then with a clatter

ing year. ing sound,

And thus in Life when comes the fated Swift curling each an each they fall a.

nightround.

The night that visits all beneath the As, in the world of commerce, oft 'tis

sun, seen,

May Heav'nly rays illume our raptur'd That splendid merchants, by misfortune

sight, kien

And shew the glorious prize, when Decline ; and, while they formidably

this long race is run! fall, Involve their friends in Ruin's fatal call. One sinks apace, and quick, another We should have given more extracts goes,

had our limits admitted ; and upon Till circles round th' electric shock of the whole we would recommend this

P. 163. little volume, and its various contents, The following is still better, en as capable of affording considerable titled,

amusement, not unmingled with ina

struction, THE EVENING OF THE YEAR.

STANZAS Written at a Brother's residence near New Works Published in EDINBURGH. Pavmure ;--suggested by a walk there in the woods in Autumn, when the A Tour through some of the Isleaves were falling and the music of

lands of Orkney and Shetland, the groves was dying away, occasion. with a view chiefly to objects of Na

tural

a

P. 195.

woes.

а

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