very quick, I cannot afford to be idle.' I said he might employ his mind as well in the country as in town, at which he only shook his head, and I entirely changed the subject. Upon my asking him when we should see the Psalms, he said they were going to press immediately. As to his other undertakings, I found he had completed a translation of Phædrus in verse, for Dodsley, at a certain price, and that he is now busy in translating all Horace into verse, which he sometimes thinks of publishing on his own ac count, and sometimes of contracting for it with a bookseller. I advised him to the latter, and he then told me he was in treaty about it, and believed it would be a bargain: he told me his principal motive for translating Horace into verse was, to supersede the prose translation which he did for Newbery, which he said would hurt his memory. He intends, however, to review that translation, and print it at the foot of the page in his poetical version, which he proposes to print in quarto with the Latin, both in verse and prose on the opposite page. He told me, he once had thoughts of printing it by subscription; but as he had troubled his friends already, he was unwilling to do it again, and had been persuaded to publish it in numbers, which, though I rather dissuaded him, seemed at last to be the prevailing bent of his mind. He read me some of it; it is very close, and his own poetical fire sparkles in it very frequently: yet, upon the whole, will scarcely take place of Francis's, and therefore, if it is not adopted as a school-book, which perhaps may be the case, it will turn to little account. Upon mentioning his prose translation I

saw his countenance kindle, and, snatching up the book, "What" says he, do you think I had for this?' I said I could not tell, Why,' says he, with great indignation, thirteen pounds.' I expressed very great astonishment, which he seemed to think he should increase by adding, But, Sir, I gave a receipt for a hundred.' My astonishment, however, was over, and I found that he received only thirteen pounds, because the rest had been advanced for his family. This was a tender point, and I found means immediately to divert him from it.

now

"He is with very decent people, in a house most delightfully situated, with a terrace that overlooks St. James's Park, and a door into it. He was going to dine with an old friend of my own, Mr. Richard Dalton, who has an appointment in the king's library; and if I had not been particularly engaged, I would have dined with him. He had lately received a very genteel letter from Dr. Lowth, and is by no means considered in any light that makes his company as a gentleman, a scholar, and a genius, less desirable. I have been very particular, dear madam, in relating all the particulars of this conference, that you may draw any inference that I could draw from it, yourself.

I should incur my own censure, which is less tolerable than all others, if I did not express my sense of the civilities I received from you and Mr. Hunter, while I was at Margate: I have Mrs. Hawkesworth's express request, in a letter now before me, to do the same on her part; if you, or any of the family, come into our part of the country, we shall be very glad to accommodate

you

you with a table and a bed; you will find a chearful fire-side, and ahearty welcome. If in the mean time I can do you any service or pleasure here, you will the more oblige, as you the more freely command me. "Our best compliments attend you, Mr. Hunter, your young gentleman, and Mrs. Smart: not forgetting the ladies we met at your house, particularly one who, I think, is daughter to Mrs, Holmes. "I am, Madam,

"Your obedient humble servant,

"JOHN HAWKESWORTH,

"London, Oct. 1764."

In the course of a few years Mr. Smart's economy forsook him, and he was confined for debt in the King's-Bench prison, the rules of which he afterwards obtained by the kindness of his brother-in-law,

Mr. Thomas Carnan. He died, af ter a short illness, the 18th of May, 1770, of a disorder in his liver, leaving behind him two daughters, who, with his widow, are settled at Reading, in Berkshire, and, by their prudent management of a business, transferred to them by the late Mr. John Newbery, are in good cir

cumstances.

His character, compounded, like that of all human beings, of good qualities and of defects, may easily be collected from this account of his life. A few of his peculiarities remain to be mentioned.

Though he was a very diligent student while at Cambridge, he was also extremely fond of exercise, and of walking in particular; at which times it was his custom to pursue his meditations. A fellow-student remembers a path worn by his constant treading on the pavement

under the cloisters of his college.

His piety was exemplary and fervent. It may not be uninteresting to the reader to be told, that Mr. Smart, in composing the religious poems, was frequently so impressed with the sentiment of devotion, as to write particular passages on his knees.

He was friendly, affectionate, and liberal to excess; so as often to give that to others, of which he was in the utmost want himself: he was also particularly engaging in conversation, when his first shyness was worn away; which he had in common with literary men, but in a very remarkable degree. Having undertaken to introduce his wife to my lord Darlington with whom he was well acquainted, he had no sooner mentioned her name to his

lordship, than he retreated sudden. the room, and from the house, ly, as if stricken with a panic, from leaving her to follow overwhelmed with confusion.

As an instance of the wit of his conversation the following extemporary spondiac, descriptive of the three bedels of the university, who were at that time all very fat men, is still remembered by his acade mical acquaintance:

Pinguia tergeminorum abdomina bedello

rum.

This line he afterwards inserted in one of his poems for the Tripos.

During the far greater part of his life he was wholly inattentive to economy; and by this negligence lost first his fortune and then his credit. The civilities shewn him by persons greatly his superiors in rank and character, either induced him to expect mines of wealth*

from

from the exertion of his talents, or encouraged him to think himself exempted from attention to common obligations. The engagement into which he entered with a book. seller, to furnish papers monthly in conjunction with Mr. Rolt for "the Universal Visitor," is a memorable example of thoughtless imprudence. It was settled between the publisher and the poets, that these last should divide between them one-third of the profits of the work, and they engaged themselves more over by a bond, not to write for ninety-nine years to come in any other publication,

But his chief fault, from which most of his other faults proceeded, was his deviation from the rules of sobriety; of which the early use of cordials in the infirmities of his childhood and his youth might perhaps be one cause, and is the only extenuation.

may

reach the present character which he has given of himself: but still it is ingenious, and offers a lively picture to the imagination—:

I am a philosopher, as far removed from superstition as from impiety; a voluptuary, who has not less abhorrence for debauchery than inclination for pleasure; a man, who has never known want nor abundance. I occupy that station of life which is despised by those who possess every thing; envied by those who have nothing, and only relished by those who make their felicity to consist in the exercise of their reason. Young, I hated dissipation; convinced that a man must possess wealth to provide for the comforts of a long life: old, I disliked economy; as I believed that we need not greatly dread want, when we have but a short time to be miserable. I am satisfied with what Nature has done for me; nor do I repine at Fortune. I do not seek in men what they have of evil, that I may censure; I only find out what they have ridiculous, that I may be amused. I feel a pleasure in detecting their follies; I should feel a greater in communicating my

restrain me. Life is too short, according to my ideas, to read all kinds of books, and to load our memory with an infinite number of things, at the cost of our judgement. I do not attach myself to the sentiments of scientific men, to acquire science; but to the most rational, that I may strengthen my reason. Sometimes I seek for the more delicate minds, that my taste may imbibe their delicacy; sometimes, for the gayer, that I may enrich my genius with their gaiety; and al though I constantly read, I make it less my occupation than my pleasure. In religion, and in friendship,

I have only to paint myself such as I am-in friendship, more tender than a philosopher; and, in religion, as constant and as sincere as a youth who has more simplicity than experience. My piety is composed more of justice and charity than of penitence, I rest my confidence on God, and hope every thing from his benevolence. In the bosom of Providence I find my repose and my felicity.

Anecdotes respecting the death of Mirabeau;* from the Gentleman's Magazine.

H

E died in the 42d year of his age, leaving many of his intended plans unfinished, but at a time when his reputation had attained an height which it probably would not have exceeded. From the first appearance of his indisposition it was known to be dangerous, and bulletins, announcing his situation, were published hourly; notwithstanding which, the populace waited at his gate in great numbers, anxious, through affection and curi osity, to obtain the earliest intelligence of his fate. The buzz of the crowd, and even the voices of the hawkers who cried these bulletins, were audible in his chamber. A few hours before his death, one of his friends remarked to him this in stance of the estimation in which he was held by his countrymen. "Ah! (said he) I perceive that it must be acceptable to die for them." In the beginning of his disorder his hope of recovery was great; but his courage, in the subsequent stages of it was not less. He deliberately

made his will, and, recollecting that a law relating to testaments was then before the national assembly, he said to the abbé de Taleyrand, the ci-devant bishop of Autun, "The national assembly is now engaged upon a law relating to testaments and they will not think it unsuitable that a man, who has just made one, should offer them his opinion upon the question as his last homage. I intrust this paper to your care, to be read to the Assembly."-When his death was reported to the national assembly, M. Barrere, after a short eulogium, rose to move, "That the general sorrow for the loss should be noticed in the Proces Verbal; and that the president should, in the name of the country, invite every member to assist at his funeral." The motion was agreed to; and his memoir upon wills was read at the requests of several members. The Directory of Paris decreed a public mourning of eight days for his death; and the municipal body appointed a deputation of twelve members to be present at his funeral. All the places of public amusement in Paris were shut on the day of his death. During his illness, the king of France sent every day to enquire how he was. His conduct, a short time before his death, was very remarkable. His voice having failed him, he made signs for pen, ink, and paper, and wrote "Would you think that the sensation of death so painful?"

The physician not appearing to understand the expression, he took the paper again, and added a word, so that the sentence then ran "proves so painful?" He next wrote on as follows: "When the opium could

could not have been given without accelerating a destruction as yet uncertain, it would have been highly criminal to have administered it. But, when Nature has abandoned a wretched victim, when only a miracle can bring back life, when the opium itself could not prove an obstacle against this miracle (granting that it were possible for it to intervene), how can you barbarously suffer your friend to expire upon the wheel?" The physician read the paper, and remained silent. Mirabeau, starting suddenly from the bed, seized the paper again, and folding it up, with great agitation, wrote on the outside "sleep! sleep!" At the moment when he presented, jestingly, the paper to his physician, his speech returned. With that richness and pomp of expression which characterized his eloquence, he said to M. Cabanis, "my pains are insupportable-I have yet an age of strength, but not a moment of courage." He spoke for nearly ten minutes, in so affecting and energetic a style, that tears fell from every eye. A convulsion stopped him; it was followed by a violent scream, and he expired. The populace have effaced the name of the street in which he resided. It was called Le Chasseur d'Antin; they have written in its place, Rue de Mirabeau, (Mirabeau's Street).-On the day preceding his death, he seemed to take pleasure in conversing with one of the house-maids, who had insisted on sitting up with him, as a nurse every night during his illness. "Why art thou constantly weeping Fanny?" said he;" thou wast very poor when I took thee, and will be rich after my death, for I have left thee wherewith to live at thy ease. My glory can be of no great consequence to thee; and if the news-crier, at

night, bawling out in the streets, Grande motion de Mirabeau, has often startled thy ears, thou must own he has never affected thy heart. Be cheerful, my good girl; continue to take all the care thou canst of me, I shall not want thy assistance long." A few hours before he died he deplored the fate of the French empire, exposed as it is at present to factions and intrigues of every kind. "I leave this world," emphatically exclaimed the dying orator," with a heart full of sorrow for the shocks monarchy has received. Alas! I fear the factious chiefs will tear it to pieces, and divide the spoils amongst them!" When he found his stomach unable to retain the least thing he swallowed, he uttered these words "When the chief is grown quite inactive, the constitution must certainly perish." On examining his body, his brains were found perfectly sound. The pericardium, the heart, and the`diaphragm, were alone the seat of his fatal disorder. The following are the reflexions of a physician on the cause of Mirabeau's death: "The surgeons, after examining the body, have declared that there were not the least signs of poison. They say that they had found the lungs adherent, the pericardium full of liquor not unlike a lymph, rather yellowish; the duodenum's and stomach's outward and inward membranes inflamed, with black and livid spots of gangrene; the liver affected, and one of the kidneys not in its natural state. Different signs are found in the bodies of those who die of poison. How can it be so positively asserted, that Mirabeau did not die of it? there are disorders, no doubt, that affect the viscera and the entrails in the manner described as above,but what the ma

a

lady