Soon after this, he published, in the Kelso Mail, under the signature of Matilda, a succession of beautiful pictures of nature through several months of the year, beginning with April, which were afterwards extended and printed in an edition of his works, with the title of "The Rural Calendar." About the year 1800, he wrote Mary Stuart, a tragedy. This latter piece was rather a favourite with the author, and though not adapted to the stage, it contains many fine poetical passages, and must ever be considered an elegant dramatic tale. From a sense of duty, however, he paid all due attention to the labours of his profession, especially after his marriage, which took place in March 1802. He married Miss Grahame, eldest daughter of Richard Grahame, Esq. of Annan, a woman possessed of very superior powers of understanding, and much kindness of heart. On her judgment and reflection he relied with unlimited confidence. In political and moral principles they were perfectly congenial; but his poetical propensity she was led to discourage, from an idea, that it interfered with his professional duties. On discovering, however, that he was the author of the Sabbath, which his timidity induced him to keep a profound secret even from her, she became convinced, that to check his natural bias to poetry, would be like extinguishing the mental vision that was destined to explore the most interesting beauties of the natural, and the most refined modifications of the moral world; and from that period she was proud of his genius, and deeply interested in its success. The unfavourable review of the Sabbath, she was much less willing to excuse than he was himself. He indeed never indulged any displeasure against its author; he loved the man so much, and felt such respect for his critical powers, that he bowed in acquiescence to the decision, and was rather offended with those friends who expressed themselves indignantly upon the occasion. The extreme delicacy and diffidence of Grahame's character, are strikingly exemplified in some circumstances which attended the first publication of this beautiful poem. None of his friends had the slightest previous intimation or suspicion of its existence. To avoid observation while it was printing, he and his respectable publisher, Mr Pillans, always held their necessary interviews at some tavern, and seldom more than once at the same place. On its publication he brought the book home with him, and left it on his parlour table. Returning soon after, he found Mrs Grahame engaged in its perusal; but without venturing to ask her opinion, he continued walking up and down the room in breathless anxiety, till she burst out in the warmest eulogiums on the performance; adding, "Ah! James, if you could but produce a poem like this!" The disclosure of the author will readily be anticipated; but the mutual happiness of such a moment, when the timid reserve of the poet yielded, in the fulness of delight, to the applause of a judge so respected and beloved, may be better imagined than described. From this time he became still more attached to poetry; and at Kirkhill, a beautiful retirement on the banks of the Esk, where he resided during two successive summers, he composed the poem of "The Birds of Scotland." In this neighbourhood were the ruins of the once splendid abode of the sanguinary M'Kenzie, and the humble cottage of John Kilgour, which he has in that poem so interestingly contrasted. About this period, his original desire of entering into the church revived with irresistible power; and the writer of this Memoir will never forget the eager longing with which he surveyed the humble church of Borthwick, on a fine summer evening, when the sun's last rays had gilded the landscape, and rendered every object in nature more sweet and impressive. He cast a look of delighted complacency around the peaceful scene, and said, with an accent of regret, "I wish such a place as that had fallen to my lot." And when it was remarked, that continued retirement might become wearisome, Oh! no," he replied, "it would be delightful to live a life of usefulness among a simple people, unmolested with petty cares and ceremonies." In the following spring, having seriously formed the design of quitting the bar, he left Edinburgh, and, after spending a few months at Annan, proceeded to Chester, and from thence to London, where he was ordained by the Bishop of Norwich. He was soon after appointed curate of Shipton in Gloucestershire, at which place he resided with his family for above a year, and then returned to Annan on a visit. While there, St George's Chapel in Edinburgh becoming vacant, he was induced, by the persuasion of his friends, to offer himself a candidate. He came to Edinburgh for that purpose, and preached several times. The performance of his sacred duties was in unison with his character, simple, elegant, and affecting. He evinced, both in his manner and his doctrine, the deepest impression of those impor tant truths he was to explain; but laboured more to inspire his hearers with pious feelings, and to imbue their minds with love, and peace, and charity, than to bewilder their understandings, or dazzle their imaginations. He appeared like the Apostle of Peace, making mankind ashamed of every turbulent and unruly passion. He forgot not the awful justice of his Divine Master; but mercy was the attribute on which he loved to dwell. His appearance, in the robes of his sacred office, was solemn and devout, while the deep tones of a voice, rich in natural pathos, were rendered still more impressive by the pale hue which sickness had spread over his fine features; and he seemed like a messenger sent from Heaven, that was to lead the way to that happier state of living to which he was directing his fellow travellers. His excellence as a preacher was acknowledged; and at one time there appeared to be a majority of the electors in his favour; but, upon the final trial, another can didate was successful. This disappointment was most painful to his friends, who were eager to again enjoy the society of one in whom they so much delighted, but he bore it without a murmur, and replied to the impatient and indignant lamenta tions of a much interested friend, in the language of meekness and consolation, saying, "It mattered not where we passed our time for a few short years." Before returning to Annan, he paid a last visit to his respected mother, who resided in Glasgow, and who died soon after. " When the affair of St George's chapel was finally settled, he went to Durham, and became a candidate for a minor canonry; but failed there also, as it had been promised to another before he applied. He officiated three months as an interim curate, and was extremely popular; after which, he was appointed to the curacy of Sedgefield, in that see. In this place he preached before the bishop, who expressed high approbation of him, and warm interest in his favour; but before there was time for any preferment from his lordship's patronage, the bad health to which he had always been subject, increased to an alarming degree. Being afflicted with violent headach, and oppressive asthma, he was induced to come to Edinburgh for change of air. He arrived at the house of Mrs Archibald Grahame, his only surviving sister, very much indisposed. He was often agonized with excruciating pain in his head; yet he had intervals of ease, and was able occasionally to see and converse with many of his friends; at which time he evinced all that playful cheerfulness, which in former days was so attractive in his manners. He found in this amiable sister a soothing and an attentive nurse; but his malady wearing an alarming aspect, Mrs Grahame joined him in Edinburgh; and on his expressing an ardent desire to go to Glasgow, she accompanied him in his last journey to that place. Though very ill before he set out, and aware of his danger, he did not imagine his dissolution so near; but was animated with the idea of visiting the scenes of his early days and happiest recollections. He even hoped to preach in his native town, and took two sermons for that purpose, the subjects of which bear a striking analogy to the situation of their author; the text of one of them being," O death where is thy sting?” The victory indeed was soon to be his. He became worse by the way, and two days after, having arrived at WhiteHill, near Glasgow, the residence of his eldest brother, he expired on the 14th of September 1811, in the fortyseventh year of his age. Immediately afterwards, there was published a beautiful monody on his death, peculiarly soothing to the feelings of his friends; the elegant author seemed to have wandered in his favourite haunts, and to have caught, with affectionate ardour, his very tone of simple pathos and holy enthusiasm. It appeared, from the report of the medical attendants, that the complaint in his head had been of many years duration, and must have occasioned agonizing pain. What a deep sympathy in his sufferings does this information awaken, and what a profound respect for his fortitude and resignation! especially when it is remembered, that the languor and pensiveness so often apparent, which his friends usually ascribed to nervous sensibility, was the effect of a mortal disease. He had long been sensible of a temporary pause in the beating of his pulse and the throbbing of his heart, which is understood to have proceeded from the same cause. He left two sons and a daughter most promising children. There was no part of his character more impressive than the paternal; for, mingled with a sensitive anxiety for their safety, he paid minute attention to the earliest movements of their minds, and delighted in observing the impressions of which they were susceptible, and sharing like a play-mate in their innocent gambols; but his feelings are best expressed in his own affecting lines on his son's birth-day. "O! sportive looks of love, devoid of guile, I prize you more than beauty's magic smile; Yes, in that face, unconscious of its charm, gaze with bliss, unmingled with alarm. Ah, no! full oft a boding horror flies Athwart my fancy, uttering fateful cries. Almighty Power! his harmless life defend, And if we part, 'gainst me the mandate send. voted to his wife with the tenderest affection. Home was the scene of his. best enjoyments, and in domestic life he was most endearing. He hated all display; and though well acquainted with every branch of literature, and qualified for intercourse with the first of the learned and the wise, yet the mild affability of his manners encouraged the humblest effusions of the unaffected and unassuming. He pos sessed a native frankness that banished restraint. He had a keen relish of wit in others, and sometimes displayed no common degree of it himself: It did not dart upon his associates with the flash of the meteor, to dazzle and astonish, but was like the enlivening rays of the setting sun, reflected from the rippling waves of a pure and transparent lake. He looked upon conversation as a pastime in which all were entitled to engage, and joined in common topics with an easy gayety; but when subjects of importance were discussed, or his indignation roused by acts of injustice or oppression, his feelings burst forth with all the unrestrained splendour of a generous and lofty mind, overwhelming his oppo-. nents with a torrent of unexpected eloquence. Piety was interwoven with every: emotion of his heart, and he constantly felt the power of the Deity in all his works. The study of Nature was his. supreme delight; but he loved her. best in her most simple dress: and the wild flower that sprung on the banks of a lonely stream, pleased him more than the gayest of the cultivated garden. He loved the poor, and knew the best parts of their nature; discovered their virtuous propensities through the rude garb that covered them; and their limited attainments, drew forth while he adapted his conversation to the latent sparks of intelligence with which they were endowed. He justly and emphatically styles himself" the poor man's bard." In the Georgics this is particularly obvious-a poem which, with all its faults, can never be indifferent to those who possess a relish for beautiful description and genuine feeling. His aspect to strangers appeared sedate even to seriousness; but this vanished on a nearer approach, and the smile that occasionally illumined his countenance, was like a beam of sun shine breaking through the light clouds that sometimes overshadow the brightness of a summer's day. In music he had the highest enjoyment, and sung himself with fine taste and touching pathos. Scotch tunes were his favourites; indeed he loved every thing Scotch; and he left his native country with the utmost regret, when his connection with the English church called him away from it. His partiality to old things is expressed with his usual simplicity in the following extract of a letter from Sedgefield : "October "You will now be beginning to cour round the fire at night; and though looking back with regret on the long summer days, still you have before you the joys of a bleezing ingle in Auld Reekie, wi' Scotch cracks and Scotch sangs. What would I give to be able to draw in my chair among you! I believe I was too old to transplant, and I doubt if I ever shall be able to take root here." These feelings are still more affect ingly exemplified in the following lines from the Georgics: "How pleasant came thy rushing, silver Tweed, NATURE has made woman weak, that she might receive with gratitude the protection of man. Yet how often is this appointment perverted! How often does her protector become her oppressor! Even custom seems leagued against her. Born with the tenderest feelings, her whole life is commonly a struggle to suppress them. Placed in the most favourable circumstances, her choice is confined to a few objects; and unless where singularly fortunate, her fondest partialities are only a modification of gratitude. She may reject, but cannot invite; may tell what would make her wretched, but dare not even whisper what would make her happy; and, in a word, exercises merely a negative upon the most important event of her life. Man has leisure to look around him, and may advantage; but woman must improve marry at any age, with almost equal the fleeting moment, and determine quickly, at the hazard of determining rashly. The spring-time of her beauty will not last; its wane will be the signal for the flight of her lovers; and if the present opportunity is neglected, she may be left to experience the only species of misfortune for which the world evinces no sympathy. How cruel, then, to increase the misery of her natural dependence! How ungenerous to add treachery to strength, and deceive or disappoint those whose highest ambition is our favour, and whose only safety is our honesty! William Arbuthnot was born in a remote county of Scotland, where his fa 4 H ther rented a few acres of land, which his own industry had reclaimed from the greatest wildness to a state of considerable fertility. Having given, even in his first attempts at learning, those indications of a retentive memory, which the partiality of a parent easily construes into a proof of genius, he was early destined for the Scottish Church, and regarded as a philosopher before he had emerged from the nursery. While his father pleased himself with the prospect of seeing his name associated with the future greatness of his son, his mother, whose ambition took a narrower range, thought she could die contented if she should see him seated in the pulpit of his native church; and, perhaps from a pardonable piece of vanity, speculated as frequently upon the effect his appearance would have upon the hearts of the neighbouring daughters, as his discourses upon the minds of their mothers. This practice, so common among the poorer classes in Scotland, of making one of their children a scholar, to the prejudice, as is alleged, of the rest, has been often remarked, and sometimes severely censured. But probably the objections that have been urged against it, derive their chief force from the exaggerations upon which they are commonly founded. It is not in general true, that parents, by bestowing the rudiments of a liberal education upon one of the family, materially injure the condition or prospects of the rest. For it must be remembered, that the Plebeian student is soon left to trust to his own exertions for support, and, like the monitor of a Lancastrian seminary, unites the characters of pupil and master, and teaches and is taught by turns. But to proceed with our little narrative The parish schoolmaster having intimated to the parents of his pupil, that the period was at hand when he should be sent to prosecute his studies at the university, the usual preparations were made for his journey, and his departure was fixed for the following day, when he was to proceed to Edinburgh under escort of the village carrier and his black dog Cæsar, two of the oldest and most intimate of his acquaintance. Goldsmith's poetical maxim, that little things are great to little men, is universally true; and this was an event ful day for the family of Belhervie, for that was the name of the residence of Mr Arbuthnot. The father was as profuse of his admonitions as the mother was of her tears, and had a stranger beheld the afflicted group, he would have naturally imagined that they were bewailing some signal calamity, in place of welcoming an event to which they had long looked forward with pleasure. But the feelings of affectionate regret, occasioned by this separation, were most seasonably suspended by the receipt of a letter from Mr Coventry, a respectable farmer in the neighbourhood, in which that gentleman offered to engage their son for a few years, as a companion and tutor to his children. This was an offer which his parents were too prudent to reject, particularly as it might prove the means of future patronage as well as of present emolument. It was therefore immediately agreed upon, that William should himself be the bearer of their letter of acceptance, and proceed forthwith to his new residence. On this occasion he was admonished anew; but the advices were different from those formerly given, and were delivered by a different person. His mother was now the principal speaker; and instead of warning him against the snares that are laid for youth in a great city, she furnished him with some rude lessons on the principles of good-breeding, descending to a number of particulars too minute to be enumerated here. William listened to her harangue with becoming reverence and attention, and on the following morning, for the first time, bade farewell to his affectionate parents. On the afternoon of the same day, he arrived at Daisybank, where he was welcomed with the greatest cordiality. His appearance was genteel and prepossessing, and it was not long before his new friends discovered, that the slight degree of awkwardness which at first clung to his manners, proceeded more from bashfulness and embarrassment than natural rusticity, But as he began to feel himself at home, this embarrassment of manner. gradually gave place to an easy but unobtrusive politeness. Indeed it would not have been easy for a youth of similar views, at his first onset in life, to have fallen, into more desirable company. Mr and Mrs Coventry were |