;:i!ii! :i; I'i^l'^HiiiH!: ""'''•"'! TiU)!.: lilt;:;.. iiliiilli; '?!!!•: ■'''iiw^'i { iiiiii:{;{ii!pil;:,,. ■'' '''-''1 I ; i il{!i :i|ii fc-., i •;• ■• I ♦■• I- 1.1. .1,1', '"!!«^Sl!i!!K|i'!|!!!|p|||l|| Worc(^(AJc?ri4\ PR y x^^ 1^ CORNELE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY r^^ /^i •^^ Cornell University Library The original of tiiis book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924105428373 G. oixt^tiield "piix-s:"^ A. M.EufL-urL sculpt T H O M AS S AK D E R S O IT. Ae;ed_ 60 THE LIFE AND LITERARY REMAINS OP THOMAS SANDERSON. THE LIFE BF THE REK J. LO WTHIAN, A. M. Vicar of Kellington, and late Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge. >^».^^^#^^^^^ Od IJ THOMAS SANDERSON. iii of Cowley, of Addison, and Newton, though less diversified than many others, are perhaps the most instructive which our language affords. The Grecian philosophers have had their lives written, their morals commended, and their sayings recorded. The subject of this narrative had all the virtues to which most of them only pretended, and all their integrity, without the smallest mixture of their affectation. The French are by no means deficient in this particular. Not a single individual eminent in any art or science, no statesman, no historian, no illustrious commander by sea or land, no poet of any celebrity whatev.er, is suffered to die without the event being announced to the whole nation and to the whole world by means of pane- gyrical orations and harangues, not unfrequently accompanied by all the empty parade of a magni- ficent public funeral. When, therefore, amongst us, modest merit descends silently to the grave, is it less worthy, on that account, to be memorialized by the same marks of affection, benevolence, and regard :f Many are the sorrowing relatives, no doubt, who are left to deplore the untimely and melancholy fate of the Sebergham Bard and Kirklinton Recluse. Many, too, are the friends, some of them eminent in the paths of science and literature, whom his productions, poetical and biographical, have pro- cured for him, and who are much more talented to hand down to the latest posterity the memorials of departed worth, than the writer of this hasty sketch can possibly pretend to be, who still remain. Many of his early associates — men, too, of genius and talent, have already retired to that " silent bourne from whence no traveller returns;'' and are therefore equally incapable of feeling their loss, and recording his merits. Circumstances being thus, and no one ■ + See Smith's Account of Phillips.— 2^oa'/f<«n Manuscripts. a 2 IV LIFE OF seeming willing" to undertake the task, it i^^ naturally devolved upon me ; and I can assure his friends and well-wishers that, as far as my feeble abilities extend, it is engaged in with the greatest frankness, and without the least reluctance. Many a time and oft, as well in infancy as afterwards in advanced life, have I sat at his feet and imbibed from his lips the rudiments of science, the principles of moral and religious truth, the elements of historical knowledge, and the rules of elegant composition ; all of which have been found so beneficial in after-life, and which are still indelibly fixed in a grateful heart. Such benefits received, it would certainly be a high degree of ingra- titude not publicly to acknowledge. My utmost endeavours shall therefore not be wanting to pour- tray with all the accuracy of truth, and to examine with the most exact scrutiny, the continued habits of his life and conduct, the beauties and defects of his already published and now collected writings, divesting myself of as much as possible of the partiality of friendship and the coldness of criticism. Every circumstance, however trifling, in any way connected with eminent individuals, or relative to their more immediate associates, frequently becomes, in after times, a subject of curiosity and interest to an admiring and inquisitive posterity. *' Few of thoso who have taste to relish the works of genius, and a soul to cherish the memory of departed worth, will be disposed to controvert the assertion of the Roman orator, f that we view with fond recollection, and vivid pleasure, the memorials of those who have distinguished themselves by worth of character or superiority of intellect,'* It + More«iur, nescio quo pacto, locis ipsis in quibus, eorura, quos dihgimus, autadmiramur, adsunt vestigice. Me quideru illae nostree AthersBUon tarn operibus magnificis, exquisitisque antiquorum artibus delectant, quam recordatione summorum virorum, ubi quisoue habitare ubi scdere, ubi disputare sit solitus, studiose que etiani eorum smiilphrl THOMAS SANI>ERSON. V may not, therefore, be deemed irrelevant to our present subject to take a short review of tlie situation, manners, and customs of our Poet's native village. This digression, and more particularly the latter part of it, may perhaps seem less intrusive when it is recollected that many of the improvements which have recently been introduced into this locality owe their origin to our Author's father. " Less than a century ago there was not so much as a track to guide the traveller from Penrith to Sebergham, the place of our Poet's nativity, nor from it to Carlisle, the metropolis of the county : the deserts of Arabia were perhaps less dreadful to the weary pilgrim, than the vast forest of Inglewood to the Cumbrians, when necessity obliged them to traverse it by night in the gloomy month of November. The howling* of the northern winds, the dangers from the collected snow which lay buried in deep surrounding dells, and the united powers of hail and rain, dreadful to the bare appre- hension, were the difficulties and dangers which every itinerant had, at that time, to encounter in wandering over this dreary waste ; and happy he thought himself when his eye caught the twinkling of some glimmering light that issued from the dull window of some distant cottage. -I^'* Intercourse of any kind, either personal or epistolary,, between distant friends and relatives, was at that period, as might naturally be expected from the dangerous state of the roads, or, as was very often the case, from no tracks existing at all, a circumstance o-f rare occurrence. The Cumbrian peasant havings no calls of interest or affection to induce him, seldom, even during- the course of a protracted life, migrated beyond the limits of his native parish. Rosley Hill, a place in the immediate vicinity o-f Sebergham, and no less celebrated for its extensive t Richardson's Tour through the Island af Great Britam. VI LIFE OF cattle-fair, held annually on Whit- Monday and each succeeding' fortnight afterwards till Martinmas, than for its display of rustic beauty ; and Carlisle, commonly denominated Car el Fair,-)- which takes place on the 26th of August, equally distinguished for similar exhibitions, seem to have been the scenes of their most distant resort. Each of these festive annuals were held in high estimation, and Hheir periodic return anxiously expected by the beaux and belles of all the neighbouring villages. The former of them is thus characterized by the *' Past'ral Bard of Cauda's vale" : *' Let other lasses ride to Rosley-fah*, And mazle up and down the market there ; I ewyy not their happy treats and them, Happier mysel it' Roger bides at heame." The laird or statesman, for these terms are in Cumberland nearly synonymous, designating a person who lives upon and farms his own estate, whenever interest or any other absolute necessity — for curiosity or pleasure never could by any means induce him to undertake any distant expedition — as it were compelled him to leave, for a short time, his native village, and visit the metropolis, previous to his engaging in such an hazardous journey, had all his temporal affairs settled, his ivill made, and his friends and relations collected tosrether in order to receive his last injunctions, and to bid, as was generally thought, a final adieu to their departing neighbour, sire, or acquaintance. Stage coaches and waggons were, at that time, equally unknown. Articles of commerce, which we may easily imagine were then but few and trifling, were transported from one market-town to another by means of Pack Morses, to the foremost of which was usually attached a small bell, in the manner of miller's carts ■t See our Author's Essay on the " Manners and Customs of f hf> Camberland Peasantry;' prefixed to the Usi edition of Auderson's works THOMAS SANDERSON. VIE in the present day, in many of the southern counties, to warn the expecting rustics of their approach ; and from whose copious loads they were amply supplied with provisions for the body, and clothing for the person, as well as profusely furnished by their communicative drivers with all the information which their secluded situation would allow of public occurrences ; as well as with the private politics, and, perhaps, to them the more interesting scandal, marvellous stories, weddings, courtships, wakes, and amusements of the whole neighbouring district. The foundation of Queen's College, Oxford, from owing its origin lo a Cumberland or Westmorland man, and being richly endowed with many exhibi- tions, scholarships, and fellowships exclusively appropriated to natives of these counties, became a matter of primary consideration with the northern gentry as a place well calculated to complete the education of their sons, as well as to advance their future prospects in life. Few, it is true, were in sufficiently afHuent circumstances to bestow upon even their immediate heirs the advantages of an academical education : but the happy few to whom these privileges extended were, without exception, admitted members of that collegiate Ibody. The University of Cambridge, and, indeed, any other College, except that above referred to, was scarcely known to have any existence. Strange, however, to say, for the space of many years, no regular communication whatever existed, except an annual equestrian Post for the purpose of conveying letters and parcels to the students, and in return to their anxiously-expecting friends and relations, between those obscure and remote parts of the kingdom and that celebrated seat of the Muses. SuperstitioTii, the fruitful and never-failing offspring of ignorance, gre^v up, as might naturally be expected from the rude and uncivilized stale in which the ui.educalei Vm LIFE OF population of those sequestered districts were neces- sarily involved, to an astonishing stature. ^^^ ? an ancient fabric, if, by chance, any such had escaped the ravages of time within the precincts ot the parish, — scarce any shady and unfrequented road was to be found but what was conceived by the unlettered rustics as the scene of the nocturnal revels of some supernatural being. The forms attributed to these aerial s prites, whenever they deigned to manifest themselves to " mortal ken," were generally as ridiculous as could well be imagined. An headless human trunk, a calf with a superabundant head, and piercing cries of anguish and woe without any visible agent from which tbey could proceed, were the usual phcenomena which arrested the visual or auditory organs of a village youth returning early in the morning from spending the night in soft dalliance with the elect of his heart, or drowsily plodding homewards his weary way from some rustic festivity. Scarcely any person of superior rank, any head of a family, quitted this sublunary scene without the interference of some wraith fsivarth or sivairthj or swath, as it is vulgarly called, to announce his departure to his terrified relations or friends. J This last species of superstition in the northern counties seems also to have powerfull}^ insinuated itself into more polished societies. Almost every market-town and populous villaji^e had its peculiar giiest or bar-guest, which, atdilFerent seasons, under various shapes, frequented them, to warn their inhabitants, either collectively or individually, of any impending calamity. About the middle of the last century, and probably much anterior to tliat time, the implicit belief in another species of imaginary deities was prevalent not only in those remote and uninformed districts but t Our Autlior's family, particularly on the uuitcnuil siile were rather •disliuKuishccl bv swell iiuiiclcnts. ' THOMAS SANDERSON. ix tlar0iigh a considerable part also of the more civilized world. They were denominated Fairies : and were supposed to be a fantastical kind of g-enii conversant on earth, and distinguished by abundanirth a considerable patrimonial estate, Avliich, chieflv bv liis Iravcls and experiments in husbandry, he contrived to dissipate and died in a comparalivc slate of iudigeace about the year nAO.-^Jtinci/dop THOMAS SANDERSON. XV Improvements in farming", of whatever description, ought invariably to emanate from the opulent or extensive landed proprietor ; and in such cases they are universally productive of good. According to the success or failure of the experiments, the inferior occupier can adopt or reject the mode recommended at his pleasure. Though the patrimonial estate which descended to Mr. J. Sanderson was originally of very consider- able magnitude, yet in consequence of his various expenditures in husbandry, in building, and in the superior education of his children, at first consisting* of an unusual number, he left it very much impo- verished, though certainly such as to afford, if not an affluent, yet a comfortable maintenance to his surviving widow and family. In a great measure by his exertion and advice, several extensive wastes were inclosed and subdi- vided ; turnpike roads were formed, and of course intercourse between distant districts facilitated. Thus civilization was improved, the condition of the lower orders ameliorated, the appearance of the country in general beautified, and the produce of the soil, and the profits consequent .upon that increase, considerably augmented. A juster idea perhaps cannot be formed of the astonishing improve- ments made in these parts within the short compass of thirty years, than by quoting the description of them given by the same entertaining tourist whose words were cited in the l^eginning of this narrative.-(- He is also, it must be observed, delineating the appearance of the identical spot, after a lapse of the above period of time. ** Nothing, surely, can afford a more romantic and picturesque appear- ance than what presented itself to my view in the course of this short journey. On the right hand^ in some parts, cultivated fields rising here and there •j- See page v, of this Life. ./ XVI LIFE OF into gentle hillocks, either loaded with the riches of Ceres, or enamelled with verdant herbage : in other parts, plains covered with little else than the products of nature, and naked, wild, and uncultivated as she formed them, afforded a variety, and gave an additional beauty to the improved fields : beyond these, at several miles distance, hills lost in the clouds terminate the prospect. On the left hand, in some places, you look down on the dales beneath you, and you see many hundreds of acres, formerly nothing- more than part of the l)arren heath, now well inclosed, and affording the richest and most varie- gated prospect to the traveller. Beyond these the proud Skiddaw, and the innumerable tribe of his vassal mountains, stop the progress of the inquisitive eye.'* Mr. John Sanderson, in addition to his various active services in improving the disposition of the soil, and in introducing a more rational system of Agriculture into his native village, was ever actively alive to the interests of religion and learning. He planned, and by his strenuous solicitations caused to be erected, a neat and elegant chapel at Raughton- head, delightfully situated in the immediate vicinity of Rose Castle, the rural seat of the Bishops of 'Carlisle. This edifice was calculated to afford accommodation to the more remote inhabitants of the parish of Castle-Sowerby, the distance of whose residences from the parent church was such as sometimes effectually to prevent and occasionally to cause a less frequent attendance upon the services of religion than was either consistent with the imperative duties of the master of a family, or the ardent wishes of a sincere Christian. He was also chiefly instrumental in repairing and beautifying his own parish church. He paid particular regard to education, not only in his own family, but extended it also to the THOMAS SANDERSON, XVll' instruction of his more indigent neighbours ; and was an active encourager of every species of useful and necessary knowledge. The repairs of the village school were always conducted under his immediate direction ; frequently at his own expense. An iro7i ladle, stamped with his name upon the handle, was for a long time chained to a massive stone at the school-well, a never- failing spring of the purest water, and of which he was the architect and donor. Both these he appropriated to the use of his infant seminary, and, in addition, furnished it with an iron pan for the purpose of boiling potatoes, thus rendering more comfortable the otherwise <^old repast of the distant scholars. During the latter period of his life, however, learning seems to have made some progress. Sebergham had already been enlightened by the instructions of some northern Busbies, The names of Relph, of Blain, of Halifax, and of Jackson still rank high in the class of Cumberland pedagogues. Not to notice the masters of men illustrious for literature seems to be a kind of historical fraud by which honest fame is injuriously diminished. The *' noisy mansion'* in which those eminent worthies presided, was, for the most part, some detached portion of a village farm-house. No parochial school-room existed. A circumstantial account of the life and manners of the first, accompanied by an accurate critical examination of his Poems, is given in detail in Hutchinson's History of Cumberland. * The second, before his removal to the Grammar School at Wigton, dispensed his rudimental instruc- tions to the natives of this parish from a mud-built solitary hut, situated upon the edge of a dreary . ^ - uninhabited common. In the latter part of his life he performed the parochial duties at Greystoke, near Penrith, as curate to Dr. Law, at that time XVllI , LIFE OF Bishop of Carlisle, an incumbent of the rectory, and occasionally acted as his Lordship's domestic and examining chaplain. The thirdf of those praise-worthy village- teachers was also highly conversant in classic lore. He succeeded his predecessor at Sebergham, like- wise in the Grammar School at Wigton, where he taught for a space of several years with considerable success ; was promoted to the perpetual curacy of Westward, of which chapel he continued regularly to perform the clerical duties till the time of his death, which took place at Wigton only a few years since. The last of them, the Rev, John Jackson, was a native of the parish, and was educated under the care of the Rev. William Cowper, who then presided over the Grammar School at Penrith, and appears to have been an intimate associate of Josiah Relph. Mr. Jackson was ordained about the canonical age^ and shortly after became curate to, and the bosom -friend of, the late Rev. Mr. Baldwin, at that time prebendary of Carlisle and vicar of Eden-hall, To such a degree did his fidelity prevail upon the feelings of his patron, that he frankly gave up to him, during his life, the full emoluments of the latter, and further procured for him, by his interest with the Dean and Chapter of Carlisle,* the vicarage of Morland, where he continued to reside till his death. He materially improved the living, by promoting the inclosure of a neighbouring common, and by erecting near the church an elegant, sub- stantial, and commodious parsonage-house to which he added an extensive garden, amply reple- nished with the choicest fruit-trees. To his classical attainments, which were certainly of the first rank, he united a considerable acquaintance + It is. 1 matter of uncertainty whether Halifax ever taiv ht in the preseut (jlramniar School-room. *' THOMAS SANDERSON. xix with the modern improvements in arts and sciences, and no mean skill in llie more abstruse investisa- tions of pure and mixed mathematics. He was the friend of Paley, to whom in his philosophical researches he bore a considerable analogy. Under the guidance of such able and assiduous teachers, learning* and the sciences made rapid advances. Mr. Sanderson was the never-failing- patron and active encourager of every system which had any tendency to increase a knowledge of the former, or to facilitate an acquaintance with the latter. The scholar and the philosopher uni- formly received, under his hospitable roof, the most hearty welcome. Mr. Adam Walker, the celebrated itinerant lecturer, was his frequent guest, and occasionally delivered in his house, to crowded assemblies, anxious for information, his different courses on mechanical and philosophical subjects ; and in the year 17C3 he was heard publicly to declare, that during his various peregrinations through most parts of the kingdom, he seldom addressed a more intelligent audience, or one by which he seemed to be better understood than at Sebergham, the Metropolis itself not excepted. This worthy member of society, whose life we have thus detailed at, what may appear to some, too great a length, was born in the year 1723, and died (in his own house at Sebergham-Church-Town, not indeed the identical one in which he was born, but in another more commodious and elegant, which he himself had caused to be reared nearly upon the same site,) in the year 1776. A mural monument has lately been erected, with an inscription from our Ajithor's pen,-]- to perpetuate the memory of this best of fathers, his deceased mother and brothers, in the interior of Sebergham Church, by his sixtli son, the Rev, Joseph Sanderson, of whom a short account t See pag'e 105 of Ihis work. c2 XX LIFE OF is given in the following pages. f His wife, the mother of our Poet, was a Miss Sarah Scott, descended from an equally opulent, though perhaps less cultivated family in the neighbouring parish of Caldbeck. The issue from this union was rather numerous, eight sons in succession, and one daughter, the now only surviving member. J Of this progeny four only attained a mature age, all the rest having died in their infancy or boyhood. His eldest son was called Alfred, from, as is believed, the father's admiration of the character of the English monarch of that name ; and the seventh, Septimus. Alfred was born in the year 1753, at Currigg, in the chapelry of Raughtonhead, and received the first rudiments of his education under Mr. J. Jackson, noticed before, in the parish-school of Sebergham, and completed it under the care of Mr. Wennington, an elegant and sound classical scholar, who at that time taught the Grammar School in Carlisle. At a proper age, he was admitted of Queen's College, Oxford, where he acquitted himself with credit, and took the degree of M. A. Shortly after, though he still continued on the foundation, upon his taking orders he removed from the University, and undertook the curacy of Maidenhead, Berkshire. In this situation he remained two or three years, and in 1783 returned again to Oxford, being appointed one of the two Readers or Chaplainsg in his own college. He was subsequently elected Master of the Grammar School at North Leech, in the county of Gloucester. He married in what may be called rather early collegiate + See page xxiii. $ The wife of Mr. Joseph Dawson, spirit-merchant, in Keswick, to whom our Author has bequeathed the whole of his property. 5 These chaplains are regularly chosen from the Taber^ars, so called from a peculiar kind of gown which they assumed formerly upon their taking their first degree and subsequent election to that preferment, which in due time invariably led to a fellowship. Mr. S., however, forfeited his claim by marriage. THOMAS SANDERSON, Xxi life, and by that step forfeited all claim to the good things with which Alma Mater rewards her hoary- headed Bachelors. The maiden name of his wife was Pointz, a distant relation to Lord Spencer, a lady whose only dower was the virtues of the heart. His annual emoluments arising from the school, and a small curacy in a neighbouring town, did not for some time exceed £120 ; and though such an income might appear as an ample competency to a Cum- berland country parson in his snug rural retirement, and with his contracted views and enjoyments, yet to a person in Mr. S.'s situation, and with his matrimonial connections, though in every respect a strict economist, it was in a short time found to be inadequate to supply the expenditure of a large and increasing family. Amid all the difficulties in which his contracted finances necessarily involved him, his conduct was in every respect truly exemplary and praise- worthy, and such as claimed for him the esteem and commiseration of every good man arid sincere Christian. About the close of the year 1799, his prospects began somewhat to brighten. About that period he thus addresses the subject of this narrative : " Perhaps,'* says he, " you will be somewhat surprised, and, I doubt not, pleased to hear, that being strongly recommended to the Chancellor by a person of great rank and distinction, my Lady Dowager Spencer, I have lately been favoured with a letter from him, in which he gives me great encouragement to apply to him when I can point out to him a vacant living worth my acceptation at his disposal. " To promise you indefinitely a living," says his Lordship, " would be a mere delusion. Each vacancy, as it occurs, is supplied according to the specific recommendations of the particular living ; and my part in the appointment is only to select ;XXll LIFE aF among the peculiar and local circumstances the person most jjroper for the charge. All, tlien, that I can say to you is, that if you can point out to me the specific mode by which 1 may assist you, satisfied as I am from the respectable recommenda- tion produced by you, that your case is a meritorious one, 1 shall be niuch inclined to give a due consi, deration to any request you can make to me. *' The attainment of a living,*' continues Mr. Sanderson, " becomes every year an object of more and more importance to me.^ In these times, when the weight of taxes is so sensibly felt, and every article necessary for the accommodation of life has risen to a price never known before, what proportion does £100, or even £200 per annum, bear to the unavoidable expenses of a large and increasing family?" At this period he served a curacy at Arlington, near Fairford, in the county of Gloucester. His own personal applications, joined to these of his friends, at last proved successful, and he was presented to a small crown-living. -j- This increLse of income tended materiallv to better his domestic circumstances ; but, alas ! lie possessed it too short a time to enable him to make any provision for his family. He died some time in the month of July,, in the year 1802, of apoplexy, as Jie was about to perform divine service in his own parish, church. By this event, so sudden and unexpected^ his widow and six lielpless children were left in a situation nearly destitute. The loss of a father was, however, amply compensated for by the benevolent inter- ference of his sixth brother, who, with the most affectionate regard, supported, in a great measure, the surviving widow and rising family ; andlatterlv, as we have understood, was at the expense of the education of tv;o of his sons in the University of + T!nsbe»efice it is believed in the best of times, never exceeded Ibe HUiiiuil value ot £200, or i 250. THOMAS SANDERSON. Xxiu Oxford. Tbe greatest men have their failings and weaknesses. Mr. Alfred Sanderson, as might naturally be expect-ed from the wild notions which at that time were so prevalent in his native village, was in early life much tinctured with superstition ; in other respects he was a sound scholar, of a solid and accurate judgment, and well knew what was becoming in manners and conversation. Mr. Joseph Sanderson, his sixth brother just mentioned, was born at Sebergham-Church-Town, in the year 1764, and received the first rudiments of classical knowledge in the parochial school of his native village, under the tuition of the late Rev. John Stubbs, a man not less celebrated for his profound knowledge in the Greek and Roman classics, goodness of heart, and universal benevo- lence, than for his many failings. -j- Upon leaving school, well stocked with classic information, about the age of twenty he became teacher of a small endowed seminary atSowerby-Row, in the adjoining parish of Castle-Sowerby. This was the regular mode of procedure with northern youths intended for the church, whose finances were too confined to admit of their education being completed at either of the Universities. His abilities were considered as solid, rather than brilliant, and his disposition remarkably mild and conciliating. Of poetical talents he was by no means however destitute. Some of his pieces, written at an early age, and well worthy to meet the public eye, have been read and admired by the writer of this sketch. From his pen also emanated a well-drawn-up description of Howk, a natural curiosity in the parish of Caldbeck.+ About the canonical age he entered into holy orders, served for nearly three years as t A short memoir is g^iven of him by our Antlior, and an f]e.gy on his iifleath, see page 99 <>f tliis volume. } These productions, it. is believed, weje published in some periodical »f the day. XXIV LIFE OF curate of Cross- Canonby,f and taught a school in a neighbouring village.* From this situation, about the year 1790, he removed to London, having obtained the promise of a curacy§ in the immediate vicinity. But what was his surprise, when, on his arrival, he found that the metropolitan diocesan would not permit him to officiate, because he had not received an academical education. The case was, that his Lordship, and two or three more of his Right Reverend brethren, had at that time come to a determination, in order to encourage the Universities, to allow none to perform the sacred offices of religion within their jurisdictions, but such as had been educated at either Oxford or Cambridge, We must not, however, forget to mention that, on this occasion, the conduct both of the bishop and his expected rector towards him was highly meritorious, and worthy of imitation. To supply his present exigences he was presented with a handsome pecuniary compliment from each. Thus disappointed, and destitute of necessary resources, hearing by accident of an assistant being wanted in Dr. Knox's establishment at Tunbridge, he lost no time in making application without any other recommendation than his own individual merit. After a severe classical examination, he was selected from fourteen other candidates to fill the vacant situation. The stipend, though small, never exceeding the annual sum of £40, with board, was nevertheless fully adequate to all his wants. He remained in this school till about the year 1800, a space of near ten years, and he would in all proba- bility have continued longer, if some rude treatment experienced from his principal had not induced him * A maritime parish on the western side of this county. J Gilcrux, about four miles distant from his church J He was appointed curate to the Rev. J. Porter, at that time Professor of Hebrew m tlie University of Cambridge, and afterwards Bishon of Cloy,- her. "" ^ THOMAS SANDERSON. XXV 1x) kave it. Dr, Knox, though undoubtedly a man of talents, shewy and captivating rather than erudite, was at the same time well known to be of an insolent, vain, proud, overbearing disposition, illiberal in his sentiments, and satirical in his remarks. After this separation the Doctor endeavoured to engage him again as his assistant ; which offer had he accepted, and returned again to his former vocation, he would perhaps have little consulted his happiness or his honour. His protracted stay, in a situation in which he daily experienced some ungentleman- iike behaviour, and heard so many things to hurt his feelings, incontestibly proves him to have been one of the meekest tempered men in the world. Upon his leaving Dr. Knox, he had no other provision than what arose from a small curacy in the neighbourhood of Tunbridge. In a short time afterwards, however, through the recommendation of some powerful friends, whom the suavity of his temper, united with his other good qualities, had procured for him, he became private tutor in the family of Lord le Despenser. Here he discharged the duties attached to his important situation so much to the satisfaction of his employer, that for a long time after the cessation of his tutorial functions he continued an inmate of his Lordship^s household in the capacity of domestic chaplain. Sometime in the year 1814, his services were rewarded by his presentation to the living of Tudely,-]- in the county •of Kent, The love of his dulce natale solum was still the ruling passion of his heart. Early in the Spring of this year he again revisited his native village of Sebergham, after an absence of upwards of twenty years. Such alterations had taken pl9.ce during this interval in his manners and person, that upon his arrival, rather unexpected, he was with + To hold till one of his Patron's sons, then a youth, should arrive at a sufficient age to assume tlie c'krical functions. d XXVI LIFE OF difficulty recognized by his nearest relatives and most intimate friends. The author of this memoir met him there in company vt^ith our Poet, and \yas a feeling witness of the heart-rending satisfaction with which each of the brothers re-traversed the various places which had formerly been the scenes . of their boyish and youthful amusements. All these he seemed to recollect with the most accurate discrimination. He solicited also permission to take an internal view of his father's paternal mansion, in which he was born, then transferred into other hands, and during his progress through the different apartments he seemed to enjoy a species of melan- choly pleasure. Recollection appeared to be a source which let in a pang at every pore. Upon his return to the south, he took possession of his benefice ; but such is the uncertainty of human life, that he was not destined long to enjoy it, A remarkable coincidence occurred in the manner and times of the deaths of the two last- named brothers. Their deaths Avere each in conse- quence of apoplexy, and each took place during the time of their officiating in their respective parish churches. It was the second attack, which happened on Sunday the 21st of June, 1818, that hurried the younger to a premature grave, and deprived his parishioners and the whole world of an exemplary and learned divine, a pleasing and instructive preacher, and a worthy member of society. The fatal stroke was given at the very moment when he was in the act of delivering his text from the pulpit. He was conveyed home and immediately bled ; but the vital spark was nearly fled he fell into a deep sleep from which he awoke no more. His property, which, from his numerous acts of charity and benevolence, could not be supposed to be considerable, descended to his only survivinff brother, the subject of this narrative. THOMAS SANDERSON. XXVii Thomas Sanderson, so much distinguished in after life by his various compositions in prose and verse, was born at Curri^g", in the chapelry of Raug'htonhead, in the year 1759, and was the fourth son of the late so-often-named John Sanderson. His father, being a g-ood sound classical scholar himself, and anxiously devoted to promote the improvement of his family, superintended for some time the juvenile education of his sons, which was afterwards completed under the direction of the Rev. John Stubbs, who became a resident of the place, and lived for some time under his father's roof, during the rebuilding of a Parsonage-house, about the year 1771, or 1772. Mr. Stubbs continued for the space of upwards of thirty years the conscientious curate,f and indefatigable schoolmaster of his native parish. Mr. Sanderson discovered an early taste for composition, and was invariably much attached to his class-fellows, to whom he daily, with the greatest patience, dictated nearly every lesson. When an ode, or a piece selected from any Greek or Roman author, had been given to translate into verse or prose, on the morning it was to be shewn up he generally made his appearance in the school half an hour later than his usual time, and after the other boys had submitted theirs to the master's scrutiny and remarks. Often was he observed, on these occasions, to cross the floor to his place with the eyes of the whole upper form attentively fixed upon him, and a general expectation was excited both in them and the master, who never failed to call for his exercise as soon or sooner than he had disposed of his hat. This was frequently read aloud, in order to excite the emulation of his compeers, and seldom or never failed to receive the due meed of praise. From his earliest years, he was + ITe was accurately so ia as much as regarded the faithful discharge cff his parochial duties. d2 XXVlll LIFE OF devotedlj' attached to reading and study ; and m consequence quitted school with an unusual reputa- tion for extensive general knowledge, and classical learning. History, biography, and the works of some of the minor Poets, which chance threw in his way, had, even at that juvenile period, powerfully arrested his attention. He was not less remarkable for the mildness of his disposition, and his universal wish to assist, in any way whatever which lay within the compass of his power, his class-fellows and associates. Many a scholastic exploit, in its nature marvellous, romantic, and sometimes heroic, was devised by his ingenuity, and executed under his direction, which manifestly discovered the inherent seeds of a future highly-imaginative fancy. The whole operations of a Barring-out were, for the most part, planned by his skill, and conducted under his guidance. " This was a savage licence,'* says Dr. Johnson, *' practiced in many schools at the end of the last century, by which the boys, when the periodical vacation drew near, growing petulant at the approach of liberty, some days before the time of regular recess, took possession of the school, of which they barred the doors, and bade their master defiance from the windows. It is not easy to suppose that, on such occasions, the master would more than laugh ;t yet, if tradition may be credited, he often struggled hard to force or surprise the garrison.*' This practice was continued, at least in the northern counties, to a much later period, and it is uncertain t Though the master seems, for the most part, to liave yielded a volun- tary concession to the wishes of his scholars, ytt in some places the custom was strenuously resisted. The following is an extract from the statutes of the Grammar School founded at Kilfeenny, March 18, 1648. *' In the number of stubborn and refractory lads who shall refuse to submit to the orders and correction of the said school, who are to be forthwith dismissed, and not re-admitted without due submission to exemplary punishment, and on the second offence to be discharged and expelled for ever, are reckoned such as shall offer to shut out the master or usher, &c." THOMAS SANDERSON, Xxix whether it be, even in the present day, quite extinct. Though this custom has attracted the notice of different writers, we are not aware that a detailed account has ever been given to the world by any one who was himself actively engaged in such an affair. The preparations, the consultations, the anxieties attendant on an undertaking so all- important to a boyish mind, would have well deserved the pen of an Addison, who was himself the main-spring in one of these daring exploits. But as he has not thought proper to relate the minute circumstances of this mimic warfare, and as the practice is fast declining into desuetude, we perhaps cannot do better than give an abridged account of it, making the necessary alterations to render it accurately accordant to the martial scenes displayed at Sebergham Grammar School in the youthful days of our Poet, nearly in the same words as the author of the last paragraph uses in the pages of a celebrated periodical publication,^ and in which transactions we ourselves have often been actors and eye-witnesses. The digression, though a little extended, may perhaps be more easily pardoned, particularly by those who have been concerned, when the relation must so power- fully recall to their minds a thousand delightful reminiscences connected with the early period of scholastic life. Its origin seems to have been derived from our mediceval ancestors ; and the custom strongly reminds us of the Roman Saturnalia, in which the inferior ranks were allowed to use the most unwar- rantable liberties with their superiors. The seasons of the year at which it took place were different; but it was generally the forerunner of some annual holiday. This deposition of the master from his + See Gentleman's Mag:. Vol. 98, Part 2, p. 402. XXX LIFE OF accustomed seat and sway, sometimes, and in some places in Cumberland, *' was prolonged during the space of three days, in each of which the besieged citadel was more than once attacked, and the assailants as often regularly repulsed. In the western parts of the county, it was customary, for time immemorial, for the scholars to bar out the master about the beginning of Lent, or in the more expressive phraseology of the country, at Fasting^ s Even/^-f In the more southern counties, imme- diately previous to the Christmas vacation, it was always considered as a day of relaxation and merri- ment. Ale, bread and cheese, and occasionally wine and spirits, furnished at the expense of the scholars, decked the festive board, sometimes not . inelegantly adorned, in the school-room, but more frequently in the neat clean white-washed parlour of the neighbouring ale-house. The master entered with cordiality into all the innocent pranks of his now reconciled pupils, and the remainder of the day was spent by all in mirth and hilarity. It was mostly in the harvest month of September or October, that a consultation was held of the leading boys to plan, and subsequently to execute, the Barring-out of the master of the school. At those meetings, which usually took place in the school -room, after the evening recess, their real or apparent grievances were discussed seriatim, the master was represented as a despot absolute and uncontrolled. The merciless cruelty of his rod, and the heaviness of his tasks, were insupportable. The accustomed holidays had been rescinded, the usual Christmas feast reduced to a nonentity, and the chartered rights of the scholars were continually violated. Thus stimulated, an early day was generally fixed upon for the completion of their project. To the younger and less daring members + Hutchinson's History of Cumberland. THOMAS SANDERSON, XXxi *>f this assembly, the consequences of a failure were terrible to reflect upon ; but then the anticipation of success, the encouragement of their comrades, and the glory attendant upon the enterprise, if pros- perous, were sufficient to dispel every fear. From this august congress the junior boys, and girls, Srupposing the seminary to admit females, were peremptorily excluded, being considered as totally unfit to be entrusted with such important secrets. On several occasions some officious little urchin had communicated the intelligence to his mother, and she to the master, and in consequence the whole plot had for that time been frustrated. The day of action being fixed, all the elder boys agreed, on the evening previous, to muster in the school- room at a much earlier hour in the morning than usual, sometimes as soon as five o'clock. Perhaps a more restless and anxious night was never passed by young recruits on the eve of a general battle. Many arose some hoursbefore that appointed, and long before the master's wonted time of entrance nearly the whole troop of conspirators were collected. The feeble, the wary, and the timid seldom appeared at the place of rendevouz. Fearing a protracted siege, which very seldom, however, or never was the case, and wishing to cheer and support their desponding spirits during an half-day's immurement in a noisy, turbulent, smoky, heat-inflated and almost air-tight hut, (for the school at Sebergham was little better, and a huge fire in it on such occasions was the first preparation,) the delinquents generally advanced to the scene of action with their satchels copiously replenished with the choicest dainties, pilfered by stealth from their mother's well-sfored butteries. Weapons of defence and military stores were provided in profusion. Muskets and blunder- busses, frequently minus a lock or trigger, old rusty swords, diminutive cannon, pistols often in the same XXXll LIFE OF predkament with the first-named articles, bone, bourtree or elder, commonly called hur try -guns ^ were held in great requisition by the older boys, and formed their hostile equipments : some were furnished with syringes made of burtry^ and deno- miniited sworls ; whilst others, who could provide themselves with nothing more terrific or destructive, had horns, for the purpose of sounding an alarm, or as is the case in an actual engagement with the band of music, to drown, by their discoi-dant and hideous sounds, the piercing cries, not indeed of the dying, and wounded, but to smother the no less real pangs arising from affright of the weak and dastardly : the rest were armed with squibs, crackers, cudgels, heated pokers, missiles, and almost every species of. weapon calculated for the use of defensive warfare. Gunpowder and 'panfuls of water were collected in abundance. The arrival of every boy with addi- tional materials was announced by tremendous cheers. The muster being completed, the first operation was to barricade the doors and windows. In an instant the old oaken door rang on its heavy hinges. Some with hammers, gimlets, and nails, were eagerly securing the windows ; while others were dragging along the ponderous desks, forms, tables, and every thing portable, to blockade with certain security every place which could possibly admit of ingress. Fervet opusf — when lo ! on a sudden, the master, warned by some officious spy, or made acquainted over-night by the meddling: interference of some newsy gossip, of his intended deposition, was seen unexpectedly and rapidly t " r«":^t '>P".Sv':*'*^7^«ntq'^^ Ihymo fragranlia niella. Ac velub leiitis Cyclopes fulmina massrs ■ C'lini properant ; alii taurinis follibus auras Accipiimt, ret'.dmitquc alii stridentia tino-unt MvA lacu ; goniit inipositis incudibus iE?na ' 1 Hi inter sese magna vi bracliju toll lint In vunnerum, vei-santque tenaci foicipe ferrum Noil alitt^r, si parva licet tomponere niagi)is,"..ViR, Geo. ir. THOMAS SANDERSON. XXXiii approaching'. All was instant confusion. Many ran they knew not where, as if eag^er to fly or screen themselves from observation. The well-known foot- step, which had often struck terror in their ears, proclaimed his near advance. The muttering of his stern voice sounded to them like the lion's growl. A death-like silence prevailed. They scarcely dared to breathe. The palpitation of the hearts of the younger part of the fry were alone to be heard. The object of their dread cautiously advanced to the back window, that part being less exposed to the fire of the enemy ; and the master himself, being^ rather dastardly in war, and instinctively afraid of fire-arms and gunpowder, made choice of this posi- tion, rather than the front, to take a first survey of the garrison. He warily approached to the side of this comparatively diminutive window, and viewed with counterfeited astonishment this hostile army ranged in battle array, motionless as statues, and silent as the tomb. This discovery being made, *' he said or seemed to say,'* for few were able to determine which, " What is the meaning of this ?" and immediately went round to one of the larger windows in front, and traversely approaching it, exclaimed in the most violent pretended passion, *' You young scoundrels, open the door instantly," and at the same moment dashed the head of his walking stick through the window, which consisted of small diamond shaped panes of glass, and appeared as if determined to make a forcible entry. Fear and trepidation, attended by an increasing commo- tion, again possessed the junior forms: every eye was turned upon their seniors and seducers, as if in reproach for having brought them into this terrible dilemma. Some exciting stimulus was necessary. The head and elder insurgents, instantly waving their hats, and ordering the horns to be sounded, loudly vociferated, " Three cheers for the Barring- e , XXXIV LIFE OF outy and success to our cause, hurra ! hurra ! hurra /" The shouts were appalling to those without. The courag^e of all the besieged revived. An attack was made sufficiently tremendous to have repelled a more powerful assailant. The missiles flew at the ill-fated aperture from every quarter. The cannon, the blunderbuss, the guns, and pistols (the gunpowder, where the lock was insufficient, being ignited by a fiery stick,) were all discharged ; squibs and crackers, inkstands and rulers, stones, and even burning coals, were impetuously hurled in showers at the casement, and shattered some of the panes into a thousand fragments : while blazing fire-brands composed of tarry rope ends, heated pokers and sticks, were formed in martial order, like poles in a hop plantation, under the window. The whole was scarcely the work of a minute. The astounded master reeled back in dumb amazement. He had evidently been struck by a missile, or with the broken glass ; and probably fancied he was wounded by the fire-arms, of which he had, by nature, such innate dread. The school now rang with the shouts of victory, and a continued clamour of applause. The enemy again approaches, — cries the chief ringleader of the plot, " fire another volley," — " stay, he seeks a parley,'* " let us hear him." " What is the meaning, I say, of this horrid clamour ?" The Barring-out ! the Barring-out ! instantly exclaimed a dozen voices. " For shame,'* says he, in a tone evidently subdued, " what dis- grace you are bringing upon yourselves and the school, open the door without further delay." We will in a moment replied some of the fiercest of the conspirators, with a considerable deo-ree of sans froid, on your promising to pardon us^ and to give us our lawful holidays, and set us no tasks in the vacation. "Yes, yes," said several squeaking voices, " that is what we want, and not to be THOMAS SANDERSON. XXXV flogged.** Provoked by the coolness of these tyro- rebels, the master, without further remonstrance, turned round and walked indignantly away. Flushed with this retreat as auguring a successful termination of the campaign, another discharge of musketry, with the accompaniment of horns, was prepared and instantly executed with a fury and vociferation far exceeding the former. In this interval, the walls rang with repeated hurras ! In the madness of enthusiasm some of the boys began to tear up the forms, throw the books about, break the slates and locks, ransack the master* s desk and drawers ; and every play-thing which had been confiscated as the cause of idleness or neglect, was speedily restored to its pristine owner. Alternate assaults and repulses were regularly carried on during the greater part of the morning. The affair of the Barring-out had now become generally known in the village, and crowds of per- sons assembled round the windows ; some impelled by curiosity, some by a wish to intimidate, others to encourage the revolters. Each of the spectators thus necessarily identified himself with one or other of the contending parties. The compiler of this simple detail, on one of these occasions, while ardently espousing the cause of the master, had his cheek severely scorched by a blank cartridge (such at these times being invariably used) discharged from a musket's mouth, pointed through the loop- hole of an adjoining window, to which he had unwarily, but too nearly approximated. The mark or arr, as it is called in Cumberland phraseology, continued for several years. On another, an itinerant tailor, who had incautiousl}' exchanged his shears for the sword, had his coat-tail burnt to pieces, his inexpressibles lacerated, and his other habiliments considerably mutilated by the squibs, €2 XXXVl LIFE OF missiles, and blazing paper of a party of skirmishers emitted from the garrison in order to reconnoitre. Many of the scholars were by this time completely jaded with the over-excitemenUheyhad experienced since the previous evening. The school was close, hot, and full of smoke, and several were anxiously longing for liberty and fresh air. The master, on the other hand, was wearied out by his repeated rebuffs, terror, and anxiety. Mutual repose was equally desired. Terms of capitulation were proposed and accepted. These conditions were comprised in an old formula of English, or Latin Leonini verses, stipulating what periods, during the ensuing year, were to be allotted to study, and what to relaxation and play. Able and sufficient securities were provided by each, and the instrument interchangeably signed and sealed by the master and scholars. The following is a copy of this summary, termed Orders, of mutual agreement adopted by the scholars, and assented to by the master of Sebergham School, a few years anterior to the boyish days of our Author. " Most worthy Sir, we readily confess That we this time a little do transgress, Tly thus securing fast that very door Which open'd still at your approach before ; It is not with intent that rashly we Kesolve t' offend still to the same degree, But only to capitulate for ease, And milder treatment, if it may you please. Our first request is,— that you should not beat Any one boy, either with hand or feet ; And to our hurt that you use methods none, Until December and this month be ^one. Three weeks at Christmas each retu?ninff vear Must to your scholars all be granted clear.' A week at Shrovetide we account our due* As much you must grant us at Easter too.' Seven days are all that we desire at most * At that great feast which is cali'd Pentecost. THOMAS SANDERSON. XXXvii- A holiday we now and then must seize. Hard study craves some intervals of ease. These are the terms for which we do contend ; To which if jou will freely condescend, The bars shall fall, we open Avill the door. And you your school shall enter as before, Where you in honour shall bear rule and sway, And we due tribute of obedience pay." Previous to the actual surrender, the Orders were formerly handed throug-h a broken pane of the window, or a crevice in the door, for the inspection and subsequent assent or dissent of the master : more recently the practice was somewhat different. The doors being thrown open, the lately-insulted pedagogue entered, marched up with due magisterial dignity through the now peaceable, but still armed, ranks of his pupils, to his accustomed seat, in which having placed himself, during a silence still as the grave, the head boy read aloud the articles of capitulation. A refusal, however, on the part of the master, being anticipated by the scholars, the following threat of a renewal of hostilities was valiantly held out in a copy of heroic verses, written expressly for the occasion, and embracing nearly the same particulars, by our Author. The subjoined fragment is what alone remains, and though short, and evidently deficient in classical accuracy, yet it manifestly discovers a rich poetic vein possessed by few at the early age of fourteen. " Arms in our hands, defiance in our mien. Shall rouse the terrors of a martial scene. Thunder our cannons, firebrands spread afar The rueful havock of destructive war. Our guns emit a nitric fiame once more. Hush ! hark you Sir! how music'ly they roar.'* At the repetition of the last line, the universal and deep silence which had previously prevailed, was broken by a tremendous discharge of cannons, muskets, blunderbusses, pistols, and pop-guns, sounds which when augmented by the incessant XXXVm LIFE OF blowing of horns, and the clashing of swords and pokers, might well appal the stoutest heart ; and this, indeed, for the most part, was the effect produced. The master and the more timid of the revolters " 'gan quail,'* fearful lest the late terrific scenes should be repeated with increased violence, courage, and resolution. This, however, was seldom the case : the Orders were then speedily signed ; and the whole party made up of essentials and contingents, sometimes amounting to, the number of fifty, adjourned, surrounded by martial ranks, who frequently during their march, took a delight in annoying, by the jaculation of squibs and crackers, and the discharge of musketry, the aged matrons of the village, to a previously selected ale-house, there to expend,f in the purchase of delicate viands and tasteful eatables, the annually collected funds of their wedding-money,J and the additional specific individual contribution § of each member of the school on this memorable and anxiously expected occasion. Imbued with an accurate aud sound knowledge of Grecian and Roman literature, in the year 1778, being in his 20th year, Mr. Sanderson quitted his native place for Greystoke, a small village in the neighbourhood of Penrith, where he undertook the arduous and fatiguing, though, for the most part, insulted and ill-requited vocation of a country schoolmaster. Here he taught with the approbation of the inhabitants for some time, became acquainted with, and was patronized by the late Rev. Joseph Blain. Removing from thence, he became engaged till purchased by the donation of a certain fixed aratuitv Thissimi thus collected was lodged in the hnnds of the head-scholar and never violated till the annual return of the Barring.ovi. ' ng. \ Generally sixpence a piece. THOMAS SANDERSON. XXxix as tutor in the family of a Mr. Wilson, who, at that time, resided in the neighbourhood of Morpeth. •(- Of this gentleman he has frequently been heard to say that he was a sound grammatical English scholar, and a worthy man. Separated by, what appeared to him, an immeasurable distance from his friends, it might now almost literally be said, that this was the first time our lamented Poet had slept out of his own bed. Intent only on study, he did not seek the circles of the fashionable, nor mix with those whose only occupation it is to invent schemes how to trifle away their time. His amusements yielded him a far more substantial, — a far more exquisite delight. This recluse mode of life drew on him the observation of those who were less commendably disposed ; and a trick, in which Mr. Wilson's nephew was the principal, if not the sole agent, was practised upon him, at which he was so highly disgusted that he left the situation. During one of his solitary rambles, he was seized by a pretended press-gang, and incarcerated in a hovel for the night, with a threat of being conveyed to the Tender, which was then lying off, early in the morning. From this durance vile, however, he was shortly after liberated by the kind interposition of a gentleman unknown, and who also presented him with a curious walking-stick by which he might be recognized, should it ever be their destiny to meet in future, ' the hope of which he more than suggested. The expectation, though long indulged, was, however, never realized. The memorial, nevertheless, was preserved and valued by our Author for several years. On his return home, though the character and qualifications of his mind would have fitted him for agreeable intercourse with the first classes of society, he devoted the whole of his time to reading and + II is believed tlie name of the place was UIghani. Xl LIFE OF writing. Surrounded by a welUstored Hbrary, selected by himself, composed of the best English writers in prose and verse, he appeared little solicitous about the advantages of worldly fortune. He had a quick and just discernment of what was beautiful in composition and discourse ; and, possess- ing these talents, he was modest and unassuming. During the middle period of his life, in which the writer of this narrative had the pleasure of being intimately acquainted with him, it was not marked by any striking incidents, or much variety. Fond of retirement, he formed no high views, and was easily satisfied and contented. He was never heard to utter a murmur or a wish for any thing placed beyond his reach. Such was his passion for seclu- sion, that for two years or more, during which period he entered no house but his own, he confined himself to one solitary walk which led to a beautiful spring, formed to receive which was an elegant basin of stone, cut by the direction of his father in one of his own fields. On the banks of this delightful situation he would sit for hours in silent contempla- tion, when alone, or in cheerful and entertaining conversation, if accompanied by a friend. No consideration could induce him to change his pedes- trian ramble to any other spot. When called upon by any of his more intimate acquaintances, they who are alive can give faithful testimony that he always descended from his study cheerful and in good spirits. To the inquisitive intruder he was regularly denied. Sometimes, though very seldom, he was prevailed upon by the solicitations of his friends to cool a bottle of porter in his favourite fountain. At the distance of about 500 yards from this spring was another well, formed by the same founder, the Fons Blandusice of Josiah Relpb, a jiative of the same village, and a poet and scholar of considerable celebrity. Here he erecied a round THOMAS SANDERSON. xli Stone table inscribed round the raised part of the pillar, " Fies nobilium tu quoque fontiuin.^^ From this situation, on the brink of a long* and deep pre- cipice, there is a fine view of the river Cauda, the -fertile valley and villas below, and the opposite hanging woods of Warnel ; in short, it is a scene of beauty which " the Medway cannot equal, nor the Avon surpass." To these sequestered retreats, those two distinguished characters, (during the short intervals of relaxation they allowed themselves from severe studies) whose birth places were as near to each other as the wells, were wont occasionally, in company with some other select friends, to resort, in order to enjoy uninterrupted serious discussion, or oftener to* luxuriate in easy pleasantry and playful humour. From intense reading, he was, as might naturally be expected, of a thin habit of body, which he now further diminished by occasionally drinking tar-« water, a beverage at that time in fashionable repute. Though extensively conversant with, and sensibly alive to the beauties of prosaic composition, yet in poetry, from his earliest years, he delighted, and in this he ultimately excelled. In the year 1781, a slight difference took place, on some account or other, between a gentleman and two ladies in the neigh- bourhood, which our Poet, whose talents were then but little known, and consequently unsuspected, seized as an opportunity of giving vent to his poetic genius. A sheet, in manuscript, inscribed Famavolat, was regularly published once a fortnight, by way of reply to each other, by emissaries engaged for the purpose, and pretended to be found, which afforded no small merriment to those who were unconnected Avith, and the greatest astonishment to the parties them- seh^es. The hoax was continued for a considerable period of time, without the least suspicion attaching to our Author. The papers are now lost, we shall. Xlii LIFE OF therefore, subjoin a short unconnected frag^ment from memory. The agents, we doubt not, will be easily recognized, and the perusal may possibly cause a smile of reminiscence in some of our readers. " Last week good Ma'm I luck'ly found, Your sage epistle on the ground. I tuke it up, and ere 'twas lang, Fand lines to metre like a sang. Faith ! by my stars, but wrang or reet, It sets in ugly leet. For tliere is found by intuition, He's of a queer disposition. To lick his mother, and throw down Her crockery ware, and crack her crown. Sic pranks expose him as a gander, An Indian savage, or outiander ; And weel they may : such deeds I sweer Deserve a pillorying by the ear : Then maids with rotten eggs to robe him, And from their spouts to drown and daub him.'* The following lines seem to have been the gentle- man' s concluding reply : — "Go charming creatures, your tea*s summons sound, And cheerful call your neighbouring sex around. , Let Beauty's daughters in their wanton flame, In fuming kettles widely smoke my fame." About the year 1783, his eldest brother, on leaving the curacy of Maidenhead, and previous to his entering upon the chaplainship at Queen's, paid a visit of a few weeks to his mother and sister, with whom our Poet then resided, and finding all persua- sions to alter his walk ineffectual, a plan was formed to compel him by force to relinquish it. Perceiving the application of compulsion, he stript off his shoes to assist his flight, drew a pen-knife from his pocket, and became in the highest degree indignant: so that the attempt, as to any beneficial effects proved totally unsuccessful His fondness for singularity, and the extreme oddness of his manners, while he sojourned m his mother's house, induced several not mtimalely acquamted with him, shrewdly to THOMAS SANDERSON. xliii suspect the soundness of his intellects. He never, hy any chance, visited, or even entered into the house of a neighbour, or of his nearest relation. To meet upon the road, or in the fields, much more to enter into conversation, with any one to whom he was not intimately known, he had an insurmountable objection. His habiliments were never renewed, though so much disfigured by patches of various colours, and sometimes large dimensions, that they could scarcely be pronounced identical. More effectually to engage his attention to some particular pursuit, and by that means to dispel the morbid affections of his mind, it was suggested by some of his friends, that the resumption of his former vocation of a teacher of youth might tend materially to further that end. After some solicitation, he at .^i.3ast ' Consented, and opened a school under his mother's roof. This occupied his attention during- the day ; he also commenced another nocturnal one for the instruction of adult pupils. This was a practice, not uncommon in the northern counties, by which the advantages of learning were more widely diffused. The former is calculated to sow the seeds of knowledge amongst the sons of the opulent, and such as have sufficient leisure : the latter to disseminate principles, almost absolutely necessary to be known among mechanics and artizans, whose attendance in the day would be very incon- venient, and in many cases altogether impossible. In the former are taught reading and the classics : in the latter writing, arithmetic, and the rules of practical mathematics. Under his tuition, the author of thi^ memoir first learned the principles of num- bers, — arithmetical and symbolical. He was cer- tainly not a first-rate mathematician, yet he gave instructions in the first elements with considerable success. Thus busily employed, and his health gradually returning, his spirits began to recover in /2 xliv LIFE OF some measure their wonted tone. No inducement, however, could yet prevail upon him to enter the house of a stranger, or even of a relative. The death of his mother, which took place a short time afterwards, was rather sudden and unexpected. He and his sister (considerably younger than himself,) were, at the time, the only persons in the house. She was found by the latter dead in bed, to which she had a little before retired. The shock was so powerful that it produced an instantaneous effect. His strength of nerve and vigour of mind at once returned. The neighbours being collected, he coolly took his hat, which he seldom used before, left his own and retired along with his sister to his uncle's house, where they remained inmates till the conclu- sion of the mournful catastrophe. Thus alive again to the world, he conducted himself, for the most part, according to its generally received manners and usages, still, however, retaining many oddities of habit, and singularities of dress. If by any chance whatever, whether during a walk in the fields, or a journey upon the road, a permanent visit to, or an occasional call upon a friend, stationary or progressive, he was led within any moderate distance of a clear fountain or limpid stream, he invariably performed an act of ablution. During his annual sojourn of two or three days at Sebergham, on his way to visit his sister at Keswick, frequently has he surprised the early-rising rustic, when, for this purpose, he has seen him brushing away the dew with hasty steps to his favourite well. His dress became equally an object of remark. A blue coat, white waistcoat. Nankin breeches, and dark stock- ings composed his usual exterior. Under this varie- rgated garb, however, were contained learning, vigour of mind, poetic genius, private charity, and universal benevolence. Hound him, as a centio, whilst he resided with THOMAS SANDERSON. xlv his mother, was formed a small select literary society, in which were discussed subjects of theolog-y, history, metaphysics, g-rammar, criticism, and poetry. Towards its close, scientific researches were also introduced. The debates were conducted by way of arg-ument ; the topics such as the present conversation sug-gested. Its members were young- men, mostly his school-fellows, of good abilities, competent learning-, similar views, and each inflamed with the most ardent desire of excellence. In addition to many private, the general meeting's were hebdomadal. Such, however, was their eager thirst after knowledge, that scarce an evening passed which did not bring together a number sufficient to promote, in some way or other, their proj ected plan of mutual improvement. At their general meetings the beverage was tea, furnished gratuitously by Mrs. Sanderson, who was ever ready to try every scheme which had the least apparent tendency to promote the recovery of her son. In morality, criticism, and grammar, the authority of Johnson, Lowth, and Harris, were considered as decisive ; in history and metaphysics, Hume, Robertson, and Locke ; in the general principles of law, and con- stitutional rights, Montesquieu, Blackstone, and Delolme. An accurate perusal of the valuable works of these authors must necessarily add much to the already acquired stock of individual knowledge ; a proper digestion of them, as far as these subjects are concerned, must make it nearly complete. To act a respectable part in this society, both were necessary. Debating societies have, for some time, upon somewhat of a similar plan, existed at least in one of our Universities, the beneficial effects of which are nightly manifested in the Commons' House of Parliament. From this, it is believed, the benefits have not been less important. Xlvi LIFE OF The author of this sketch was prevented by age from any actual participation in it, he nevertheless was a constant attendant and anxious auditor. The advantages he derived from it were also much improved by the kindness and condescension of our Poet, who generally, on the following morning, explained in the most familiar way, the various ramifications of the dispute the night previous, furnished him with the writers, (to read more at his leisure) , from whose works the arguments of the maintainers and opposers of any particular proposi- tion were derived and selected. To shew the utility of such exercises, and how much they necessarily lead the mind to reason and reflect, a rather remarkable instance occurred in an examina- tion for orders at Peterborough. The writer of this account had the sam.e objections as these used by Hume against the truths of Christianity stated to him, and which he was enabled immediately to refute by mere recollection, having so often heard them agitated, upwards of thirty years before, in this assemblv of tvros at Sebersrham. From some members of the same body, he also derived his first ideas of the elegance and utility of the mathematical sciences, and is now the only surviving associate. Subjects of theology were, at one time, the almost only topics of discussion. The cause of this was, in jest, to perplex, though it tended eventually to improve Mr. Joseph Sanderson, who was at that period preparing for orders. He regularly called every evening at his mother's, on his return from his scholastic duties at Sowerby-Row to his uncle's house, his usual residence. After a long interval of comparative repose, at Sebergham, which was by no means, however spent in idleness, our Author resumed his former vocation in the Grammar School at Blackball, in the imme- diate viciility of Carlisle^ From the situation of THOMAS SANDERSON. xlvil this place, so near to the capital of the county, he soon became well known to, and intimately acquainted with, many of its literati. The writer of this memoir was an inmate of the same house with him for several months, and in consequence was, through him, introduced to most of them. They consisted of historians, divines, poets, philoso- phers, and men of science, each of them authors. To the last class of them in particular, he gratefully acknowledges many favours conferred upon him during that juvenile period of his life, as well as many civilities afterwards experienced in more advanced years. Now conversant in a widely different kind of society, Mr. Sanderson^s former whimsical and retired manners were thrown aside, and his habits became totally different. His rusti- city, though not entirely, yet in a great measure disappeared, his mode of address was polished, and his garb was that of the gentleman and scholar. From this place he removed, in about two years, to Seville, still persevering in the same plan. Far secluded, by distance, from the busy haunts of men, and debarred the pleasure of literary society, he again relapsed into his former oddities. Reading, writing, and meditation, for the last of which this place was admirably calculated, being situated in a rich, fertile plain, adjoining to a romantic shore, occupied the whole of his time, except what was employed in the discharge of his scholastic duties. Tired of this seclusion, and anxiously panting for literary intercourse, he accepted of a similar situa- tion at Beaumont, at the distance of about three miles from Carlisle. Here he again resumed his gaiety of dress and sprightliness of manners, and amid his former associates enjoyed to satiety " the feast of reason, and the flow of soul." Born in a sweet retreat, yielding to none in picturesque and romantic features, he was now the inhabitant of a Xlviii LIFE OF place proverbially beautiful. In the scenes of his subsequent sojourn he was no less fortunate. On the precipices, and by the sides of the romantically- winding Cauda, he first courted the Muse,— by Eden's swollen tide he was visited by dreams of poetic inspiration, — and durin;^ his solitary rambles along the shelvy banks of the Lyne, his temples were finally encircled by his tutelary goddess with that never-fading wreath of laurel, which rescues from oblivion her successful votaries. From this place he removed to Hethersgill ; from thence to Burnside, and lastly to Shiel or Sheild- green, all of them highly picturesque situations in the parish of Kirklinton. In each of these, marked by few varieties of incident, he pursued the uniform tenor of his way, still (for it seemed to be the pre- dominant passion of his soul) anxiously desirous of literary fame, and still striving more to deserve it. In the last of them he spent nearly the last thirty years, and there closed certainly not a protracted, though harmless and innocent life. During his residence at Beaumont, or rather perhaps a little previous, at Seville, which is situated in the immediate neighbourhood of Blencogo,f about the year 1791, he first became acquainted with the Rev. J. Boucher, in whom he ever afterwards experienced an impartial adviser, a strenuous patron, and sincere friend. Mr. Sanderson, though many of his poetic effusions were already written, had not yet dared to appear as an author before the tribunal of the public. Some of his smaller pieces, it is true, had appeared in the Cumberland Pacquet, under the signature of Crito. This periodical was, at that time, the only one published in the county, and was conducted by Mr. J. Ware, a sound and discerning critic, and by whom his merits were not long undiscovered. His other poetic flights, by far + Mr. Boucher's place of nativity. THOMAS SANDERSON. xlix exceeding in number these thus made known to the public, were confined solely to the inspection of his more intimate friends. By these published trifles he attracted the notice of Mr. Boucher, who was a patriot in the best sense of the word, ever anxious to introduce modest merit, to promote the happiness of his fellow-countrymen in general, more particu- larly of those of his native county, an active encourager of every thing tending to improve the morals, civilize the manners, and ameliorate the condition of the lower orders. A strict and intimate friendship, cemented afterwards by mutual freedom of sentiment, was soon formed between those two literary worthies : and in consequence, many, if not all of the productions of our Poet were submitted to the inspection and correction of this judicious friend. The intimates of an author, from fear of giving offence, are often unwilling to tell him of his faults ; and as praise is pleasing to all, they gene- rally bestow upon him more than he can claim from any merit he possesses. But in the present instance, neither praise nor censure were given where they were not deserved. The remarks of the former were offered with candour, and by the latter re- ceived with gratitude. The friend who has discern- ment to detect faults, and the honesty to point them out, is a valuable friend indeed. Such did Mr. Boucher invariably prove himself to be towards his unprotected and unpatronised protegee. By his j udicious and kind remarks, our Author was enabled to improve several lines, remove several faults, reject even whole stanzas, by which the public taste might have been less pleased, or even dis- gusted. In the year 1794, was published at Carlisle, *' The History and Antiquities of Cumberland,^* by W, Hutchinson, F. A. S. To this work is pre- fixed an "Ode to the Genius of Cumberland,'* 1 LIFE OF written by our Author, at the express wish of his patron. Thus led by the fostering- hand of this kind McEcenas, we find this compiler of trifling verses, as he may not improperly be called at that period, in comparison with his future eminence, induced to attempt, and complete with success a specimen of the most sublime and highly-inspired lyrical composition. The statistical part of this History was composed by Mr. Housman ; the bio- graphical, in a great measure, by our Poet's friend and patron. To each of those writers unqualified praise is due, for the able exertion of their respective divisions. Upon the whole, with respect to this local compilation, we conscientiously and minutely accord with the observations of our Author, who, in a letter to his friend, thus freely expresses his opi- nion : — " I have lately been reading, for the first time, (1800) Hutchinson's History of Cumberland, and I ingenuously own that it does not answer the idea which I had formed of its merit. I do not mean to flatter either you or Mr. Hutchinson when I say that his labour and your's do honour to the work, and enable the reader to go through it without a nod. In some parishes the account is too superfi- cial ; in others, it is composed of a confused heap of materials, badly selected and worse arranged. It also abounds with grammatical inaccuracies and errors, disgusting to a correct ear, and ridiculous to any. All blame must fall upon Mr. Hutchinson as the ostensible author. I consider him as a man of great industry and some genius, but in the com- pilation of this work, his industry seems to have tired and his genius to have forsaken him. It is impossible for this county, as it advances in taste and judgment, to be contented with such an account of it. May we not expect in the course of this cen- tury, that a structure may arise more worth v of it • that may discover the hand of a master, and unite THOMAS SANDERSON. li <30th elegance and use. There is no county in the kingdom that can supply richer materials for an edifice of this sort than Cumberland ; the misfortune is, that able workmen are wanting^." The greatest part, though not all, of the bio- graphical notices were furnished by Mr. Boucher, and for minute accuracy and circumstantial detail cannot, perhaps, be too highly commended. The accounts of the most distinguished natives of the county are judicious and impartial. Many obscure names, on which oblivion has long ago set its seal, are with the greatest propriety omitted. It is certainly absurd, if not unjust, and in the highest degree galling to surviving relatives to prolong the life of an expiring author, whom folly, or the preju- diced judgment of his friends has hurried to the press, and whose merits can have no claim on posterity. Some few deserving names are, how- ever, unnoticed. These, it may also be observed, are, for the most part, editors or commentators on the Grecian and Roman classics. Perhaps the exact places of nativity, mode of education, and future residences in lifo, of several praise-worthy indivi- duals, it may now be utterly impossible to discover. To what is communicated by his biographer of G. Graham, F. R. S., the celebrated watch maker, the following account, derived from a worthy relation of his, who resides in the immediate neighbourhood, may not improperly be subjoined, as its authenticity may be depended upon. The house or village where he was born is uncertain. It is certain, however, that he was brought up, from his earliest infancy, by a brother-in-law at Sikeside, a lone house in the parish of Kirklinton. His father was twice married ; by his latter wife he had the subject of this addition. As this event took place at a very advanced period pf life, his imprudence was much censured b}^ his relations : but when George had arrived at eminence g 2 lii LIFE OF in his profession, and stood alone the greatest mechanical genius of his age, they began to retract their vituperations, and adduce this marriage as an instance of the folly, if not impiety of judging of futurity by the aspect of the present moment. His mother was a Scotch woman, and servant to his father, previous to their marriage. His character in private life was irreproachable, — amicable in his manners, — peaceable and inoffensive in his beha- viour, he had the love and esteem of all his acquaintance. If he had a fault, it must be charged upon a generous disposition, which often hurried him, at the first impulse of pity, to a thoughtless profusion of his money on many who were by no means proper objects of his bounty. Harrison, who was honoured with the intimacy of Tickell and Addison, is, with the strongest reason, supposed to have been a native of Cumber- land. Of him it is but very little, indeed, at this day, that can possibly be known. Tickell comme- morates him in one of his poems : — ♦' When youthful Harrison, with tuneful skill, Makes Woodstock Park scarce yield to Cowper's Hill, Old Chaucer from iW Elysian fields looks down, And praises notes thai equal most his own/' There can be no doubt but that he owed his name as a poet to the assistance of the above named ingenious friends : and even with regard to Tickell himself, it is more than bare suspicion that the basis of his poetical reputation was laid by Addison. Soon after Pope had begun his translation of Homer, a rival attempt at the first book of the Iliad was written by Addison under the name of Tickell. ♦' Pope's translation (said Addison, when he was asked his opinion of their merits,) is a good one, but Tickle's inimitable." The echo of this hasty and envious criticism was repeated amongst his friends with triumphant malignity from circle to circle, and Tickell's poetical fame was established. THOMAS SANDERSON. liii About the year 1797 or 1798, two rival editions of Relph*s poems were published, — one by Thomp- son, the other by Mitchell, each of them respectable booksellers in Carlisle, — the former dedicated to Mr, Boucher, the latter to Sir Wilfrid Lawson. To the first, Mr. Sanderson prefixed a memoir of the author, accompanied with a pastoral elegy on his death. The life might, perhaps, with propriety have been somewhat more extended. Our Poet seems to have been afraid that, instead of amusing he might weary the reader, by too circumstantial a detail of the manners of a man whose life had glided away in the uniformity of a rural retreat, and in the obscurity of a sequestered village; and whose poetical merit, which was to convey his name to posterity, had scarcely extended beyond the circle of his private friends. " When (says he) at the particular request of Mr. Thompson, I undertook the task as editor of Relph*s poems, 1 received no encourage- ment from my own vanity in supposing that I could in any way amuse or interest the mind of the reader by any thing I could say in the narrative or elegy. I considered myself as the obscure biographer of an obscure author, and ventured to predict neither the one nor the other would ever be able to attract any considerable share of public attention, ' * The poems are printed upon excellent paper, and in a very good type, though, perhaps, in rather too confined a page. Several errors, in consequence of the superintendence of the press being entirely committed to the publisher, materially injured the value of the edition. This observation is not meant as the least insinuation prejudicial to the skill, taste, or fancy of Mr. Thompson. The public expectation would certainly not, in any way, have been disappointed had he had more leisure, or if his mind had been more easy, and his affairs less embarrassed. A considerable part of the impression was struck off under the apprehen- liv LIFE OF sion of a bankruptcy, and a part amidst the gloom and distresses of a prison. His industry, indeed, during his confinement was greater than usual, and produced more pages within the same limited time than in any other period of the publication. The novelty of a printing-press in a gaol attracted a great number of visitors, whose company would have been gladly dispensed with, as their idle curiosity occasioned no small interruption to the procedure of the work. Circumstances being considered as favourable, the rival publisher conceived hopes that Mr. Sanderson would give him leave to print his account of Relph along with the elegy on his death, in his forthcoming volume ; but the misfortunes of an old friend rather strengthened than weakened the claims of benevolence, he found himself rather bound to assist than disposed to desert him. And though the proposals, we have every reason to believe, were very advantageous, yet he conscien- tiously declined them, nor could he be induced to look upon any consideration of personal interest, as palliative for violating a moral obligation. Mr. Mitchell's edition, as far as printing and the wood-engravings are concerned, is well executed, and perhaps may be considered as superior to its rival. The preparatory biography, however, is undoubtedly inferior. In one place we meet with this expression, " the life of Relph was an exact parody of his sentiments." Is this praise or dis- praise, or does the passage merely afford an example of sonorous nonsense? Had he literally transcribed the narrative of Mr. Boucher, inserted in Hutchinson's History of Cumberland, the readers and admirers of Relph would then have thanked him. A small variation may be observable in the two accounts of the life of Relph, given by our Author and his patron. It is in their relation of the uncom- THOMAS SANDERSON. Iv fortable predicament in which the ^^ Bard of Cmida,^^ during" one period of his life, found him- self involved ; and in consequence of which he was induced to leave, for a short time, his father's house. His conduct, on this occasion, is ascribed by the latter to the harshness and ill usage of his step-mother, aug-mented by the unjustifiable parti- ality of her husband : it is attributed by the former to a certain querulousness and impatience in his own temper and disposition. Which of these accounts are true, or whether they may not both be partly so, it is now impossible to say. He mig^ht have re- ceived mal-treatment from his step-mother, and that perhaps contributed in a great measure to increase that peevishness of temper which he is allowed on all hands to have sometimes discovered. It has frequently been insinuated, and perhaps with reason, that each of his biographers have lavished too many praises on the literary character of Relph : that they have, in some degree, sacri- ficed their judgment to their partiality. They may probably each have their prejudices; but it would not be difficult to point out many passages in his Poems that have all the simplicity of style and sentiment, and all the delicacy of expression that we so much admire in the writings of Shenstone, Cunningham, and Burns. With respect to his Pastorals, there can be but one opinion. Written in a provincial dialect, the Doric strength of which considerably increases their impression, every j udge of nature must allow, " that in ease, simplicity, and a picturesque delineation of rural life," they stand, if not unrivalled, at least unexcelled. He certainly was unequal to the higher efforts of poetry. His Fables, it must be granted, are written with ease, but as the morals had been alreadv inculcated, it may be difficult to assign any good reason for introducing new speakers from the animal creation Ivi LIFE OF to enforce them. Even as a descnber of nature, we must restrict our praises of him to the delineation of a simple uncompounded passion in a rude unculti- vated breast, the seat of virtue, not yet assailed by temptation. He certainly would have failed in tracing a complicated one, operating in a wider sphere, where many mingled motives, f rom j ealousy, from pride, from ambition and revenge, combine to influence the action. The pencil of Homer, of Shakspeare, of Milton, of Richardson, and of Scott, is alone equal to pourtray such a picture. Relph, we are told by his biographers, in addition to his classical researches (in consequence of his scholastic duties) and to the punctual performance of his clerical ofiices, joined the study of antiquities. Where any relics of his lucubrations on these subjects are to be found, they seem not to have known. Some account of them may, however, be found by consulting vol. 5 of NichoU's Illustrations of Literary History. He appears to have been an accurate and acute decipherer of ancient inscriptions. We shall subjoin from one of his letters a trifling extract, which, as it relates to a well- known character, and is not, perhaps, much known to our Cumberland readers, may not be unacceptable. ** The following was received from Kirklees, in the county of York, the burying place of Robin Hood, It is supposed to be the genuine epitaph of that noted English outlaw. The grave-stone is yet to be seen, but the characters are now worn out, *' Hear undernead dis laitl stean, I^aiz lU)bert Earl ot'Huntingtuii ; Nea Arcir ver az liie sa geud, A ye pi pie kauld im Robin Heud : , Sick utlawz az hi and is men Vil England nivr si agen."-|- OUU 24 Kal. Dekemhls, 1247. + The authenticity of this inscription is doubted by some modern antiquaries j but upoa what groumi*; w<; scarcely know. THOMAS SANDERSON. Ivil Mr. Boucher's bounty to our Poet was not con- fined to literary assistance. Early in the year 1799, during" his residence at Burnside, he procured for hirn by his interest, and offered to his acceptance, a lucrative and honourable situation in the colleg-e at Barbadoes. This, as might naturally have been expected by any one in the least acquainted vi^ith our Author's inveterate predilection for his own district, was immediately, though gratefully refused. His unconquerable* dislike of change was almost proverbial. He never was, except a few months in early life, beyond the precincts of his native county ; and it is believed that no inducement what- ever could have prevailed upon him to pass its boundaries. Goldsmith's country curate " was passing rich with forty pounds a year." — " As to myself (says Mr. Sanderson, in his letter declining the foreign professorship) though my income does not reach much more than half that sum, I never had much inclination of improving it by any adven- ture in distant countries ; and I find still less desire as I advance in years. I am too old for transplant- ing. My attachment to my native soil has become so rooted, that I do not think I should be happy in any other part of the world, I make no merit, indeed, of voluntaiy poverty, but when one's wishes are moderate, and wants few, they may be g^ratified at a trifling expense. Should my mind become too big for my present humble lot in life, I do not know that it would find happiness in even the highest station. I could wish, indeed, to have some little independent fortune, some snug rural retreat, something to call my own, to supply me with the necessaries of life, and which might relieve me from a situation that, at best, affords but a precarious and uncertain subsistence. Perhaps there is nothing which more depresses the mind h Ivili LIFE OF .than poverty, and a state of dependence." The additional proposal, to prefer any of his acquaint- ances, upon his refusal, to the vacancy abroad, seems a further convincing proof of the confidence of his friend. It is the natural wish of the human heart to spend the close of life in the place where we first drew breath. This was never more fully exemplified than in the case of our Poet, whose constant feelings seem to have vibrated in unison with the notes of poor Goldsmith, who has expressed himself in his usual forcible language, on a disap- pointment of this nature. •' In all my wancVrings round this world of care. In all my grief's — and God has giv'n my share,^ I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down ; And as a hare whom hounds and horns pursue Pants to the place from whence at first she flew,— I still had hopes, my long vexations past, There to return, and die at home at last.'* This fond hope to our Poet was, however, never realized. His circumstances, by the publication of his Poems in 1800, and in consequence of some pecuniary legacies bequeathed to him by a relative, were considerably improved. His nature, always kind and unsuspecting, was, not unfrequently imposed upon by the arts of designing and pre- tended friends. Trepanned by their devices, he was, at one time, defrauded of property to a large amount: the remainder he found amply sufl^cient, for all his wants. About this time he rehnquished his long-followed and tedious vocation of school-teach- ing, retired to a beautiful spot upon the banks of the Lyne, (where the author of this narrative, more than once, found him busily employed in his former practice of a6/Mf?ow in its limpid streams,) and there passed the last years of his life in comparative independence. THOMAS SANDERSON. lix His continued friend and patron, Mr. Boucher, had chiefly dedicated the last fourteen years of his literary labours to the compilation of a Glossary of Provincial and Archaeological words, intended as a supplement to Dr. Johnson's Dictionary. The proposals were issued in 1802, under the title of *' Linguae Anglicanae veteris Theasaurus.'' No one, certainly, from his profound knowledge of the northern languages, was better calculated for the execution of such a task. The literary aid which he had collected, and, no doubt, in a great measure consulted for this work, appeared sufficiently from the extensive library which he left, and which was sold by auction after his death. Few collections were more copious in early literature. Dr. Jamieson had for many years been engaged in composing an Etymological Dictionary of the Scottish language, upon a similar plan. Those two lexicographical worthies corresponded for a considerable time, with an idea of conjoining their works, but they did not ultimately coincide in their views. The two works, however, had they each been given to the public, might probably, upon examination, have been found to interfere less than might at first be supposed. Many provincial English words, not known either in writing or speaking in Scotland, are omitted by the latter ; while many are introduced, not known to a person who has not long resided in the neigh- bour kingdom ; and some of these, too, are reckoned its most ancient vocables. Dr. Jamieson's valuable labours were given to the world in the year 1810, in two volumes, 4to, under the title of "An Etymological Dictionary of the Scottish Language ; illustrating the words in their different significations, by examples from ancient and modern writers, shewing their affinity to those of other languages, and especially the northern ; explaining many terms, which, though now obsolete h2 Ix LIFE OF in England, were once common to both countries, and elucidating national rights, customs, and insti-, tutions in their analogy to those of other nations ; to which is prefixed a dissertation on the origin of the Scottish language." The work is replete with learning, interesting in its matter, and an absolutely necessary appendage to the library of every anti- quarian, critic, and commentator on our more early writers. A part of Mr. Boucher* s undertaking appeared in 1807, containing words under the letter A. The reception, however, given by the public to this specimen, was, by no means, such as to induce his relatives to hazard a further continuance of the pub- lication. This failure, if such it may be called, is not attributable to any demerit in the work itself. It certainly manifests, in every part, the hand of a master. In learning, and in indefatigable re- search, it stands unrivalled. The fault seems to have consisted in the author*s plan, including the Scotch words, being too extensive ; more, perhaps, than what was at first intended, and the consequent price, to purchasers of the middle ranks, too much augmented. This is generally the case with active minds. The outlines, originally laid down for his dictionary by the immortal Johnson, exceeded what human powers, however great, are able to accom- plish ; even his Herculean strength failed in the attempt. Through life, Mr. Boucher enjoyed the society and friendship of men of erudition and science ; and, on various occasions, employed his pen, not only in defence of those political principles on which the British monarchy is founded but in critical inquiries, and in theological duties. In all his literary productions, the utile duici are happily united. Though a well written, and circumstantial account of the life of Mr. Boucher may be jfbund in \ THOMAS SANDERSON. IXl the subsequent pages of this volume, yet it has been deemed expedient to give these additional notices, and the annexed copy of verses from the pen of a real admirer, though not intimate friend of his, as a further tribute to the memory of a truly worthy man, Et is hoped that they may be kindly received by his surviving relations, and particularly by his sorrowing widow, to whom the writer of this Memoir publicly presents his most grateful acknow- ledgment for the inspection of Mr. Sanderson's correspondence with her late husband, on a variety of bterary subjects, and which has furnished the materials of no inconsidemble part of this attempt. " His manner of preaching was impressive, and most of his sermons were particularly interesting ; during the latter period of his life they bore frequent allusions to the declining state of his health ; as we advance in years and infirmities, our approach to a future state of being becowies every day a matter of more serious consideration. The subjoined lines were suggested by a sermon on the text prefixed, delivered in the autumn of 1802, but were composed after hearing him again the next year, on a subject nearly similar, but not so strikingly appropriated, when his leaf was faded, and so near its fall." " W€ all do fade as a leafy — Isaiah Ikiv. C. *^ The fading foliage of the grove In varied tints displays; The Prophet's sacred pen declares Man as a leaf decays. *^ Our verdant Spring, our Summer gone, Now Autumn's pensive call Tells us the period isarrivM, When thus we fade and fall. ^' See th^ impressive Preacher stand This lesson to enforce ; The tremhling voice, the drooping head Sav life has run its course. Ixii LIFE OF *^ The pallid cheek, the form reduc'd^ All cawful change disclose ; Nature's exhausted powers approach Their long and last repose. '^ And when those powers in him shall cease To plead Religion's cause ; Will his remembered virtues claim Their high and just applause. " Oh ! may his final hour be pass'd Like this Autumnal day ; His setting Sun go down as clear, As mild its parting ray !" Had Mr. Boucher's life been protracted, his health restored, and his glossary, which would probably have thrown considerable light on several obscure passages in our old English poets, met with its due encouragement and merited success, he perhaps might, after its completion, have been induced to attempt a commentary on Shakspeare, which, we have reason to believe, he was often solicited to undertake. Much has, indeed, been done by Johnson, Stevens, Malone, and other ingenious editors, but there is also much remaining to be done. Mr. Boucher was well acquainted with the force and particularities of provincial phraseology, the want of which sort of knowledge has led many of his commentators into errors, and induced them to alter passages which often contained a poetical beauty, supposing them wrong because they did not under- stand them. The Greek and Roman classics have suffered less injury in a period of twenty centuries, than poor Shakspeare has done in two. Mr. Sanderson, though well instructed in the elementary parts, could not, with any propriety, be denominated a man of science. He reckoned, however, in the number of his intimates, several talented individuals of this description, and araono-st them Mr. J. Howard, a native of Carlisle. This THOMAS SANDERSON. Ixiii self-taught genius elevated himself, throug^h every difficulty, from the very lowest station (being-, as we have understood, the son of a private soldiery) solely by his own merit, to a respectable rank in society. His rising deserts being- made known to Dr. John Law, at that time Bishop of Clonfert, and their solidity, upon examination, being- fully esta- blished, he was translated by this kind patron, from a laborious operative situation to Ireland, in a confidential capacity, and was by him assisted in his studies, and improved in his manners. In a short time, however, he returned on account of some trifling difference, his mind considerably enlarged by a new train of mathematical ideas, and his perseve- rance inflamed by his recent researches in the arts and sciences. Thus qualified, he commenced school- master in his native city, and taught for several years with the greatest success. Many of his pupils have arrived at eminence: Some, at present, are engaged in lucrative and highly respectable situa- tions. Latterly, he removed to Newcastle, where he pursued his former scholastic occupation, to the incalculable advantage of that opulent place, and died there a few years ago, universally lamented. His mathematical abilities may be easily appreciated by an inspection of the various propositions which he proposed, and the able and learned solutions which be furnished, in the most respectable periodi- cals of the day. His work on *' Spherical Geometry,'* though less accurate than the nature of such investigations requires, is a novel and useful production, and, considering the circumstances under which it was written, worthy of every praise. Mr. T. Wilkinson,f another self-taught genius, and highly distinguished in the walks of literature and science, was his school-fellow, early and con- tinued friend. He was one of the first promoters, t See a Memoir of him, p. 374, part 1, vol. 90, Gent. Mag. Ixiv LIFE OF and most able supporters of the literary circle formed round our Poet, during his solitary residence at Sebergham, Our Author also enjoyed an intimate acquaintance with Anderson, and a partial intercourse with Coleridge. The former, in the year 1820, published at Carlisle a volume of Miscellaneous Poems, to which was prefixed an ** Essay on the character, manners, and customs of the peasantry of Cumber- land," written by the subject of this narrative, and which is the most extended of all his prosaic com- positions. It characteristically delineates the existing practices of his native county. Scarce an amuse- ment but what is described with the most scrupulous accui'acy. The various improvements which have taken place in consequence of the union of the two kingdoms are strikingly pointed out, and the whole is written in a style at once pkasing and expressive. The critique upon the " Cumberland Ballads'^ is, in general, just. *' The author has taken a wider view of rural life than any of his predecessors.** The characters of his peasants are for the most part correct, and though "- he never raises them above their condition in life, by too much refinement,'' we cannot help thinking that he " sometimes depresses them below it, by too much vulg^arity." Of the literary abilities of Coleridge he seems to have formed a very high opinion. *' He is a young gentleman (says he,) of considerable talents, as the poems which he has published evince ; and what is still more to his credit, bears an excellent private character, and is very religious. No one can have a higher reverence for the inspired writer than he has, which, in this licentious age, certainly does honour to his feelings and good sense. In his opinion, the Song of Deborah is the most sublime piece of poetry extant. Of modern divines he does not conceive any very exalted idea : he thinks they THOMAS SANDERSON. IxV fall far short, in learning* and abilities, to those of preceding centuries. He speaks of Jeremy Taylor with enthusiastic praise. In the knowledge of human nature, in sentiment and feeling-, he compares that divine to Shakspeare.** In all this he is, perhaps, quite right. ' Our Author's prose compositions, though not, by any means, deficient in copiousness of matter, accu- racy of reasoning, clearness of arrangement, or in appropriate and classical expression, are, neverthe- less, few and comparatively trifling : his poetic effusions are more numerous, always pleasing, and occasionally sublime. Nearly his whole life was dedicated to the service of the muses. " He seldom had leisure for prose, as was observed by Swift of Pope's conversation, because he had always some poetical scheme in his head." Had he lived to complete his memoir of Browne, the traveller, and the other literary and moral essays intended for his promised forth-coming volume, these remarks would, perhaps, be less correct, if we may be allowed to form a judgment from the specimen which he has given us in his account of Boucher. Several of his poems which were given to the public in the year 1800, we have strong reasons to suppose, were composed much anterior to that period : some as early as 1790, or even prior to that time. He was not one of those favoured few *' who lisp in numbers." The juvenile performances of €owley alone were published in his childhood, and his maturer studies added little to their improvement. Our Poet's merits seem to have been uniformly progressive. Under the auspices of his kind benefactor he was raised from a state of literary obscurity, and from striking the lyre rather faintly, and with diffidence, he was encouraged to aspire at bolder notes, and a more general and higher praise. The volume is intcribed " Original Poems." Per- Ixvi LIFE OF haps " Poetical Attempts," as was at first intended, would have been a more appropriate, as well as a more modest, and less hackneyed title. The collec- tion, in order to suit all tastes, consists of pieces written upon various subjects, in different measures, and in different species of poetry. The serious, the g-ay, and the humourous, are happily blended. To assert that they are all indiscriminately faultless, would be to use the fulsome language of panegyric, rather than declare the sober decisions of reason and truth. His miscellaneous pieces are, for the most part, written with simplicity, elegance, and ease. Were we called upon to name the most meritorious in this class, we should, without hesitation, select '* The Harvest Home,'* which is replete with the best moral advice, expressed in easy language, and admirably adapted to the occasion. The verses *' Written on a blank leaf of Dr. Stuart's History of the Reign of Mary Queen of Scots," the concluding lines of which, whatever our opinion of her cha- racter may be, we think beautiful : "Like Cynthia, through the shades of night, Pair Mary, in a robe of light, Shall shine to future times." The moral cast, and the pure and pleasing style in which his lines on the " Approach of Winter" are composed, renders the piece, perhaps, the most unexceptionable poem in the whole volume. The manner of its writing, as far as regards the lan- guage, seems to be that in which he most com- pletely succeeds. His talents are versatile, and the great inequality which prevails in his works cannot pass unnoticed by the most heedless observer. His numbers are, generally, smooth and pohshed, though it must be confessed that they are sometimes rugged, and abound in unconsonant terminations. In the first- mentioned poem, calm and home are questionable THOMAS SANDERSON. Ixvii rhymes. Some of his productions were occasional, and written upon the spur of the moment. At dif- ferent times he appears to have had different modes of poetical excellence in view. Hence, perhaps, his tneq.ualities. Into the latter error he may have been betrayed by his provincial northern pronunciation. *' The Peep into a Miser's Hut** is highly descrip- tive of the mannelrs of a Cumberland Peasant, and of the furniture which adorns his mud-built cot. This composition Would have done no discredit to the genius of Swift. As to his Tales, none of them surpass mediocrity. Three out of the four, we can affirm from our own knowledge, are founded upon real facts which took place in his native parish, and with the circumstances of which he was well acquainted. His Fables are not equal, in familiar language, to those of his predecessor, Relph : and are obnoxious to the same fault. The morals, in each, have been enforced by almost every fabulist. His Elegies, upon the whole, are pleasing. " The Sorrows of Royalty,** in which the hopes of religion are feelingly pourtrayed, and the verses ** To the Memory of the Rev. Josiah Relph,'* are indisputably the best. In the latter, however, we were sorry to remark two or three defective terminations. The Epitaph is, perhaps, the most difficult of all compositions. No stronger proof of this position is wanting than that, in it, our best writers have almost invariably failed. In most monumental inscriptions there appears, at first view, a fault which, in the opinion of Dr. Johnson, scarcely any beauty cart compensate. The name, in most of our Author's, is omitted. An epitaph, and a history of a nameless hero, (continues the critic, whose decisions, on poetical subjects, were always held by our Poet as irreversible,) are equally absurd, since the virtues and qualities so recounted in either, are scattered at i2 Ixviii LIFE OF the mercy of fortune, to be appropriated by guess. The name, it is true, may be read upon the stone ; but what obligation has it to the poet, whose verses wander over the earth, and leave their subject behind them, and who is forced, like an unskilful painter, to make his purpose known by adventitious help ?-)• His epitaph, on a late eccentric physician, was severely animadverted upon as offensive to ortho- doxy. In its sentiments, to any one personally intimate with its Author, there appears nothing but what is perfectly innocent. Far, very far, indeed, was it from him to give any encouragement to that licentiousness of thought, in respect to religion, that too much characterises the present times. J Of his Sonnets and Songs, it is but little that can be said, either in praise or dis-praise. They are each written in pleasing and easy numbers. The former, however, contains too little of the delicate, soft, and amatory ; and the latter still less of the boisterous, to amuse the gay, or animate the festive, circle. Of his Epistles, that addressed to Mr. D. Stalker, and that to Mr. Boucher, are unquestionably the best. The first is highly expressive of juvenile friendship ; the second is written in a style of manly compliment, not in the fulsome language of adulation, and is replete with the effusions of a grateful heart, divested of the servile offerings of a dependent. His Epigrams, for the most part, are too long, and deficient in point. The conceits are seldom original. The eighth, which we consider as the best, by omitting the first stanza would have been consider- ably improved. the Ode to the "Genius of Cumberland'* is, doubtless, his chef d'ceuvre, Mr. Sanderson was + See Johnson's life of Pope. I For a poetical apology to this poetical criticism, see a Sulb^equeut page. THOMAS SANDERSON. Ixix not one of those writers who pertinaciously reject the proposed improvements of their friends : ho attended to their sug-gestions with gratitude, and adopted them without reserve. By the friendly assistance of some kind coadjutors,f to whose inspection he was never backward in submitting" his productions, many defects of connection were sup- plied, many weaknesses made vigorous, many obscurities and ambiguities removed, and the whole of the two last-mentioned pieces in particular, was rendered more poetical, perspicuous, and energetic. We are bold to affirm that, from such sources, they were almost new modelled. The great length of the Ode is, indeed, a fault which no beauty can atone for. Perhaps, however, our Author's situa- tion is more to be pitied than his taste condemned. He, no doubt, fell into that mistake, not from Avant of considering the nature of that species of writing, but from the wish to acquire a few pence from its publication in his native county, where quantity more than quality, in all matters of literature, is proverbially regarded. Though most of the rhymes in this ode were, doubtless, consonant to his own ear ; and several of them are countenanced in their use by some of our best poets, yet we are sorry to observe that one or two still remain, which are quite inadmissible. A writer of an irregular ode has so many mechanical difficulties to struggle with, that he may be readily forgiven if he attempts to slacken a little the bonds of critical severity. Some obscure passages, a few of which may be noticed, deserve pardon ; as the writer himself, if he be removed from literary intercourse, has but a poor chance of recognizing faults of this nature, since the ideas, words, and images that first presented themselves, become familiarized to his mind. Upon the whole, we cannot avoid pronouncing that the poem is always + Mr. Boucher, Mr. Ware, &c. the first in particular. IXX LIFE OP pleasing, often sublime and majestic. Were we to mention any particular instance, in confirmation of our opinion, we would select the 13th and 14th stanzas, describing a night scene among the moun^ tains of Keswick. The two concluding stanzas are beautifully expressed. The prophetic vision is now fast reahzing. " Many a scene of radiant dye" gladdens the heart of the spectator in every way, and in every quarter. The Odes to Time and Echo may, at least, claim the epithets of beautiful. In the latter, however, we do not meet with any mention of the thing per- sonified, (viz. Echo,) till the very last line. This is an error so palpable that it ought to be carefully avoided. Except memory deceives us, we do not recollect a single instance of it in any classical writer. No translations from the classics are found in his works, if we except a trifling ode from Anacreon in the present collection ; in which is infused a con- siderable portion of the sprightliness and ease of the Teian Bard. This omission cannot be attributed to any want of knowledge of the ancient languages, or to defect of relish for the beauties with which they abound, but is rather to be assigned to his prevailing idea, that most of them had already appeared in an English dress sufficiently accordant with their respective characters. To translate a few of the Idyllia of Theocritus (into, we would hope, the broad doric of his native county, to which they seem so well adapted) we have understood was once his intention ; but want of leisure at the moment probably frustrated the attempt. In the present volume of collected fragments, his " Ode to Fortune," and " An Evening Lay to the Vale of Sebergham," deserve the greatest praise. The just sentiments, lively fancy, and playful humour displayed in the former are worthy of admi- THOMAS SANDERSON. Ixxi yation, and afford a convincing proof that neither accumulated years nor solitude had alienated the attachment of the muses. In the latter, which is perhaps the most happy of his poetical pieces, he gives full vent to his feelings. Poetical fame appears to have been the primary object of his ambition. Sometime prior to the publication of his volume, but posterior to the period of his giving to the world his '* Ode to the Genius of Cumberland,'* he felt an ardent wish to write a poem of some extent, and of a moral tendency, and in it to attempt to draw, in the colours of poetry, the portraits of virtue and religion. " Poetry,*' says he in one of his letters, " is of little use if it does not afford something more valuable than mere amusement. It ought to instruct while it amuses, and to reach the heart while it catches the fancy." The execution of this noble design was deferred for the present, though the intention was not abandoned. After the publication of his poems, he appears to have fallen into a sort of intellectual indolence. He read little of any moment, and wrote nothing except a prose essay now and then in a periodical news- paper. In the opening of the year 1801, he thus writes to a friend : " If it pleases God to continue my health, I intend to undertake a work of consi- derable length, in order to blend pleasure with profit. To touch the heart, and to please the ear, at the same time, has been the lot of but few of our best writers ; and it cannot be expected that a maker of verses (mark his real modesty) will be able to pro- duce an effect which they have been unable to do. I hope, however, that I shall be pardoned for making the attempt, though it should not come up to the expectations of my friends, or to my own wishes. The best poem is a mere gilded trifle, if it have not some moral aim ; and the worst is not con- Ixxii LIFE OF temptible, if its numbers be in unison with the' voice of virtue." He vacillated for some time in the choice of a subject for his muse. A poetical friend {Mr. Coleridge) suggested ** The Pleasures of Religion.'* I liked the subject, says he, but thought the title too common. We have already had the " Pleasures of Hope,*' and the " Pleasures of Solitude." Benevolence seems to have been finally fixed upon : a subject well worthy of his pen ; and which we conceive his abilities were calculated to display in its full moral light. " No single feeling tends more than this to soften the human mind, and lessen that asperity and jealousy which disturb neighbour- hoods and communities, and involve even nations in all the horrors of war. Patriotism, which confines its affections to a certain district or nation, is, at best, but a heathenish virtue, and a partial good. It has none of that gentle spirit, or vivid glow, which adorns and distinguishes general benignity. He who pretends to be a really benevolent man, should not be so far guided by passion and prejudice as to suffer a mere natural boundary to circumscribe his love to his fellow-creatures. He who raises his country's glory on the ruins of another state may be a warrior or a politician, but he is no Christian. While humanity erects a statue to the memory of a Hales or a Howard, she would blot out the page that records the savage virtues of a Brutus or a Cato." Such were the sentiments of our Author on this subject of his choice : and on such a foundation, we have no hesitation in saying, such a superstructure might have been raised, by his talents and industry, as would have procured for its builder immortal honour. This was not destined to be his lot. Whether the work was, even, ever bee-un we know not : if it was, it perished in the flames which linfortunately destroyed the rest of his valuable THOMAS SANDERSON, Ixxli 111 labours. Had it seen the light, it would, no doubt, have added considerably to his poetical reputation. An extensive acquaintance with men and manners are absolutely necessary for the successful accom- plishment of any grand and lengthened literary undertaking. Our Poet's trifling intercourse with the world, and his continued solitary habits of life, precluded him from making any attempts at the Epic, or delineating the varied and often opposite characters of the dramatis personce in a scenic representation. We have our doubts, whether his talents, or those of Relph, or indeed of any other Cumbrian Bard, whose Vt'orks we have seen, were adequate to the production even of a pastoral comedy. Should the reader be less gratified by the general perusal of his poems, than some particular passages might induce him to expect, he will, upon the whole, receive no shocks from mock sublimity, or false simplicity. His former volume, and the now collected fragments offered to the notice of the public, are abundantly sufficient to secure to their Author a respectable place among the number of the minor poets. Different writers employ different methods of composition. Invention and memory occasionally act together. Plans of great works are sometimes formed and methodized, and the language in which they are to appear, frequently pohshed with little intermediate use of the pen. Our Author's custom was quite the reverse. He wrote his first thoughts in the first words that suggested themselves ; and then gradually amplified or curtailed, decorated, rectified, and refined them. His first conceptions were, for the most part, committed to the backs of old letters, or any other scraps of paper which acci- dentally fell in his way ; and when collected, so as to form a whole, were submitted to the critical k Ixxiv LIFE OF examination of his friends. His industry was unwearied, he resorted to every source of intelH- gence, and lost no opportunities of information : he consulted the living- as well as the dead. Hence, the few inaccuracies which we occasionally meet with in his works must necessarily be attributed to imavoidable causes. To evince the uniform tenor of his mind, it may be finally observed, that all his productions, poetical or prosaic, have a manifest tendency to the improvement of virtue, and the dis- couragement of vice. Not to give some account of the melancholy cir- cumstances attending our Author's death, might, by many of our readers, be deemed an unpardon- able omission. He perished by a fate which, it is sincerely hoped, may be allotted to few. We cannot better describe them than by abridging the detail of this mournful event given in the Carlisle Patriot, the editor of which was his intimate friend. " We have this week'' (Jan. 24, 1829,) says that respectable periodical, " the truly painful task of recording one of the most afflicting accidents which has occurred in Cumberland for many years — the death of Mr. Thomas Sanderson by fire." He had for many years resided at Sheil, or Sheild Green, Kirklinton, on the romantic banks of the river Lyne. He was an author of great repute, and was about to commit to the press a volume of Essays and Poems, under the title of " Prose and Verse." He boarded with the farmer of this estate; but part of a detached building on the opposite side of the farm-yard, was appropriated to his use for the double purpose of study and repose. Here were his manuscripts, (in a large box,) a rather valuable collection of books, and various domestic utensils. To this apartment he retired to prosecute his literary labours by candle-light, a thing very ub- THOMAS SANDERSON, IxXV usual with him, as he generally went to rest soon after night-fall, and rose early in the morning. Upon going to bed, he is supposed to have left some sticks burning in the grate ; some of these had probably fallen out soon afterwards, and ignited the combustible materials, (dried faggots, sticks, and whins,) strewn upon the floor. An old woman, his immediate neighbour, heard a crack- ling noise a considerable time before the flames burst forth ; but as she only heard the noise indis- tinctly, she attributed it to rats, which she had sometimes heard make a similar noise. Mr. San- derson himself gave the first alarm, by calling out fire ! murder ! During the first confusion he was forgotten ; and when, after several attempts, the door was at length forced in, he was found lying behind it dreadfully scorched. The only parts untouched were the legs below the knees, which had been preserved by some boxes, a portion of the right cheek, and the palm of the right hand, on which his cheek is supposed to have rested, while he was in a reclining position behind the door. The body being got out, and removed from the scene of destruction, as no signs of animation remained, it was neg- lected, and left for dead upon the ground, for nearly two hours, exposed to a piercing atmosphere. But what was the astonishment of the spectators, when, on returning to the place, they found it gone ! Ani- mation had again assumed its functions, and he had walked or crept to some distance from the spot where he was laid down. He was, at last, disco- vered standing against a tree, presenting such a horrid spectacle as human eyes scarcely ever beheld. When he was first spoken to, he inquired " where he was,'' and said, " For God's sake, let me have a bed to die on ; I shall not be long in this world." Ixxvi LIFE OF Bein^ taken to the farm-house, and put to bed, he lay familiarly conversing" with his friends, and apparently suffering little pain, and at eight o'clock on Friday evening, the 16th of January, he calmly breathed his last, being in the 70th year of his age. During this interval, he anxiously inquired after his manuscripts, which he was told had fallen a prey to the flames. He replied in a manner that evinced both a deep concern and a longing after literary fame. " Then all is lost.'' A short time before his death he faintly articulated, " I die as I have lived, in peace with all mankind." The manuscripts above alluded to, were nearly saved, but an untoward accident consigned them all to destruction. The deceased himself was equally unfortunate : he was convinced, however, as he said, that he might have escaped, had not the dense smoke, and a sense of the imminent danger to which he was exposed, augmented, ■ probably, in no small degree, by an inveterate deaf- ness to which he had, for some years, been subject, so far increased his confusion, that though lie reached the door in a state of perfect sensibihty, yet in endeavouring to unlock it, he always turned the key the wrong way. In religion, he was a sincere Christian : in politics, an ardent lover of his king, country, and constitu- tional order. His personal appearance, latterly, was strongly indicative of the seclusion and loneliness of his life. His head and eye were fine ; but his general conformation was little in unison with the laws of elegance ; while, from long- practice, his speech and his garb alike partook of rusticity. No man could be more respected by his neighbours, who familiarly called him *' Master," in allusion to his former vocation. It is said " there is a tear for all who die, — a mourner o'er the humblest THOMAS SANDERSON. Ixxvii grave ;'* and, for the melancholy fate of poor Mr. Sanderson, many a tear was dropt from the eye of learning, of beauty, and fashion, which had been instructed or amused by his writings, as well as shed by the neighbouring rustics, not much accus- tomed to ** the melting mood.** Talents of an high order, united with a mild and peaceable disposition, had gained him the approbation and respect of all classes of men to whom he was, in any way, known. We wish we could add that his confiding good nature had never been abused by pretended friends. He was passionately fond of rural scenery, and no inducement could prevail upon him to quit, for any length of time, the delightful scenes amongst which he luxuriated on the banks of the Lvne. A few years ago, after a severe attack of illness, he was anxiously solicited by his kind sister, and only surviving near relative (Mrs. Dawson), to leave his ^ retirement, and spend the remainder of his days, in comfort, with her at Keswick, where that attention might, with promptitude, be afforded him which declining years require. But persuasion was of no avail. Had her affectionate wishes been acceded to, perhaps, his last melancholy fate might have been avoided. We cannot forbear subjoining the concluding paragraph of this detail from the Patriot, with which, frequently having .had similar interviews with him, we most cordially agree. " We, too, have often communed with him in his melancholy, and in his social moments, — and ever found him the same benevolent, and unsophisticated child of nature. His ' ruling passion * was, unquestionably, literary reputation. Like all men of sterling talent, he knew his own merit ; but he was not vainer than a man of worth ought to be. How uncertain are human expectations ! a great part of that which he so Ixxviii LIFE OF highly valued, — upon which he fondly depended for a ' remembrance* when time had numbered his days, has perished with him. We hope that some friendly hand may be found to render justice to his name." The execution of this task has, finally, devolved upon the Author of this narrative. Whether he has done justice to his merits in this performance, must be left to the decision of his friends, and of an impartial public. He is conscious that he hath *' put down nought in friendship, not set down ought in malice." The statements of facts, as far as he knows, are all correct. The literary remarks on his works, it is hoped, will be found neither the suggestions of blind partiality, nor the cold and trifling censures of rigid criticism. No pains have been spared in procuring materials. No sources of information have been neglected. From the kindly communicated stores of some of Mr. Sanderson's friends, he has borrowed with an unsparing hand. From his existing correspondence he has largely selected ; and, by this means, has been enabled to enliven the narrative with manv brief notices of his literary friends and contemporaries. Some of the practices and superstitions of our rude forefathers have been treated of at, perhaps, too great a length, but this he hopes maybe pardoned, when it is recol- lected that they are such as have not been detailed by any former describer of the manners and customs of the Cumberland Peasantry. This Memoir had its origin in pure gratitude. In its progress, it has tended materially to amuse the mind under a violent and lengthened pressure of bodily pain ; and it has been brought to its present form amidst inconvenience and distraction, in con- finement and sorrow. These circumstances may explain the reason of its delay; and may also THOMAS SANDERSON. IXxix apoJogize to his well-wishers and relatives for the long" procrastination of their wishes. Such as it is, it is now offered to the public. If the motives be good, though the attempt may fail, they still afford consolation to the heart. It is inscribed as a grateful tribute to the memory of the sincerest friend, and kindest instructor. REMAINS, &c. f - ON THE STYLE OF DAVID HUME. (First published in the Monthly Magazine, August, VlQl.J None, I believe, who have read Hume's history with attention, will concur with Mr. Wakefield, in pronouncing its style " solecistical, clumsy, and destitute of elegance;'' and many will think it entitled to something more than mere negative praises. It is unaffected, perspicuous, and delicately pure, as well as nervous and animated. It is con- cise, but not obscure ; copious, but not redundant ; often rich and figurative, but never tawdry. The words are well chosen, and happily arranged ; the periods firmly supported, and the transitions easy and natural. In the structure of the sentences, we find accuracy and precision, strength and dignity blended with all the softness of attic elegance. Such is the history considered as a literary com- position. The character of queen Elizabeth, as drawn by the masterly pencil of Hume, has been long admired, and not without reason. The portrait is striking. In colours bohl, yet not glaring or oslentatious_, A *1 REMAINS OF the very features of her mind, the latent springs that directed its movements, the virtues and vices of her heart, are delineated with just and discrimina- tive accuracy. After our sensations have borne an honourable testimony to the merit of the piece, it is with pain we turn to Mr. Wakefield's critical analysis of it, in which we discover much hasty and dogmatical censure, much fastidiousness, but nothing- of the liberal spirit of a connoisseur. " Had shone,*' Mr. W. considers as " awkward, undignified, and ungrammatical." His proposed alteration, however, adds nothing to its dignity or grammatical propriety. In Johnson's dictionary, we find " have shone, or have shined." In many English verbs, the preterperfect and the participle have no appropriate distinction. The paragraph does not, in the most distant manner, suggest the idea of a durable calamity. " A dark cloud " is a strong image to represent the sorrows that overshadowed the latter part of her life — sorrows that have been attributed to diflferent causes, but most generally, and with the most probability, to the execution of Essex, an event that always lay heavy at her heart, and which she did not long survive. The lano-ua'^e is likewise perfectly consistent with that of the preceding paragraph. A person, in any station or rank of life, when weighed down with any long or sudden pressure of trouble, " may sink into a THOMAS SANDERSON. 3 lethargic slumber, and expire without a strug'gle.*' " The Queen (says Mr. W.) was not more exposed to censure or adulation than any other person.*' What ! did not the circumstances of her situation, her actions, her conduct, expose her more to the censure of her enemies, and the flattery of her friends, than others ? And did not the length of her administration co-operate with other causes towards the abatement of this censure and this adulation? Time removes that passion and preju- dice, which, preventing us from viewing things in their natural colours, give a wrong bias to th^ judgment. Hence, though during her reign she was so much censured by her enemieSj and flattered by her friends, the character of the queen has been determined with more certaintij than that of any other personage we meet with in history. This is the meaning which the historian wishes to convey, and which he has done, with as much clearness, and more elegance, in his own words. It is evident (and 1 wonder that Mr. W, should think otherwise) that those to whose adulation she was exposed, were her contemporaries. The panegyric of flattery is only employed in exalting the living. An Englishman (says Mr. W.) would have written reign instead of administration, Bolingbroke, an Englishman, who spoke and wrote the English language with equal elegance and correctness, uses A 2 4 REMAINS OF (in his Letters on History) the term " adiiiinistra-' tion,'* and in the same sense with Hume. It means the executive part of g-overnment, which is lodged in the sovereign. To form a perfect character (in Mr. Ws opinion) it is not necessary that any rigour, or any imperious- ness, should enter into it : he seems to forget that the historian is considering Elizabeth, not as a I, ivoman, but as a sovereign, who ruled in critical and turbulent times, which called for some rigour, some imperiousness. She had her own dignity and that of the nation to support, and this could not be done by meekness and placid tameness. To say, that ** she prevented her stronger qualities from running into excess,*' is no contradiction of the preceding period. These stronger qualities are immediately explained : " her heroism was exempt from temerity, her frugality from avarice,** &c. Thus far I have attempted to defend Hume*s character of queen Elizabeth. In some future Number, I hope you will permit me to continue his defence. THOMAS SANDERSON. 5 THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED. ; (Monthly Magazine, Nov. IIQI.J In your twentieth number, Mr. Wakefield lias recommenced his attack on the literary character of Hume, with his former hostile spirit, but not with more success. " Elizabeth's singular talents for g-overnment,'' says Hume, " were equally founded on her temper and on her capacity." — " Clumsily enough !" ex- claims Mr. W. " for who ever heard of the founda- tion of a talent ?'* But does he suppose that talents are of that aerial quality as to rest upon no foundation ? When Mr. W. can observe no natural connection between her command over herself, and her ascend- ancy over the people, he seems not to consider that by her self-government she kept the passions within proper bounds, and concealed, from popular ani- madversion, many unamiable parts of her conduct ; while, by her virtues, whether real or affected, she engaged the affections, and gained the praises of her subjects. The words " success and felicity," do not appear to be synonymous. Cromwell conducted the govern- ment with great success ; yet who can assert that it produced felicity either to himself or to the people ? 6 REMAINS OF *' The queen,' » says Hume, with equal truth and propriety, " was unacquainted with the practice of toleration, the true method of managing theological factions." It was by her great political prudence, and her superior abilities, that she restrained the fury of hostile sects. Sovereigns had yet to learn that it is beyond the power of persecution to produce settled conviction, though it may effect a hypocritical and temporary acquiescence in the doctrines which it endeavours to enforce. The mind of an individual is sacred to God and to himself ; and it is as difficult for human power to new model its original consti- tution, as to alter its religious or political opinions. The phrase, " least scrupulous,** Mr. W. cen- sures, as not sufficiently explicit ; and asks in what the princes were least scrupulous ? He might as well have asked in what they were inost active ? For the latter expression is equally as unintelligible as the former, and conveys an idea equally as absolute and indeterminate. A scrupulous person, according to Johnson, is one who is hard to satisfy in determinations of conscience. " The wise ministers and brave admirals,** says Hume, " who flourished under the reign of Elizabeth, share the praise of her success ; but, instead of lessening the applause due to her, they make great addition to it.** In the phraseology of this sentence, Mr. W. THOMAS SANDERSON. 7 finds something- ^^ uncommonly bald and pitiful,'* and attempts to g-ive it more fulness and rotundity, by the superinduction of the word *' reputation ;" a word, in its common acceptation, as little qualified for the post he has assigned it as any name in the vocabulary of our language. He surely meant lo write *' elevation or exaltation,*^ The word "sagacity," which Mr. W. proposes to place before "choice,*' adds something, indeed, to the pomp of the period, but nothing to its perspi- cuity. That Elizabeth's choice was sagacious no one will doubt, when he is told that she selected ivise ministers and brave admirals. The phrase, "bigotry and faction," to which the word "preju- dice" ought to have a separate and an individual application, conveys two distinct ideas, which Mr. W. confounds, under the term "religious factions." He should have said, civil and religious factions. " To survey according to view," in the opinion of Mr. W. is neither English phraseology nor sense. It may bie so : but Hume's words are, "according to the different views in which we survey her," an expression no less clear than correct. This is not the first time Mr. W. has endeavoured to pervert the meaning of passages by altering the original position of the words. " To exalt the lustre of a character beyond measure," Mr. W. considers as an impropriety. 8 REMAINS OF " A peck of moonshine,'* is, indeed, rather art uncommon expression ; so is a peck of woe ; yet who scruples to say, of the " Man of Sorrow," that the measure of his woe is full. Mr. W. arranges the sentence in the following manner, with a view, I suppose, to help the perspicuity ; — " either of exalting or diminishing, beyond measure, the lustre of her character.'* To exalt a thing beyond measure, is practicable to human powers ; but to diminish it beyond measure, requires an art equal, at least, to that of magic. There does not seem to be a redundancy in the phrase, " great qualities and extensive capacity." Mr. W. mistakes the effect for the cause. An extensive capacity gives birth to great qualities. The word "some," which immediately precedes "more," gives more emphasis to the expression, and more limitation to the idea, " Stricken," which Mr. W. wishes to substitute for " struck," is the old passive participle, and is used by no modern author who has any pretensions to elegance. Dr. Jolmson, in both his grammar and dictionary, considers struck as the proper participle of the verb to strike, Hume says, and says rightly, " that in estimating the merit of queen Elizabeth, we ouffht to lav aside the considerations of her sex." She certainly possessed, in an eminent degree, the bold and THOMAS SANDERSON. 9 exalted qualities that constitute a great sove7^eign^ though she wanted the timid virtues, the retiring graces that characterize an amiable woman. I have now taken notice of the principal objec^ lions that appear in Mr. Wakefield's strictures. I say principal, because some of them are too trifling to be noticed, or too vague or general to be parti- cularly answered. LORD LONSDALE S CAMPAIGN.+ AN HEROIC BALLAD, Arma, virumqu^ cano.—VlRG. In 17L5, when the Scotch Rebels had entered Cumberland, the Earl of Lonsdale, as Lord Lieutenant, raised the Peasants of that County, en masse^ with a view of giving* battle to the Insurgents, or, at least, of impeding' their progress. The number of Peasants who rose at his summons cannot be exactly ascertained ; but, from the extent of ground they covered, they could not amount to fewer than 10,000,— a body of men that would not have been easily overcome, if their arms and discipline had been as formidable as their numbers. Of this army two-thirds were armed with scythes, bill-hooks, and pitchforks ; the remainder with rusty spears, swords, and muskets, which had laid peaceably in the chimney since the fighting days of Oliver Cromwell. The place of rendezvous was Penrith Fell, an extensive Common near the town of Penrith. The Earl of Lonsdale was Commander in Chief, and the celebrated Dr. Nicholson, Bishop of Carlisle, his Lieutenant- General. The events of the day, as related, to the Author by one who had a share in its glory, gave rise to the following heroic ballad. A Messenger to Lonsdale came- 4( ^' Rise, Son of Mars/' he cried ; In Glory's list enrol thy name, And be thy country's pride. t See Notes at the end of the Poem. B 10 REMAINS OF " The hungry clans of Scotia':* wastes. Like wolves, have issued forth. Wild as the fury of the blasts That sweep the gelid North. " E'en now o'er English ground they spread. And scatter pale dismay. By hunger and rebellion led : Fierce rapine marks their way ! " Raise, raise with speed, the hardy race That Cumbrian mountains boast ; And march with all a warrior's pace To fight the rebel host.'* Lord Lonsdale soon, with spirits warm. Found all his bosom glow ; He swore the prowess of his arm Should lay each rebel low. He girded on his martial belt. In which his gully* hung. Whose edge the hostile Gaul had felt. When Marlb' rough's fame was rung. * Gully, whicli here signifies a sword, is the provinriul name of a large' knife, with which the Peasants of the uortheru counties cut their large brown loaves. THOMAS SANDERSON. 11 He placed a bugle to his mouth. And blew a blast so loud. That all the flow*r of Cumbrian youth Came hastening in a crowd. . " What news ? what news ? puissant Lord,'* With mingled voice they said ; " What means that dreadful, threat' ning sword. That helmet on thy head ? ' ' " To arms !'* he cried, **ye gallant Swains, And rise at Glory's call ; With courage guard your native plains, Your freedom, and your all. ** For fierce Rebellion lifts his arm Against the King and Laws, Fills all the land with wild alarm. And scatters many woes ! ** To arms ! and let your might be tried Against a daring foe^ I'll be your leader, be your guide, And view your courage glow.'* On this a shout of valour burst, That made the welkin ring ; With one accordant voice they curst Each traitor to their King. B 2 12 REMAINS OF Such were the heroes of our soil — Their shouts were heard that day From Penrith town to merry Carlisle, Full eighteen miles away ! Well arm'd with gun, or scythe, or spear. They sought th* embattled field ; Ev*n many a tailor stout was there. With lapboard for a shield. The musketeers, all in a row, Their rusty arms displayed ; The scythemen felt their valour glow. Proud of a length of blade. The thimble-men their weapons drew — Dread arms ! to stab or maul ; And swore the Highland clans should rue They cross'd the Roman wall :* — Yes, they their glittering sheers unsheath'd, Snapp'd them with main and might. And bloody deaths to Scotchmen breathed, Should they turn out to fight. The wall of Severus, huilt upon Adrian's rampart, and extending 11 Sohvav Fritli to the German Occau. " ° from Sohvay THOMAS SANDERSON. 13 The Bishop, who had dofF'd his gown And put his armour on, Said that, ere George should lose the crown. His holy blood should run. Amidst the crowd he took his stand, In military guise ; And, circled by so brave a band. He felt his courage rise. And, to a mighty Captain changM, He marshall'd all the force ; For oft on paper* he had rang'd Whole bands of foot and horse. The ranks all widely spread the plain. The files were only thin. That, if the foe the day should gain. Their heels might save their skin. Lord Lonsdale, with approving eye. Surveys his army round ; Each man, he thought, would rather die Than quit an inch of ground. Just as the sun had reach' d its height The rebel van drew near ; Their arms, in bold reflected light. To ev'ry eye appear. * The Bishop was the author of several hiritorical works. 14 REMAINS OF Lord Lonsdale said, ** My lads give fire. The crack may make them run. May make them from the field retire, And then the vict'ry's won/* The Bishop also thought the same. And like a hero stood ; He thought his men would gather fame AVithout the cost of blood. The lads, then, with their muskets bold, Made all the valleys rattle : They frighten' d many a raven old, And many a herd of cattle. Old Grandams, sitting in the nook. Heard the dread echoes roll ; Cried, as their hoary heads they shook, " God bless our merry men all !'* But though this martial thunder reach' d The ears of England's foe — A dreadful peal ! that might have bleach' d Each face as white as snow ! The Scotchmen slacken' d not their pace But made their bagpipes play ; Intrepid features in each face Foretold a bloody day ! THOMAS SANDERSON. 15 On this Lord Lonsdale gave a sigh — The sigh that terror sends — And said, " Behold the rebels nigh ! My trusty Cumbrian friends : " These bloody, fierce, rebellious Turks, Who ne'er with pity heave, With ugly knives and murderous dirks,* Will hole us like a sieve, " To faithful stumps we'll trust our lives, And fly, lest we should fall ; You to your sweethearts and your wives, And I to Lowther-Hall.f" On this he sheath' d his peaceful sword. And turn'd his charger's head, While with him, too, the rev' rend Lord, The mitred warrior, fled. Bold Lonsdale, as he hurried home. Lost, lost his flaming blade ; But, since he found his spirits calm. He needed not its aid. * A short spear used by the Highlanders. + A seat of the Lonsdale family, near Penrith. 16 REMAINS OF The Bishop gain'd his snug retreat,f Thank'd Heav'n he breathed the air ; And all his bliss had been complete, Had not his head been hare. For, ah ! when on a leng-th of road His troubles waxed great, The thatch, which hat and wig bestowed. Unkindly left his pate ! Two faithful friends, who near him stood. Thus spoke without delay : " We fear, my Lord, you've lost some blood. As well as wig, this day. *' Why is your furrow' d cheek so wan ? Why trembles all your frame ? With muskets have th' ungodly clan Ta'en at you deadly aim ?" "I've lost no blood," the Bishop said, " I've sav'd my skin from balls ; From cleaving swords I've sav'd my head. And reach' d these peaceful walls : + Rose Castle, the episcopal seat, is a sweet rural retirement in (he neighbourhood of Carhsle. THOMAS SANDERSON. 17 *' A hostile tree, with branches rude, Laid hold of hat and wig-, As trophies for the rebel crowd, Whose courage waxed big-. ** WeUl go, we'll go,** the friends replied, And seek the wig in haste ; — We'll search the road on every side, Where'er your head has past." Then, with a daring air and mien, March' d on these trusty men ; Shot, as they went, their glances keen Through many a bushy glen. Just as they reach' d a lonely glade, Where oaks extended round. They saw a matron, in the shade. Lie, death-like, on the ground. They rais'd her up — she told a tale That trembled on her tongue ; Then pointed, with a finger pale. Where hat and wig were hung : " That wig," quoth she, " that waves on high, Upon yon oaken bough. With foretop pointing to the sky, Caus'd me to swoon below ! c 18 REMAINS OF " I thought that, though tlie wig was grey, It held a bloody head ; That some religious man this day By ruffian hands had bled !'' The men replied, '* Good matron, know Yon wig's unstained with blood ; Its owner, safe from ev'ry foe. Lies snug in yonder wood.*" On this there rose a welcome blast. That shook each tree around, And laid the hat and wig in haste Soft on the verdant ground. The men then tied them on a pole. E'en with a thong of leather ; And reach'd, though late, the Bishop's hall, In spite of wind or weather. At ev'ry gate, with cudgels rude. They kiiock'd with all their pow'r : The Bishop cried, " Who knocks so loud, At this untimely hour?" Qu^th they, " We are your friends, and l>ear The hat and wig you lost. When, liking not their martial air. You fled the rebel host. * Rose Castle is almost encircled with a wood. THOMAS SANDERSON. 19 " If you believe our honest word, This wigf, your noddle's pride, Has proved more /cital than the sword That dangled at your side. " For by it, in a lonely dell, Midst oaks of wond'rous strength, A hoary-headed matron fell, And measur'd out her length !" " You joke, you joke," the Bishop said, " Ne'er tell so strange a tale : But, since I've saved both wig and head, Go, tap a cask of ale," They tapp'd a cask right merrily, Fill'd oft the drinking horn ; They drank, till all the blushing sky Announc'd th' approach of morn. Now turn we to the Cumbrian lads. Whose valour seem'd so fierce : Soon as they spied the Tartan Plaids,* They started on their course. > * The loose, variegated cloaks worn by the Scotch Highlaiitler.'^. c 2 ^0 REMAINS OF They dofF'cl their clogs,* and eke their coals^ And threw their weapons down ; Their lives they valu'd, in their thoughts. More dear than George's crown. All those, whose legs beneath their load Grew wearied in the flight. Within old hollow oaks were stow'd. Or earth' d with brocksf all night. Those who were lean, and lank, and thin. Soon gain'd their ingle-sides ; J Well pleas'd to see their *kith and kin,'§ And bonny lovely brides,^ • A sort of wooden shoes worn by the Peasants of Cumberland. + Badgers. t Fire-sides. I A Scottish phrase, signifying acquaintance and kindred. NOTES TO THE PRECEDING POEM. The historians who have noticed this bloodless^ campaign, relate that the Earl and the Bishop did not leave the field till they were deserted by their men, and in danger of being taken prisoners. This may be true ; but what has truth to do with poetry ? I have told the story in a manner that leaves most honour with my countrymen. The Mitred Warrior Jied.'\ — Literary people are said to be deficient in active and personal courage ; THOMAS SANDERSON. 21 but if we advert to facts, by which a point of this nature can only be determined, we shall find little or no foundation for such an imputation. It is true that Cicero hid himself during some commotions at Rome ; it is true that Horace, at the battle of Philippi, being seized with a tremor^ precipitately fled, having-, according to his own account, left his. shield in the field r Celerem, fugam Sensi, relicta non bene parrmdcu As he makes no mention of his sword, it is to be presumed that, like the Bishop's, it dangled at his side. And to come to more modern times, it is true that Dryden submitted to be cudgelled ; and that Dean Swift would have met with the same fate- from the staff of an angry Lawyer ,^ if he had not embodied his whole parish in his defence. But, on the other hand, it ought to be recollected, that Xenophon and Caesar were great literary as well as military characters ; that the famous King Alfred was both an author and a soldier, could write books and drub his enemies ; and that Queen Elizabeth, whom Roger Ascham considered as one of the most learned persons of the age, was a celebrated boxer ^ and would frequently pommel her courtiers and domestics into due submission. The annals of modern times also furnish instances of the heroic courage of literary men. The late 22 REMAINS OF Dr. Samuel Johnson (about whom so much has been written and said) actually knocked down, in the early part of his literary life, an athletic book- seller who had dared to insult him ; and this achievement he performed with no better bludgeon than an old musty folio that lay at his elbow. The same learned gentleman has also frequently silenced a whole host of disputants by the argumentum baculi,. when the unsubstantial arguments, composed of wind and voice, produced no effect. And it is well known that, at the Shrewsbury assizes, about three or four years ago, a certain Learned and Right Reverend Gentleman was indicted for not imposing a sufficient check upon his impetuous, head-strong valour, which would have demolished a refractory Deputy-Register, if it had not been softened by the tears and supplications of his Lady and two other weeping females, Rome, in the same manner, was saved from destruction by a deputation of Roman matrons, when that rough, choleric soldier Corio- lanus, at the head of an army, threatened it with destruction. These and many more instances will be sufficient to convince every unprejudiced person oi the prowess of Men of Letters : the facts stand upon record, and cannot be controverted. TFIOMAS SANDERSON. 23 ODE TO THE GENIUS OF CUMBERLAND. 1. Whether majestic on some cragg-y height, Marking the orient stream of mornins: li^ht. Or sober Evening's shadowy g-race. That steals o'er yon tall mountain's rocky base. Thou rear thy throne ; Or, soften' d to some milder form. Wander meekly to the dew- bespangled lawn, Where blows the Zephyr's breeze. Or grove that braves the desolating* storm, Genius of Cumbria's sea-beat shore ! Thy lines of character shall ^^lease In all their varied hues ; While, from Time's spoils, th' historic Muse Shall many a long-lost scene restore. 2. Ev'n midst the shade of ancient days. On thee has glory thrown its rays. When Albion from her cliffs survey' d The flag of haughty Rome display' d ; When she beheld the legions brave. The pointed rock, the threat' ning wave, Rous' d by the Druid's lyre, Thy warriors rose, intemperalely bold, And, with untutor'd Valour's fire, Rush'd on th' invading foes. 24 REMAINS OF 3. . Terrific on some desert plain, Or hill declining- to aerial blue, T4iat frowns incumbent o'er the main, Or, 'mid the forest-deepen' d glooms. Which scarce the noon-tide beam illumes, Thy hardy natives lov'd to roam, To print with stately step the morning-dew. And wrapt in solitary pride, (Not yet by social compacts tied) To move at will their vagrant home : Soon as they heard a hostile sound, With martial step they trod their native ground ; From breast to breast the kindling ardour spread, To pour destruction on th' invader's head. 4. When, verging to her fate. Rome called her bands from foreign plains, To guard, in her declining power, the state From Gothic hordes, from anarchy and chains, The Pict, with his dread flag iinfurl'd, Convuls'd, wdth savage arms, her world ; And e'en thy valleys, Cumbria, felt the shock, Where long, beneath the victor's shade, The fire of patriot- worth decay' d ; The spirit sunk which, near yon rock. That overhangs the rushing tide. In deeds of hardihood the Roman valour tried. THOMAS SANDERSON. 25 5. To guard the abject Briton's shed. Behold the German banner spread ! See it in fame triumphant rise. The northern host before it flies : But soon the Saxon arms, Illum'd by Victory's wreaths, ,Turn on th* enervate plains : Around are spread War's dread alarms, Around a hostile fury breathes. And ev'ry Briton's choice is death or chains ! 6. Wild as the surge that raves around thy coast, From Scotia rush'd a predatory host ; Fierce Rapine filled his hand with spoil, And scatter' d ruin o'er thy soil • While Echo, frjom her rocky height That overlooks the neighb'ring plains,. Prolong' d, in airy round,, the rude alarms.. 'Twas then that Britain's valour glow'd ; From hill to hill thy kindled beacons shew'd (Mingling their terrors with the gloom of nighf,) Their blazing signals to thy hapless swains, Who kept their trembling vigils on their arms ! D \ I 26 REMAINS OF 7. But now, around this favburM isle, One guardian-shade waves o*er the soil ; One civic garland binds her brow ; One friendship blends its social glow : Her peaceful lakes, and murm'ring streams. Reflect not steely armour's beams ; Along her friths, and swelling tides. The busy sail of Commerce glides ; While Labour's song is caroll'd round. And all the happy land seems fairy ground ! 8. Yet, like some bright enamell'd flower. That blush 'd in Summer's genial hour. That, with its blossoms, lies decay'd Beneath the oak's unkindly shade, Thy peasant's bliss too often dies Where Grandeur's haughty structures rise : Hence dear no more his native vale. By cold Neglect all sicklied o'er. With Rapture's eye he greets the sail That bears Despondence to some kindlier shore ! Though some warm patriot-struggles oft rebel — Some tender image of domestic love. That melts his bosom as his wishes rove. When o'er his humble home he breaths his last farewell ! THOMAS SANDERSON. 27 9. O could the Muse but hide The griefs of Cumbria in her patriot-pride. On wing excursive she would roam Far from the Wand'rer's hapless home — Far from chill Penury's dreary cell. Where oft neglected Worth is doomed to dwell, To those blessM natives whom, on Fortune's height. Glory has blazon'd with her richest light ; Who, crowned with many a civic wreath. The boldest notes of Freedom breathe ; Who seek in foreign fields the foe. And teach the battle where to glow : Or to th' adventurous few who cross the line. Where the gem sparkles in its native mine. And tropic suns a flaming deluge shed. Scorching each tow' ring mountain's head, Untemper'd by the Ev'ning's breeze That fans, in Summer's hours, Britannia's coast ; Or spread their daring sails where polar frost Rules, with resistless sway, antarctic seas : Such were the men whose dauntless soul unfurl' d Adventure's sail, and found, with Cook, another world ! 10. And, Cumbria, many a letter' d name is thine. Whose soft, harmonious lyres have won D 2 28 REMAINS OF Undying" fame ; whose circling wreaths have shone More bright than those which deck Ambition's gorgeous shrine. Yon bank, yon bow'rs that rise so fair. Where I sis pours his stream along. Where flow'rs their sweetest fragrance blend, At the first breath of vernal air, ) Have heard thy Tickell's magic song-. That gain'd in Addison a patron and a friend. f) Dalton was thine ! who, in the Muse's lays, Sung Keswick' s hanging woods and mountains wild, Its lake's pellucid stream, Its sweet romantic vales, Avhere Fancy's child Dwells with enraptur'd gaze, As the bright Tempe of the Poet's dream ! 11, Careless beside a fountain laid, . At Ev'ning's dewy hour, 'Mid sylvan airs that warbled round. Where, wildly o'er th' enbosom'd bow'r, The hawthorn flings its trembling shade, , 1 The past'ral Bard of Cauda' s vale was found :* From dell to dell his sweet lute rang. Responsive to the Zephyr's gale. Breathing the fragrance that the flow'rs impart: Of simple life the guiltless loves he sang. Its homely manners, ere deprav'd by art, And village virtues, ere .they left the vale. * See Notes at the end of the Poem. THOMAS SANDERSON. 29 12. What, Cumbria, thoug^h no citron-groves be thine, No olive-shades, no clusfring* vine ; And thougli, amid thy forests drear. No Nig'htingales* salute the ear ; Yet still thy mountain-views shall please, Ting'd by the blush of orient day. Or by the soft and mellowed ray That gilds the pensive hours of Ev'ning's close ; -And still thy vales be dear, where Zephyr's breeze O'er roseate blossoms blows. Where Innocence with Peace can rove ; Still dear thy lakes, on whose pure streams The hill's inverted horrors move, Ini;rembling radiance, to the solar beams. 13. O'er thy fair valleys, Keswick, I would range, When, from the mountain's caves, no tempests break On the soft rest of Derwent's peaceful lake. Reflecting Alpine scen'ry on its breast ; When on the cot and sweetly bosom' d grange Have sunk the last beams of the gleaming west ; When with a stream of silver light. In many a chequer' d form. Pale Cynthia tinges ev'ry mountain's height, • The sweetly pensive notes of this bird have never yet been heard in ,f\ I I 1 30 REMAINS OF Each dell, and murrn'ring rill, and bang-ing g'l'ove, And precipice, where the fierce bird of Jove, In pendant eyrie, lives amidst the storm — The conflicts rude of elemental war, And marks, from its ethereal height, his prey from far. 14. Sweet theni the symphonies that breathe around. In varied cadence o'er this magic ground ; — The stream, soft tinkling down the channell'd rock, The deeper rush of ruder water-fall, The wether's bell, the shepherd's cheerful call, Tending, with guardian care, his fleecy flock ; Sweet are the sounds, wak'd by the Zephyr's gale, That come from hanging wood and lonely dale ; Sweet is the Peasant's ev'ning song That calls to sport the village-throng ; The nightjar's deeply-plaintive tone, Slow, winding o'er the dusky lawn : And sweet the vernal breeze That, sighing through the trees, Shakes fragrance o'er the rude, romantic grot ; While Echo, from her airy cell, Unwearied, catches, on symphonious shell, The murmurs of each sweet-expiring note ! THOMAS SANDERSON^ 31 15. To scale thy hills at Morning's dawn be mine, Li Where useful ores in rocky caverns shine. And no wild hordes of threatening aspect roam , Where no volcano, from its central caves, In spiry columns, shoots vitrescent waves. That 'whelm in ruin many a rural home ! Here let me breathe the elemental air ; And, on some breezy rocks aerial brow. Catch the bright colours of Health's vermeil glow. And all her temp' rate stores of blessings share : Oft let me climb thy cliffs, from whence distil The falling streams of medicated rill ; And whence salubrious herbs, in fragrant gales. Diffuse their healing virtues o'er the vales : Hence no Contagion, with mephitic breath. Sweeps o'er thy past'ral scenes, and scatters death. But here Hygeia, of vermilion hues. Prints, with majestic step, the morning dews. Smiles on the Swains, who, in their sylvan bow'rs. Sit round the board of vegetable meals ; While on them Age, in slow gradations, steals. Like Ev'ning's shades o'er Autumn's fading flow'rs ! 16. And let me trace the silent foot of Time, Amid yon ruin'd castle's mould'ring scenes, 32 REMAINS OF From which the philosophic mind A heartfelt pleasure gleans — Gleans a deep moral from each fallen tow*r,, That rear'd its head in pomp sublime, A monument of feudal pow'r, That long in bonds of slavery held mankind ! 17. Near yonder solitary spot once rose. In rev' rend majesty. Religion's fane ;* Beneath whose hallow' d shade, the zealot-train, From all life's civil toils, enjoy'd repose. What though the philosophic eye. Beneath whose light delusions ^y. May dart, with scornful pride,^ its glances there ;. Yet to its scatter' d ruins I'll repair. Soon as yon distant mountain gleams With Morning's trembling light. To trace where Learning shed its beams. When Rome's proud realms were wrapt in Gothic night. 18. Oft let me wander to yon mystic Round, f That stands, in massy form, sublime, * The Abbey of Lanercost, the ruins of which have a very venerable appearance. t The Druidical Temple at Little Salkeld, on the banks of the River Eden. THOMAS SANDERSON. 33 Historic, mid the wrecks of time, Marking, with awful shade, the hallow' d ground. Where Eden murmurs round his osier* d shore • There, at the shrine of Thor, the Druid shed ^ Th' expiatory stream of human gore. Or midst the ranks that Valour led. In tremulous rage his wild harp strung. Till wood and hill and valley rung. And spears and falchions gleam' d upon the sight ! Or, in the dark recesses of his grove. Hallow' d with many a mystic rite. Give to the breast a gentler glow ; By soothing measures, bade the passions move In mild accordance to the moral law. 19. Cumbria ! when oft, at ev'ning calm. Amid thy solitudes I roam. Fancy on daring pinion soars. Sweeps o'er Futurity with raptur'd eye. And, on thy rugged shores. Views many a scene of radiant die : There soon the sinewy Sons of Toil Shall bid the heath with hai'vests smile ; Shall wind along the deep morass. In long canals, the wat'ry mass, That, proudly, on the ductile tide. The freighted wealth of Trade may glide ; E' 34 REMAINS OF Shall guide, in mazy path, the drain Through sylvan depths and marshy plain. Where meteor-coruscations play. Illusive, o'er the swampy way ; Where on dank wing Contagion flies Amid his lurid train, and shrouds the skies ! 20. The Arts shall rise with emulative fire, Encircled by Fame's brightest wreath ; Painting, in glowing tints, shall give- Th' heroic deed and epic scene to live ; Bold Architecture with proud Grace aspire. And Sculpture bid the polish' d marble breathe ; Fair Poesy, in shades of ease. With many a magic note^ shall please — Shall rouse the spirit of the Muse's shell. Till all around the sweetest music swell ; Till, through the channels of the soul. Alternate passions roll ; Now shall wake Compassion's sigh, Now shall Rapture light the eye : And o'er eventful life she oft shall rove, And with some tale of Sorrow move ;— ' Or to the bowers of Mirth repair. And scatter many a j oy and vision fair ! THOMAS SANDERSON^ 35 NOTES TO THE PRECEDING POEM. / Have heard thy TickeWs magic song,^ — Thomas Tickell was born in 1686, at Bridekirk, in Cumber- land, and died at Bath in 1740. His eleg-y on the death of his friend Addison is, in the opinion of Dr. Johnson, the best funereal poem in the English language ; and, according to the same great critic, his translation of the first book of Homer is, in some lines, superior to Pope^s. t Dalton was thine I leho in the Muse^s lat/s,^ — r John Dalton was born in 1709, at Dean, in Cum- berland • was educated at Queen's College, Oxford, where he took the degree of Doctor of Divinity, and became tutor to the Lord Beauchamp. He died in 1763, at Worcester, where he was Prebendary. Dr, Dalton was a man of learning and genius. He did not write much ; but what pieces he wrote are excellent in their kind. He is the author of a beautiful descriplive poem, addressed to two ladies on their visiting the coal-mines at Whitehaven ; and wrote some other verses descriptive of the Vale of Keswick and its neighbourhood. He adapted, in 1750, Milton's " Masque of Comus" to the stage, when it was represented at Drury-lane Theatre for the benefit of Elizabeth Foster, Milton's grand-daughter, who was then struggling with old age and poverty. The sum raised upon the occasion did not amount V 9 36 REMAINS OF to more than £130, of which Dr. Newton and Tonson the bookseller contributed a considerable portion. The prologue, which was well calculated to excite veneration for Milton, and compassion for his grand-daughter, was spoken by Garrick and written by Dr. Johnson ; who also, about the same time, and to promote the same benevolent purpose, wrote an admirable Address in Lauder's Essay on Milton, from which some writers have inferred, particularly the author of the " Memoirs of Thomas HoUis, Esq.,'' that he assisted Lauder in his infamous attempt to pluck the laurels from the brow of Milton. There is nothing, however, in Lauder's book, either in its style or execution, on which a charge of this nature can possibly be grounded: in every page it discovers folly and weakness, much malignity, and little penetration; and its forgeries are so glaring, that it requires but common reading and common observation to detect them. Dr. Johnson has, indeed, in his life of Milton, animadverted with a severity peculiar to his pen on the political opinions of that great poet — opinions which his warmest admirers will find it difficult to defend. His republicanism, the virulence of which neither old age nor calamity were able to diminish, seems to have been composed of nearly the same principles which make up the jacobinism of the present day (1800) : it was a compound of pride, selfish- mess, and malignity ; and was equally an enemy to THOMAS SANDERSON. 37 public order and to private happiness : where it had power, it oppressed ; and where it had none, it was factious. If we may judge from his political writings, he thought nothing more was required to be a patriot than to hate kings and legal establish- ments, and to talk to the mob of rights, privileges, and stipulations. He was an advocate for liberty, in almost the absolute sense of the word, yet never attempted to give the happiness which he had connected with it to his own wife and daughters, who, from the ties of nature and affection, had certainly the first claims upon it. " He thought women (says his learned biographer) made for obedience, and man for rebellion." In this respect only has Dr. Johnson condemned this great man. In the most masterly criticism that is to be found in any language, he has assigned to the " Paradise Lost" its due honours — " a work which (he says in his preface to Lauder's book) may, possibly, be read when every other monument of British grandeur shall be obliterated 1" 4 The pasV j^al Bard of Cauda\s vale wasfoimd.^ — Josiah Relph, a sweet pastoral poet, was born, in 1719^ at Sebergham Church-Town, a beautiful village, near Carlisle, on the banks of the river Cauda. He received a part of his education at the School at Appleby, under Richard Yates, M.A, one of the best Schoolmasters of the age ; who was also the Tutor of Pattison, a man remarkable for tm 38 REMAINS OE talents and his misfortunes, who, about the year 1730, published a Miscellany of Poems, and not long* after died, in the prime of life, literally of hunger ; a circumstance transiently mentioned by Richard Savage in his '* Author to be Let.'* At the age of 15, Relph removed from Appleby school to Glasgow University, where education is cheap, and where as much learning may, with com- mon abilities and common application, be acquired as is sufficient for the common purposes of life. At the canonical age he entered into orders, and was presented, by the Dean and Chapter of Carlisle, with the living of Sebergham, at that time worth no more than £30 a year, which, with the salary of the village School that he taught, made him as happy as, and somewhat richer than, the contented Country Clergyman described in Goldsmith's " Deserted Village." He never once expressed a wish to rise to greater opulence or more distinction ; his great concern was to improve, by good precepts and an exemplary life, the piety and virtue of his parishioners. He died, of a hectic complaint, in 1743. A neat mural monument, with a Latin inscription, was, in 1794, erected to his memory, by the Rev. Jonathan Boucher, from his veneration to genius, virtue, and piety. His poems were, shortly after his death, revised and published by the Rev. Thomas Denton, M. A. a gentleman of fine poetical taste and judgment; and in 1797 a THOMAS SANDERSON. 39 new edition was published, to which the writer of this note contributed memoirs of the Author's life, and a Pastoral Elegy on his Death. The poems of this pious Clergyman, though they have always ease and nature, and sometimes strength and elegance, have hitherto attracted but little notice from the public ; and the reason is obvious : His pastorals, and indeed all his best pieces, being written in the Cumberland dialect^ (which few are able to read, and still fewer to understand,) the pleasure they afford can be but local and circum- scribed, and -confined to such readers as are pre- viously acquainted with the force and peculiarities of provincial phraseology. Even the poems of Robert Burns, in which we find much picturesque beauty, fancy, and simplicity of sentiment, would have been more popular if they had not been debased by the low Scottish dialect in which too many of them are written. That beautiful pastoral comedy, ** The Gentle Shepherd," has, from the same cause, never given satisfaction on the English stage ; for who can be contented to hear, any length of time, a number of strange, unideal sounds ? Ovid, when he was banished to Geta, now Moldavia, seems to have composed, in order to amuse the solitary hours of his exile, some poems in the Moldavian dialect : Getico scripsi sermone Uhellum Structaque sunt nostris barbara verba modis. 40 REMAINS OF But these verses, written in a barbarous tongue, have long- ago been swept away by the tide of time ; and we only know that this favourite Poet was the Author of such from the poems which, in the immortal language of Rome, acquaints us with his genius and his misfortunes. An indifferent Poet has little or no reputation to lose from adopting a coarse and vulgar phraseology : he uses such images and words as are familiar to him ; and, beneath a rude, uncouth dress, conceals penury of sentiment, and sometimes gains credit for genius which he does not possess. But he who can think, as well as rhyme, ought not to descend, if he wishes his works to be generally read, to the harhara verba — to a vulgar and impure diction. Where useful ores in rocky caverns shine.^ — In the mountainous parts of Cumberland, particularly at Alston and Caldbeck, are several rich mines of lead and copper-ore. TIV expiatory stream of human gore^ — The victims, who were sacrificed upon the altars of the Druids, were generally men who had been guilty of heinous crimes ; when these could not be procured, the innocent suffered : Supplicia eorum^ qui in furto^ aut in Latrocinioy aut aUqua noxa sint cotn- prehensi, gratiora diis immortalibus esse arhitran- tur : sed qinim ejus generis copia deficit, etiam ad innocentiiun supplicia descendunt, — ^Ceesaris Com. THOMAS SANDERSON. 41 ELEGY TO THE MEMORY OF THE REVEREND JOSIAH RELPH/ I ASK^D of a Shepherd who pressed A bank where the primroses blow, Whose cares had not saddened his breast. Though Age had indented his brow — I ask'd him to shew me the seat, The arbom' where Cory don play'd. Whose warblings so sweetly did meet The chorus that came from the glade. ^' That arbour,'* he said with a sigh, " With chaplets of Sorrow is crown' d. Since the pipe, that bade Rapture be nigh. No more spreads the magic of sound ! ** Can the sun, when it crimsons the hill, ' Or gilds, with rich lustre, the lawn — Can the soft-soothing voice of the rill Delight when our Cory don's gone ! ^* Beneath yon rude thorn he repos'd. When Spring had enamell'd each scene ; When Summer, in splendour, had clos'd. And Autumn had mellow' d the green, * See Note, page 37. F 42 REMAINS OF ** III Winter so wild and so drear, In woodlands depriv'd of tbeir shade. He roam'd 'mid the waste of the year. And mourn'd o'er each floweret decay'dl " Where dew-dropping- willows complain To streamlets that wander beneath. The Echoes repeated his strain. While the Muses were twining his wreat'K " The first time he breath' d on his reed. And gscve its wild notes to the Avind, The Swains of the valley decreed A garland — ^^the type of his mind. " The pink and the lily were there — Tlie laurel, the emblem of fame, — The rose that can vie with the Fair, But, in blushes, renounces its claim, " Still sacred to Grief be the bow'rs That rise on the verge of yon grove. Where Innocence gathers her flow'rs, To weave the fond garlands of Love :: '" There Corydon's health did decline. Like lilies that droop in the dale ; There Sorrow did sprinkle his shrine, iLike dew that descends on the vale:! THOMAS SANDERSON. 43 ** What bosom refuses to mourn Beside the green leaf of his yew ? He gave us a lesson* to learn, As, dying-, he bade us adieu ! " Sunk in shade lies the pride of the grove, When the beam fades at eve? on yon height ; But we saw all his virtues improve, When the ray of his life set in night. " Remembrance shall dwell on his lay, That chas'd every woe but Despair ; That sooth' d, at the fall of the day. So sweetly the vigils of Care. ** On the breast of yon stream, -f- as it flows. Shall the tribute of sorrow be shed ; While the yew droj^s the clews from its boughs. To impearl the green turf of his bed !" The Shepherd then rose on his crook. As the shades of the Ev'ning were near : In silence he paus'd on a brook, And I bade him farewell with a tear ! *"Mr. Relph dietl witli the greatest composure, giving iustractions to Jjis Pupils for the future regulation of their lives. t A favourite fountain, near whicli he used to piibt many of his suninicr evenings. F 2 44 REMAINS OF NATIONAL DEFENCE IN TIMES OF DANGER, (First Published in May, 1794.^ At a crisis like the present, so full of difficulty and danger, all true Englishmen ought to step forward, to give force and weight to the executive authority of that Government which has rendered them happy at home, and their name respectable abroad. The opposition that has been lately made to the mode adopted by some of the southern counties of providing for interior defence of the nation by the means of voluntary subscriptions, only proves that there are a set of men who can substitute clamour for argument, assertions for proofs, and sophistry for reason. The legality and propriety of such contributions are confirmed by historical precedents, by the highest judicial opinions, by the voice of reason, of justice, and of common sense. While Ihey exemplify one of the most honourable Christian virtues in alleviating the burdens of the poor, they, at the same time, demonstrate the most rational affections of patriotism. Yet have we been told, by some from whose characters we might have expected more knowledge, or more honesty, that these benevolences are hostile to the spirit of the constitution, and only require the accident of a wicked king and corrupted minister to destroy its vital principles. I wonder that any man of know- THOMAS SANDERSON. 45 ledge or observation can reason so foolishly ! A wicked king, with even the assistance of a corrupted minister, will never be able to enslave the nation by means of supplies that come from the unre- strained will of the subject ; for these must cease as soon as they are perceived to give any sinister influence to the crown or its dependents.. Perhaps the people may rest in a fatal supineness while their liberties are constitutionally voted away by a servile majority of their representatives ; but they will never act so absurdly and mmaturally as to be immediately instrumental to their own oppres- sion and debasement, so as to make a common cause with a wicked kinsr or his creatures for the destruc-^ tion of their civil and religious rights ; of every thing dear to them as citizens, or animating to them as men. Such conduct would be as absurd as that of a man who gives his shield to his enemies, at the time they are aiming poignards at his breast. The compulsatory power of Parliament, in the imposition of taxes, leaves nothing to the free choice of the subject; and when, in some instances, it becomes oppressive, his murmurings are sometimes heard with an indifference bordering on contempt, and his resistance is treated as rebellion. We obtain the best idea of a free and powerful empire, and of a vigorous and popular administration, when we see the people rising up in tlie moments of terror and 46 REMAINS OF danger ; and, at the voluntary motions of a gratefuP heart, contributing by pecuniary aids, or personal services, in defence of that government under which they have experienced every indulgence and liberty that they could expect from the nature of their civil engagements r and been honoured with every social distinction that is compatible with subordination. A monarch of an absolute and violent disposition* may derive indeed a sort of dangerous strength, no less formidable to his subjects than to his enemies, by the means of those supplies that are received through the corrupted ehaimel of a venal House of Commons - but this power is only temporary, and ceases at the first moment in which political firmness and political virtue begin to act ; so that he even- tually becomes more an object of contempt than of terror ; and is less powerful than the sovereign,, who, with less extent of territory, though with more real and permanent resources, can command the lives and fortunes of his subjects, through the honourable medium of their affections. The throne of such an amiable j^rince is placed upon a basis which no foreign power, no domestic faction, can shake.. And though the arbitrary power of Parliament, (which also exists in the will of the people,) may take alarm at a spirit which cannot be controlled ; yet this spirit carries nothing in it dangerous to the THOMAS SANDERSON, 47 «civil and political liberties of the nation. It is the 'spirit of an Englishman, breaking through the cool formalities of rule and system, to give the most animated proofs of his affection to his sovereign, and attachment to the constitution. Nor is there any danger of its violating, at any time, and under any 'Conjuncture of circumstances, the great principles on which Magna Charta and the Bill of Rights are founded ; for its very essence consists of every social and patriotic virtue that can animate an Englishman, and attach him to his duties. Divested of the passions and prejudices of party, of the turbulence of faction, and of all romantic ardour for novelty and change, it will uphold the venerable fabric of the British Constitution that has been so long the envy and admiration of the world, till British honour and British integrity shall lose 'their name. WRITTEN UNDER THE AUTHOR'S PORTRAIT. O'ER what the ingenious artist has pourtray'd In all the harmony of light and shade. Advance, resistless Time, with lingering pace-. That in the lines surviving Friends may trace The speaking features, when in silence rest. Within the tomb, the sorrows of my breast ! '48 REMAINS OF tEPISTLE TO THE REV. JONATHAN BOUCHER, M. A. ON HIS ARRIVAL IN CUMBERLAND FROM AMERICA. ( Written at Burnsidc, MaTch, 1800. J " I venerate the man whose heart is warm, Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life Coincident, exhibit hvcid proof That he is honest in the sacred cause."— Co WPER. The rural Muse in warm though homely strains. Greets thee, my Boucher,* on thy native plains ; And, in that honest welcome, bids thee live To ev'ry praise a grateful heart can g-ive. In that great field where brighter garlands grow. Than those with which Ambition decks its brow, Long hast thou toil'd, nor hast thou toiled in vain, If what the bosom feels be present gain — * If what it feels wheii grateful minds declare That to thy toils they owe the bliss they share — Owe those undying hopes that bring relief To the torn heart, when sinking with its grief ! Religion's friend ! the noblest lot is thine. To draw pure doctrines from a source divine ; To mend the heart by sacred Wisdom's lore. And the long wand'rer to his fold restore ; To raise that confidence which rests on heav'n. By whom all good, all human bliss is giv'n ; " See Note at the eud of the Poem, THOMAS SANDERSON. 49 To give each struggling virtue strength to rise. And light her hallow'd taper at the skies ; With moral truth, with many a thought reiin'd. To consecrate the temple of the mind ! Blest is the Muse, while she with ardour pays To thy bright worth the tribute of her praise — To thy pure life, which, on thy passing hours. And On thy precepts, living lustre pours. In that ill-fated hour when Discord rose. And bade Columbia's sons be Britain's foes ; When, in the passions* headlong tide, were lost The gentlest feelings that the heart could boast : Beyond th* Atlantic wave, we saw thee prove Thy christian-spirit and thy patriot-love ; And, 'mid the public ferment, strive to bind In warm Affection's bonds the human mind : Firm in thy duties, it was thine to shew What to our country, what to heav'n we owe ; To censure boldly Faction's daring flame. And give due honours to the Patriot's name. Now Cumbria greets thee (all thy wand'rings o'er) With a warm welcome on her rocky shore. Where never ruder echoes move along Than the soft warblings of the Shepherd's song. Her woods, her streams, her valleys will engage The sober moments of declining Age ; G 50 REMAINS OF I For in all climes, 'mid leisure or 'mid toil, i The heart's fond fav'rite is our native soil ; The plains where first we breath'd the vital air. Will still our warmest, latest wishes share ; Though on those plains no genial suns should pour Their kindly beams, to wake the vernal flow'r ; Though deserts frown, and rocks on rocks appear. And desolating Winter claim the year ; Though the poor native to his hut retires, And just to breathe is all that he desires ! But since, my friend, to Cumbria there is giv'n A kinder soil, a more indulgent heav'n ; Since there the fields, the woods, and lawns, assume. In Spring's soft-rolling hours, the liveliest bloom ; Since there the Zephyr's softly-breathing gale Sheds Health and Joy o'er ev'ry hill and vale ; Since there the feather' d Songster's vernal lay Floats, in wild harmony, from spray to spray ; Much will thy warm and gen'rous bosom feel. That still expandeth to the public weal — Much will it feel to find no patriot-hand Throw its rich bounties on thy native land ; And to her wastes,* which now repel the eye, Where, without fragrance, vernal breezes fly, * The improvable commons in Cumberland are said to consist of near 150,000 acres, being about one third of the inclosed lands; but from folly, prejudice, or indolence, they have been hitherto suffered to lie in their present unproductive state. — Aullior's note. Since this note was written by Mr. Sanderson, the desip'd change has taken place : improvement has made as rapid strides in Cumberland as in any other County in Great Britain.— Ed. (1829.) THOMAS SANDERSON. 51 Giye golden harvests fruits of mellow-g-low, , And teach the ductile river where to flow ; — Much will it feel to And that Science there. Of public favours is denied a share, That Genius there, with hand all wildly thrown Upon her harp, is left to sig-h alone, To breathe, with frame unnerv'd, with visage pale, Despair's sad accents on each (passing gale ! Ev*n Relph-|- had wanted a plain stone to tell Where bloomM his virtues, where he sung so well. Had not my Boucher, in his fond regard, Paid that j ust tribute to our northern Bard. Once in sev'n years I grant that Op'lence pours 'On starving Cumbrians all its golden showers, When Lords of Manors lay their grandeur down. And ask poor Hodge to dine with them in town ; But say, in saturnalian days like these. When the big promise floats on ev*ry breeze — Say what advantages our country gains From all this waste of money and of pains ? Do not a train of real evils rise Where Party's broad-expanded ensign flies ? Ah yes .! its favours, though they seem to bless. Still leave the' hoard of social bliss the less ; Intemp'rance grows, industrious habits fall, Till a lethargic stupor spreads o'er all ! 4 See Note, page 37. g2 52 REMAINS OF Believe me, Boucher, he can only claim The proud distinction of a Patriot's name. Who to the public good, with op'ning soul. Bids all his wishes tend, his passions roll ; Who by a tie more strong than Nature's drawn. Makes all his country's int' rests still his own ; Who to his King that best of off'rings brings — The love that from a grateful bosom springs ; Who courts not notice as Ambition's tool — Who scorns to be the rabble's knave or fool ! Who will not with one sordid thought invade The sanctity by heav'n-born Freedom made ; But to her fane with purest heart repair, And all her spirit, all her blessings share, — Catch the rich honours that with ray divine Break on the Patriot from her hallowed shrine. Nor rests such worth on Fortune's fav'ring hour- On the mere accidents of birth and pow'r : Oft, oft it rises in an humble state, 'Mong men whom Virtue only renders great. Whose moments glide unmark'd by public fame. Whose chief ambition is an honest name ! For though like Pitt it be not theirs to raise A pile of glory on all Europe's praise ; Nor theirs to bid, like Spencer, valour glow, As far as Ocean's swelling billows flow. THOMAS SANDERSON. 53 To blazon triumphs round Britannia's name, And swell her records with an age of fame ! Yet, touch' d by great examples, they can feel Upon their souls the patriot-passion steal. And, in the track of duty, share applause With the first guardian of our country's laws ; While their domestic virtues, mildly bright. Upon their peaceful life diffuse their light. To guard her rights should e'er the State demand, Still at that call their gen'rous breasts expand — Still does her welfare fill each fund desire — Still to her praises does their pride aspire : Whether amid the battle's rage they fall. Or sleep within the church-yard's hallow' d wall. Some humble stone their tale of honour tells — Some Shepherd on their public virtue dwells. ! though the ills of Cumbria I deplore, The eye yet loves to wander o'er her shore ; For in her vales, which woods and hills surround. The rev'rend form of rustic worth is found ; The good old-fashion'd virtues linger there. And shoot their blossoms in congenial air ; There friendly hearths blaze round the welcom'd guest ; There social Freedom opens all her breast ; There ev'ry look and word, unspoil'd by art. Speaks the home-language of an honest heart; f y^ TIEMAINS OT There Beauty's form its brightest colours takes. While many a soft and tender passion wakes : And this, my Friend, is Cumbria's peaceful form, When in the glow of civil virtue warm ! But when proud Gaul, by vain ambition hurl'd. Breaks on the calm of Britain and the world. She foremost in the ranks of Valour g-lows, And bursts to glory in the Nation's cause, Adds to the wreaths which Victory has spread, In radiant folds, round Albion's awful head. Shame to the Great ! a land like this should share No Patron's favour and no Patriot's care ; Should like some isolated rock remain, Though Nature's bounty blesses ev'ry plain; Shame ! that no more her .peaceful hamlets shade The bashful virtues of the Village-Maid ; 'That the poor Vagrant is denied a shed, Ev'n on the plains where his Forefathers bled^ That Labour's hardy offspring leaves the land, Driv'n by Oppression's rude,, unfeeling hand; While, unreclaim'd, her heathy commons lie. And spread a dreary desert to the eye ! O since I know, my Friend, thy generous heart Of thy lov'd country's sorrows bears a part, i5ehold the Muse, as Hope's fair blooms expand, 'To all tliy patriot- wishes mould the land; — THOMAS SANDERSON. 55 Behold her give, in Fancy's splendid hue, Free from all shade, thy Cumbria to the view. On yon waste tracts, with heath and furze o'erspread^ Where many a sun its useless beams has shed. Where ne'er the thrifty Housewife's rushy light Illumes the bosom of a Winter's night; See future harvests crown the mellow' d soil, And with their wealth repay the Tiller's toil j See peaceful! cots and little hamlets rise^ And sacred spires that seem to touch the skies r Where Ocean, 'mid th' infuriate tempests' roar,^ Sweeps with its rage a solitary shore : See harbours open, moles projected brave The rushing fury of the mountain- wave ; And where the billows scatter ruin round,. In their fierce inroads, see th' opposing mound ; See the canal (a gen'rous country's boast) Connect the eastern with the western coast !* See public Bounty, as it rises, spread Its genial light round letter' d Merit's shed. * The junction of the two seas was lately in agitation; and on the report of able surveyors and engineers thought practicable, and at an easy expense, considering the importance of the undertaking. Tlie scheme, after it had filled the public mind for a few months willi splendour, was sufferqfl like a speculative vision to die away, either from want of spirit or money, or both, though the advantages from itsexecu- tion to the two counties, through which the intended line of navigation was to pass, would have been incalculable — Author's note. Here, too (see note p. .50) the Poet's wishes have been realized. In 1823 a canal communication between Carlisle and the Sol way Frith was opened; and an act has just passed the legislature (1829) for the con. structionofa Railroad from the Canal Basin at Carlisle to^ Newcastle- upon-Tyne. — Ed, 56 REMAINS OF Chase the cold dainps that chill the Muse's lyre. And call forth all its spirit — all its fire ; See Painting hold with Nature friendly strife. And touch the canvas till it glow with life ! To minds like thine, my Boucher, scenes like these, Though seen through Fancy's faithless glass, will please ; The soul amid the rapturous vision glows. And from her present sorrow steals a pause. And when, my Friend, th' illusive joy shall fly. And Cumbria's deserts rush upon thine eye, O may'st thou still beneath some peaceful shade. By Learning and by Virtue sacred made. Enjoy each bliss that polish' d minds can please, A letter' d leisure, philosophic ease ; And till some Bard, fill'd with the Muse's fire, To patriot- virtue shall attune the lyre. And o'er thy name, in his immortal lays. Shed the rich fragrance of undying praise. Accept this verse, 'tis all my Muse can give. Warm is the tribute, though but short it live. NOTE TO THE PRECEDING POEM. Greet thee, my Boucher, on thy native shore,^ — This worthy Clergyman was born at Blencogo, and received a part of his education at the Grammar- THOMAS SANDERSON. 57 School, at Wigton, under the late Rev. Joseph Blaine, a man of learning- and integrity, though rough and blunt in his manners, and, like Goldsmith's Village-Schoolmaster, " stern to view." On enter- ing into orders, he passed over to America, some time previous to the revolution in that country. On the commencement of the disturbances, he did not shrink from his duties as a Clerg-yman and a Citizen, or timidly accommodate himself to the opinions and views of a powerful faction ; but, with great firmness and activity, supported the cause of loyalty and legal liberty. This gentleman is also respectable in a literary point of view. A few years ago he published " The Causes and Consequences of the American Revolu- tion," which, like all works of the same nature, has received praise and censure, according- to the political opinions of its readers. He was also the able coadjutor of Mr. Hutchinson in his compilation of the History of Cumberland ; and is the supposed Author of an anonymous pamphlet, subscribed " A Cumberland Man," published about eight years ago, and lately reprinted in Sir Frederick Morton Eden's " State of the Poor." It is addressed to the Inhabitants of Cumberland, and has for its object the improvement of that county, in every thing that can render a country happy and opulent. It is written with uncommon animation, and has received H 58 ^vE^IAINS OF praises wherever it has been read. Its plans are certainly practicable ; for they are in their principles the same by which, in all ages, empires have advanced, from their first barbarous rudiments, to refinement and distinction ; and, to execute them, it requires only the firm and vigorous co-operation of the landholder and monied man, that, under their patronage, all the spirit, ingenuity, and industry of the county may be called forth and directed to one point. Every one who is able to make comparisons must observe the inferiority and wretchedness of Cum-^ berland. It is the fag-end, the ultima Thule of the kingdom ; where, with opportunities of improving their situation, men are contented to live like their rude forefathers in wretched hovels on the edge of moors and mosses, amidst dirt, smoke, and indigence! ** We pay (says the Author of the pamphlet) to the county-rate ; but if one were asked what we have to shew for the sums thus collected, I should be at a loss to mention any thing but a few mean bridges, and a still meaner county-gaol. I cannot at present recollect a single public work of any kind among us set on foot by voluntary contribution. We have no poor-houses, or work-houses; no county infirmary or hospital ; no agricultural societies ; no canals ; no public libraries ; no institutions to promote arts and sciences ; nor even any great trading company THOMAS SANDERSON. 59 on a large and liberal scale to promote either fisheries or manufactories." The Author concludes his pamphlet with the following warm and patriotic wish : " O that I might but live to see this my native county, now deformed by bare and barren moors, and disgraced by an unsightly and unprofitable husbandry, and in various other respects lying neglected and forlorn, restored to that rank and consequence among her sister counties for which the bounteous Author of Nature has so eminently qualified her : I should then, with St. Simon, " depart in peace ;'* and close the scene in the valedictory words of a Roman Emperor, sat vixi mihi, sat glorice.'^^'f + See observations on preceding notes, p.p. 50 — 55. Cumberland is no longer " inferior" nor "wretched," but prosperous and happy. Her mean bridges have given way to commodious and elegant structures ; she has a county gaol not surpassed by that of any other county in the kingdom ; comfortable poor-housf s and agricultural societies ; the arts and sciences flourish witliin her bounds ; she has public libraries, trading companies " on a large and liberal scale;" fisheries, manufactories; and is soon to have a county infirmary. — Ed. (1829.) H 60 REMAINS OF EPISTLE TO MR. DANIEL STALKER, ( Written at Burnside, Dec. 1799.^ " The clearest Friend to me, the kindest Man, The best conditioned and unwearied Spirit In doing courtesies ; and one in whom The ancient Roman honour more appears Tlian any that draws breath in Italy."— ShAKSPEARE. Oft, Stalker, f in my rural bowers, Kind Mem'ry soothes my passing hours ; And in a soft and mellow' d hue Recals life's former scenes to view. O'er Seb' ram's sweet romantic vales. Refresh' d by earliest vernal gales, Our childhood stray' d, estrang'd to care. And catch'd each joy that wander'd there. When on the hill the setting sun With faint, though pleasing, lustre shone. On Cauda' s banks, with breasts at ease. Embowered in a shade of trees. Amid the beams of parting day. We sat and talk'd the hours away ; + Thisrespecfcible gentleman, (a native of Sebergham) went to London at a very early age, where he engaged in a mercantile line of life. He was educated at the grammar, school at Sebergham, under the Rev. John Stubbs, agontleman eminently skilled in classical literature; and was class-fellow to the writer of this note, and to an amiable youth now no more, Mr. John Denton, son of the late Rev, Thomas Deutou, M. A. of Aslitead, in Surrey .—Author's note. THOMAS SANDERSON. (>1 Or soft, along- the shadowy dell, We heard the hamlet's murmurs swell — Heard the last songs which woodlands pour At Ev'ning's sweet and silent hour. Together, too, we sought the road That leads to Learning's bright abode ; When at each step, some prospect new. With all the pow'r of magic drew ! O'er Homer's epic lays we glow'd. Caught rapture as his numbers flow'd ; Or view'd him where, in Virgil's lines. In soft-reflected light he shines. The wit of Horace too would please. And plaintive Ovid's graceful ease : But human joys, howe'er refin'd, Too long pursu'd, unnerve the mind ; For who amidst a blaze can live, Though Genius e'en that blaze should give? Hence, oft upon the village green. When twilight stole o'er ev'ry scene. With many a rural garland crown' d. We join'd the sports that circled round ; Our raptur'd bosoms, light as air, Reflected ev'ry pleasure there ; While on the blank of future hours Bright Fancy strew' d lier summer-flow 'rs. 62 REMAINS OF But o'er the joys, by Youth carest. That gave their sunshine to the breast, Too soon the shades of Sorrow past — Too soon life seem'd a darken' d waste ! We bade our native fields adieu. Where on light wing the minutes flew ; You, where Augusta's grandeur spreads. And Thames his oosy waters leads. Where smoke and other ills annoy, — Virtue's calm dignity enjoy ! While I, by Fortune humbly laid In Burnside'sf sweet-sequester' d shade. In accents artless, wild, and rude. Sooth with a song my solitude ! Here, as my life has reach' d its noon, Heav'n ! let my ev'ning-sun go down ! And, that the hours may smoother glide. Let Stalker near my cot reside : Then, though the ruthless hand of Time Pluck ev'ry flow'r of manhood's prime, Amidst an ether mild and clear Shall Life's declining day appear ; And on its lone and shadowy hour, The cup of bliss shall Friendship pour. + Burnsidc, where a great |>art of these pocras was written, is situated in the north of Cnmberland, on the banks of a ij/fH or rivulet called the Hcther. It was formerly a viliajie of some extent, but is at present in ruins, except one solitary dwelling-house. It is beautifully embo- somed in trees, silent, and romdniic .—AiU/iot' s note. THOMAS SANDERSON. OS And streams of social rapture roll In radiant current o'er the soul I And if hoar Care (invidious Fiend !) Should o'er our smiling* landscape bend, And strive w^ith hostile hand to tear The rose of joy that blossoms there. With all our bosoms on a g'low, We'll shake our bottle at the foe ! What though, amid the vain and proud. The strifes and follies of the crowd, Your silent virtues live at ease. Within a little ivorld of peace — That little world — an honest breast> By Heav'n's sweets cheering sunshine blest ! Say, can the pomp the city pours, E'er gain a heart so fram'd as yours ? Can Wealth or Grandeur's pageant-sho\V One look of admiration draw ? Can you, unwearied, Folly trace, That changes ev'ry day its face ? Can you, with placid eye, behold Pow'r, rank, and favour, bought with gold? While modest Merit's useful days Are hardly mark'd by public praise ! Haste, then, O haste to rural calm, In Cumbrian valleys fix your home • 64 REMAINS OF Your easy manners, winning mien, Will polish all the rustic scene. And o*er the past'ral Virtues throw A pleasing air, a graceful glow. To welcome you from London-town Old Skiddaw-j- will toss off his frown — Will soften into smiles his brow. Though burthen'd with a load of snow ; And Cauda, as he pours along, Will greet you with his sweetest song ; The merry lads of Seb'ram's vale Will drink your health in cans of ale ; The bonny lasses, free from guile. Will bless you with their brightest smile ; And I on rustic reed will play From morning to the close of day ! EPIGRAM. Dick on his wife could not bestow One Tear of Sorrow when she died ; Her Life had made so many flow, That all the briny fount had dried. t A c*>leljiiitcJ Cunibiian mountiiin, 3,022 fe-jt above the level of the sea. THOMAS SANDERSON. 65 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE STATE OF THE POOR. C Written in 1800. ^ Poverty has been defined by some moral writers to be a want of riches, and by others a want of competency : but both these definitions are certainly imperfect, if they be definitions at all, " Want of riches* ' and *' want of competency* ' are relative terms, and have no limitation in idea, but are regu- lated by opinion and by the opportunities we enjoy of comparing our situation with that of others. Were we to define poverty to be a ivant of necessaries, the idea would become determinate, and the miseries attendant on it appear before us in their full magnitude. The condition of the Poor, under any view, claims our compassion ; but at this time, when the articles of life have reached a price never known before, it is deplorable in the highest degree. Much to the honour of the nation, several plans have been pointed out for their relief, among which, that of forming public Granaries and Soup Shops seems to be one of the most rational and practicable. But, as some time must necessarily elapse before esta- blishments of this description can take place and become general, we shall be neglectful of our duty as christians and citizens if we do not endeavour to ameliorate their situation by the means which are I 6G REMAINS OP immediately before us and at hand, thoug^h these means might not be productive of the effect we could wish. When the distresses of the Poor are urgent and call for immediate relief, that plan will be the best which is simple and easy of execution. What should we think of a man who could sit deliberately adjusting" the oars of his boat while a fellow-CTeature is struggling with the waves ? Let tlie opulent of every parish order to be cooked, in their own houses, such victuals as afford the most healthy nutriment, and let these be distri- buted to their poor neighbours, whose situation they are best acquainted with, and whose wants they have the best opportunities of learning. Let a subscription be set forward and encouraged by their example ; and let the Farmers contribute according to their circumstances such articles as are most abundant with them, whether grain, meal, potatoes, milk, &c. That such contributions might be as extensive and as general as possible,, it is recommended that some of the respectable inhabi- tants should take upon them to call at every househol-der's, and, in a list prepared for the pur- pose, to desire him (if he have any fellow-feehng for tlie distress of others) to insert his name, with the value and nature of tlie donation which he means to give, whether money, provision, &c. Let this iiet he published and fixed upon the church door. THOMAS SANDERSON. 67 during the time of divine service, lliat the Poor may knoAv their benefactors, and that Charity may operate by example from the hig-her to the lower classes of the community. Gifts in specie should not be sent in that form to the Poor, but judiciously laid out by the donor in the purchase of some necessar}'^ article of life. What money the Poor procure easily, they generally spend improvidently : Humility is often taught in the school of Poverty, but seldom the virtue of Economy, In this work of Charity it is expected every one will co-operate in proportion to the extent of his circumstances. No one should withhold his contribution because it may not be in his power to give much. It is not the value of a gift, but the disposition of heart with which it is given, that constitutes the moral merit of a charitable action. The aggregate of social good is not composed of large sums only, but of several particulars : as the Nile, which diffuses verdure and fertility over Egypt, contains tlio contributions of a thousand obscure and nameless streams. On the duty of Charity it is unnecessary to expatiate here. Good and pious men, in every age and in every country, have, both in v/ords and practice, strongly recommended it. There is hardly a moral precept in the New Testament which does not positively or indirectly enjoin it ; and the Saviour i2 68 REMAINS OF of mankind has sliewn its importance by giving a parable to illustrate it. The rich man, who was clothed in purple sindjured sumptuously every day, and yet would give nothing to Lazarus, was one of those men of the world who, in their own prosperity, forget the adversity of their fellow-creatures. Though he had committed no formal, positive crime that alarmed his conscience, and had even, perhaps, maintained an honourable reputation among men, yet his conduct was highly criminal, as is evident from the severe punishment inflicted upon him by Heaven, who knows all the guilt of a callous and a contracted heart. If we would only think seriously, we should not be so forgetful of our duties as christians and as men, as to behold the misfortunes of our fellow- creatures with cold apathy. In a world where the principles of change daily work, it is possible that, in the course of half a century or less, ourselves or our families may exhibit (notwithstanding all the securities which worldly wisdom and caution can provide) as deep a scene of distress as the wretched objects who now implore our succour. The same Omnipotent Being who arranged the series of events which led us to distinction and opulence, may reverse the train, and in some future period of ©ur lives lay us under the pressure of poverty, 1 am no advocate for the African Slave Trade THOMAS SANDERSON, 09 binder any limitation; but I cannot much praise that romantic humanity which melts over the mis- fortunes of a distant people, and overlooks those which press immediately on the eye. Have the refined maxims of Modern Philosophy effected some strang-e revolution in the thoug-hts and man-, ners of men, that we send our feelings to another hemisphere, and leave no succour at home for the distresses of our own countrymen ? A friendly correspondence and a mutual assistance among the various classes which compose the ■community^ is necessary for their welfare, or even for their existence* The highest ranks do not stand independent and alone ; their prosperity has an intimate connection with that of the lowest — if the one fall, the ruin He has always lived abstemiously ; his diet being chiefly potatoes, butter, cheese, milk, and hasty- pudding. + Snuff or tobacco he never used, and seldom tasted spirituous liquors. He is no friend to tea-drinking, to the general prevalence of which he imputes the whole train of nervous disorders and mental maladies which have spread so much pain and misery over the world. He has no aversion to ale, provided it be made of good malt and hops, which, he says, was always the case before the establishment of public breweries. He was never intoxicated but once during his life ; a circumstance that happened during the festivity of a marriage, when that grave virtue sobriety is generally forced to give way to jolly Comus and his train. His dress X On this dish, sometimes called Thick Pottage, the Cumbrian peasant makes vhen all was still. Except the sweetly murm'ring rill, A Nightingale, perch' d on a spray. Sung all the lonesome hours away ; The music of his plaintive notes Rebounded from the neighboring grots,, And in harmonious cadence fell On Melancholy's lonely cell ; Or to the Poet's raptur'd ear In all its mournful swell was dear ! An Owl, offended at the strains. Of each unwelcome note complains ; And, from the hollow of an oak. Thus to the little Minstrel spoke : " Why, noisy warbler ! why obtrude Thy songs upon my solitude ? Why on my nightly studies break When philosophic truths I seek ? Still should the singing tribe retire Soon as the sun forsakes yon spire. And leave the hours of Wisdom free From all intrusive harmony." *' Ah, why !" the Nightingale replied^ " Should harmless songs offend thy pride — 230 REMAINS OF Songs that still sooth the pensive breast. When Day*s sweet Birds retire to rest. Poor, moping, solitary thing ! What are ihefi^uits thy musings bring ? Do solemn looks and half-shut eye A philosophic mind imply ? By ev'ry sweet melodious bird With dread alarm thy voice is heard ; And all thy fund of knowledge lies Hid from the search of common eyes."** THE HORSE AND THE TIDE, A FABLE. A Horse, free from the curbing rein, Was prancing o'er the verdant plain. Just as the tide was spreading o'er The herbage of the marshy shore ; O Impudence ! its billows beat Close at the gen'rous creature's feet ! What could he do ? — with kindled ire He bade the scoundrel Tide retire : '* Back to the main, intruder ! go, (He cried in Indignation's glow) ; Why threaten with your rage the vales Where gently blow the Ev'ning gales ? Now when from peaceful groves and dells The sweetest vernal music swells : THOMAS SANDERSON. 231 When mildly shines to ev'iy eye The azure of a cloudless sky ; When yonder moon, from lamp serene, Throws placid light o'er ev'ry scene, You, like a furious maniac, rave. Tumultuous roar, dash wave on wave. Break thro* the firm-opposing- mound, And scatter desolation round : Leave, mad intruder ! leave the plain. And hide your fury in the main !" " Why all this railing ? (said the tide,) You find me guilty ere I'm tried ; Yon pale-fac'd moon who glides so proud, Whose praises you have sounded loud, Who with a stream of stolen light Gilds the blank bosom of the nigrht : Who, with an aspect so demure, Looks on the Peasant's woodbine bow'r — That Moon, believe me, is the cause, The source from whence the fnischiej' Hows ; On me she acts by latent force. And heaves my surges in their course : If she and storms would let me rest. Serene and calm would be my breast." 232 REMAINS OF THE BEES AND THE WASPS, A FABLE. Two Bees 'One day, from neighb'ring hives, Wlio had been cronies all their lives. Together perch' d, in evil hour, Upon a Rose's op'ning flow'r ; The god of discord, hov'ring nigh, Observ'd them with malignant eye. And filPd their little breasts with ire — With fierce Dissension's deadly fire. ** Room ! room ! (cries one) pray give me room, You'll toss me from this fragrant bloom ; This Rose I claim by prior right. To other flow'rs pray wing your flight ; Is ev'ry gen'rous feeling dead. Or are you only badly bred ?" The other Bee with haste replied, ** Why all this insolence and pride ? This Rose — this field of flow'rs, No prior right can e'er make your's; Before I'll leave my roseate seat I'll drain it of each liquid sweet," Some wasps who, from a spreading bough. Had heard, with joy, the quarrel grow, Exclaim'd, ** Good neighbours, whence this fray ? The case is just as clear as day, THOMAS SANDERSON. 233 But we must part, see ! yonder sky Foretells some rushing tempest nigh ; If you'll to-morrow be at home (Our fee is but a bit of comb). With j ustice and distinction nice Th' affair we'll settle in a trice." The Bees agreed : they leave the Rose, And in their fragrant hives repose ; Th' officious wasps, at morning-light. On active pinions urge their flight ; They reach the hives, admission gain. Much of their toilsome flight complain. Then highly praise the snug retreat, Think ev'ry cell so sweet, so neat ; They talk, they feast — the day declines. The sun with faded lustre shines. " To-morrow (said the Wasps) we'll trace The various windings of the case ; But know that freely we must live. Your honey yon must cheerful give ; 'Twill add more vigour to the tongue. When it declaims on right and ivrong,^^ The honest Wasps, from day to day, Alleg'd new reasons for delay. And constant with the Bees remain'd. Till all the honey-cells were drain' d; Then from th' impoverish' d hives they flew, And bade their cred'lous friends adieu, G G 234 REMAINS or THE rOX AND THE ASS, A FABLE. A Prowling Fox, on Madam Flavians ground. Was forc'd to leave his tail within a trap ; — He vows revenge, though ev*ry Friend around Begs him to bear with patience his mishap : But all in vain ; the passion in his breast Burns with too hot a rage to be supprest, ■One day he sees an Ass upon the road. With shoulders gall'd by many a cruel load ; '** Good Friend (says Reynard to the honest Ass), How comes it that the world ne'er knows your worth ! O infamy ! to carry pots and glass. And be a very vagabond on earth 1 And then to make a meal upon a whin !* Ah ! where' s the wonder that you look so thin ? Observe the haugbty Horse on yonder plain — Yon parti-colour' d beast that's white and blacky, He's fed with luscious grass, with hay and grain. And carries pretty Misses on his back ; While your^s the vilest load — e^en brooms and mats. Pots, dishes, spoons, old rags, and Beggar's brats! Your modesty, believe me, Master Ass, Has from the public eye conceal'd your merit • Why, not a single creature that eats grass Can boast so fine a shape, so bold a spirit ! * Purze. THOMAS SANDERSON^. 235 Look at your feet, — what workmanship is there I And when you move, — what majesty of air ! The way to g^ain distinction is quite clear. See ! yonder' s Madam Fliavia on her nag^; Go, cross her road, prick up each beauteous ear,, And fleetly scamper round her like a stag" ; Then g-ive her Ladyship your sweetest song^ — I mean a bray that's musical and strong.. Pleas'd with these words, tlielong -ear' d creature hies^, And soon o'ertakes fair Flavia on the road. Brays loud and long", and trots before her eyes, Till the affrighten'd steed throws off his load ; Ah,, then ! the Ass, poor beast ! was caught and tied,, And; merciless cudgels laid across his hide ! EPIGRAM:— DICK AND NED. " I hear your wife's ill health of late Has sunk your heart in grief ; could I, in your mind's sad state. My Ned, impart relief!" **Tis true my wife — mere bone and skin !- Friend Dick, is at Death's door ; But, when that Spectre lets her in,, My troubles will be o'er !" G G 2- !?236 - REMAINS OF ON THE TASTE OF THE GREEKS. ( Written in 1820. J ' The luxury and voluptuousness of the ancient Greeks, which their climate promoted, and their religion authorised, appear in a pleasing" point ^i view in most of their writings which the invidious hand of time has spared to us. Learning . and pleasure with them were one ; and while the careless Anacreon was dignified with the title of wise,t the philosophic Plato was not above permitting his imagination to rove in a manner similar to that of the Telan Bard. This is clearly proved by some of his lighter effusions which have been preserved, one of which I shall venture to present in an English dress, premising, that though I have taken consider- able liberties with the original, yet I trust the classical reader will find the thought of it faithfully given. We may suppose it to have been written in some secluded grove on unexpectedly meeting with a statue of Cupid, and, in the original, every line breathes that spirit of repose and calm contemplation which the major writings of Plato shew to have been bis favourite mood. — Where arching branches shade the day -god's heams, And zephyr wantons o'er the purling streams, Where flowers in garlands richly hang around, This morn a litlle slumb'ring god I found. t Plato calls Aaacreon " the wise Anacreou." " H(ec sapientia quondam fuit.'" THOMAS SANDERSON. 237 Harmless he lay ; aside his arms were flunf^, Or idly on the neighh'ring branches hung ;'' Rose-leaves composM the soft and scentecl bed, On which was piilow'd his recumbent head, And murm'ring bees, as round his form they flew, " '-^ • Cull'd from his lips the ricli ambrosial dew. AVhat odoiira,fiird the circumjacent space! What beauty beam'd upon tlie infant face ! ; :^!P'en as I view'd his softly skuub'ring form, , fffelt my ev'ry nerve and passion warm ! "F'earful, with grief, I fore myself away. Yet lingering look'd, and half inclin'd'to stay ! 5 The refined sensuality (if sensuality can so be ^called) of the Greeks, was in no place more con- spicuous than in their g^ardens, and banquetting houses. There the united aid of sculpture and painting improved upon the bountiful gifts of nature^ and true taste stepped in and corrected the whole. Indeed, we can conceive nothing more delightful, or more attractive, than those classic groves, which bent their shades over Ilissus and Cephissus, where the Athenians passed away their time in what has been since denominated the "flow of soul;'' and where the allurements of sense, and the attractions of science, were blended together in a wreath of matchless beauty. The concurrent testimony of travellers leads us to suppose, that in many parts of the east there are still to be found such ornamented scenes of beauty, — still, in the garden of the wealthier Greek, the kiosk rears its fantastic dome amid the foliage of acacias, vines, and myrtles, and still the shattered fraorments of a Phidias and his. 238 REMAINS Of* disciples, beauteous even in decay, adorn the luxu- rious retreat. With that love of pleasure andi elegance which ever distinguished the Greeks, the ablutions of the bath, an essential luxury in their climate, were made subservient to the ornament of their villas ; and amongst bowers of clematis and roses, groves of sycamore and olive, the Naiads of the marble-bedded stream wooed to their cooling- embrace, and revived from that lassitude which the balmy air and seducing scenes around conspired to occasion.. It is not surprising that the enriched imagination of the Greeks associated ideas of love and beauty with these aptly-formed scenes : and that their poetical religion, and attractive traditions, were frequently blended with the localities around them*. Venus, to them, was no fabled form. Their religion taught them to believe in, and to worship her ; and- what by us can only be admired for beauty, had to them all the dignity which devotion authorises, and religion requires.. What magic associations aroscj too, at every step, to arouse their feelings, and kindle the fire of their imagination ! Here the Delphian god uttered his oracles ; there the conclave of gods held their assemblies — and the poor Indian, whose untutor'd mind Sees God in clouds, or hears him in ilie wind, — (Pbpe.)i cannot have a more imposing sense of the divine- THOMAS SANDERSON. 239 ipresence, than must have been felt by these who dwelt beneath Olympus, or inhaled the sweets of Tempo. The oiig'inal of the following translation fi^m Melcager breathes richness in every line, and is as hquid and as soft as the balmy air which it describes. It is truly Arcadian. I ought to mention, however, that it has one striking omission. Love, the constant attendant of Spring, is not mentioned. In my translation, I have interpolated a passage from Lucretius, which supplies the defect, and only wish my feeble version were a more correct picture lof the original. No more rude Boreas sweeps the howling main, No h)nger Tempest dehiges the plain. The winds are hushVl, the waves forget to roar^ The torrents fall, the thunders roll no more. Soft smiling Spring advances to the view, And bathes the flowerets with ambrosial dew, Breathes o'er the vales, and bids the myrtles blow, And the rich rose with new-born beauty glow, 'Charmed at the scene the warblers wake the song, The bleating flocks with gladness bound ah)ng, While peasants, rapturM at the pleasing time, Attune the pipe, or weave the rustic rhime. Now, too, the sailor opes his snow-white sails, And wooes the vernal and auspicious gales, Leaves his own shore, and o'er the wat'ry way Bids buoyant zephyrs 'mid his streamers play. Swift on their flow'ry course the wild bees bounds {The flowers awaken at the well-known sound, Ope wide their leaves, and yield tJieir honied sweety Trembling beneath the little spoiler's feet.jf {Gay Venus hastens hither; in her train The Graces^ ringlets float along the plain, ^' These three lines are not in the original. The idea is taken from a (passage in Virgifs Georgics, which I never recollect seeing'faithfuUy ^translated. 240 REMAINS OF The laughing zephyrs wanton in her hair, And sip the sweets that Ibndly nestle there; While Cupid hastes to pluek the hudding flower. And shew once more his all-triumphant power.]-f liet not the minstrel now continue mute, But strike the lyre, and tune the glad-string'd lute. Welcome young Maia, fairest of the spring, And every beauty of her garland sing ! Even in our northern climate this picture possesses the attribute of truth, and cold must that heart be which could peruse the original unmoved in its bewitching parent-clime. The Greeks were enthusiasts. No cold calcula- tions entered into the composition of their mind, and their passions too often overcame their judg- ment. How strongly the disposition of Sappho is pourtrayed in the following epigram addressed to an invidious female : — Ah ! when thou diest no tear shall flow, No sighs bespeak the mourner's woe ; No monument proclaim thy name, No friendly muse attune thv fame. For thou wert ne'er the Muses' friend. And o'er thy corse no Muse will bend !:J: But it is time to have done. The subject is a seducins: one to him who has rifled the sweets of the classic pag-e. The Christian, however, knows how to value Grecian taste and genius, without doing- homage to the numerous vices and follies which accompanied them* + These lines within brackets are, as the reader will perceive, an inter- polation, and a loose trai>slatioa of the well-known *' // ver et Venus''' of Lucretius. X 1 feel I have very feebly imitated the force of the original ; but, independently of tlie difficulty, it would appear turbid and overstrained in English. Tlie warm feelings of the Lesbian ill suit any language l>utherowa. THOMAS SANDERSON. 241 WRITTEN IN A SPRING MORNING. Frigora jam Zephyr i minuunt—OviD. On ev'ry bank and opening- lawn. By Nature* s hand profusely thrown. Soft-rising" flow' rets greet the view. With petals fill'd with morning dew ; The spreading tree, the verdant glade. For wearied Peasants for a shade ; While many a Shepherd's artless song. In notes melodious, pours along — Now fills the vale with strains of love. Now joins the chorus of the grove. The storm that rag'd o'er yonder plain. That heav'd the billows of the main. Has fled, and left the vernal gales To breathe their softness o'er the vales. Ye virtuous few ! whose sorrow flows ; On whom Misfortune coldly blows ; Who wander friendless o'er Life's waste. Expos' d to many a ruthless blast ; Let future prospects sooth to rest The present griefs that heave your breast ; For see Life's wint'ry tempest fly, And Heav'n's eternal sunshine nigh ! PI H I 242 REMAINS OF, THE FAIR RECLUSE. No more with Beauty's noon- tide beams^ Fair Mary, gild embow'ring shades ; No more with rapture talk of streams^ Or the sweet cadence of cascades. O'er polish' d life expand thy sails. To nymphs less fair leave groves and plains ; Ah ! what to thee are woods and vales. Where reign the rude loves of the swains 1 'Tis true that lovely Peggy bears^ In ev'ry radiant glance a dart ; 'Tis true that Nancy's graceful airs. By soft enchantment wins the heart :. But short shall partial Beauty reign, With pow'r despotic o'er the breast ; Soon shall its lovers break its chain. And be once more with Freedom blest L Since, rural Nymph, from thee alone Each charm strikes with concenter' d rav,. Drive twilight Beauties from their throne. And give the world meridian day. Oft has the poet's pencil spread Its fair creations to the sight ; Oft o'er some fav'rite damsel shed The tints that glow with living light \ THOMAS SANDERSON. 243 But, when, to seek this faultless Fair, We throw o'er life th' inquiring- eye. Our wearied search but meets Despair, That bids the pictur'd beauty die I Then, Mary, from the lonely shade haste ! in Beauty's glowing hue. In Virtue's splendid robes array' d. And realize what Fancy drew ! APPROACH OF WINTER. In woods no more the feather' d throng Pour native music on the gale ; And, heard you not the harvest-song ? Its last notes linger in the vale. Where are the walks that blush' d with flow'rs ? And where the western breeze that breath' d Its pilfer'd sweets to scent the bow'rs Which Peace and calm Contentment wreath' d ? Since now no fragrant blossoms blow, And Desolation sweeps the ground. Come, Winter ! teach me how to draw A moral from the ruins round, H H 2 244 REMAINS OF The sober thought, to virtue dear. Thy dreary walks shall furnish still ; Still sweetly, on my pensive ear, Shall fall the murmurs of the rill. Oft through yon desolated grove. Where many a faded flow 'ret lies. At evening's shadowy hour I'll rove, Regardless of the frowning skies. And oft I'll to the lonely dell, Or to the russet heath repair. To hear the distant village-bell Vibrate on th' expansive air. If, on the wild wing of the blast. The Demon of Destruction fly ; May then some rush-light o'er the waste. With friendly beams direct the eye. Adieu ! ye glitt'ring scenes, adieu ! That stole my heart from Peace and Truth ; That promis'd pleasure, while ye threw Illusive splendour o'er my youth ! Time, to all pictur'd bliss a foe. Proclaims, as through its wastes we range, That all our j oy is absent woe. And all our life progressive change I THOMAS SANDERSON. 245 SOME ACCOUNT OF THE LATE REV. ISAAC DENTON, L.L.B. CJrritieH in 1S20. J " Why are friends ravished from us? 'Tis to bind, By soft Affection's ties, on human hearts, The thought of death which Reason, too supine, Or misemploy' d, so rarely fastens there." This respectable Clerg-yman was born of a g-ood family at Lonning-foot, in the parish of Sebergham, in 1759. He became an orphan at his birth, his mother dying in child-bed. His family was a younger branch of the Dentons of Warnel-hall, who were originally seated at Nether Denton,* in the Barony of Gilsland, from which place they took their name. In the reigns of Edward II. and Edward III., Richard de Denton and John de Denton were elected Knights of the Shire for Cumberland ; one of whose descendants in the reign of Henry VII. exchanged, with Lord Dacre, the seat of Denton for Warnel-hall, in Sebergham. By the death of the late Thomas Denton, Esq. of Warnel-hall, in 1813, this ancient family has become extinct, at least in the male line. In 1786, the subject of this memoir lost his father, a man of respectable abilities, who had * The name of this place is indicative of its situation : den signifying' in the Saxon " deep," and ton a habitation i Nether Denton being situated ^0 a deep valley. 240 REMAINS OP diligently cultivated letters, had collected much practical knowledge, and been an accurate observer of men and thing's, in his passage through life : he possessed in an eminent degree those talents for humour which enliven conversation, and " set the table in a roar.'* He received a part of his classical education at the Grammar-school at Sebergham, under the late Rev. John Stubbs, from whence he was removed to Appleby, and placed under the care of the late Richard Yates, M. A., a man of considerable learning, who, from his ability and success as a schoolmaster during a period of nearly sixty years, was termed the Northern Bushy, After obtaining a competent knowledge of the Greek and Roman Classics^ he was entered as a commoner at Queen's College, Oxford, where his correct conduct and assiduous application to his studies f^cured him the favour and friendship of his tutor, the late Dr. Nicholson, a gentleman who had much at heart the moral and literary improvement of his pupils. On his return to Sebergham, he entered into orders, and was collated by his father's friend, the late Bishop Law, to the vicarage of Bromfield, near Wigton, which, in 1786, he exchanged with his cousin the Rev. Henry Denton, for that of Cros- thwaite. The vicarage-house, to which he made some useful and elegant additions, commands a fine THOMAS SANDERSON. 247 view of Derwentwater and the rich scenery that surrounds it. Its situation was particularly admired by the late Mr. Gray : " I got to the parsonage,'' says that celebrated Bard to his friend Wharton, "a little before sun-set, and saw in my glass a picture that, if I could transmit it to you, and fix it in all the softness of living colours, would fairly sell for a thousand pounds.'' The horsing-stone from which Mr. Gray took the view is still remaining. In this sweet retirement Mr. Denton lived in a state of almost uninterrupted good health till last summer, when he was seized with a disorder that greatly affected his sight, and made the performance of parochial duty difficult to him. About the middle of last November the writer of this article paid him a visit at the vicarage, and had the pleasure to find his health in a great measure re-established, and a fair prospect of his enjoying for some years, in the bosom of his family, that happiness which arises from a pious and well-regulated mind. But how fallacious are all human hopes ! On Tuesday evening, about nine o'clock, he had an attack of apoplexy, of which he died the next morning, in the 34th year of his incumbency, and 61st of his age. Few men have left the world with a more amiable and estimable character than this much- lamented clergyman. By his death the Church has 248 REMAINS OP y. lost an able and orthodox divine, religion a warm advocate, the state an active magistrate, and society a valuable member. He was a patriot in the genuine sense of the word, shewing his love for his country not by mere professions, which generally terminate in sound, but by real and essential services. He was always among the foremost in promoting plans of public utility, especially such as were calculated to advance the interests of religion and virtue, and improve the moral and physical condition of our species. He possessed a strong and comprehensive mind, and a clear, discriminating judgment. As a preacher, if not a perfect model of eloquence, he rose considerably above mediocrity. His dis-. courses, composed in a style of nervous simplicity, and forcibly delivered, were well adapted to make an impression on the hearts of his hearers, and awaken them to a sense of their duties as men, as citizens, and as Christians. He enjoined no precept which his example did not shew to be practical, and taught no doctrine which his life did not illustrate. Few men were belter qualified to please in the hours of social intercourse. His conversation was lively and full of anecdote ; his temper mild ; and his manners easy and unassuming. With respect to his person, he was of the middle size ; corpulent, but not inactive. His deportment was modest, and his countenance open and animated. THOMAS SANDERSON. ^49 As to his personal habits, I do not know that he fiad any striking peculiarities. He used much exercise on foot, rose early in the morning", and adhered to a system of temperance which he had adopted in his youth, and which, in the decline of life, he found to contribute essentially to his health and spirits. He married Sarah, the youngest daughter of the late Mr, Robson, of Grassgarth, in Sebergham. With this lady, who possessed all the qualities that adorn her sex, he lived in the highest state of conjugal felicity, till death, in 1815, dissolved the union. She left seven sons and three amiable > daughters to lament her loss. To her husband, who had long loved her with the tenderest affection, her death was a most distressing event, — an event that could only be supported by those sources of consolation which the Christian religion 023ens on the minds of the afflicted ; — a religion that tells us that death is not the eternal extinction of our being, but that there is another and a better world, where we shall be re-united to our friends who were dear to us in this life, and where we shall enjoy together the presence of our common Father, the great Creator of the Universe, J T 250 REMAINJi OF WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF DR STUART'S HISTORY OF THE REIGN OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. When beauteous Mary's adverse fate Led her, to rule her Scottish stale, From Gallia's polish' d plains, Where social mirth and thoughts refin'd. By soft indulgence, cheer'd the mind. And taught the sprightly strains^ — Faction rag'd round her native coast. Where rough, rude manners were a boast. And beauty was a crime ! In vain her mental blossom spread- In vain her charms their lustre shed O'er youth's unsullied prime. Dark calumny, with subtle art. In ambush aim'd its poison'd dart . Against her future fame ; Till, friend of truth, a Stuart rose, . Expos'd the malice of her foes, And clear' d her injur' d name. As long as beauty knows to please. By graceful, unaffected ease, , And nature's feeling sway ; Soon as her tragic tale we hear, Compassion's eye shall drop the tear. And mild affections play. THOMAS SANDERSON. 251 The classic penf, or flow'ry page,+ No more shall justify the age, Or varnish o'er its crimes ; Like Cynthia, through the shades of night. Fair Mary, in S robe of light. Shall shine to future times. THE SORROWS OF ROYALTY. Supposed to be VTrittenby the unfortunate Louis XVL on the Night previous to his Execution. 'Tis night ! and no echoes its silence invade, Save what bear the tribute that sorrow has paid ; *Tis night ! yet its empire shall soon pass away, And hills, woods, and valleys luxuriate in day : The morning will dawn — but what light can dispel The shades of affliction that hang o'er my cell ! The sun will disperse the cold dews of the grove. But the dews of my sorrow what sun can remove ? The sweety cheering sun of religion will glow With light that ne'er sets on the depths of my woe ; Though friends all prove faithless, and leave me to mourn. The eye, wet with sorrow, to it I can turn ; Life's desert, though dreary and swept by the blast. Though cover'd with darkness, will shortly be past; + George Buchannau. t l^r. William Robertson. ii2 ^52 REMAINS OF And fields, fresh in verdure, and gilded with light,. "Where bliss is immortal, will dart on the sight. Be still then, O bosom ! and heave not a sigh. The shades that surround me to-morrow will fly ; With souls torn with malice, though ruflaans be near. The sweet voice of comfort still breathes on my ear ; Though foes have rent from me the altar and throne. Still, still is the heart's silent pleasures my own : The rude hand of rapine or force cannot tear The blossoms that, nurtured by virtue, blow there • And, though not a trace of state-grandeur remain. Yet still 'mid religion's sweet views I can reign— ^ Can catch, 'midst affliction, a light that ne'er dies. From a lamp of that hope that is sent from the skies. Farewell, hapless orphans ! Marie,f farewell ! A parting so short, let a sigh never tell ; While fortune's rude billows beat cold on your breast, O look to the shore where each billow shall rest ! — The shore where the rose-buds of pleasure ne'er fade, And the winter of sorrow ne'er scatters a shade ! i Maria Antoiuelte, UueeQ of Frame. THOMAS SANDERSON* 253 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. J. BOUCHER, C Published in the Carlisle Patriot, July, 1824.^ This learned and pious clergyman was born March 8tb, 1737, at Blencogo, near Wigton, in Cumber- land, where his father, a man of respectable abili- ties, possessed an estate, which, though consisting* but of a few acres, supplied him, by a proper attention to economy, with the conveniences of life,, and enabled him to give his children a literary edu- cation. He received the rudiments of learning at the grammar-school in his native village , from which he was removed to Wigton, and placed under the care of the late Rev. Joseph Blain, a man of great literary acquisitions, but one of those on^ma/^y which, if we are to believe Sir William Temple, are oftener to be met with in England than in any other country. During the latter part of his life, he per- formed parochial duty at Greystoke, near Penrith, and devoted the time that was not engrossed by his clerical duties to the instruction of youth in the Greek and Latin classics. About the year 1779, i had the honour of being introduced to him. He was not one of those who are tutored and disciplined in the Chesterfieldian school. His address was blunt and awkward, and his demeanor ungainly. He spoke in the tone and dialect of his rustic countrymen, and tuck particular care that its Doric strength should / 254 REMAINS OF not be debilitated by tbe introduction of courtly pbrases. In the article of dress, he paid no atten- tion to elegance, nor even to neatness ; his habili- ments were never thrown aside till they had lost some of their material parts in their contest with time. There was a bizarre in his exterior behavi- our, in his manners and conversation, which led persons who could not penetrate into the mind to doubt the soundness of his intellects. His eccentri- cities, however, did not lessen him in the estimation of those who were acquainted with his merits ; for they were not of such a nature as to degrade a cha- racter made venerable by piety and learning". Under such a teacher, it is not probable that Mr. Boucher would acquire the polish of external manners, or that graceful obliquity of body which constitutes a how; but he acquired what is certainly more valu- able, a knowledge of Greek and Roman literature, and of the principles of our holy religion. At the age of eighteen, he had made such a progress in letters that he was considered as qualified to teach others, and entrusted with the education of the children of the late John Matthews, Esq. of Wigton. His next appointment was an ushership in the Free-school at St. Bees, near Whitehaven, which was then in hig-h reputation, under that good and learned man, the late Rev. Dr. James. At this place. THOMAS SANDERSON. 255 amidst the laborious duties of the school, he found leisure for the cultivation of his mind, and for that passion for letters which displayed itself in his early- years, and accompanied him through life. The beautiful remains of antiquity formed the chief part of his studies ; he drew from their classic fountains a stream of genuine pleasure, such as none are able to appreciate but those who unite a fine sensibility with a correct and discriminating judgment. He had at this time acquired such an accurate know- ledge of the language in which they wrote, as enabled him to translate some of the most admired parts of them with fidelity, if not with elegance. Among his juvenile productions may be mentioned, with some degree of applause, a translation of the war-elegies of Tyrtseus, and a fragment of Simonides, in which Danae, exposed at sea with her infant son Persius, addresses the sleeping child in lines of exquisite beauty and tenderness. The reader of ancient biography need not be informed that this Grecian bard was the son of Archimbrotus, and born at Miletus, the capital of Ionia, but naturalized at Athens. The Spartans having sustained succes- sive defeats in a war with the Missenians, consulted, under their misfortunes, the Delphic oracle, and were directed to request a commander from the Athenians, who in ridicule, sent them Tyrtaeus, a favourite of the muses, but deformed and blind in 256 REMAINS OF one eye, or wliat Cumbrian rustics call peed. To these disqualifications^ as a leader of armies, must he added his total ignorance of the military art. The appearance of such a man in the Spartan camp rather excited disgust than confidence. But what <:annot harmony achieve ? As soon as he had laid his hands across the lyric strings, an enthusiastic valour spread through the ranks, as if by contagion ; every soldier resumed the arms w^hich he had thrown down in despair, and rushed to the field — to battle and to victory ! — The public is indebted to the Rev. Richard Polwhele, a Devonshire bard, for an elegant version of these war- elegies, or more properly, war- odes; and to Mr. Pye, the late poet-laureat, for some spirited imitations of them. The latter appeared in 1795, when our nation was contending against the formidable power of the French republic ; and, no doubt, were published with the patrotic view of rousing the martial energies of our country against an enemy whose arms had desolated the fairest portion of the European continent. Mr. Pye has very skilfully adapted, in a flow of smooth versification, the manners, incidents, and existing circumstances of the times, to the thoughts, senti- ments, and imagery of the Grecian bard ; and his production would have deserved unqualified praise, had he adopted a more soul-stirring measure than the languid ten-syllabled quartrain. THOMAS SANDERSON, 257 Of the fragment of Simonides, so beautiful as to make us regret that it is but a fragment, the late Dr. Markham, archbishop of York, gave a Latin version in Hawkesworth»s Adventurer, in which he has transfused, in truly classical diction, all the fine imagery and pathos that distinguished the original. After a residence of a few years at St. Bees, and discharging his duties as an usher so faithfully and ably as to gain the esteem and friendship of his learned principal, he turned his thoughts to our ultra-marine territories ; and not long after, reached the object of his desires, with all the ardent expec- tations of a young man whose spirits have not felt depression by disappointments. The arrival of an instructor of youth on their coasts, if possessed of abilities and good morals, was considered by the Americans of those days as an event of the first im- portance ; but what light could a few solitary indi- viduals, with all their exertions and talents, throw on that benighted land, where the human mind was then as uncultivated, with respect to literature and morals, as the pathless wastes that surround them ? To dispel such a widely-diffused mental darkness required an export of Savans, equal, at least, in masfnitude, to that which was attached to the memorable French expedition to Egypt. Mr. Boucher, soon after his arrival in America, became tutor to the children of a respectable gentle- K K 258 REMAINS OF man in Virginia, whose civilities and plentiful table made him less partial to the salutations, the holyday cheer, the oaten cakes, and potatoe-pots of his native county. In 1761 , he was nominated, though not in orders, to the rectory of the parish of Hanover, in that part of Virginia which is called the Northern Neck, On this appointment, he returned to England for holy orders, and was ordained deacon and priest in one day by the Bishop of London. After visit- ing the companions of his boyish days, and rambling awhile among Cumbrian mountains and valleys, he re-crossed the Atlantic, to take upon him his parochial charge. The restoration of peace in 1762, afforded him a fine subj ect for the display of his oratorical powers, as a preacher. The discourse which he delivered on the occasion contained many fine sentiments, expressed in a pure, perspicuous, and manly style. I do not know that military gentlemen who, in general, put a high value upon that species of fame that is *' reaped in the iron harvests of the field," will approve of the following animadversions on war and warriors : " It is not (says he) one of the least objections to war, that it occasions a perversion and misapplication of fine talents. How many men with dispositions naturally good, who under a well- regulated system might and would have been the guardians and benefactors, have become the butchers. THOMAS SANDERSON. 259 f)f their kind. Great parts are not so common that the workVcan afford to bear the loss of them. When we see a Julius Caesar, with all his vast acquired and natural powers, stooping to be a mere warrior, we much lament the waste of such abilities. Com- pare, I pra}^ yon, any of the most celebrated com- manders, with whose fame the world resounds ; compare them, I say, with a Socrates, a Fenelon, or a William Penn : and if good parts, directed to the attainment of good ends, be the criterion of a great character, see how, on the comparison, every mere hero hides his diminished head. True g^reat- ness deserves all the honour that the world can pay to it; but fields dyed with blood are not the scenes in which true greatness is most likely to be found. He who simplifies a mechanical process, who supplies us with a new convenience or comfort ; or even he who contrives an elegant superfluity, is, in every proper sense of the phrase, a more useful man than any of those masters in the arts of destruc- tion, who, to the shame of the world, have hitherto monopolized almost all its honours.'* To these animadversions there appears little or nothing to object, when applied to those wars which are commenced and carried on from no other view than to accomplish the wild projects of ambition, or gratify some malignant principle or head-strong passion of the heart. But it ought to be remembered K K 2 260 REMAINS OF by the advocates of peace, that there may be j ust grounds of war ; and that it is no part of the duty of a good citizen, or even of a good man, to rest inglo- riously under the shade of her olives, when he sees the arms of an enemy directed against the welfare, the independence, and the civil or religious rights of his country. No war had a more j ustifiable cause than our late dreadful contest with the military despotism of France ; and never did Great Britain present a more noble attitude to the eye of nations than in that hour of danger and difficulty : we then saw great public virtue in the general body of her people, great wisdom and energy in her councils, a high martial spirit in her armies and navies, and great genius, decision, and valour in her commanders. The civic services of a Pitt, of a Burke, and of a Windham, cannot be too highly appreciated ; and time will not be able to tarnish the laurels of a Nelson, of a Moore, of an Abercrombie, and of a Wellington. These great men directed their talents, and braved all personal danger, to uphold that great fabric of civil society which the wisdom oftheSolons, the Lycurguses, the Numas, and the William Penns of former ages had contributed to form, and which France, with disorganizing theories, with cannons, and with bayonets, was, in modern times, endea- vouring to destroy. They exerted all those great powers which heaven had bestowed on them in THOMAS SANDERSON. 261 t defence of the laws and constitution of our country, under the protection of which the industrious man enjoys the fruits of his labour, and the devout man kneels in safety before the altar of his God. It seems strangle, indeed, that war should subsist among- men who profess a religion that fosters and encourages every tender feeling and gentle quality of the heart ; which informs us that we are all descended from one common parent, partake of one common nature, and are partners in one common concern. May the day shortly come when all national animosities shall cease, and all the various people of the earth be united in the sacred bonds of brotherhood and affection ! After a short residence in the parish of Hanover, he removed to St. Mar}?'s in the same province, lying on the navigable river of Rappahanock. In 1765, when the stamp-act had kindled every com- bustible ingredient in the bosoms of our American brethren, he was among the foremost of those whose pulses beat highest for liberty ; and declaimed, with more vehemence than argument, against the legislative right of Great Britain to impose taxes upon her colonies. He was then a young man, incapable of penetrating into the true causes of popular discontent, and too apt to be led away by the querulous eloquence of restless demagogues. He had not yet discovered that some of those who 262 REMAINS OF clamour loudest for liberty have not a particle of genuine patriotism in their whole composition, and that it is in the power of a few unprincipled libel- lers and factious men to raise a ferment in a nation that feels no grievances. " Contented (says he) to swim with the stream, I hastily, and with very little reflection, embraced those doctrines which are most flattering" to human pride, and most natural to a youthful mind.'* He had, indeed, at that time, all that head-strong ardour for liberty " which (as Dr. Johnson observes) a man catches as he enters the world, and suffers to cool as he passes forward.*' Maturer years enabled him to correct his political errors, and to discriminate between public spirit and a factious opposition to authority. In 1769, in the Back- woods near the Blue-ridge, a country over-run with sectaries and schismatics, he preached a sermon sub dio on sectarism and schism. What impression this discourse produced on the heterodox auditory that surrounded him, I can- not inform the reader ; but it is not probable that it had a force sufficient to restore his wandering breth- ren to the fold from which they had strayed. It cannot be expected that any train of reasoning, or any style of argument, will produce any salutary impression on minds heated and perverted by fana- ticism. They are too much filled with conversions^ experiences^ and calls ; and too mucJi carried awav THOMAS SANDERSON. 263 by internal impulses, to admit of anyortliodox infu- sions from our church. We cannot have any san- guine hopes of a religfious reformation in a country of sectaries till the labours of the theologian be pre- ceded by those of the physician, and till some sove- reign prescription shall restore the mental faculties to their original soundness. In 1773, he composed, at the request of the governor, a discourse on education. Our colonies were at that time chiefly indebted for their school- education to obscure emigrants, superficially ac- quainted with our language ; and even to those men whom our criminal law had cast upon their shores. Under such instructors it is not likely that the American, youth should much improve, either in morals or literature. The system that Mr. Boucher drew up was well calculated to make good citizens and good men. He does not wander into specula- tive novelties, which rather amuse the imagination than inform the understanding, but presents a body of useful and practical knowledge. His great aim is to form the mind to early habits of piety, and to open it to a sense of our moral and religious duties, as well as to encourage a taste for letters. In the following passage, he has censured the prevailing practice in our schools, of making the ancient authors the primary objects of their studies : " What (says he) are all the admired authors, to 264 REMAINS OF the study of whom we usually devote our first and last years, but the seducing panegyrists of a very lax morality, and of still more dissolute principles of policy. They may, perhaps, furnish us with the best models of composition, and enable us to shine as orators and rhetoricians, but what are these irr comparison with the importance of forming good men and good citizens ? You will believe me, that it is not without some compunction of heart that I can bring myself thus to tear the well-earned bays from the brows of those admired writers, to whom so large a part of my life has been devoted, and in whose bewitching society I still spend, and hope long to spend, many of my pleasantest moments,, Let them still be read, still studied, and still admired ; but let not our youth be sent to them to learn their duty to their God, their neighbour, and themselves. It is high time that the children of Christian parents should have a Christian education.*' The religious zeal of the learned writer appears to have led him into this indiscriminate censure on the Pagan authors. Their moral merits are cer- tainly much higher than what his estimate makes them. Their philosophers, such as Plato, Epictetus, Seneca, and Cicero, inculcate, both by precept and example, a pure and sublime morality, in an impe- rishable language, and with an energy of expression that commands attention. They present to modern THOMAS SANDERSON. 265 observers different modifications of manners, and different systems of opinion, particularly g-ratifying to those who are desirous of viewing our species under new aspects. They teach us not only what to think, but also how to think : they comprehend things, as well as words ; and, while they refine the taste, inform the understanding. They set before us models for imitation, adorned with all those great virtues and great qualities that exalt and ennoble our nature. What heart does not beat at the heroic deeds of a Miltiades, of a Themistocles, and ofa Scipio ? And where is the patriot whose sensibi- lities are not awakened by the character of a Brutus, of a Cato, of an Aristides, and of a Titus ? In their poets we find a store of fire observations, maxims, and precepts — all calculated to elevate the ideas, to amend the heart, and form an amiable, as well as a great character. It is to be regretted, in- deed, that in some parts of the writings of Horace, Catullus, Juvenal, Ovid, Martial, and a few others, we see impurities sullying the brilliancy of wit, and gross immorality disfiguring the beauty of elegant composition ; but these offensive passages might be omitted in those editions of their works that are in- tended for our schools, and nothing but the chaste text be presented to the eye. Such omissions would not be a retrenchment of beauties, but a removal of deformities; for it is not on the dung-hill of L L 266 REMAINS OF obscenity that we see the radiations of genius. There is an inseparable connection between virtue and genuine taste : what displeases the first will not gratify the latter. With these necessary prunings, our youth will pursue tbeir classical studies with pleasure and profit ; and in their progress through our schools, nothing will come in contact with their minds but what innocently engages the imagination, or gives a virtuous direction to their hearts. Their excur- sions on classic ground will be safe and pleasant ; and when they take their stations in the world, they will have acquired an accurate knowledge of their moral duties, and that manly spirit and inde- pendence of mind which leads to every thing that is great and respectable in public or in private life. The poetry of the Pagan, with all its licentious- ness, is not so dangerous to national morals and national manners, as the effusions of some of our modern bards, who have the light of revelation and the purity of evangelical morality for the direction of their conduct. If now and then an immoral note vibrated from the ancient lyre, the general tenour of its strain was in unison with the finest sensibilities of virtue ; but to drink, to love, to sing, to dance, and laugh aivay the hours, makes generally the burden of our modern lyric poems. Our a»natory poetry is such as nothing but a perverted taste THOMAS SANDERSON. 267 would produce, and what no young reader can safely admit into his library ; and yet it is read by the British fair (who would blush at the gross indelicacies of a Horace or a Juvenal), and its cor- rupting principles admitted into the mind without bestowing a single thought on their operation and tendency. It presents impure images to the fancy, in a luscious and seductive language, which steal on the affections of the heart without alarming the ear. But to return to the subject of these memoirs. At that memorable era, the revolt of our trans- atlantic colonies in 1775, he espoused the cause of his native country ; and from the pulpit, as well as from the press, defended, by every argument that his ingenuity or reading could supply, those coer- cive measures which the British ministry had adopted to bring the refractory Americans to a sense of their duties. Had he shewn more prudence and less loyalty in that hour of trial and peril, it would, perhaps, have been more conducive to his interests — at least to the tranquillity of his mind. By so public a disclosure of his political sentiments, in a province which was at that time the focus of insurrection, he excited against him a general feeling of hostility, which respected neither his private virtues, his great learning, nor the sacred character which he supported. A clergyman, indeed, who mingles politics with religion, loses L L 2 268 REMAINS OF sight of his theological duties : there is no congeni- ality between them. *' Politics and the pulpit (says Burke, in his usual energetic style) are terms that have little agreement. No sound ought to he heard in the church but the healing voice of Christian charity. The cause of civil liberty and civil government gains as little as that of religion by this confusion of duties. Those who quit their proper character to assume what does not belong to them, are, for the greater part, ignorant both of the character they leave, and of the character they assume. Wholly unacquainted with the world in which they are so fond of meddling, and inexpe- rienced in all its affairs on which they pronounce with so much confidence, they have nothing of politics but the passions they excite. Surely the church is a place where one day's truce ought to be allowed to the animosities and dissentions of mankind." Such are the sentiments of a writer who has enlightened our politics, and extended our literature and philosophy. It is seldom, indeed, that the civil condition of mankind is improved by the labours of a theological politician. We have lived to see the fallacy of the calculations of the late Doctors Browne and Price, with respect to the degenerating manners and principles, the decreasing wealth, the population, and the commerce of our nation. Their pamphlets THOMAS SANDERSON. 2C9 had scarce issued from the press before the state which their political sagacity had discovered to be fast verging to her ruin, and her fall at no great distance, rose in all her energy and grandeur, covered the ocean with her fleets, and made her , name respected in every quarter of the world. The situation of Mr. Boucher was at this time distressing, if not perilous. All was uproar, violence, misrule, and confusion around him. In such an hour of difficulty and danger, he displayed his characteristic firmness and attachment to the laws and the constitution of his country : " Among innumeiable false, unmov'd, Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified, — His loyalty he ke))t, bis love, his zeal : Nor number, nor example, with him wrought To swerve from truth or change his constant mind." Milton. The rostrum from which he hurled his philippics, at length attracted the notice of the congress, who, elevated with their independence of the British Parliament, commanded him to refrain in future from addressing his auditory on political topics ; and, what hurt still more his loyal heart, to omit that part of the liturgy which contains the prayers for the king and royal family. His answer, however objectionable on the score of prudence, was plain and undisguised, and conveyed in a language at least as bold as that of the authoritative order which extorted it. "Entertaining (says he) all due respect for my '270 REMAINS OF ordination vows, I am firm in my resolution, whilst I pray in public at all, to conform to the unmutilated liturgy of my church ; and, reverencing the injunc- tion of an apostle, I will continue to pray for the king and all that are in authority under him ; and I will do so, not only because I am so commanded, but that, as the apostle adds, we may continue to lead quiet and peuceable lives, in all godliness and honesty. Inclination, as well as duty, confirms me in this purpose. As long as I live, therefore — yea, whilst I have being, will I, with Zadoc the priest and Nathan the prophet, proclaim — God save the King. " It would, perhaps, have contributed more to his personal security and personal interests, though it might have derogated a little from his character, if he had adapted his mind more to the shifting scenery around him, and yielded a little more to the impulse and direction of popular opinions and popular passions. But he was no admirer of the conduct of Atticus, who, by a pliancy of political principle, enjoyed all the ease and calm of retirement amidst the civil distractions of his country, and ingratiated himself with the leaders of opposite parties — with Pompey and with Caesar, with Brutus and with Antony. His highly independent mind disdained to be governed by an accommodating, time-serving policy, and by those timid maxims that display tlie advantages and the safety of neutrality. THOMAS SANDERSON. 271 His inflexible loyalty at length drew upon him all the severity of the American newly-estabhshed tribunals, and convinced him of the danger of setting at defiance the authority that is enforced by bayonets and cannon. He was ejected from his benefice, his property confiscated, and his person proscribed. He began now to think of escaping, while escape was practicable, from a country where religion had lost its reverence, and loyalty was the object of persecution ; and it was not long before he found himself on his native shore, among " the lords of human kind." His misfortunes and merits drew upon him the notice of some men of rank and learning, among whom was the late Dr. Glasse, under whose patronage he succeeded in establishing an academy at Paddington, near London ; and, soon after, his sufferings and services being reported to the Earl of Guildford, then at the head of administration, he obtained from government, if I am rightly informed, the sum of two thousand pounds, as a compensation for his losses in America. In 1792, he published *' An Address to the Inhabitants of Cumberland," in which he points out its comparative inferiority to the more southern counties, and lays down plans for its improvement and exaltation in the national scale. They are not the dreams of a visionary speculatist, but the product of a liberal and a comprehensive mind, and 272 REMAINS OF such as may be realized by a portion of public spirit in the higher ranks, and a persevering industry in the lower. Some of them have been lately acted upon and executed, and the county is at this time reaping the advantages resulting from them. The following observations, I fear, will not fall in with the honest prejudices of an untra veiled, home-loving Cumbrian peasant, " Who, waiKl'iing man, could want the larger pile, Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile; Sits hy his clieerful fire, and round surveys His children's looks, that brighten at the hlaze." Goldsmith'' s Traveller » " The world (says Mr, Boucher) has been so long partial to us as to allow that no people whatever display more good-will to our fellow- creatures or more useful talents than the natives of our county. But we deserve this character (if we deserve it at all, as I hope we do,) only when we are transplanted beyond the vortex of our own mountain air : whilst, like mushrooms, we continue to grow where we sprung, a people cannot be named less enterprizing, and less alive to a spirit of improvement. As a fair specimen of the rest, it may be mentioned that with slate of peculiar excellence, and quarries almost everywhere at our doors, the houses, in general, in our villages are still thatched, and built of mud or clay ; and also with the best materials we have the worst roads. In short, with hardly an exception of THOMAS SANDERSON. 273 Some of the remote counties in Wales, it may be truly objected to us that we are at least a century behind every other county in the kingdom/' This is certainly no favourable representation of Cumbrian industry, and Cumbrian mode of life ; but it applies, if it apply at all, to the northern and eastern extremities of the county, vrhere the poverty of the inhabitants precludes all expensive improve^ ments. In the other districts, where commerce, trade, and agriculture, have brought wealth, if pot happiness, we see well-cultivated fields, elegant inansions, and convenient farm- houses, in the place of the heathy commons and homely cottages of our poor but cheerful progenitors, who, at the dawn of morning, " brav'd the keen air,'* and mingled their songs with those of the lark. His " Address" was inserted by Sir Frederic M. Eden, in his elaborate >v6rk, " The State of the Poor.'' In Hutchinson's History of Cumberland, the reader is indebted to the pen of Mr. Boucher for the well-written parochial accounts of Bromfield, Cald- beck, and Sebergham. To the last parish he was much attached. Its beautiful picturesque scenery, united with the polished manners and literary taste of the inhabitants, had highly exalted it in his estimation. I need not inform the Cumbrian reader that this sweet vale was the birth-place of the late Rev. Josiah Relph, a pastoral writer of M M 274 REMAINS OF great merit, who, like Michael Bruce, the bard of Kinross, lived and died in obscurity, about the middle of last century, at the early age of thirty- two. This amiable clergyman, the favourite of the rural muse, and no less distinguished for his virtues than for his genius, had, for a number of years, no better monument over his grave than the grassy turf, till Mr. Boucher erected, in 1794, a neat mural tablet to his memory, with a Latin inscription. In the second volume of the History of Cumber- land we find an elegiac poem, entitled Edwina, founded upon a traditionary story of a Cumberland lady being killed by a wolf, as she was hunting along with her attendants, in those times when such ferocious animals infested our island, and when it was common for ladies of the highest rank to share with their husbands the toils and dangers of the chase. This poem, which is of considerable length, was written by the late Mrs. Cowley, the celebrated dramatic writer, at the request of Mr. Boucher, while the ingenious authoress was on a visit to her learned friend at Epsom. It was finished in the course of a few days, and was certainly an instance of great facility of composition, though not equal to that recorded of Lucilius, who ** In hora srepe ducentos Versus dictabat staiis \)vcde in uno !'* But as Dr. Young observes, — *' Slow runs the Pegasus that wins the Bays. »» THOMAS SANDERSON. 275 In some introductory remarks on this poem, Mr. Boucher has placed the authoress in the first ranks of elegiac writers, — a distinction which, I fear, the merits of her production will not entitle her to ; but eulogies on the ladies should not be too rigorously examined. He must be a surly critic who endea- vours to tear away the sprigs of laurel which gal- lantry has planted on the brow of a fair writer. In 1797, he published " A View of the Causes and Consequences of the American Revolution,*' in which he discusses, in a masterly manner, several questions connected with civil government. The nature of his subject led him to bestow a few thoughts on our modern constitution-reformers, " whose taste (says he) like their talents, are directed only to the pulling down of our establish- ment, and whose reforms terminate in destruction." He attributes the loss of our Colonies to the want of energy and decision in our councils ; to the virulent and indiscriminate opposition of party- men ; to the national despondency occasioned by that opposition ; and to the appointment of men to the command of our fleets and armies incompetently qualified, or, from a disinclination to the cause, unwilling- to exert their talents. He dedicated the work to General Washington, with whom, before the revolt of the Colonies, he had lived on terms of cordial friendship, and whom he always esteemed M M 2 276 , REMAINS OF for his private virtues, hov^^ever he might condemn his public conduct. He addresses that illustrious American in a manly and spirited style of language, i'Dot often to be found in modern dedications. The following passage cannot be too much admired: *' I bring (says he) no incense to your shrine, even in a dedication. Having never paid court to you while you shone in an exalted station, I am not so weak as to steer my little bark across the Atlantic dn search of patronage and preferment, or so vain as 'to imagine now, in the evening of my life, I may yet be warmed by your setting sun. My utmost ambition will be abundantly gratified by your con- descending, as a private gentleman in America, to receive with candour and kindness this disinterested testimony of regard from a private clergyman in England. I was once your neighbour and your friend ; the unhappy dispute which terminated in the disunion of our respective countries, also broke off our personal connection ; but I was never more than your political enemy, and every sentiment, even of political animosity, has, on my part, long ago subsided.*' Of the present federal government of America he is no admirer. He considers it as a feeble combina- tion of several little republics, united only in name ; each too weak to preserve dignity, or even to secure independence to its separate governments, and THOMAS SANDERSON, 277 -possessing nothing so much in common, as occasions for perpetual disagreement. *« On this (adds he) I am tempted to conclude, that, after a long series of dissentions and contests, the great continent of North America will become a great empire under a great •monarch." . In the historical preface to his book, written in 1797, he predicts the fall of the French Republic^ then in the meridian of her military renown. " The future fate of France, (says he) Polybius seems to have very explicitly foretold ; there having never been a dominatio plebis, or popular tyranny, which was not in the long-run followed by the arbitrary government of a single person. After spreading confusion and desolation over all Europe, and delu- ging it with blood; after putting back their own country at least a century ; checking every valuable improvement in arts and sciences, and miserably diminishing its population, this distracted people will at length find safety and peace once more in a monarchy. Their interregnum may be longer or it may be shorter than that of England was. A thou- sand circumstances, of which no human penetration can take cognizance, may hasten to protract that period : the only conjecture which I presume to offer on the subject with any confidence is, that sometime or other there will assuredly be a restora- tion, and she will owe her restoration to reason and 278 REMAINS OF sobriety of conduct, as she owes her present aliena- tion of mind only to herself." Had Mr, Boucher lived a few years longer he would have had the pleasure of seeing his prediction verified, and the Bourbon family restored to the throne of their ancestors. May they be taught moderation by their misfortunes, and learn that the interests of a monarch and his subj ects are inseparable, and that there can be no stability in any government unless founded on the basis of virtue, religion, and constitutional liberty ! In his preface, he proposes a measure of rather a romantic nature, in case, with all our exertions, we should not be able to preserve our national independ- ence. His advice is, at such a crisis, to migrate with our families and other moveables to our possessions in India. " What (say s he) is to hinder Great Britain, while she possesses fleets, skill, and spirit, and above all, while she possesses her ancient uncontaminated principles, from transporting her empire to the east ? There, in the Peninsula of India, without abandoning her dominions in the West Indies, she might possess a territory inferior in extent only to the neighbouring kingdom of China, — who, from her love of peace, would be as good a neighbour as France, who, from her contrary character, always has been, and always will be, a bad one. There, happy in being placed beyond the troubled politics of Europe, blessed with THOMAS SANDERSON. 279 a soil and climate equal to any on the globe, with every possible circumstance in our> favour for commerce, we might, without any of the great dangers which must ever attend the attempt in an old establishment, repair and renovate our constitution ; and there, undisturbed by republican projects, so abhorrent to the genius of Asia, we should need no alliance, but leave our posterity, if true to one another, at peace with ourselves and with all the world/* I do not know whether this fine picture of Asiatic felicity would make that impression on the imaginations of our countrymen as to prevail upon them to expatriate themselves from their natale solum ; and there must, I think, be a great degeneracy of mind and manners, before foreign bayonets drive them out of it. In 1798, he preached two Assize sermons, one at Guildford, and the other at Carlisle, which were afterwards published. In these discourses he rises with honest ardour, in the hour of danger, in the defence of the religion, the laws, and the constitution of his country, to which the national character owes all its characteristic grandeur. He points out, with perspicuity and precision of language, the advantages that result from our present establish- ments in church and state, and the happiness that we enjoy, or might enjoy, from them. He inculcates order, subordination, and submission to the civil 28Q REMAINS OF authorities of our country ; and shews the nature and tendencies of those disorg-anizing* doctrines that had then revolutionized and laid waste some of the finest countries of Europe. In 1802, he published a prospectus of a Provincial and Archailog-ical Lexicon, as a supplement to Dr^ Johnson's Dictionary. His intentions were to g-ive the etymon and explanation of the provincialities and archaisms of our lang^uage, with occasional critical remarks on difficult and obscure passag-es in our old writers. Historical investigations, respecting the names of persons and places, religious ceremonies, popular customs, building's, diet, dress, employments, sports, and amusements of our ancestors. The sources which supplied him with materials were the works of our ancient divines, chroniclers, and bards, who lived before the reign of Elizabeth, beyond which Dr. Johnson, except in a few instances, nevet^ carried his researches. For this great and important work, he was emi- nently qualified. In research, his mind was pene- trating, ardent, and unwearied ; his reading was multifarious, his judgment discriminating, and his erudition extensive. He was well skilled in Roman, Greek, and Hebrew literature. He was versed in: the Celtic and Teutonic dialects, and had some knowledge of the north — the Danish, the Swedish/ and the Norwegian; from which many of our.. THOMAS SANDERSON* 281 provincial words have their origin. Few men were more acquainted with the structure and compass of our language, or could trace with more precision its progress from its first rude forms to its present state of refinement. Besides what books supplied^ he received some valuable observations from several of his learned contemporaries, who knew the mag- nitude of his undertaking, and were anxious for its success. The late Rev. Mr. Mason, the friend and biogra- pher of Gray, who showed some poetic powers in his youth, and degenerated into a mere versifier in his old age, published, a few years before his death, a Supplement to Johnson^s Dictionary. For a while it sat on the work of its great prototype like an ex- crescence on the majestic oak; but time soon swept it away. Mason had not that variety and extent of reading, or that etymological learning, which such an undertaking required ; all that he has been able to achieve is but a bald collection of archaisms which he found in the works of our elder bards, and of provincial phrases, which probably his rustic parish- ioners supplied him with. The following compara- tive estimate of the lexicographical merits of Mr. Mason and Mr. Boucher, by the Rev. H. J. Todd, (the learned editor of Johnson's Dictionary,) may, perhaps, be not unacceptable to the reader. " Mr.- Mason (says he) has drawn from obscurity many N N 282 , » REMAINS OP colloquial licences, but comparatively few expres- sions of dimity. Where he has been serviceable, it has been a pleasure to incorporate his labours. He had doubtless some talents for research ; but he vhas lowered them by perpetually insulting* the memory of Johnson, whom he brands with muddiness of intellect ! Not such have been the exertions of the Rev. Mr. Boucher, of which a specimen has been given to the public in the first letter of the alphabet ; and which abundantly, as well as most learnedly, shews how much remains to be done in order to have a perfect view of the English language," The specimen of Mr. Boucher's great w^ork, to which Mr. Todd alludes, was published by his execu- tors in 1807, a fewyears afterhis death ; but it had not that share of the public attention sufficient to encou-? rage the publication of the remainder. The erudition was too deep or too dry for the desultory readers and literary saunterers of the present times. Mr. Boucher, at the commencement of his undertaking, gave the archaisms and provincial words under two distinct alphabets, and had proceeded on this plan as far as the letter T, when, at the suggestion of some of his literary friends, he distributed the whole under one alphabet ; and, in this new form, he had carried his work to the letter G, when the public was deprived of his labours. THOMAS SANDERSON. 283 He always encouraged, as far as his power extended, undertaking's of public utility. In 1795, when the canal between the eastern and western seas was in agitation, he subscribed five hundred pounds towards carrying that great project into execution. In the summer of 1803, he visited his native county, but in such a state of infii-m health. as to give his friends reason to fear that he was hastening to that " bourne from whence no traveller returns/* It had long been his wish to breathe his last breath where his first was drawn. But the Great Disposer of human events ordered it otherwise. He died at Epsom of a paralysis, April 27th, 1804, in the 67th year of his age. With respect to stature, he was above the middle size, of a stout frame of body, and rather corpulent. His countenance was animated and expressive, indicating an active and a penetrating mind. His constitution was naturally vigorous, but had been- much impaired by his residence in different climates, and by intense and almost incessant study. The unremitted attention which he gave to his last great work is said to have accelerated his death. From an imperfection in his sight, he always used concave glasses. Few men were more qualified to please in^ general society. His manners were easy and unassuming, and his conversation lively, instructive, and full of anecdote. Zealous, pious, and devout,. N N 2 284 KEMAINS OF he supported the clerical character with a dignity that commands reverence, and with a humility that always rises in a heart impressed with religious sentiments. He was zealously attached to the Church of England, as she presents Christianity in its purest form;, unincumbered with the unmeaning ceremonies of superstition, and divested of that gloomy austerity which fanaticism gives it ; and she holds no tenets but such as have a salutary influence on the human conduct, and a tendency to promote our welfare in this world as well as in the next. But there was nothing in his orthodoxy that bor- dered on intolerance. . He wished no persons to be disturbed with respect to their opinions in matters of religion ; for he considered such opinions as not cognizable by human judicatories, unless they broke out into actions that endangered the welfare of the nation. Nor did he, in the narrow spirit of bigotry, circumscribe all merit within the pale of his own church. He lived in habits of friendship with pious, learned, and virtuous men of different persuasions ; and he was so charitable as never to call in question the sincerity of their belief. In his political discourses, he has given his senti- ments with great freedom ; and, in a strain of just and close reasoning, shewn a deep acquaintance with the principles of political society and civil government. As he does not fall in with the notions THOMAS SANDERSON. *>85 of those who, full of the majesty of the people, talk of the social compact, and of the rights in the governed to cashier their governors at pleasure, he was considered by some of our critical journalists as partial to the exploded doctrines of non-resistance, passive obedience, and the divine right of kings. But there is no foundation for such a charge. All that he wishes to enforce is, that resistance to the supreme power is only justifiable in a case of extreme and obvious necessity, when the utter subversion of our church and state is intended, and when there are no hopes of any other redress : such as was the case at the revolution in 1688. He was too much a friend to civil and religious liberty to become the advocate of any slavish doctrines, and had too high a veneration for the laws and constitu- tion of his country, not to oppose, as far as he was able to oppose, all monarchial and aristocratical tyranny, as well as all popular licentiousness. Though he was not friendly to the visionary projects of modern innovators, he was not ignorant that there are abuses in our government that require correction, and that some parts of the system admit of improve- ment. He had not that undue deference to the institutions of our forefathers, as to forget the gradual corruption of them by time ; or that implicit veneration for them, as not to see the necessity of submitting them to the test of our own judgments. 286 REMAINS OF lest we should be led away by the false notion that we are following the laws and customs of our ancestors, when we are only pursuing a phantom. As a preacher, his distinguishing qualities were a grave and dignified air, a language clear and expressive, and a delivery mild, persuasive, and engaging. There was an enthusiasm and energy in his oratory, without any tincture of fanaticism, that made its way into the heart, however engrossed by the world, or corrupted by its follies and vices. His discourses were adapted to the understandings of the auditory whom he addressed, and to the manners, temper, and character of the times in which he lived. He read divine service in a distinct and emphatic manner, and with all the feeling and solemnity which a subject so important requires ; while his exemplary conduct in the discharge of his public and private duties operated on the most uncultivated minds, and illustrated the great doctrines of the religion which he preached : for "the life of a pious clergyman," as Hooker observes, " is visible rhetoric," He was thrice married, but only had issue by his last wife. She was the sister of the late Sir Richard Hodgson, of Carlisle, and relict of the late Rev. John James, the son of his early patron, the Rev. Dr. James. Of his children, two sons and four daughters are at present living. His second son. THOMAS SANDEUSON. 287 Barton Boucher, was educated for the bar ; but he lately entered into the clerical profession, as more congenial to his disposition, and where his labours may be more useful, if not so splendid. He pub- lished, a few years ag-o, " The Dream of Youth,*' a poem of great merit, which is judiciously writteii in the Spenserian measure; and if some luxuriances, and a few sickly sentimentalities were removed, would be entitled to unqualified ai^probation. The talents, indeed, of this young clergyman, are of the first order ; and, if properly directed, will enable him to increase the literary wealth of his country. He will remember that the powers of the mind, like those of the body, are strengthened by exercise and exertion. I cannot conclude the memoirs of the life and writings of the Rev. Mr. Boucher, without express- ing an ardent wish for the completion of the great philological work which had engrossed his studies during twelve years of the latter part of his life. I have not so low an opinion of the literary character of the times as to suppose that there is not at present the force of mind adequate to the undertaking. His labours have removed many difficulties, and ren- dered the task less arduous, of completing a monu- ment of learning and industry that shall remain when the futile productions of the age have perished in the tide of time. 288 REMAINS OF EPITAPH ON A PHYSICIAN, DISTINGUISHED FOR HIS GENIUS AND ECCENTRICITY, "Who died at Carlisle a few years ago ; and who (agreeably to an injunc. tion imposed upon his friends) was buried, at midnight, in the centre of a wood, having the place of his interment fenced with iron palisades, and planted with different species of Evergreen. Beneath the covert of this spreading shade, A master of the healing art is laid ; Whose death was noticed by no passing-bell ; No dirg-e was chaunted o'er his earthly cell ; No train was hir'd, in fun'ral pomp, to show A mimic scene of artificial woe. O may the bigot's gloomy censure spare His lonely grave, unhallow'd with a pray'r I And learn that Virtue, wheresoever found. In woods — in chuixhes — consecrates the grouncU LINES, Occasioned by reading Mr. Sanderson's Epitaph on a Physician, who was buried m a wood ^ the production ot a Gentleman of some note in the poetical world, and copied from the Shrewsbury Chronicle. Let woods protect the Cumbrian Sage's tomb, And Calton's heights the bones of David Hume;-]* At Christian faith, and ev'ry sacred rite. Let e'en the epitaph breathe scorn and spite ; Boasting that nature (such as may be found With heathen sophists,) consecrates the ground. t This celebrated philosopher, probably disdaining to mix his dust with that of the sons of superstition, is' buried on Calton Hill, near Edinburgh. A heavy, awkwartl building, not unlike a wind.mill, is ejected on the spot. THOMAS SANDERSON. 289 For me, who hope, at the last morn, to rise. And meet my Saviour glorious from the skies ; Who have not learnt the philosophic creed. That endless slumbers man's short life succeed; Lay me with Christian dust, my friends ! nor spare The solemn knell, the anthem, and the prayer; With all the holy rites, ordain'd to shew That Faith and Hope assuage the Christian's woe. Ah ! should the faithless herd at once conspire. To woods, and dens, and mountains to retire ; Living or dead, secede they where they list. Nor they, nor such as they, will e'er be mourn' d or miss'd. APOLOGY FOR THE EPITAPH ON A PHYSICIAN, WHO WAS BURIED IN A WOOD, Addressed to the Gentleman who, in a late Shrewsbury Chronicle, had animadverted with some severity on the sentiments contained in the Epitaph. Where virtue slumbers, holy is the ground. For there heav'n's guardian angels hover round ; And there affection's tear bedews her tomb, A pearl more dear than all the pray'rs of Rome. Go, consecrate the earth, and e'en the spade. When in the dust the sons of vice are laid ; o o 290 • REMAINS OF Rear the proud column, let the poet's lays, With venal praises, gild their guilty days ; Vain is the breath that pours th* elaborate pray'r. And vain the verse that scatters flatt'ry there ; We feel no reverence at their tombs, and turn To weep, in woods, o'er virtue's -[ lonely urn ; Where round the roses breathe, the willows sigh. And on each gale sweet sylvan murmurs die ; Where ev'ning songsters, from the dew-clad spray, Pour a soft requiem to departing day. r With thoughts like these, O think not that I mean To dash the hopes on which earth's wand'rers lean : If on the lyre a careless hand I fling. No tones prophane shall tremble from the string. Perish the verse ! tho' genius in it breathe, That gains, at virtue's cost, a guilty wreath — That shakes the faith which lifts us to the skies. When shades of deep distress on earth arise — When the heart feels misfortune's ruthless blow. Or heaves, like mine, o'er dearest friends + laid low ! When, lone and houseless, age's rev 'rend form Receives the shock of winter's rudest storm ! + The late Dr. G— tn (the physician who was buried in a woo/3,) possessed many virtues, with much eccentricity of sentiment. t The Autlior's hrother (the Vicar of Colcl-Aston, in Gloucestershire.,) haviug- died suddenly, ;i few weeks before these lines were written. THOMAS SANDERSON. 291 'Mid such sad scenes, how dear the truths that roll A Stream of vital comfort through the soul! That bid her soar, in angel-light array' d. To the pure firmament that knows no shade • Where we shall meet, soon as life's toils are o'er. With those we lov'd, to part and weep no more 1 Let philosophic Hume and gay Voltaire, With sceptic pride their world of darkness share ; Where round them spreads a melancholy waste. And wildly raves the genius of the blast; Where not one friendly ray gleams on the eye. And all we know is that we breathe and die : Be mine those scenes where Faith and Truth unite^ And Revelation spreads her sacred light ; Be mine those hopes that cheer misfortune's cell. When ev'ry summer friend has bid farewell ; That, with mild radiance, glisten through the tears — The gather'd sorrows of twice forty years; And, when death's shades obscure the visual ray, Poiir on the eye of Faith eternal day ! o o 2 292 REMAINS OF AN EVENING LAY TO THE VALE OF SEBERGHAM. C Written in 1827 J Sweet Vale! O take a wanderer home. Oh take me to thy wild wood shades ; To thee at that still hour I come. When ev'ning*s dews impearl thy glades. Thy sun-beams on thy pilgrim-swain, ChilPd by the hoar of seventy years. Will bring the pulse of joy again. And dry the fount of sorrow's tears, Unnerv'd by age, by care, and grief. Sickly and pale I come to thee ; To die, like yonder fallen leaf. Beneath the shade of parent-tree. My home shall be some lonely dell. Where oaks in towering grandeur rise ; Where the sweet peal of village-bell Blends with thy woodland melodies. There Memory, ranging o'er Time's waste. Shall many a long- lost scene restore; Shall re-illume the shadowy past, And shew the hours that beam'd before. THOMAS SANDERSON. 293 Oh ! could her magic pow'rs but bring Back to the heart that sweet delight Which flow'd when life was in its spring. And all around me green and bright ! Amidst an altered world I ranere. Thy plains have lost the hues they wore ; In ev'ry spot I see a change — Some feature fled that pleased before. I sigh amid thy youthful race Disporting on thy village-green ; For there I meet a stranger's face. And, ah ! a stranger's distant mien. Time's ruthless hand has rent yon tow'rf That spreads its shadow o'er the glade ; There was an hour — a brilliant hour, When brave hearts beat beneath its shade. For there the pride of chivalry, The Dacres and the Dentons shone ; Who, in the fields of gallantry, Wreaths of undying verdure won. + An ancient mansion-house on the acclivity of Warnel-fell, that formerly belonged to the Dacre family, and afterwards to the Dentons. It is now in a dilapidated state, though it appears to have had, iu former times, all the strength of a baronial castle. 294 REMAINS OF Those were the times when Beauty spread In banner' d halls her roseate blooms ; "When crested knights, by honour led. Threw o'er her their protecting plumes. In ruins lie my father's bow'rs, That were a bright spot on thy plain,. When Youth and Pleasure strew'd their flow'rSy And joy came unalloy'd with pain. There round the Christmas festive board. Time seemed to pause upon his wing ;. For there the harper's sprightly chord Found in each heart a kindred string. If Happiness e'er left the sky. And lighten'd our dark world of care,. The joy that sat in ev'ry eye. Announced her in each bosom there. Now dark and silent is the earth, Where festal tapers shed their light • Where rural revelry and mirth Beam'd through the long — long winter night. How sweet, in that sequester' d home, Upon me shone life's orient day • I never dream'd that ills would come — That present joys would soon decay. THOMAS SANDERSON. 295 And who would breathe a wish to know The colour of his future years, In this rnixt state of joy and woe, Of shade and sunshine, hopes and fears i Had it been given to mortal eye, To view the stream of future hours. Life would have been a lethargy — A shadowy scene of torpid pow'rs. Thy school, grey in the moss of age. Beside the church, still rears its head, Where Stubbs hung o^er the classic page. And 'mid its flow'rs thy youngsters led. In yonder hallow' d ground repose Thy village-ra