severe things against Theobald, Concannen and others, who were shewn up to public derision in the Dunciad. It also occurred that an unlucky letter of his, written in 1726 to the said Concannen, came into the possession of Akenside, proving that the dignitary himself was, at that time, one of the party who levelled their most pointed shafts against the Bard of Twickenham. This important document with all its peculiarities of spelling and grammar, Akenside published with his ode to Mr. Edwards in 1766, and it told heavily against the authority which Warburton for a lengthened period had maintained in the empire of criticism. In the course of a debate at Tom's Coffee house, it happened that Akenside was drawn into a quarrel with a councillor Ballow, to whom he sent a challenge, but the man of law kept aloof from personal danger, until by the aid of friends, the difference was overcome. An anonymous writer, in the 63rd vol. of the Gentleman's Magazine, asserted that papers were in his possession, bearing evidence of Akenside, while he lived at Northampton, having resorted to the most unhandsome modes of assailing Dr. Stonehouse, with the design of either wresting his business from him, or expelling him from the town. This conduct, if the statement be correct, is still more reprehensible, from the circumstance of that gentleman's behaviour to Akenside, being always of the most civil and obliging description. Success did not, however, at all times attend Akenside in his quarrels. By throwing out some illiberal reflections against Scotland, he incurred the resentment of Dr. Smollet; and the result was that the patriotic novellist by way of revenge, selected the poet as the prototype of the ridiculous physician in Peregrine Pickle. Very much in the character undoubtedly is fictitious, but the case, considering Akenside's ability and principles, throws a shadow over the magnanimity of the outrageous Scotsman.

Regarding Akenside from another point of view, it is evident that his mind was peculiarly fitted to the enjoyment of intellectual life. He was a warm admirer of Gothic architecture, Meyrick relates that he used to find him contemplating with great earnestness the exterior of Westminster abbey; and at night when the broad moon shone unclouded from on high, he was accustomed to sit on the benches in Saint James's park, and lingeringly gaze on that sublime structure. This finely indicates the existence of that faculty within him, which has been accounted a gift, and is indeed a blessing, from the sympathy it maintains with all objects of delight and loveliness— enriching itself by its very exercise, whether in participating the grandeur of the ocean, or culling a sweeter essence from the rose than its own grateful perfume. With his excellent taste and relish for poetry and philosophy, the leisure hours he shared from business

were, in all probability, devoted to close communion with those master spirits, whose works may be considered a rich inheritance through all time to the thinking portion of mankind. Though he never married, he entertained, as many passages in his writings shew, a high opinion of the gentler portion of humanity, accounting them, to use his own language, "chief of terrestial nature;" and he lived in the most agreeable intercourse with a large circle of friends who were fully able to appreciate his genius. We are told that in the presence of those he loved, his conversation was exceedingly graceful and eloquent. Possessing splendid poetical talents, he had the power of reasoning admirably; and being endowed with a retentive memory, his knowledge of history and literature was most extensive,-hence his brilliant allusions, and philosophical mode of illustrating almost every subject, contributed to render him an instructive and valuable companion. He was fond of collecting books and prints: of the latter his portfolio contained a large number, from the most eminent Dutch and Italian painters, which he illustrated with singular propriety. He had also the privilege of reading gratis all the books of note which at that period were published in Britain: his opinion was accounted valuable, and if he expressed himself much gratified with any work, the bookseller generally presented him with a copy. As another proof of the esteem in which he was held on account of his literary talents, I may observe that Thomas Hollis, esq. distinguished for his patriotism, having purchased a bed which formerly belonged to John Milton, generously presented it to Akenside with a request that he would write an ode to the memory of the author of "Paradise Lost." He very gladly accepted the donation, but no proof exists that the ode was written. Probably, the difficulty he felt at doing justice in rhyme to the genius of the immortal poet deterred him from the attempt.

It must be admitted that in general society, Akenside had a stiffness and solemnity of deportment, which made those with whom he was not intimately acquainted rather shun than court his company. Dressed also in a way, to use Hardinge's expression, "as if he never could be undressed," and wearing a powdered wig always in stiff curl, he had a prim, precise and rather grotesque appearance. Entertaining, in a literary point of view, a very high estimate of his own worth, he was frequently ungracious and dictatorial amongst strangers, especially those whose opinions were dissimilar to his own. Being deficient in the faculty of wit, and possessing no turn for humour, he could not endure the playful sallies of these in others, hence he hated all jesting whatever. To a certain degree he was without that buoyancy of heart which embraces all mankind in one bond of brotherhood;

and, therefore, he never cultivated acquaintanceship with any of the poets who were contemporary with himself. In justice, however, to his character, it is gratifying to say that with the most amiable feeling, he set a candid value on such pieces as they had respectively given to the world. He estimated Dyer's Fleece highly and observed he would regulate his estimate of public taste by the fate of that poem; for if it were ill received, he should not think it reasonable to expect fame from poetical excellence. It is probable that Thomson's Seasons ranged also in the first class of his favourites, and may have furnished him with some hints in sketching out his own principal work. The purpose of each is different, but in several points they are not unlike each other. Partaking in common of a discursive character, they contain much beautiful and minute description; and the numerous bursts of genuine poetry to be found in both, are equal if not superior to any the last century has produced.

It is asserted that the halt in Akenside's gait, occasioned by the fall of a cleaver in his father's shop, as already stated, perpetually reminded him of his humble origin of which he felt ashamed. Brand who records this was undoubtedly satisfied of its truth; and candidly speaking, it was not inconsistent with what we may be led to expect from one whose mental constitution has been shaken by influences similar to those which operated on Akenside. Long dependance on his patron Dyson, together with the habit of living so much in artificial society, had, in all likelihood, engendered within him a species of false pride, by which he considered it would detract from his fame and dignity were it known he was descended from the middle ranks of the people. Great men are not without their failings, and if this view of the poet be correct, he was much to be pitied. More highly exalted, in all that enobles human nature, is the simple peasant who procures his bread by the labour of his hands, and, conscious that no shame is linked with poverty, raises his head unabashed to the world, resolving neither servilely to court its favour, nor shrinkingly to fear its frown.

The latter part of Akenside's life affords few particulars deserving of notice. He lived well; and with a prospect before him of possessing a sufficiency of this world's substance, he probably hoped to descend honourably into "the vale of years." Alas! how frequently our anticipations of happiness here, under the most favourable aspect, are only delusive! In the 49th year of his age, he was seized with a putrid sore throat, which baffled all medical skill, and he died at his house in Bloomsbury-square on the 29th June, 1770. He was buried at Westminster, in St. James's parish church; and his books, prints, manuscripts, and other property, according to his own desire,

came by administration into the hands of his great friend and benefactor, Mr. Dyson.

In person Akenside was about the middle size, of a slender form, pale complexion, and rather sickly in appearance; yet his features were manly, his forehead was broad but not high, and his eyes were large and uncommonly expressive. On looking at his portrait, both the attitude and outline of the face are fine, and would seem to have been caught in one of those happy moments of inspiration, wherein the great triumph of the poet is consummated. The free, open, undisguised look of the figure reminds us much of the semblance of Goethe, save that on the upper portion of the head, Akenside would appear to lack something which supported in unwearied action the genius and noble enthusiasm of the illustrious German.

On taking into deliberate consideration the leading points of Akenside's character, I am impressed with the idea that had he judged aright, he would not have abandoned the first aim with which he set out in life—that of becoming a minister of the gospel. It is probable his views were more worldly than spiritual, and that he conceived the walk of divinity too narrow for the full developement of his natural powers. Supposing this to be the case, how far, I may ask, did the profession he pursued accord with that object? It seems to me that he followed it out more as the means of gaining him a livelihood, than for any care or love he had for it; and whatever dreams he cherished as to the avenues of honour or distinction it would open up before him, year after year passed away and they were never realized. The fact is that, to the exclusion of better motives, Akenside's belief in his own importance as a man of genius, was ever uppermost in his mind, and his happiest moments were spent in company with those who either acknowledged this foible, or administered to its tification. He had the desire of appearing to be a great man as a physician; but we have few proofs that he undertook, with his wonted energy, the labour of alleviating by his skill the diseases of the afflicted poor-of forgetting self in the earnestness of doing good to suffering humanity;-actions which at least would have been indicative of true greatness. He wrote medical essays and appeared frequently before the public; but he was still without extensive practice -never reaching the highest degree of his calling: and if he sighed after independance, he was through life the receiver of another's bounty. Hence, I am of opinion that adhering to divinity, he had, under the blessing of God, been a far happier man. Possessing sufficient leisure for the perusal of favourite authors, and living in constant communion with the source of goodness itself, they of that profession, while continuing in a faithful discharge of duty, are blessed beyond

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all others in the enjoyment of peace throughout life, and comfort at death. And it follows that being rarely gifted as an orator, with a mind finely susceptible of truth, a lover of learning, and well versed in general knowledge, Akenside might, had the Spirit of Holiness touched his heart, have become a distinguished advocate for the glory of the Cross, and contributed to elevate the mode of faith he originally professed to its proper standard in English society. The past and present history of man furnishes many noble examples that religious truth, instead of narrowing the sphere of human ability, is a never failing source of light, energy and life to all minds under its power, and proportionally to those of an exalted order.*

It now remains for us to consider what Akenside as an author bequeathed to the world. Amongst his shorter pieces, some stand out as striking specimens of the versatility of his genius, indicating he might have accomplished much in other departments than that wherein he constructed his great work. The truth is that in early life he drank deeply and devotedly at the wells of ancient literature; and this in a great measure influenced whatever subsequently came from his pen. He was also an earnest lover of freedom, worshipping her with a poet's ardour, and his British Philipic written in early life, together with his ode to the Country Gentleman of England,† are amongst the noblest patriotic appeals in our language. His epistle to Curio is perhaps less a satire, than an overwhelming torrent of honest indignation. True it is, he had no skill to cut with a razor, but prostration without recovery succeeded the blow of his mallet. His inscriptions are simple, yet most forcible, and have in recent times been regarded as models to this species of writing. But of all his shorter poems, the hymn to the Naiads has by competent judges been accounted the most beautiful. So perfectly classical in tone, spirit and execution, it is worthy of a place with the hymns of Homer or Callimachus.

The Pleasures of Imagination has now been a century before the public, and thereon chiefly rests the fame of Akenside. He produced it in his twenty-third year, and it is remarkable as the work of so young an author. The philosophy of the human mind early attracted his attention, and he seems to have formed the design from Addison's celebrated papers on the same subject, with some portion of Shaftes

They who desire knowledge on this point would do well to look into some of the few tracts written by the rev. James Hamilton, London.

+ When Mr. Elliot, father to Lord Minto, made an admirable speech in parliament in favour of the Scotch militia, and was complimented thereon, he observed, "that he was above himself, being awakened to the grandeur of his subject by the sublime ode of Dr. Akenside."