clude that, during this time, I must have been at more expense than I could afford; indeed, the most parsimonious could not have avoided it. The printer deceived me, and my little business has had every delay. The people with whom I live perceive my situation, and find me to be indigent and without friends. About ten, days since, I was compelled to give a note for seven pounds, to avoid an arrest for about double that sum, which I owe. I wrote to every friend I had, but my friends are poor likewise; the time of payment approached, and I ventured to represent my case to Lord Rochford. I begged to be credited for this sum till I received it of my subscribers, which I believe will be within one month; but to this letter I had no reply, and I have probably offended by my importunity. Having used every honest means in vain, I yesterday confessed my inability, and obtained, with much entreaty, and as the greatest favor, a week's forbearance, when I am positively told that I must pay the money, or prepare for a prison. You will guess the purpose of so long an introduction. I appeal to you, sir, as a good, and, let me add, a great man. I have no other pretensions to your favor than that I am an unhappy_one. It is not easy to support the thoughts of confinement; and I am coward enough to dread such an end to my suspense. Can you, sir, in any degree, aid me with propriety? Will you ask any demonstrations of my veracity? I have imposed upon myself, but I have been guilty of no other imposition. Let me, if possible, interest your compassion. I know those of rank and fortune are teased with frequent petitions, and are compelled to refuse the requests even of those whom they know to be in distress: it is, therefore, with a distant hope I venture to solicit such favor; but you will forgive me, sir, if you do not think proper to relieve. It is impossible that sentiments like yours can proceed from any but a humane and generous heart. I will call upon you, sir, to-morrow; and if I have not the happiness to obtain credit with you, I must submit to my fate. My existence is a pain to myself, and every one near and dear to me are distressed in my distresses. My connections, once the source of happiness, now imbitter the reverse of my fortune; and I have only to hope a speedy end to a life so unpromisingly begun in which, (though it ought not to be boasted of,) I can reap some consolation from looking to the end of it. I am, sir, with the greatest respect, your obedient and most humble servant, GEORGE CRABBE. JAMES MACKINTOSH, 1765-1832. JAMES MACKINTOSH, one of the most distinguished men of his time, and who attained eminence in literature, philosophy, history, and politics, was born in Aldourie, on the banks of Loch Ness, Scotland, on the 24th of October, 1765. At a very early age, he exhibited a remarkable fondness for abstruse speculations, and read such books as fell in his way; among which were the works of Pope and Swift. In 1780, he went to the College of Aberdeen, where he was recognized, by common consent, as the first scholar there; while his courteous demeanor, refined manners, playful fancy, and easy flow of elocution rendered him a general favorite among his companions. His chief associate was the Rev. Robert Hall, whom the exclusive system of the English universities had forced to seek, in this northern seminary, that academical education which was denied to him, as a "Dissenter," in his own country. The society and conversation of Hall had great influence on Mackintosh's mind, and their intellectual combats were almost unceasing. In 1784, having taken his degree, he set out for Edinburgh to commence the study of physic, which he had made choice of as a profession. Here a new world was opened to him, and he was introduced into the first literary society of that renowned metropolis. But metaphysical, and political, and scientific speculation, rather than the study of his profession, engrossed his attention; and, after three years spent in irregular application, he became a candidate for a degree. Having obtained his diploma, he quitted Edinburgh in September, 1787, with a large stock of miscellaneous information, but without having concentrated his powers upon any one pursuit, or given to professional subjects that systematic attention which is indispensable to the attainment of professional eminence. Early in 1788 he set out for London, and arrived at that great theatre of action at one of the most critical periods of the world's history. "An ardent enthusiast for political amelioration, he came in contact with society when it was already heaving with the first throes of that great convulsion which was soon to overturn all the institutions of a neighboring country, and to shake those of every other to their lowest foundations." In the discussions which were then going on, he was eager to take a part; and his failure to receive a medical appointment, which he had expected, led him to think seriously of abandoning the profession he had chosen. Early in 1789, he was married to Miss Catharine Stuart, a young lady of a respectable Scotch family, and, at the age of twenty-four, he found himself In 1803, he received the "honor (?) of knighthood," and was then "the Right Honorable Sir James Mackintosh." "Behold the child, by nature's kindly law, Scarfs, garters, gold amuse his riper stage, And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age.” POPE, Essay on Man. * Alluding to the superstitious devotees of the Papal Church. with no prospect of any immediate professional settlement, his little fortune left him by his father rapidly dimiuishing, and a wife to provide for. An opportunity now presented itself which was to give to Mackintosh that prominence in the world of politics which he had so long desired. In 1790, appeared Burke's celebrated "Reflections on the French Revolution," than which no work, probably, ever excited so immediate, intense, and universal an interest in Great Britain. By some it was regarded as the most marvellous union of wisdom and genius that had ever appeared, while to others-those who sympathized more with the efforts of the people of France to rid themselves of monarchy-it seemed inconsistent with the former life and opinions of the author, and to contain much that was exceptionable. Numerous replies immediately appeared; but none, excepting the "Rights of Man" of Thomas Paine, were deemed of any remarkable power, until, in April, 1791, appeared "Vindicia Gallica, or a Defence of the French Revolution and its English Admirers against the Accusations of the Right Honorable Edmund Burke." This work had been finished in a great hurry, but, with all its defects and imperfections, it at once placed the author in the very front rank of those who upheld the cause of France, caused him to be courted and caressed on all sides, and made him, as he says, "the lion of London." In 1795, Mr. Mackintosh was called to the bar, at which he rose with rapid and sure steps. In 1799, he delivered a course of lectures, at Lincoln's Inn, upon the Law of Nature and of Nations, which gained him much credit. He was induced to publish the introductory lecture, which was no sooner from the press than commendations poured in upon him from every quarter. In 1803, an event occurred in his life which gave him the highest fame as an advocate. On the 21st of February of that year took place the celebrated trial of M. Peltier, an emigrant French Royalist, for a libel on the First Consul of France-Bonaparte. Mr. Mackintosh was counsel for the accused, and his address delivered on that occasion has been said to be "one of the most splendid displays of eloquence ever exhibited in a court of justice-a monument of genius, learning, and eloquence." In 1804, he was appointed by the government to the office of Recorder of Bombay, and, after having received the customary honor of knighthood, sailed with his family for India. By this step he was in hopes of improving his pecuniary resources, and laid out great plans in the walks of literature; but he returned home, in 1812, "with broken health and spirits, uncertain prospects, and vast materials for works which were never to be completed. He soon after entered Parliament, and continued in it to the end of his days-always true to liberal principles. He contributed articles of great value to the Edinburgh Review,' and, in a preliminary discourse to the Encyclopædia,' furnished by far the best history of ethical philosophy that has ever been given to the world. He also published, in three volumes, a popular and abridged 'History of England,' for Lardner's Cabinet Cyclopædia,' which has been highly praised for its enlarged and liberal views; and he was engaged in a History of the Revolution of 1688,' when he was suddenly called away, on the 30th of May, 1832, regretted with more sincerity, and admired with less envy, than any other man of his age." Read a masterly account of this fragment in the sixty-second volume of the "Edinburgh Review;" also "Memoirs of his Life," by his son Robert. "The intellectual character of Sir James Mackintosh cannot be unknown to any one acquainted with his works, or who has ever read many pages of his 'Memoirs; and it is needless, therefore, to speak here of his great knowledge, the singular union of ingenuity and soundness in his speculations, his perfect candor and temper in discussion, the pure and lofty morality to which he strove to elevate the minds of others, and in his own conduct to conform. These merits, we believe, will no longer be denied by any who have heard of his name or looked at his writings. But there were other traits of his intellect which could only be known to those who were of his acquaintance, and which it is still desirable that the readers of the 'Memoirs' should bear in mind. One of these was that ready and prodigious memory by which all that he learned seemed to be at once engraved on the proper compartment of his mind, and to present itself the moment it was required; another, still more remarkable, was the singular maturity and completeness of all his views and opinions, even upon the most abstruse and complicated questions, though raised without design or preparation, in the casual course of conversation. The vast extent of his information, and the natural gayety of his temper, joined to the inherent kindness of his disposition, made his conversation at once the most instructive and the most generally pleasing that could be imagined." * * DEATH OF HIS WIFE-GOD'S DEALINGS WITH MAN. you Allow me, in justice to her memory, to tell what she was, and what I owed her. I was guided in my choice only by the blind affection of my youth. I found an intelligent companion, and a tender friend, a prudent monitress, the most faithful of wives, and a mother as tender as children ever had the misfortune to lose. I met a woman who, by the tender management of my weaknesses, gradually corrected the most pernicious of them. She became prudent from affection; and though of the most generous nature, she was taught economy and frugality by her love for me. During the most critical period of my life, she preserved order in my affairs, from the care of which she relieved me. To her I owe whatever I am; to her whatever I shall be. The philosophy which I have learned only teaches me that virtue and friendship are the greatest of human blessings, and that their loss is irreparable. It aggravates my calamity instead of consoling me under it. My wounded heart seeks another consolation. Governed by these feelings, which have in every age and region of the world actuated the human mind, I seek relief, and I find it, in the soothing hope and consolatory opinion that a Benevolent Wisdom inflicts the chastisement as well as bestows the enjoyments of human life; that Superintending Goodness will one day enlighten the darkness which surrounds our nature, and hangs over our prospects; Read a very interesting and able nolice of his "Memoirs" in the "Edinburgh Review," 1xii. 205. that this dreary and wretched life is not the whole of man; that an animal so sagacious and provident, and capable of such proficiency in science and virtue, is not like the beasts that perish; that there is a dwelling-place prepared for the spirits of the just, and that the ways of God will yet be vindicated to man. The sentiments of religion which were implanted in my mind in my early youth, and which were revived by the awful scenes which I have seen passing before my eyes in the world, are, I trust, deeply rooted in my heart by this great calamity. JOHNSON'S LIVES OF THE POETS. Whenever Toward the end of his life, when intercourse with the world had considerably softened his style, he published his "Lives of the English Poets," a work of which the subject insures popularity, and on which his fame probably now depends. He seems to have poured into it the miscellaneous information which he had collected, and the literary opinions which he had formed during his long reign over the literature of London. The critical part has produced the warmest agitations of literary faction. The time may, perhaps, now be arrived for an impartial estimate of its merits. understanding alone is sufficient for poetical criticism, the decisions of Johnson are generally right. But the beauties of poetry must be felt before their causes are investigated. There is a poetical sensibility which, in the progress of the mind, becomes as distinct a power as a musical ear or a picturesque eye. Without a considerable degree of this sensibility, it is as vain for a man of the greatest understanding to speak of the higher beauties of poetry as it is for a blind man to speak of colors. To adopt the warmest sentiments of poetry, to realize its boldest imagery, to yield to every impulse of enthusiasm, to submit to the illusions of fancy, to retire with the poet into his ideal worlds, were dispositions wholly foreign from the worldly sagacity and stern shrewdness of Johnson. If this unpoetical character be considered, if the force of prejudice be estimated, if we bear in mind that in this work of his old age we must expect to find him enamored of every paradox which he had supported with brilliant success, and that an old man seldom warmly admires those works which have appeared since his sensibility has become sluggish, and his literary system formed, we shall be able to account for most of the unjust judgments of Johnson, without recourse to any suppositions inconsistent with honesty and integrity. As in his judgment of life and character, so in his criticism on poetry, he was a sort of freethinker. He suspected the refined of affectation, he rejected the enthusiastic as absurd, and he took it for granted that the mysterious was unintelligible. He came into the world when the school of Dryden and Pope gave the law to Eng |