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Within a bowshot. Where the Cæsars dwelt,
And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst
A grove which springs through levelled battlements,
And twines its roots with the imperial hearths,
Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth;
But the gladiators' bloody circus stands
A noble wreck in ruinous perfection !
While Cæsar's chambers and the Augustan halls
Grovel on earth in indistinct decay.
And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon
All this, and cast a wide and tender light,
Which softened down the hoar austerity
Of rugged desolation, and filled up,
As 'twere anew,

the gaps of centuries;
Leaving that beautiful which still was so,
And making that which was not, till the place
Became religion, and the heart ran o'er
With silent worship of the great of old-
The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule
Our spirits from their urns!


The other boats, the yawl and pinnace, had

Been stove in the beginning of the gale; And the long-boat's condition was but bad,

As there were but two blankets for a sail,
And one oar for a mast, which a young lad

Threw in by good luck over the ship's rail;
And two boats could not hold, far less be stored,
To save one half the people then on board.
'Twas twilight, for the sunless day went down

Over the waste of waters; like a veil,
Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown

Of one whose hate is mask'd but to assail; Thus to their hopeless eyes the night was shown,

And grimly darkled o'er their faces pale And the dim desolate deep; twelve days had Fear Been their familiar, and now Death was here. At half-past eight o'clock, booms, hen-coops, spars,

And all things, for a chance, had been cast loose, That still could keep afloat the struggling tars,

For yet they strove, although of no great use: There was no light in heaven but a few stars ;

The boats put off o'ercrowded with their crews; She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port, And, going down head-foremost-sunk, in short. Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell!

Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave;

Then some leap'd overboard with dreadful yell,

As eager to anticipate their grave;
And the sea yawn'd around her like a hell,

And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave,
Like one who grapples with his enemy,
And strives to strangle him before he die.
And first one universal shriek there rush'd,

Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash
Of echoing thunder ; and then all was hush'd,

Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash
Of billows; but at intervals there gush'd,

Accompanied with a convulsive splash,
A solitary shriek—the bubbling cry
Of some strong swimmer in his agony.

The seventh day, and no wind-the burning sun

Blister'd and scorch'd; and, stagnant on the sea They lay like carcasses; and hope was none,

Save in the breeze that came not; savagely
They glared upon each other—all was done,

Water, and wine, and food—and you might see
The longings of the cannibal arise
(Although they spoke not) in their wolfish eyes.
At length one whisper'd his companion, who

Whisper d another, and thus it went round,
And then a hoarser murmur grew,

An ominous, and wild, and desperate sound; And when his comrade's thought each sufferer knew,

'Twas but his own, suppress'd till now, he found : And out they spoke of lots for flesh and blood, And who should die to be his fellows' food. There were two fathers in this ghastly crew,

And with them their two sons, of whom the one Was more robust and hardy to the view,

But he died early; and when he was gone, His nearest messmate told bis sire, who threw

One glance on him, and said, “ Heaven's will be done! I can do nothing !" and he saw him thrown Into the deep, without a tear or groan. The other father had a weaklier child,

Of a soft cheek, and aspect delicate; But the boy bore up long, and with a mild

And patient spirit, held aloof his fate;
Little he said, and now and then he smiled,

As if to win a part from off the weight
He saw increasing on his father's heart,
With the deep deadly thought, that they must part.
And o'er him bent his sire, and never raised
His eyes from off his face, but wiped the foam

From his pale lips, and ever on him gazed;

And when the wish'd-for shower at length was come,
And the boy's eyes, which the dull film balf glazed,

Brighten'd, and for a moment seem'd to roam,
He squeezed from out a rag some drops of rain
Into his dying child's mouth—but in vain.
The boy expired--the father held the clay,

And look'd upon it long, and when at last
Death left no doubt, and the dead burthen lay

Stiff on his heart, and pulse and hope were past,
He watched it wistfully, until away

'Twas borne by the rude wave wherein 'twas cast;
Then he himself sunk down, all dumb and shivering,
And gave no signs of life, save his limbs quivering.


Anna LÆTITIA BARBAULD, a name long dear to the admirers of genius and the lovers of virtue, was the eldest child and only daughter of the Rev. John Aikin, master of a boys' school in the village of Kibworth Harcourt, in Leicestershire, and was born in that place on the 20th of June, 1743. In her very earliest childhood she discovered remarkable powers of mind, being able to read quite well at two and a half years of age. Her education was conducted by her father, and was of a very solid character; and though at that day there was a strong prejudice against imparting to females any tincture of classical learning, she devoted a portion of her time to the study of Latin, and before she was fifteen she had read many authors in that language with pleasure and advantage : nor did she rest satisfied without gaining some acquaintance with the Greek.

In 1758, when Miss Aikin had just attained the age of fifteen, her father removed from the somewhat obscure village of Kibworth to take charge of the classical department in the “dissenting" academy at Warrington, in Lancashire, to which he had been invited. In the cultivated society of this place, she found most congenial associates, and here for fifteen years she passed probably the happiest, as well as the most brilliant, portion of her existence. In 1773, she was induced by her brother to collect the various poems she had from time to time written, and arrange them for publication. She did so; and with so much favor were they received by the public, that four editions were called for within that year. Her brother also induced her to join him in forming a small volume of prose pieces, which was published that same year, under the title of “Miscellaneous Pieces, in Prose, by J. and A. L. Aikin." These likewise met with much approbation, and have been several times reprinted.

In 1774, Miss Aikin was married to the Rev. Rochemond Barbauld, a descendant from a family of French Protestants. Soon after this, Mr. Barbauld opened a boarding school for boys in the village of Palgrave, in Suffolk. The rapid and uninterrupted success which crowned this under. taking was doubtless owing, in a great measure, to the literary celebrity attached to the name of Mrs. Barbauld, who took part with her husband in the business of instruction. It was for the benefit of the younger class of scholars that she composed her “Hymns in Prose for Children.” "The business of tuition, however," says her biographer, Miss Aikin, “ to those by whom it is faithfully and zealously exercised, must ever be fatiguing beyond almost any other occupation; and Mr. and Mrs. Barbauld found their health and spirits so much impaired by their exertions that, at the end of eleven years, they determined upon quitting Palgrave, and allowing themselves an interval of complete relaxation before they should again embark in any scheme of active life.” Accordingly, in the autumn of 1785, they embarked for the continent, and, after spending nearly a year in Switzerland and France, returned to England in June, 1786. In the spring of the next year, Mr. Barbauld was elected pastor of a "dissenting" congregation in Hampstead, where for several years he received a few lads as his pupils, while Mrs. B. gave instruction to two or three girls. But her pen did not long remain idle. In 1790, and in the few subsequent years, ap. peared her “Poetical Epistle to Mr. Wilberforce" on the rejection of his bill for abolishing the Slave Trade-her “Remarks on Mr. Gilbert Wakefield's Inquiry into the Expediency and Propriety of Public or Social Worship’--and her “Sins of Government, Sins of the Nation,” &c.

In 1802, Mr. Barbauld accepted an invitation to become pastor of the congregation at Newington Green, and, quitting Hampstead, they took their abode in the village of Stoke Newington. In 1804, she offered to the public "Selections from the Spectator,''Tatler,''Guardian,' and 'Freeholder,' with a Preliminary Essay." This essay has ever been considered a very fine piece of criticism, and the most successful of her efforts in that department of literature. Hitherto Mrs. Barbauld's life had been almost one uninterrupted course of happiness and prosperity. But she was soon to experience one of the severest of all trials, in the loss of her husband, who, after a most lingering illness, expired on the 11th of November, 1808. A beautiful memoir of his character, doubtless from her pen, appeared shortly after in the “Monthly Repository of Theology and General Literature;"' and in her poem of “Eighteen Hundred and Eleven” she touchingly alludes to

“That sad death whence most affection bleeds." Mrs. Barbauld published but little after this: a gentle and scarcely percep. tible decline was now sloping for herself the passage to the tomb; and on the morning of March 9, 1825, after a few days' illness, she expired without a struggle, in the eighty.second year of her age.

To claim for Mrs. Barbauld the praise of purity and elevation of mind, might well appear superfluous. She is decidedly one of the most eminent female writers which England bas produced; and both in prose and poetry she takes the highest rank. Her prose style is easy and graceful, alike cal. culated to engage the most common and the most elevated understanding. Her “Essay on Romances" is a professed imitation of the style of Dr. Johnson; and he is himself said to have allowed it to be the best that was ever attempted, “ because it reflected the color of his thoughts, no less than the turn of his expressions." Her poems are addressed more to the feelings than to the imagination ; but the language never becomes prosaic, and has sublimity and pathos, without bombast or affectation. Her hymns are among the best sacred lyrics in the language, and it has been justly said of her that “the spirit of piety and benevolence that breathes through her works pervaded her life.''1


The first thing to be considered, with respect to education, is the object of it. This appears to me to have been generally misunderstood. Education, in its largest sense, is a thing of great scope and extent. It includes the whole process by which a human being is formed to be what he is, in habits, principles, and cultivation of every kind. But of this, a very small part is in the power even of the parent himself; a smaller still can be directed by purchased tuition of any kind. You engage for your child masters and tutors at large salaries; and you do well, for they are competent to instruct him: they will give him the means, at least, of acquiring science and accomplishments; but in the business of education, properly so called, they can do little for you. Do you ask, then, what will educate your son ? Your example will educate him: your conversation with your friends; the business he sees you transact; the likings and dislikings you express; these will educate him: the society you live in will educate him; your domestics will educate him; above all, your rank and situation in life, your house, your table, will educate him. It is not in your power to withdraw him from the continual influence of these things, except you were to withdraw yourself from them also. You speak of beginning the education of your son. The moment he was able to form an idea, his education was already begun; the education of circumstances-insensible educationwhich, like insensible perspiration, is of more constant and powerful effect, and of infinitely more consequence to the habit, than that which is direct and apparent. This education goes on at every instant of time; it goes on like time; you can neither stop it nor turn its course. What these have a tendency to make your child, that he will be. Maxims and documents are good precisely

· Read a Memoir of Mrs. Barbauld by Miss Lucy Aikin.

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