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 FRAGMENTS, 
 
 IN 
 
 PROSE and VERSE : 
 
 BY 
 
 MISS ELIZABETH SMITH, 
 
 Hatrfp Deccnsscu. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. — VOL. I.
 
 '.-,, . /• ,'.. J/,l(,i* /> /a.'/ ' i'//nef* >/■'/// JI '
 
 FRAGMENTS, 
 
 IN 
 
 PROSE and VERSE: 
 
 BY 
 
 MISS ELIZABETH SMITH, 
 
 Hatelp Deceases. 
 
 WITH SOME ACCOUNT OP 
 
 HER LIFE AND CHARACTER, 
 
 BY 
 
 H. M. BOWDLER. 
 
 A NEW EDITION. 
 
 PRINTED BY 
 
 RICHARD CRUTTWELL, ST. JAMES's-STREET, BATH; 
 
 AND SOLD BY 
 
 I UDELL AND DA VIES, 8TRAND, HATCHARD, PICCADILLY, 
 LONDON ; AXD S. CIIEYVE, EDINBURGH. 
 
 1811.
 
 ?R 
 
 v. l 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 TN compliance with what appears to be 
 the general wish, the names of the 
 persons mentioned in the Fragments are 
 inserted in this edition ; and with a grate- 
 ful sense of the indulgence with which this 
 little work has been received by the public, 
 I have ventured to replace several passages 
 in Miss Smith's letters, which have hitherto 
 been omitted. Some letters with which 
 I have lately been favoured by the lady 
 to whom they are addressed, will probably 
 be considered as a valuable addition to this 
 collection ; and I flatter myself that anec-
 
 [ vi ] 
 
 dotes which were thought too trifling for 
 publication when the name of the author 
 was concealed, may now appear interesting, 
 as contributing to throw light on a character 
 which must be esteemed in proportion as 
 it is known. To the younger part of my 
 own sex, who admire the talents of my 
 lamented friend, and wish to follow her 
 steps in the paths of science, I beg leave 
 to point out the following observations, 
 extracted from a late excellent publication. 
 " Against learning, against talents of any 
 kind, nothing can steady the head, unless 
 you fortify the heart with real Christianity. 
 In raising the moral edifice, we must sink 
 deep in proportion as we build high. We 
 must widen the foundation, if we extend 
 the superstructure. Religion alone can 
 counteract the aspirings of genius, can re- 
 gulate the pride of talents. And let such 
 women as are disposed to be vain of their
 
 [ vii ] 
 
 comparatively petty attainments, look up 
 with admiration to those contemporary shi- 
 ning examples, the venerable Elizabeth 
 Carter, and the blooming Elizabeth 
 Smith. I knew them both, and to know 
 was to revere them. In them let our young- 
 ladies contemplate profound and various 
 learning, chastised by true christian hu- 
 mility. In them let them venerate acquire- 
 ments which would have been distinguished 
 in an University, meekly softened, and 
 beautifully shaded, by the gentle exertion 
 of every domestic virtue, the unaffected 
 exercise of every feminine employment." 
 
 Calebs in search of a Wife.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 HPHE favour with which memoirs and 
 letters are generally received by the 
 public, has encouraged the production of a 
 great many biographical works, written on 
 very different principles, and which must 
 be perused with very different feelings. 
 The delight with which every friend of 
 science and virtue reads the life of Sir 
 William Jones, of Dr. Beattie, of Mr. 
 Cowper, or of Mrs. Carter, can furnish no 
 excuse for publications, in which some of 
 the most vicious characters that disgrace 
 the present times, are dragged into notice,
 
 C * ] 
 
 to disgust or to corrupt succeeding gene- 
 rations. For sucli an insult on the prin- 
 ciples and the taste of the reader no 
 apology can he offered ; but when the 
 character that is brought before the public 
 is really deserving of esteem, the feeling 
 heart will view with indulgence the partial 
 fonduess of surviving friendship, which 
 endeavours to save from oblivion the object 
 of its affection, and to strew a few flowers 
 on the humble tomb of departed virtue. 
 
 The following pages will not be found to 
 contain a single sentence which can give 
 pain to any human being ; and though 
 nothing in this collection was written with 
 a view to publication, yet as the delicacy 
 which always shrunk from observation 
 cannot now be wounded by praise or blame, 
 it is, I hope, allowable to remove the veil 
 which an excess of modest reserve threw 
 over uncommon merit.
 
 [ a 1 
 
 The Young Lady whose talents and vir- 
 tues are here pointed out to the reader, wan 
 little known in the world. Her short life 
 was spent in retirement, and it affords no 
 incidents to awaken curiosirj'; but it offer:] 
 an example, which may be useful to all her 
 sex, and particularly to the younger part 
 of it; and I am encouraged to hope, that 
 her writings may not be uninteresting to 
 readers of a very different description.* 
 I have only noticed such circumstances in 
 her " short and simple annals," as seemed 
 necessary to explain her letters, and to 
 shew the progress of her improvement in 
 different branches of science. The use 
 which she made of learning, and the effect 
 which it produced on her conduct in life, 
 may be collected from many parts of the 
 following work, which will prove that 
 
 * Sec Letter XII. from the Rev. Dr. Randolph to 
 Mrs. Smith, in the Appendix.
 
 [ xii ] 
 
 every acquisition in science only increased 
 the humility of her natural character; while 
 extensive reading, and deep reflection, 
 added strength to her conviction of those 
 great truths of revealed religion, which in 
 life and in death supported her through 
 every trial, and which can alone afford 
 consolation to the parents and friends who 
 live to mourn her loss.
 
 FRAGMENTS 
 
 IN PROSE AND VERSE. 
 
 % yCISS ELIZABETH SMITH was born at 
 ■A-*-*- Burnhall, near Durham, (the beautiful re- 
 sidence of her paternal ancestors,) in Dec. 1776. 
 Some particulars relating to the early part of her 
 life may be learnt from a letter written soon after 
 her death by her afflicted mother to the Rev. Dr. 
 Randolph, in consequence of his request that 
 she would inform him of such circumstances with 
 regard to the gradual progress of her daughter's 
 mind, as had not come under his own observation.* 
 
 * See Appendix. Letter I.
 
 [ 2 ] 
 
 I will only mention here a few particulars, which 
 seem necessary to explain her writings. 
 
 When I first saw Miss Smith, in the summer 
 of the year 1789, she was only in her thirteenth 
 year, and her extreme timidity made it difficult to 
 draw her into conversation; but even then I saw 
 many proofs of very uncommon talents. We 
 were frequently together during the three fol- 
 lowing years, either at Piercefield, where Mr. and 
 Mrs. Smith then resided, or at Bath, where Miss 
 Smith and her sisters were often with us. At 
 that time Elizabeth astonished us by the faci- 
 lity with which she acquired information on every 
 subject. She excelled in every thing that she 
 attempted. Music, Dancing, Drawing, and 
 Perspective, were then her chief pursuits, and she 
 succeeded in all ; but even at that early age her 
 greatest pleasure seemed to be reading, which she 
 would pursue with unwearied attention, during 
 so many hours, than I often endeavoured to draw 
 her away from her books, as I feared that such 
 close application might injure her health. She 
 was then well acquainted with the French and 
 Italian languages, and had made considerable pro- 
 gress in the study of Geometry, and some other
 
 « 1 
 
 r 3 3 
 
 branches of the Mathematics. At every period 
 of her life she was extremely fond of poetry. The 
 following fragment is dated in June 1792. 
 
 i. 
 
 The Sun, just rising from his wat'ry bed, 
 Shook from his golden locks the briny drops ; 
 The Earth her many-colour'd mantle spread, 
 And caught the crystal on her flow'rets tops. 
 While Nature smil'd, to see her rising crops 
 With brighter beauty glow, and richer hues; 
 As now the night her sable chariot stops, 
 Each drooping flow'r, refresh'd with morning dews, 
 Lifts its gay head, and all around its fragrance strews. 
 
 H. 
 
 So fair the morn, when Emma, fairer still, 
 Left the lone cottagp, now her sole retreat ; 
 And wander'd musing o'er the neighb'ring hill, 
 With downcast eyes, which weeping look'd more sweet, 
 Down to the vale she turn'd her trembling feet ; 
 There, in the middle of a shady wood, 
 O'erhung with trees, which branch to branch did meet, 
 Glided a gentle stream, where, as it stood, 
 Each bough its image ahew'd in the clear glassy flood. 
 
 b 2
 
 f 4 j 
 
 in. 
 
 Here paus'd the Nymph, and on the bank reclin'd, 
 'Neath a large oak fann'd by each gentle gale ; 
 She swell'd the brook with tears, with sighs the wind, 
 And thus her melancholy fate 'gan wail. 
 And ye who read her sad and mournful tale, 
 Oh ! drop one tender, sympathetic tear ! 
 Think that the best of human kind is frail, 
 Nor knows the moment when his end is near; 
 But all sad Emma's hapless fate must fear. 
 
 IV. 
 
 « How fair each form in youthful fancy's eyes, 
 " Just like the tender flow'rs of blooming May ; 
 " Like them in all their beauty they arise, 
 "Like them they fade, and sudden die away. 
 * We mourn their loss, and wish their longer stay, 
 " But all in vain ; — no more the flow'rs return, 
 " Nor fancy's images divinely gay ! 
 " So pass'd my early youth ; then in its turn 
 " Each fancied image pleas'd; for each at times I burn. 
 
 v. 
 
 " How charming then o'er hill and vale to stray, 
 
 " When first the sun shot forth his morning beam ; 
 
 " Or when at eve he hid his golden ray, 
 
 " To climb the rocks, and catch the last faint gleam ;
 
 [ 5 ] 
 
 » Or when the moon imbrued in blood did seem, 
 " To watch her rising from the distant hill, 
 " Her soft light trembling on the azure stream, 
 " Which gently curl'd, while all beside was still : 
 " How would such scenes my heart with admiration fill ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 " But now, alas ! those peaceful days are o'er j 
 " Fled like the summer breeze that wakes the dawn, 
 " Wafts spicy odours swift from shore to shore, 
 " And gathers all the fragrance of the lawn ; 
 " Yet ere his noon-day crown the sun adorn, 
 " 'Tis past, 'tis gone ; no more the scorching plains 
 " Can shew where blew the gentle breath of morn j 
 " The brook, the cattle, and the shepherd swains, 
 " All seek the shade; — but peace for Emma none remains." 
 
 In May, 1792, Miss Hunt accompanied me to 
 Piercefiekl ; and it is not extraordinary that simi- 
 larity of talents and pursuits, as well as sympathy 
 in every thing that is good and amiable, should 
 lead Elizabeth to attach htr self strongly to her. 
 From that time a correspondence began, from 
 which I have made a few extracts, to shew 
 what were her studies and amusements at fifteen 
 years of age.
 
 [ 6 3 
 "To Miss Hunt. 
 
 " July 7, 1792. 
 " I am much obliged to you for all the infor- 
 mation in your last letter, and I hope I have found 
 out what you wanted. I have been measuring 
 circles, and find that my former conjecture was 
 
 right: &c. &c. 1 know not whether I have 
 
 explained this properly, but so it appears to me. 
 1 was a little mortified to see that my table was 
 not quite exact, though I fear it is as near as it 
 can be brought; but if this way of making equal 
 squares and circles is right, it will make me 
 amends. The line in Dante is very applicable, 
 but I desire you will not begin to despair yet. I 
 do not, though there are many things that I prefer 
 to these Mathematics. At the head of them stands 
 Poetry. I thought some parts of Tasso extremely 
 fine. Dante I have not read. At present I am 
 engaged in an argument with my dear Miss 
 Bowdler, concerning Ossian. I support him 
 against all other poets. You may easily guess 
 who will get the better; but I will say all [ can 
 for Ossian, for I really hue his poems beyond all 
 others. Milton must stand alone; but surely
 
 [ 7 ] 
 
 Ossian is in some respects superior to Homer. 
 Can you find any thing equal to his descriptions 
 of nature ; his Address to the Sun in Carthon, that 
 to the Moon in Darthula, and the last hymn? 
 Surely in "the joy of grief," and in night scenes, 
 there is nothing equal to him. I would rather 
 read the description of one of his ghosts, than of 
 all Homer's gods. One of my greatest reasons 
 for admiring him is, that all his heroes are so 
 good. There is not one of them that would be 
 guilty of a cruel action for the world, nor would 
 they insult over the dead. In short, one cannot 
 help loving almost every person Ossian mentions. 
 Besides there are no vulgar descriptions, but every 
 word is poetry. By way of comparison, look at 
 some particular description in Homer, and in 
 Ossian; suppose it is a moon-light; you will find 
 but one of any consequence in Homer, and then it 
 is only a simile, though a very beautiful one; it be- 
 gins at the 6b7th line of the 8th book. Compare 
 it with any one of the vast number you will find 
 in Ossian. I think the idea of the moon retiring 
 to weep for the sisters she has lost, is finer than 
 all the philosophy on the subject. I love your 
 flowery meadows, and murmuring streams; but I
 
 [ 8 ] 
 
 cannot help preferring rude mountains, roaring 
 torrents, and rocky precipices. I could wander 
 with pleasure in your sequestered vale, but should 
 feel more transported by the grandeur of one of 
 Ossian's night scenes." &c. 
 
 " From my Library, July 27, 1792. 
 
 " I am really ashamed, when 1 look at the date 
 of your kind letter, and particularly when I consi- 
 der how good you were in writing to me so soon ; 
 but the truth is, we are all in such confusion, with 
 an old house about our ears, and so pushed about 
 from one room to another, that I have not been able 
 to command a quiet hour to write to you. How- 
 ever, Kitty and I are now settled in the Library, 
 and here I will endeavour to make up for my 
 former negligence. I wish I had you and Miss 
 B^wdler to help me pull the books about, and 
 then I should not wish for a better house. 
 
 " We have not received any certain information 
 respecting the Castle ; but I am inclined to give 
 it, whatever it was, to Llewellyn ap GryfTydd, 
 whom we have determined to kill on a piece of
 
 [ 9 ] 
 
 ground adjoining to it; and Mr. Williams, who 
 is writing the History of Monmouthshire, told us 
 that Buillt, where it has been said he died, is 
 somewhere near this place; he does not know 
 exactly where it is, but we will find it out. I 
 am sure it is in our woods. If this be not true, 
 it is at least such a pretty little fiction, and so 
 harmless, that 1 really must believe it. I wish 
 you would write a poem on his death, and place it 
 in our wood. You must say that it is translated 
 from an old Welsh bard, and that will set the 
 matter beyond a doubt. 
 
 " You must not expect any thing very bright 
 from me to-day, for my head aches very much ; 
 and as to the hand-writing, I can never write well 
 when my heart is concerned. I have given you a 
 specimen of my very worst to prove that you are in 
 high favour. If you should ever receive a letter 
 from me written like copper-plate, depend upon 
 it I am going to quarrel with you. If, on the 
 contrary, you cannot read my scrawl, be assured 
 it is all love and gratitude, and remain satisfied 
 with that; at least I hope so, for the only plea- 
 sure I can hope to give you is by telling you 
 that I am your sincerely affectionate."
 
 C 10 ] 
 
 August 13. 
 
 " I am so delighted with what you say of 
 Llewellyn, that I cannot rest till I write to you. 
 Has Mrs. Graves shewn the manuscript to any 
 person who understands Welsh ? She would not 
 perhaps like to trust the original out of her own 
 hands, but if she would have it copied, we could 
 easily get it translated for her, and should consider 
 ourselves highly obliged by a sight of it. If it 
 is what Mrs. Graves supposes, it will indeed be 
 invaluable. I have a great mind to believe that, 
 our Castle in the wood is the Castle of Buillt, for 
 no one seems to know exactly where that is ; and 
 if the prince was killed in our grounds, it certainly 
 is so. I hope the manuscript will settle all our 
 doubts; at present we are obliged to fight hard, 
 with every body we meet, in maintaining our 
 cause. I am charmed with the name of Gwillim 
 of Gwhent, the Blue Knight ; it would be a good 
 one for the hero of a romance. 
 
 " Could you see the state our house is in, you 
 would not think it possible to live in it; half the 
 walls pull'd down, foundations dug, and heaps of 
 rubbish every where. 1 admire the date of your 
 letter ; it would have suited the Mistress of Gwillim
 
 C 11 ] 
 
 of Gwhent; but you should have a better name 
 than Mary to please him, though not to please 
 me, for while it belongs to you I shall ever love it." 
 
 The Castle mentioned in these letters requires 
 some explanation. Elizabeth discovered some 
 remains of buildings in a wood, and thought she 
 could trace out several round towers, a moat, 8tc. 
 I remember our walking over the spot where her 
 lively imagination had built a Castle, of which she 
 drew apian from the slight traces which remained. 
 She was then unacquainted with architecture ; but 
 I shewed her little drawing to a gentleman who 
 perfectly understood the subject, and he said that 
 he believed she was right in her conjecture, for the 
 plan she had drawn was exactly what was usually 
 adopted by the Romans in their castles. The 
 following paper will shew the indefatigable appli- 
 cation with which Elizabeth pursued the en- 
 quiries, which a passage in Warrington's History* 
 
 * Account of the death of Llewellyn, from Warring- 
 ton's History of Wales, page 509. 
 
 " Llewellyn proceeded to the cantrew of Buillt, near the 
 water of Wye.
 
 [ W ] 
 
 of Wales led her to make, in regard to the si- 
 tuation of Buillt, and some other circumstances 
 mentioned by him. 
 
 " Arthur seems to have been king of Gvvhent, 
 which comprehended all Monmouthshire, part of 
 the dioceses of Hereford and Worcester, and the 
 
 " The Prince was waiting in a small grove. On 
 
 the enemies first assault, his Esquire came to inform him 
 that he heard a great outcry at the bridge. The Prince 
 eagerly asked if his people were in possession of the bridge ; 
 and being told that they were, he calmly replied, then he 
 would not stir from thence, though the whole power of 
 England were on the other side of the river. This confi- 
 dence, though not improperly placed, lasted but a moment, 
 the grove being surrounded by the enemies horse. Beset 
 on every side, and cut off from his army, Llewellyn endea- 
 voured as secretly as he could to make good his retreat, 
 and to join the troops he had stationed on the mountain, who, 
 drawn up in battle array, were eagerly expecting the return 
 of their prince. In making this attempt, he was discovered 
 and pursued by Adam de Francton, who perceiving him 
 to be a Welshman, and not knowing his quality, plunged 
 his spear into the body of the prince, being unarmed and 
 incapable of defence. The Welsh were afterwards defeated, 
 and left two thousand men dead on the field. All this time 
 Llewellyn lay on the ground, faint, and almost expiring*
 
 [ 15 ] 
 
 part of Glocestershire between the Wye and the 
 Severn. Milton mentions Buillt in Brecknock- 
 shire. Camden mentions Kair-Lheon as a great 
 city, having three churches, one of which was 
 honoured with the metropolitan see of Wales. 
 Here the Roman ambassadors received their au- 
 dience at the illustrious court of the great King 
 Arthur. 
 
 "The ancient register of Llandaff, amongst many 
 benefactions made to that church in the times 
 of Dubricius, Telian, and Odoceus, the three first 
 bishops of the see, recites at length two grants, 
 one of the lands of St. Kinrnarc, by Arthur king 
 of Gwhent, son of Mouric king of Glamorgan, who 
 gave Mochros to Dubricius ; the other of Caerleon 
 by another Arthur, king also of Gwhent, but the 
 son of Funvail king of the same country. Funvail 
 defeats the Saxons at Tynterne, and dies at Ma- 
 He had just life enough remaining to ask for a priest. A 
 white friar, who chanced to be present, administered to the 
 dying prince the last duties of his office. The hurry of the 
 action being ended, Francton came back to strip the person 
 he had wounded. On viewing the body, which was still 
 breathing, it was found, to the great joy of the English 
 army, that it was the Prince of Wales."
 
 [ 14 ] 
 
 theme, which his son gives to Cardiffe in the year 
 560. About A. D. 600, the archbishopric of 
 Caerleon was removed to St. David's. 
 
 " Upon the river Wye is Buillt. Whether this 
 town be the ancient Bullceum, or whether that 
 city or fort were not at a place called Kareen, some 
 miles distant from it, may be questioned. If it be 
 urged in favour of Buillt, that it seems still to 
 retain its ancient name; it may be answered that 
 Buillt, which I interpret Ox-cliff, or Oxen-hill, was 
 the name of a small country here, from whence 
 in all probability the ancient Bullceum was deno- 
 minated ; but that being totally destroyed, and 
 this town becoming afterwards the most noted 
 place of the country, it might receive its name 
 from it, as the former had done. But since the 
 congruity of the names was the main argument 
 that induced our learned author to assign this 
 situation to the ancient Bullceum Silurum, we shall 
 have occasion of hesitating, if hereafter we find 
 the ruins of a Roman fort or city in a neigh- 
 bouring country of the Silures. "—Carte. 
 
 The above is only a very small part of the 
 extracts made by Miss Smith, from Smollet,
 
 I 15 ] 
 
 Collier, Carte, Camden, and Monasticon Ang. 
 on this subject. 
 
 " To Miss Hunt. 
 
 « 
 
 Sept. 27, 1792. 
 I must trouble you with some family affairs, 
 that you may know what becomes of us. To- 
 morrow se'nnight my Mother will go to a friend 
 in Town, not being able to stay here any longer. 
 Kitty goes with her,.and then to Mrs. Claxton, 
 where I hope she will see Miss Bowdler. I re- 
 main at home with my Father, Brother, Juliet, 
 and the two little boys, till Christmas, when I 
 rather think we shall all meet at Bath. Will not 
 you be there too? I live in hopes, and like the 
 place much better since you were so good to me 
 there. Indeed you are too good to me, for I well 
 know that all the pleasure, as well as the obliga- 
 tion, is on my side ; yet, like Miss Bowdler, you 
 would have me believe the contrary, but I am not 
 so easily deceived. It can be only out of good- 
 nature that either of you write to me, or take the 
 trouble of reading my scrawls. Apropos of scrawls, 
 I hope you perceive great improvement. I do
 
 [ is 3 
 
 not mean that the copper -plate letter is come yet; 
 you probably will not mistake this for such; but 
 in whatever way it may be written, I hope you 
 will always be able to make out the affection with 
 which I am yours sincerely. 
 
 " P. S. I am looking at a most divine sky, which 
 is the whole prospect we now have from any part 
 of the house. I want an Ossian to paint it. 
 Where did you get those two sweet lines you 
 sent me? I wish you would send some more by a 
 hand I know. I have not room for all the kind 
 things that are sent to you, but your imagination 
 can paint better than my pen." 
 
 " Oct. 27, 1792. 
 
 " I have now the satisfaction of telling you, my 
 dear friend, that all our anxiety is over. On Tues- 
 day we gained a little brother, and both my mother 
 and he are perfectly well. This is, as you may 
 imagine, a great relief to me, and I know your 
 sympathising heart will rejoice at it. 
 
 " As to our circle, I fear we are no nearer to it 
 than others have been before us. I found an old 
 book the other day in which was a calculation, I 
 cannot tell you how long, which proves that we are
 
 [ 17 ] 
 
 not perfectly exact; and as I despair of ever being 
 more so, I shall give up all thoughts of it, for I 
 think you are tired as well as myself." 
 
 Dec. 12, 1792. 
 
 " Being determined to have a poem on Llew- 
 ellyn's death, and not being able to persuade you, 
 my dear friend, to commit forgery, i have been 
 obliged to try my hand at it, and I send it you, 
 because you desire me to continue rhyming; 
 though, without making use of any of the modesty 
 for which you so kindly give me credit, I must 
 see that I do not deserve all that you say on that 
 subject. However, if it be your true opinion, 
 you must be delighted at being desired to read 
 this volume of nonsense; and if it be not, I have 
 taken the most effectual method to cure you of 
 complimenting. 
 
 " I am going to Bath to-morrow to meet my 
 mother, and am sitting up to-night to finish my 
 letter to you. We shall be at No. 11, Circus; 
 where I hope, if I must not expect to see you, at 
 least I shall hear from you.
 
 [ 18 ] 
 
 " Can you tell on what part of the banks of the 
 Wye to find Mochros and Hentlan ?* I can only 
 find that Hentlan is between the rivers Wye and 
 Irgudina, which last I can no where discover. 
 Do not go far to look for it, as I know by expe- 
 rience what an undertaking it is. All those old 
 authors copy after each other, and make nothing 
 but confusion. I prefer my own way of making 
 the history just as I please, without consulting one 
 of them; and upon that principle, I intend to put 
 the places I have mentioned at or hear Piercefield. 
 I could tell you a great deal more about it, if I 
 had time. 
 
 ee It is a great happiness that Mrs. Bowdler 
 has not suffered from her journey, but I am sorry 
 to hear she is now far from well. This must be a 
 great distress to our dear friend. I wish you would 
 transport yourself to Bath, where you would find 
 Miss Bowdler, as well as myself, rejoiced to see 
 you ; though I confess, it is impossible to have so 
 
 * I have lately been informed that Hentlan is a small 
 village, four or five miles on the Hereford side of Ross. 
 Mochros is probably the seat of Sir George Cornwall, 
 bart. on the banks of the Wye, now called Moccas.
 
 [ 19 ] 
 
 much comfort in one's friends there as in the 
 
 country. 1 am glad you like German so much. 
 
 My Brother once began to teach me, but either 
 found me too lull, or was too lazy to go on. — I 
 fear we must give up our circles. —The Lusiad I 
 never read. It was Middleton's Life of Cicero 
 that I meant. I was not tired with its length, 
 because the chief of its contents were new to me. 
 I have lately undertaken Smollett's History of 
 England, but must leave it in the middle. 
 
 " Pray excuse this wretched scrawl. I fear you 
 will think that all my good resolutions with respect 
 to writing are vanished ; but the truth is, I am 
 hurried; and scribbling with an intolerably bad 
 pen; for 1 am unwilling to leave this place with- 
 out thanking you for your letter, as there is 
 still less time to be found at Bath; but I trust 
 you will believe me, whether 1 have time to tell 
 you so or not, and whether I write so that you can 
 read it or not, 
 
 " Ever your sincerely affectionate Friend. 
 
 " P. S. It is now so late, that as I am to be up 
 at six, I have no mind to go to bed at all, but I 
 believe want of fire and candle will soon drive me 
 there." 
 
 c 2
 
 [ 20 3 
 
 A supposed Translation from a Welsh Poem, lately dug up 
 
 at Piercefield, in the same spot where Llewellyn 
 
 ap Gryffyd ivas slain, Dec* 10th, 1281. 
 
 Round Snowdon's shaggy brows grim darkness hung, 
 Save that the moon, the gather'd clouds among, 
 Shot forth at times a dimly-gleaming ray, 
 Then wat'ry, pale, turn'd her sad face away. 
 In Merlin's cave I sate, 
 
 And mark'd her tearful eye } 
 Which seem'd to mourn the fate 
 Decreed for some on high. 
 
 What fate's decreed by heav'n, blest beam of night, 
 That so disturbs thy sweetly-smiling light? 
 No more it shines ; — Thou turn'st thy face with scorn, 
 And darkly leav'st me, wretched and forlorn. 
 Down the steep the torrent roars, 
 
 Loud the thunder rings from far, 
 Billows shake the rocky shores, 
 All resounds the din of war. 
 
 But hark ! — This elemental war is drown'd 
 In one more great, and more terrific sound ; 
 A sound high Snowdon from his base to tear, 
 A sound the spirits of the dead shall fear ! 
 
 Spirits of my sires, attend ! 
 
 Down from your clouds, ye blest ones bend!
 
 C 21 ] 
 
 Tell me, whence these shrieks of woe 
 With cries of death confus'dly flow ? 
 
 Great Merlin, thou the chief of Prophets, hear ! 
 To thy own cave 'mid stormy winds draw near ; 
 Pour on my darken'd soul thy light divine, 
 And give it in fair truth's bright blaze to shine. 
 
 He comes, he comes, in mist array'd, 
 
 Slow and solemn glides the shade! 
 
 And while he speaks, the earth stands still, 
 
 List'ning to his mighty will. 
 
 * Heav'n-favour'd Bard, my words attentive hear, 
 «' Words such as ne'er were giv'n to mortal ear; 
 ** I tell the woes to-morrow's sun shall bring,— 
 ** Cambria shall fall, shall lose her much-lov'd King. 
 «' On Vaga's banks, near to where once Buillt stood, 
 u O'erlooking fair Sabrina's silver flood, 
 " Pierc'd with a spear ingloriously he'll fall, 
 " Whence future times that spot shall Piercefield call. 1 ' 
 
 So saying, like the meteor's blaze, 
 The spirit flies ; 
 And while I gaze, 
 
 The dim red light in darkness dies ! 
 
 But, oh, my country ! how shall I deplore 
 Thy cruel doom ? Cambria shall be no more ! 
 Llewellyn too, our guardian king, shall fall, 
 In him we lose our only hpoe,— our all !
 
 [ & ] 
 
 Blow, ye winds ; and roar, ye waves ; 
 Rend the mountains' inmost caves ; 
 Let loose the spirits of the storm, 
 Bid them rise in human form. 
 
 More fierce than they, in human form appears 
 That barb'rous Prince, who causes all our tears j 
 A tiger's heart he bears beneath that face, 
 Which seems to promise honour, goodness, grace. 
 Let lightning flash, 
 
 And thunder growl, 
 Let torrents dash, 
 
 And the black tempest o'er me scowl ; 
 This soul, in unison with every gust, 
 Shall rage and burn till I be turn'd to dust ; 
 Ne'er shall I patient brook my country's doom, 
 But sighing, sorrowing, sink into the tomb. 
 
 Daughters of Cambria, with me mourn, 
 
 Sing the sad woe-breathing strain ; 
 From your fair heads the ringlets torn 
 
 Scatter round th' ensanguin'd plain. 
 No more in summer's even tide 
 
 Your gentle flocks you'll lead 
 To where the brook, with flow'ry side, 
 
 Slow wanders through the mead ; 
 But soon to conquerors rude a prey, 
 
 You'll quit your native land,
 
 [ 23 ] 
 
 And drag through life your mournful way, 
 A wretched, captive band ! 
 
 Warriors, break the sounding mail, 
 
 Cast down the lance, the helm untie; 
 Arms shall now no more avail, 
 
 For you before the foe shall fly. . 
 No more, in deeds of arms renown'd, 
 
 You'll dare the single fight ; 
 Or with exulting laurels crown'd, 
 
 Assert your country's right ; 
 But to the woods and marshes driy'n, 
 
 Ingloriously you'll sigh ; . 
 For ah! to you it is not giv'n 
 
 Amidst your friends to die ! 
 
 To Piercefield's Cliffs I'll now a pilgrim go, 
 Shed o'er my Prince belov'd the tears of woe ; 
 There will I seek some deep and rocky cell, 
 Amidst the thick entangled wood to dwell ; 
 There indulge my plaintive theme, 
 To the wan moon's icy beam ; 
 While the rocks responsive ring 
 To my harp's high-sounding string ; 
 Vaga stops her rolling tide, 
 List'ning to her ancient pride ; 
 Birds and beasts my song attend, 
 And mourn with me our country's fatal end!
 
 [ 24 ] 
 
 My friends spent three months in Bath, and 
 we passed many happy hours together, till Mrs. 
 Smith and her family went to Piercefield on the 
 28th of Feb, The following letter was written 
 the day before they set out from Bath. 
 
 "To Miss Hunt. 
 
 " Bath, Feb. 27, 1793. 
 " I am quite ashamed, my dear friend, to find 
 hat I have been so long in debt for your charm- 
 ng letter; though, to speak properly, I shall 
 always be so, for I cannot return one like it. I 
 might at least have said " I thank you ;" but you 
 know how little time is to be had here; and I 
 know, and presume upon, your goodness in ex- 
 cusing my idleness, and know too that I have not 
 thought of you the less for not telling you so. 
 
 " Miss Bowdler and I wish for you every day, 
 so that you are in no danger of being forgotten 
 between us; and whilst we remember you, we 
 cannot forget to love you. 1 am much obliged to 
 you for all^the trouble you have taken about the 
 places I wished to find, but I believe itis a fruitless 
 search. I am persuaded their situation is not
 
 L 25 3 
 
 known, and I intend to place them where 1 choose 
 to have them. 
 
 11 Tiie above was written this morning, when I 
 did not expect to leave this place before Friday, 
 but I now find we are to go home to-morrow; and 
 I must, however unwillingly, make an end of my 
 letter. I hope to have more time at Piercefield, 
 where we are now all to meet, after having been 
 scattered over the face of the earth for the last 
 half year. I shall be excessively grieved, asj/ou 
 can imagine, to leave our dear friend ; but other- 
 wise I shall not regret Bath." 
 
 At the commencement of the war, in the year 
 1793, many Banks in the West of England failed, 
 and Mr. Smith's was unfortunately of that num- 
 ber. The domestic happiness to which Elizabeth 
 looked forward when she wrote the last letter, was 
 fatally interrupted by this event; and I received 
 from her the following letter, written only five 
 days after she left Bath. The importance of the 
 subject probably induced me to preserve this 
 letter, when I destroyed many others which I 
 shall never cease to regret. Alas ! L little thought 
 that I should live to mourn the early death of my
 
 [ 26 ] 
 
 amiable young friend, whose talents and virtues 
 were my pride and delight, and who I hoped 
 would have been an ornament and a blessing to 
 the world, long after I was removed from it ! — — 
 It has pleased God to order otherwise. 
 
 " Piercefield, March 3, 1793. 
 " We were within an hour of setting off from 
 hence, and intended to have seen you, my dearest 
 friend, to-morrow; when we were prevented, and I 
 may say it is the only time I have ever rejoiced at 
 being prevented seeing you. Last night, after my 
 Mother wrote to } r ou,we were informed by a friend 
 that there was an execution against my father. At 
 ten o'clock at night the Under-Sheriff, &c. came to 
 take possession of the house. It was secured, so 
 that they could not enter; but you may imagine 
 the horror of our situation in that night of storms. 
 Fortunately the next day being Sunday, we had 
 to watch only till twelve o'clock ; and to-day we 
 were preparing to go away at eight this evening, 
 when we heard that my Father's attorney was come 
 from London, that the money was provided, and 
 the execution stopped. There is to be a meeting
 
 [ 27 ] 
 
 of creditors to-morrow, who are to have an exact 
 statement of all the concerns of. the Bank. M}^ 
 Mother supported herself wonderfully last night, 
 but to-day she was quite exhausted, till this news 
 
 revived her a little. Mr. and Mrs. were in 
 
 dreadful anxiety this morning, but I hope they too 
 are a little comforted •* in short the prospect now 
 appears bright to what it did two hours ago, and 
 we shall all, I hope, bear whatever happens with 
 fortitude. Above all, my beloved friend, I entreat 
 you not to be uneasy, for I trust all will be well. 
 My only apprehension has been for my Mother ; 
 and I confess it has been hard work to appear 
 cheerful, when I saw her agitated to the greatest 
 
 * In the summer of the year 1791, when the Bank was 
 in a very flourishing state, Mr. , who was the neigh- 
 bour and friend of Mr. Smith, put his name in the firm, 
 without advancing any part of the capital, or receiving any 
 share of the emoluments ; but on condition that his son 
 should be taken into the house as a clerk, and be admitted a 
 partner on his coming of age. In consequence of this cir- 
 cumstance, Mr. — was involved in the misfortune which 
 happened in the year 1 793 ; to the regret of all who knew 
 him, and particularly of the Smith family, as all the letters 
 which I received from them at this period strongly prove.
 
 I 28 ] 
 
 degree, and knew I could in no way be of the 
 least use ; but she shewed great resolution, when- 
 ever it was necessary. My Father now writes in 
 better spirits, and I am happy to see her a little 
 more at ease. My Mother desires me to say a 
 thousand kind things for her. The servants have 
 behaved nobly, and she has had all the comfort 
 that friends can give. If she had none but you 
 she would be rich enough ; and I shall wish for 
 nothing more, while I know you are mine. Adieu, 
 my dearest ," 
 
 I went to Piercefield on the following day ; but I 
 will not attempt to describe the scene to which I 
 was then a witness. Afflictions so nobly supported 
 make the sufferers objects of envy rather than pity; 
 a change of fortune, so sudden, and so unexpected, 
 was a great trial, but it was received in a manner to 
 command the respect of all who witnessed it. I 
 had long seen and admired Mrs. Smith, in the si- 
 tuation in which she seemed peculiarly formed to 
 shine ; in one of the finest places in England, sur- 
 rounded by her lovely children, with all the elegant 
 comforts of affluence, and delighting her happy
 
 [ 29 ] 
 
 guests by the facinating charms of her conversa- 
 tion. Through all the misfortunes which marked 
 the period of which I am now speaking, I can with 
 truth say of Mrs. Smith, what she says of her 
 beloved daughter, that I do not recollect a single 
 instance of a murmur having escaped her, on ac- 
 count of the loss of fortune; but there were other 
 circumstances attending this sad event, which such 
 a heart as hers must deeply feel ; and a letter which 
 is now before me, speaks the language of all that 
 
 I received from her at that period: -"The 
 
 business is again delayed. I am averse to this 
 prolongation of our misery, but it is a duty we owe 
 
 to Mr. and Mrs. to do every thing which can 
 
 be likely to save them. Oh, my friend, if this 
 amiable family were but secure, I should be no 
 longer miserable ; but as it is, the thought of their 
 situation sometimes sinks me almost to despair." 
 This was an affliction, under which even conscious 
 rectitude was not sufficient to support her; but the 
 loss of fortune, as it was occasioned neither by ex- 
 travagance nor vice, and dignified by such conduct 
 as secured the respect and esteem of their friends, 
 was supported by every individual of the family 
 with truly christian fortitude and resignation.
 
 C 30 ] 
 
 In a few days after I went to Piercefield, my 
 friends quitted it for ever; and the young ladies 
 spent seven or eight months with us, in and near 
 Bath. The time which was thus spent with my 
 mother, was certainly of great advantage to my 
 young friend; for she was extremely fond of them, 
 and nothing can be more just that what Mrs. 
 Smith says of her peculiarly happy manner of 
 conveying instruction. Many of their favourite 
 pursuits had been interrupted. They had lost the 
 sublime scenes of Piercefield, which furnished an 
 infinite variety of subjects for the pencil. They drew 
 extremely well, and Elizabeth was completely 
 mistress of perspective. Her musical talents were 
 very uncommon : she played remarkably well both 
 on the Piano-Forte and Harp, but she had lost her 
 instruments. The library, of which she so well 
 knew the value, was gone. Always averse to large 
 parties, and with no taste for dissipation, she readily 
 agreed to a plan of employment proposed by my 
 Mother, and we entered on a regular course of 
 history, both ancient and modern. At other times 
 we studied Shakespeare, Milton, and some other 
 English poets, as well as some of the Italians. 
 We took long walks, and often drew from nature.
 
 [ 31 ] 
 
 We read with great attention the whole of the New 
 Testament, Seckers's Lectures on the Catechism, 
 and several other books on the same important sub- 
 jects. After my Mother retired to rest, we usually 
 studied the stars, and read Bonycastle's Astronomy, 
 which reminds me of the following circumstance. 
 Elizabeth told me one evening that she did not 
 understand what is said in Bonycastle, page 91, of 
 Kepler's celebrated calculation ; by which he dis- 
 covered that the squares of the periods of the planets 
 are in proportion to the cubes of their distances. 
 She wanted to know how to make use of this rule, 
 but I confessed my inability to assist her. When 
 I came down to breakfast at nine the next morning, 
 I found her with a folio sheet of paper almost co- 
 vered with figures; and I discovered that she rose 
 as soon as it was light, and by means of Bony- 
 castle's Arithmetic, had learnt to extract the cube 
 root, and had afterwards calculated the periods and 
 distances of several planets, so as clearly to shew 
 the accuracy of Kepler's rule, and the method of 
 employing it. In such pursuits as I have men- 
 tioned, 1 could accompany her; but in others, she 
 had a much better assistant in our mutual friend 
 Miss Hunt, who fortunately for us, spent four
 
 [ 32 ] 
 
 months in our neighbourhood, and was the com- 
 panion of our studies and our pleasures. She led 
 Miss Smith to the study of the German language, 
 of which she was afterwards particularly fond. 
 She assisted her in Botanical and other pursuits, 
 as well as in different branches of the Mathematics. 
 I do not know when Elizabeth began to learn 
 Spanish, but it was at an earlier period than that 
 of which I am now speaking; when she was with 
 us, she seemed to read it without difficulty, and 
 some hours every morning before breakfast were 
 devoted to these studies. She acquired some 
 knowledge of the Arabic and Persian languages 
 during the following winter, when a very fine 
 dictionary and grammar, in the possession of her 
 brother, led her thoughts to Oriental literature. 
 She began to study Latin and Greek in the year 
 1794, when Mr. Claxtom's excellent library, and 
 improving conversation, opened to her an inexhaus- 
 tible fund of information. She studied Hebrew 
 from my Mother's Bible, with the assistance of 
 Parkhurst: but she had no regular instruction in 
 any language except French. Her love of Ossian 
 led her to acquire some knowledge of the Erse 
 language, but the want of books made it impos-
 
 [ 33 ] 
 
 sible for her to pursue that study as far as she 
 wished. Some extracts from her letters will shew 
 how she was employed during the following years. 
 Miss Hunt went into Devonshire in July, and 
 the correspondence between her and Miss Smith 
 was renewed. 
 
 « To Miss Hunt. 
 
 st St. Winifred's Dale, Aug. 18, 1793. 
 " I have had it in contemplation to write to you, 
 my dear friend, but I am very glad to be set to 
 work immediately by the receipt of your kind 
 letter, for which a thousand thanks. You were 
 not mistaken in supposing it would be acceptable 
 to me, for I am always happy to hear from you. 
 Even if your letters had not sufficient merit 
 to make them interesting to an indifferent person, 
 I should love them as coming from you; how 
 much then must I value them, considered as what 
 
 they are. Believe me, we miss you as much as 
 
 you can possibly miss us. We never take a plea- 
 sant walk, or read any thing interesting, but some 
 one says, " I wish Miss Hunt were here;" and you 
 may be sure that nobody contradicts it. Besides- 
 
 D
 
 [ 34 ] 
 
 all other reasons for this wish, I want to shew you 
 every pretty passage 1 meet with in German, 
 which I do not like half so well now that I have 
 no one to enjoy it with me. I long to study- 
 Cicero with you, and certainly will, if we are so 
 fortunate as to live near you, in which I promise 
 myself great pleasure if we stay in England. 
 I admire the German you sent me extremely. I 
 have read none since you left me, except two 
 books of Br. Randolph's: Der Golden Spiegel, 
 which is an imitation of an Eastern tale, by way 
 of making dissertations upon government. It js» 
 entertaining, and there is an account of a happy 
 valley that makes one long to live in it. The 
 other book is Wiessen's Poems,*" some of which 
 are very pretty. 1 will send you a specimen, if I 
 have time. I was, as well as you, delighted with 
 the Messiah. 
 
 "You do my Tintern Abbey great honour in 
 desiring to see it. I should have sent it by this 
 conveyance, but Miss Bowdler advised its 
 waiting till we go ourselves into Devonshire. We 
 are just going to church, and in the fear of not 
 
 * Lyrische Gedichte. 3 vol.
 
 [ 35 ] 
 
 having more time, let me assure you of the sincere 
 affection with which I am ever yours. 
 
 " Pray tell me whether the puzzle you sent is to 
 be made out in Spanish or English; though you 
 had better tell me the meaning of it at once, for I 
 never can find out any thing of the kind. Once 
 more adieu. I will send a longer and I hope a 
 better letter soon, and the German Poem also." 
 
 " October 1.5. 
 " I will not tell you how sorry I was for your 
 illness, nor how anxiously I wished for your re- 
 covery, because I trust you know me well enough 
 to believe that I cannot be indifferent to any thing 
 that so nearly concerns you. Indeed I have been, 
 and still am, very anxious for better accounts, 
 which I hope we may now daily expect, parti- 
 cularly after Miss Burges's return. For your 
 sake I am glad she is going, but for my own I 
 cannot help exceedingly regretting it; as I wished 
 very much to be acquainted with her, both from 
 what I have heard you say, and from the very little 
 1 have seen of her myself; unich gave me so 
 great a desire to see more, that if I had not feared 
 to be thought troublesome and impertinent, I
 
 [ 3<5 ] 
 
 should certainly have called by myself, besides 
 the formal visit with the rest of our party; but I 
 considered that she could not possibly have the 
 same wish to know me that 1 had to know her, 
 and therefore I would not intrude. 
 
 " I have a nice collection of German books, 
 which Miss Bowdler has borrowed for me. 
 There is the Iliad, which seems to me a very good 
 translation. I think the sound is more regularly 
 fine than Pope's, and some of the descriptions of 
 nature are much superior to his; but the tender 
 sentiments, which the learned say are not in the 
 original, are not to be traced in the German trans- 
 lation. In that respect we shall all prefer Pope. 
 There is the Messiah, which I am reading a second 
 time with more pleasure than the first: a very 
 pretty collection of poems by different persons; 
 a Novel ; and a book of Plays ; so you see I am 
 well furnished at present. I wish I had you to 
 e«joy them with me. 
 
 "My favourite study just now is Algebra; and 
 I find by Saunderson, that if we had consulted 
 proper books, we should never have spent so much 
 time in measuring squares and circles; for though 
 by the means weus«d, (which were perfectly right,)
 
 [ 37 ] 
 
 it may be brought inconceivably near, it is im- 
 possible to prove it mathematically exact. For 
 example. — I hope you will not have the head-ach 
 when this arrives, or you will wish my Mathematics 
 at Bath again ; but when J have learnt any thing 
 that we used to puzzle about together, I am never 
 easy till you know it." 
 
 " November 17. 
 "Send me no Latin quotations, for I under- 
 stand them only when the translation comes with 
 them. I have just finished Klopstock's Messiah, 
 which I have been reading again, as I did not 
 above half understand it before. There is more of 
 it than there was in Miss Bukges's, which was, I 
 believe, only fifteen books. This is in twenty-two 
 books, and is continued to the Ascension, with 
 many hymns and songs afterwards. He supposes 
 at that time a day of judgment, and that Abandona 
 was pardoned. Pray inform Miss Burges of this, 
 for I remember hearing her regret his fate." 
 
 "April 7, 1794. 
 " I have not thought of you the less because I 
 have been too idle to write. You know it is an old
 
 [ 33 ] 
 
 fault of mine, and it will be only wasting your time 
 and my own to make an apology as long as my 
 silence. I am very rich in German books just now, 
 for Dr. Randolph, who has a great many, has 
 given me the entre of his library, to take whatever 
 I like. T have got your friend Kliest, which I 
 think delightful; Haller's Poems; and Zimmer- 
 man's Einsamkeit, which pleases me more than 
 almost any book 1 ever read. How much am I 
 obliged to you for teaching me German ! I assure 
 you I never read a beautiful passage, without 
 thinking it is to you I owe the pleasure I enjoy, 
 and wishing you could enjoy it with me; for after 
 all it is but a selfish sort of thing to read merely 
 to entertain oneself. There are some ideas in 
 Zimmerman upon a future state very like your 
 book* I envy you extremely in reading Virgil. 
 I must learn Latin someday or other. At present 
 I am puzzling at Persian and Arabic, and I mean 
 to begin Hebrew. I get on least with Spanish, 
 for I have been able to meet with only one book 
 since I read Don Quixotte, which was the History 
 ofthelncas, by Garcillasso de la Vega. I was very 
 
 * Essay on the Happiness of the Life to Come.
 
 [ 39 ] 
 
 much pleased with it, though it is very long, and 
 in some parts tedious. I wish I had your patience 
 to translate from one language to another, for I 
 believe it is the only way of being perfect in any ; 
 but I succeed so ill in writing, of any kind, that I 
 never like to attempt it. 1 met with a thought in 
 Haller, which was new to me, and pleased me 
 much; but, perhaps, if you have met with it be- 
 fore, it may not strike you as it did me. Speaking 
 of the weakness of reason without revelation, he 
 says, 
 
 " Vernunft kan,\vie der mond,ein trostder dunkeln Zeiten, 
 " Uns durch die braune nacht mit halbem schimmer leiten ; 
 " Der warheit morgen-roht zeigt erst die wahre welt, 
 " Warm Gottes sonnen-licht durch unser dammning fallt."* 
 
 " I forgot to thank you for all the trouble you 
 took about Canada. It was very kind indeed, and 
 therefore like yourself; but I am sorry to say it 
 was to nopurpose, for itisentirely given up; much 
 
 * " Reason, like the moon, a consolation in darkness, 
 can guide us with its faint rays through the dusky night. 
 The morning dawn of truth shews the real world, when the 
 light of the sun breaks through our twilight." — Haller on 
 Reason, Superstition, and Infidelity.
 
 [ 40 ] 
 
 against my will, for I was delighted with the idea, 
 and wished excessively to go, but I despair of 
 ever seeing it now." 
 
 " Bath, Sept. 27, 1794. 
 " I have no sort of apology to offer for my lazi- 
 ness, and no claim to your forgiveness, except the 
 assurance that my silence proceeded from no other 
 cause than a fit of the above-mentioned disease, 
 which you know 1 am often troubled with. If 
 you think this a sufficient reason for pardoning 
 me, it is more than I do myself. It is strange 
 that though we all wish for happiness, few choose 
 to comply with the conditions by which it may 
 be obtained: thus L have been daily wishing for 
 a letter from you, and yet could not persuade 
 myself to write, which I well knew was the only 
 condition on which 1 could expect it. Two cir- 
 cumstances fix me to this point of time. Miss 
 Bowdler is to send a parcel to-morrow, and we 
 are going to leave Bath and its neighbourhood ; 
 not, I assure you, without great regret at leaving 
 our good friends here. I cannot help imagining 
 that I am parting from you amongst the rest, in 
 being removed so much further from you, but I
 
 [ 41 ] 
 
 hope you will not give me up as an ungrateful 
 wretch not worth your notice, but let me hear/mw. 
 you; particularly as I shall not hear o/"you, as I 
 now do, from Miss Bowdler, and because 1 shall 
 he inconsolable in London if you do not. We 
 are so happy here, seeing our dear friend two or 
 three times every day, that I know not how we 
 
 shall bear the change. For ray part I promise 
 
 myself no other pleasure in town than that of 
 seeing some of those I love, happy. As to the 
 place itself, you may suppose it is the last that I 
 should choose. — 
 
 "We are just returned from a walk to Prior- 
 Park with Miss Bowdler; the last I fear that we 
 shall take together for a long time. She has given 
 me your little book of Astronomy.* It is a very 
 pretty thing. 
 
 " I have had great store of Spanish lately : the 
 Theatro Critico Universale, by Feyjoo, a very 
 clever work in 14 volumes : and 1 am now reading 
 post-haste Mariana's History of Spain, of which 1 
 have only read half, but am determined to finish it 
 before I go. It is not so interesting as some other 
 
 * Lectures on Astronomy, and Natural Philosophy.
 
 [ 42 ] 
 
 histories, but one must know it. There are so 
 many different states, sometimes united, sometimes 
 divided; so many kings, sometimes all of one name, 
 now friends, now enemies ; so many marriages, so 
 many battles, and so many treaties, that it seems 
 to me impossible to have a clear idea of the work. 
 You will perhaps think that I read to little pur- 
 pose. — With this you will receive Zimmerman. 
 Remember, I do not insist on your admiring the 
 whole, nor do I promise that you will find Haller 
 very poetical. — I am very much hurried, for we 
 are engaged to dine at Mrs. Bowdler's. Leben 
 sie wohl mem theure, and believe me ever most 
 affectionately yours." 
 
 Miss Smith removed with the family to London 
 in October 1794, and to Shirley in November, 
 from whence she returned to town in February 
 1795. Shirley is the seat of John Claxton, esq. 
 To this gentleman, and to his lady, who is nearly 
 related to Mr. Smith, the family always acknow- 
 ledge the highest obligations.* During four 
 
 * See Mrs. Smith to Dr. Randolph. Appendix, 
 Letter III.
 
 [ 43 ] 
 
 months spent with these valuable friends, Miss 
 Smith began to study Latin, and the following 
 letter will shew the progress she made. Mr. 
 Claxton authorises me to say that he never gave 
 her any regular instruction, and that his Library 
 did not contain translations of any of the books 
 which she mentions in the next letter. 
 
 "To Miss Hunt. 
 
 " London, Feb. 1795. 
 " I believe I told you I should learn Latin before 
 I saw you next, and Shirley was a very good place 
 for it, I therefore began soon after J went there; 
 and I have read Caesar's Commentaries, Livy, and 
 some volumes of Cicero, amongst which I almost 
 wish the letters to his friends had not been, for 
 they shew his whole character to be so much put 
 on, that they have let him down many degrees in 
 my opinion. As to Persian, all my books are at 
 Bath, so that I shall most probably forget the little 
 I knew when I saw you last. I have met with 
 neither German nor Spanish books; so that if it 
 were not for Latin, I should be quite in despair. 
 I am very impatient to begin Virgil.
 
 [ 44 ] 
 
 "March 11, 1795. 
 " I have just finished the second book of the 
 Georgics, and was particularly delighted with the 
 last eighty-four verses. The description of the 
 storm in the first book I think is very fine." 
 
 " Shirley, July 28, 1 795. 
 " I think as you do of Emilia Galotti. Die 
 R'auber I never saw. Indeed I have scarcely read 
 any German or Spanish since I left Bath. I must 
 tell you that I cannot help being quite reconciled 
 to Cicero. 1 have gone through all that I can 
 find here of his works, and am so fully persuaded 
 that a man who could write as he does could have 
 no great faults, that I must, with your leave, for- 
 give his little ones. If you have not yet met with 
 it, only read, as a sample, the first book of his 
 Tusculan Disputations, 'decontemnenda inorte;" 
 and I think you will agree with me, that with the 
 addition of Christianity to confirm his suppositions, 
 and rectify a few mistakes in them, and the know- 
 ledge of the true state of the universe, no doctrine 
 can be more perfect than his ; and that half the 
 modern books on the subject might have beea
 
 [ 45 ] 
 
 spared, had the writers of them, before they began, 
 read this dialogue. 
 
 "I have just finished Clarendon's History of 
 the Rebellion, which Miss Bowdler long ago 
 desired me to read. It is extremely interesting 
 and instructive. Here is another of her favourites, 
 Spenser, which I once gave up in despair, but 
 which I am very glad I have read, for I am charmed 
 with it, and I think some of the lesser poems are 
 £ven superior to the Fairy Queen. We have read 
 Mr. Gisborne's book* aloud, and all the party was 
 extremely pleased with it. 
 
 " I have got a new Atlas of all the remarkable 
 fixed stars that are visible to us, without the 
 figures. I would shew it to you, if you would 
 meet me on the wing of Pegasus, or any other 
 convenient place you will appoint in the upper 
 regions, for it does not seem probable that we 
 should soon see each other in these below." 
 
 "Shirley, Oct. 5, 1795. 
 " I have been longer than I intended (according 
 to custom) in answering your kind letter, and now 
 I know not where this will find you. I will hovr- 
 * Oo the Duties of Man.
 
 [ 46 ] 
 
 ever direct to Bath, hoping your comfortable party 
 is not yet dissolved, though I have little chance of 
 finding you together, as the time of our transplan- 
 tation apears very uncertain, and probably is not 
 very near. It was very good of you to wish for 
 me by the sea-side, and I know nothing I should 
 have enjoyed so much as seeing it for the first 
 time with you; but I cannot help thinking the 
 companions you had were more agreeable than I 
 should have been. I should like to see what you 
 and your " thoughts and reflections" produced. 
 
 " I am quite delighted with you for teaching our 
 dear friend German, and with her for learning it. 
 You know wc have always set our hearts upon her 
 reading it, and only half enjoyed our favourite 
 books while she could not partake of our pleasure. 
 
 " I have not seen Gellert. Oberon I have read, 
 and was much pleased with some parts of it. It is a 
 little in the style of Ariosto. Pray tell Miss Burges, 
 (since she does me the honour to enquire,) that 
 of Spenser's lesser poems I was most pleased with 
 Astrophel, some of the Eclogues, particularly 
 January and June, and the Hymn in honour of 
 Beauty, which is as well written as if he had 
 studied Lavater. I have just finished Froissard,
 
 [ 47 ] 
 
 which, though rather tedious, I found very enter- 
 taining, and in a much pleasanter style than most 
 of the modern French writers. Immediately before 
 this great undertaking, I read the Memoirs of 
 Petrarch, which made a very good line of history, 
 containing the whole of the fourteenth century. 
 With this book I was excessively pleased. It 
 is impossible not to love Petrarch, if it were only 
 for crying when his father threw Cicero and 
 Virgil into the fire. He was a passionate admirer 
 of Cicero, and 1 think a strong resemblance may 
 be traced between their characters, though the 
 circumstances in which they lived were so different. 
 You see in both the same love of glory, the same 
 patriotism, the same high opinion of himself, which 
 he endeavours to conceal from others, perhaps 
 even from himself, by a cloak of humility. You 
 discover in each an equal warmth of friendship; 
 and I cannot help thinking that if Cicero had 
 met with Laura, or Petrarch been consul in the 
 flourishing times of the Roman Republic, the 
 former would have been the poet, and the latter 
 the orator. I hope I have improved a little in 
 Botany this summer as well as you."
 
 r 48 ] 
 
 "March 3, 1795. 
 
 u Have you seen Mason's new volume of 
 Poems ? There are some very beautiful things in 
 it. I have been feasting lately on German poetry. 
 The Graff von Stolberg; Hblty ; Matthison ; and a 
 translation of Young. I have been much pleased 
 with Zimmerman's Nationalstoltz. 
 
 " My ears are stunned and my patience exhaust- 
 ed, by the ridiculous and contradictory reports that 
 are incessantly vociferated on all sides of me. No 
 one can speak or write of any thing but the French. 
 If they have not murdered or enslaved our persons, 
 they have at least taken complete possession of 
 our minds, and banished every idea of which they 
 are not the object. As you probably hear as 
 much, and are as tired of them as myself, I will 
 only assure you, that they have not driven from 
 my brain the idea of you, nor from my heart the 
 tender affection with which I am, 8tc." 
 
 On the<22d of May 1796, Mrs. and Miss Smith 
 set out for Ireland, where they staid only three or 
 four months. The following letter was written 
 the day before Elizabeth left Bath. The dejec-
 
 [ 49 ] 
 
 tion expressed in it was occasioned by sorrows of 
 a very different description from the loss of fortune. 
 
 " Bath, May 21. 
 
 " My lazy fit has lasted so long this time, that 
 I dare not venture to make any apology for it, and 
 scarely should I dare to write again, but that I 
 cannot resolve to quit this island without once 
 more assuring my dear friend, that my esteem and 
 affection are not in the least abated by absence, 
 and that I love her exactly as much as if 1 had 
 told her so an hundred times over. 
 
 " My mother and I set off to-morrow morning 
 for Ireland. Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss 
 Ponsonby have sent us a most obliging invitation 
 to their house, and I hope we shall pass a day and 
 anight there. Do you not envy us this visit? If 
 we could carry you and our beloved friend with 
 us, it would be more than earthly happiness. On 
 the whole, I am extremely pleased with the idea 
 of our expedition; for besides my natural love of 
 rambling, and of seeing and knowing every thing 
 that is worth the trouble, I am weary of the world. 
 To quit it is not in my power; but in leaving 
 England, I shall leave the only world with which I 
 
 E
 
 [ 50 ] 
 
 I am acquainted, the scene of all our miseries. 
 You never before heard me complain of miseries* 
 I never before had any to complain of. Against 
 this negative pleasure in quitting this country, is 
 to be set the positive pain of leaving some very 
 dear friends; but I seldom see you and Miss 
 Bo wdler, and I shall still have the consolation of 
 loving you. I shall leave my Kitty with great 
 regret, but we must learn to bear it. We are 
 happy in the thoughts of seeing my Father, who 
 has been very uncomfortably situated during the 
 last year. We talk of returning in the autumn, 
 and I am glad it is talked of, because it makes my 
 mother quit England with less reluctance than she 
 otherwise would; but I strongly suspect that we 
 shall either take up our abode in Ireland, or go 
 abroad wherever the regiment may happen to be 
 ordered; 'but this is written in the book of fate, 
 and no human eye can read it.' I am grieved at 
 going from Bath just before you come. I have 
 not seen you these two years, and I may be 
 drowned, I may never return, I may never see you 
 again till 'the life to come.' By the by, have 
 you read Lavater's Geheime Tagebuck, &c. ? There 
 is in it a quotation from a sermon by his friend
 
 [ 51 ] 
 
 Pfenningen, so exactly like your little book; that 
 I wanted you to read it with me. I can give you 
 no account of my studies, but that I have read 
 nothing in the last half year. 
 
 " My Mother and I are going this morning to 
 breakfast with, and take leave of, our dear Miss 
 Bowdler; though I believe I shall not be so 
 satisfied, but make a push to see her again after 
 dinner, which is the only time besides breakfast 
 that she has to spare from her constant attendance 
 on poor Mrs. Bowdler. I wish you were here 
 to comfort her; she wants it sadly. As you pro- 
 bably will be with her great part of the time that 
 we are absent, I hope constantly to hear of her 
 from you. Do not forget me; and be assured 
 whatever changes may happen to me, of fortune, 
 or habitation, my sincere affection for my Mary 
 will never change. Adieu, perhaps for ever !" 
 
 The visit in Langollen Vale more than answered 
 the expectation of my friends, and the very obli- 
 ging manner in which they were received, was 
 highly gratifying to me. I had a letter from Miss 
 Smith on this subject, which I particularly regret; 
 
 e 2
 
 [ 52 ] 
 
 but it was destroyed with many others. Mrs. and 
 Miss Smith were much pleased with what they 
 saw of Ireland, and very grateful for many civilities 
 received there; but I have nothing written at that 
 time to Miss Hunt, except the following short 
 letter. 
 
 « Sligo, August 8, 179&. 
 " I have not time to say half what I think and 
 feel in answer to your last letter, my dearest Mary; 
 I will call you So since you like it, though I had 
 forgot that I was ever so impertinent to do it 
 before. I frequently wish for you and our beloved 
 friend, to make you wander through a valley* 
 between mountains tossed together in all the wild 
 and rugged forms imaginable, with an hundred 
 cascades dashing from their summits, and forming 
 a beautiful lake at the bottom ; to shew you the 
 fine effects of light and shade on the hills when 
 the sun shines; and when he does not, the clouds 
 hiding their heads, descending half way down 
 them, and sometimes entirely blotting them out 
 of the landscape; then breaking away by degrees, 
 and ascending like smoke. I never before knew 
 so well what Ossian meant by the thick mist of
 
 [ 33 ] 
 
 the valley, and the ragged skirts of a cloud as it 
 sails slowly over the dark heath. I often think 
 I see the grey cloud of which his father's robe is 
 made. I hope we may meet in the winter ; but 
 sometimes I almost despair. However, I shall 
 not be less in one place than another, your ten- 
 derly affectionate friend." 
 
 Mrs. and Miss Smith spent four months in 
 Ireland, and returned to Bath in October. At 
 Kingston-Lodge, the seat of the late venerable 
 Earl of Kingston,* they passed some weeks; and 
 the happiness they enjoyed there was always 
 mentioned by them with the wannest gratitude. 
 From thence they removed with Captain Smith 
 to the Barracks at Sligo, and Elizabeth wrote 
 the following letter to Lady Isabella King, in 
 whose friendship and correspondence she thought 
 herself particularly happy ; and who has favoured 
 me with some extracts from her letters, which I 
 hope will not be uninteresting to those who value 
 
 * Edward, father to the late, and grandfather to the 
 picsent Earl.
 
 [ 54 ] 
 
 the unstudied effusions of a grateful and affec- 
 tionate heart. 
 
 "To the Lady Isabella King. 
 
 "Sligo, 1796. 
 
 " A thousand thanks to my dearest Lady 
 Isabella for her charming letter. It is the 
 first comfort I have met with since we parted, for 
 every thing has conspired to remind us of what 
 we are otherwise not at all disposed to forget,-— 
 the happiness we enjoyed at Kingston-Lodge. 
 
 " We were most completely wet long before we 
 reached Sligo, and when we did arrive, we had 
 every thing to unpack ; beds to contrive, &c. &c. 
 All our fatigues however are at length over, and 
 I hope we shall now go on tolerably well. We 
 have a pretty view of a bay of the sea, (which 
 looks like a lake,) and some fine mountains. How 
 much more beautiful should I think this scene, if 
 you were looking at it with me ! 
 
 " We are all very well, and much amused with 
 the little misfortunes that happen to us. You ask
 
 [ 55 ] 
 
 what we have been doing, saying, and thinking. 
 For the first we have been trying to set ourselves 
 in order, and receiving company. As to our 
 words and thoughts, except the necessary con- 
 sultations on what was to be done next, I believe 
 they have been chiefly directed towards Kingston- 
 Lodge. How I like Sligo, I cannot yet tell; for 
 the day we arrived I was so glad to be in it, that 
 I did not observe how it looked; and yesterday it 
 rained again, and we did not go out. Thus I have 
 had no opportunity of looking for German books, 
 nor do I much expect to find any. Most heartily 
 do I hope that our garden plan may be realized, 
 because your Ladyship is one of the very few 
 people I think worthy to understand German. 
 This is a high compliment, for in order to feel and 
 relish it thoroughly, it is necessary to possess every 
 quality that I most admire. 
 
 " Lord Kingston must return sooner than 
 September, or we must stay longer, for should we 
 be gone before you come to Mr. Cooper's, I shall 
 be miserable. I have only time to add, and that 
 but imperfectly, the sincere affection and gratitude 
 with which I am ever yours, &c."
 
 L 5G ] 
 
 In one of Mrs. Smith's letters to the Editor, the 
 removal to Sligo is thus described : 
 
 "We had spent three happy weeks at the hospi- 
 table mansion of Lord Kingston, from whence we 
 set oft' on horseback for our quarters, which were 
 about twenty miles distant. During the last ten 
 miles of the journey it rained most heavily and 
 without ceasing. We arrived at the Barracks 
 dripping wet; our baggage was not come, and 
 owing to the negligence of the Quarter-master, 
 there was not even a bed to rest on. The whole 
 furniture of our apartments consisted of a piece of 
 a cart-wheel for a fender; a bit of iron, probably 
 from the same vehicle, for a poker ; a dirty deal 
 table, and three wooden-bottomed chairs. It was 
 the first time we had joined the regiment, and I 
 was standing by the fire, meditating on our forlorn 
 state, and perhaps dwelling too much on the com- 
 forts I had lost, when 1 was roused from my reverie 
 by Elizabeth's exclaiming, " O what a blessing !" 
 * Blessing!' I replied, 'there seems none left,' 
 u Indeed there is, my dear mother: for see here is 
 " a littlecup board." I dried my tears, and endea^ 
 youred to learn fortitude from my daughter."
 
 [ 57 ] 
 
 Mrs. Smith has often mentioned to her friends 
 the ingenuity, as well as 'good-humour, with which 
 Elizabeth contrived to make a currant tart in 
 this uncomfortable dwelling, when it appeared 
 quite impracticable. I mention these trifling cir- 
 cumstances, because T wish to convince my young 
 readers that learning is not imcompatible with the 
 most minute attention to all the peculiar duties, as 
 well as to all the elegant accomplishments, which 
 belong: to the female character. For the same 
 reason 1 think it right to notice Miss Smith's par- 
 ticular attention to ceconomy, when circumstances 
 made it proper. No young lady dressed with more 
 elegant simplicity, but none could do this at less 
 expense. She made a gown, or a cap, or any other 
 article of dress, with as much skill as she displayed 
 in explaining a problem in Euclid, or a difficult 
 passage in Hebrew ; and nothing which sbe thought 
 it right to do was ever neglected. The modesty 
 and simplicity of her character is so justly de- 
 scribed in a letter written* since her death by her 
 friend Thomas Wilkinson to Mrs. Smith, that I 
 hope I may be permitted to make a few extracts 
 from it- — 
 
 * See Appendix. Letter IX.
 
 it 
 
 I 58 j 
 
 Her acquirements must be allowed to have 
 been wonderful ; but to me the most astonishing 
 thing is how she has done so much, for she never 
 appeared to do any thing, and every one who saw 
 her would have been more apt to have supposed 
 her indolent than industrious ; but though her 
 progress of improvement was silent as light, yet it 
 was certain as time. In her knowledge she was 
 as modest as in every thing else; never presuming 
 to be wise on a discovery or a judicious obser- 
 vation. Always simple, sweet, and innocent in 
 her demeanour, she never gave herself an air of 
 consequence for genius, learning, or beauty, though 
 she possessed them all. In company she kept 
 back so much, that some would be in danger of 
 forgetting she was there; but when called on to 
 speak, she did it so much to the purpose, so plea- 
 singly, and so unaffectedly, that one wished no one 
 to speak but herself. Some might have supposed 
 her of an absent cast, but nothing was further 
 from her character, for her replies were the readiest 
 lever knew, when information was wanted. Her 
 countenance was serious, but she not unfrequently 
 smiled, and it was the smile of complacency and 
 peace."
 
 [ 59 ] 
 
 After a second visit at Kingston-Lodge, the 
 ladies removed with Captain Smith to Lisburn, 
 from whence the next letter was written to Lady 
 Isabella King. 
 
 " Lisburn, Sept. 13, 1796. 
 "My dearest Lady Isabella will, I hope, believe 
 that I should not so long have delayed fulfilling 
 my promise of writing to her, had not many im- 
 pediments come in the way. First, on our arrival 
 here we recollected that no letter could reach 
 Kingston-Lodge till Thursday; it was therefore 
 useless to write on Saturday, and since that time 
 we have been in constant expectation of being 
 ordered to march ; and as my chief object in 
 writing to you is a selfish one, — to have the hap- 
 piness of hearing from you, — I waited till I could 
 tell where to direct. 1 believe, however, it is now 
 settled that we remain here till we go to England ; 
 and when that will be I know not. Now 1 have 
 got over this tiresome preface, which I hate of 
 all things, let me amuse myself with telling you 
 how sincerely I regret Kingston-Lodge, and its 
 kind inhabitants, and above all our little walks in 
 the shrubbery, which 1 have been wishing for every
 
 [ GO ] 
 
 day since. By the by I have a little quarrel with 
 a certain lady for a speech she made me the last 
 "moment I saw her, importing that I should forget 
 her as soon as I was gone, or some such vile idea. 
 I could not quarrel at the moment, but wrote some 
 verses to assure her it was impossible: they were 
 however too sleepy to send, and I must content 
 myself with assuring her in plain prose, that every 
 day, by making me feel the want of her sweet 
 society, endears her to me if possible still more. 
 
 " I forgot to tell you that we met with no accident 
 on our journey, except laming the horses, and 
 tiring them so that we were obliged to leave them 
 at Lurgen, ten miles from hence, to be led home 
 on Saturday. Poor Brunette * considering she was 
 not quite well when she set out, performed sur- 
 prisingly, and has now, with a few days rest, quite 
 recovered from her fatigues. The riders were not 
 at all tired, but much amused with their journey. 
 The country on this side of Belturbet is very 
 pretty ; about Monaghan beautiful, composed en- 
 tirely of green hills, rivers, lakes, and fine woods. 
 On this side of Armagh, though still richly culti- 
 
 * A horse which Lady Eleanor King had gives ta 
 Miss Smith,
 
 [ 61 ] 
 
 rated, it grows gradually too flat to please me, till 
 it spreads about this place nearly into a plain, 
 which, though it is very rich, and in general much 
 admired, cannot compensate to me for the moun- 
 tains about Sligo. 
 
 " We saw on a hill between Carrick and Bally- 
 namore, an immense figure cut in stone, which the 
 country people told us was Fiuhn Mac Coul, who 
 you know is Macpherson's Fingal. If you can 
 learn any particulars respecting it, I shall be much 
 obliged to you. The only curiosity we saw besides 
 was one of the old round towers that puzzle the 
 Antiquarians so much at Clones. 
 
 " I must tell you a piece of good fortune that befel 
 me by the way. The Inn where we breakfasted at 
 Armagh was opposite to a bookseller's shop, and 
 my Mother proposed going to see if there were any 
 Irish books. We went, and found the first number 
 of an Irish Magazine now publishing at Belfast, in 
 which was a grammar - , and some poems with trans- 
 lations. You will suppose I have been very busy 
 ever since. If you have any thoughts of learning 
 the language, I would advise you to get this book. 
 Pray remember me most kindly, gratefully, and 
 respectfully, to Lady Eleanor; give my love to
 
 [ 62 ] 
 
 Miss King, and to my best friend Lady Isabella 
 say — nothing; — she knows, I hope, that I love 
 her entirely. 
 
 "Our little plan of riding with my Father 
 through Scotland is impracticable, as no officer 
 can leave his regiment at present. This place is 
 head-quarters: which I am glad of, because we 
 have the band, which is a very good one. 
 
 " I hope you observe what a curious mistake I 
 have made in beginning on the wrong side of the 
 paper. — As this is a Hebrew letter, or rather the 
 letter of a fool, please to begin at the end." 
 
 " Bath, Jan. 13, 1797. 
 " Fully did I intend, on receiving your Lady- 
 ship's long-wished-for letter, to obey your orders, 
 and answer it directly. At length, after nearly a 
 month has elapsed, here I am set down to begin, but 
 when I shall finish is more than I know, for I have 
 a strange antipathy to writing to any one I love 
 when any human creature is present: it is as bad 
 as talking in mixed company. I feel a sort of re- 
 straint which extends even to my ideas, and I cannot 
 think freely. I carry this so far, that I do not like 
 to read a book which interests me when any one
 
 [ 63 ] 
 
 is present, and always make to myself a kind of" 
 solitude by hiding my face with it when I come to 
 a passage which particularly pleases me. I believe 
 this is a sort of pride, which cannot bear to expose 
 its feelings to observation. Whatever may be the 
 cause, so it is; and I have been waiting in hopes 
 of being left alone to write to my dearest Lady 
 Isabella. It has never happened till to-day; for 
 there are so many of us that we have no separate 
 rooms, but all sit constantly together. Do not 
 consider this as an apology for not writing sooner; 
 apologies are the first things we should banish from 
 our new correspondence, as being weeds which are 
 apt to over-run the whole letter, to the destruction 
 of every plant of common sense which possibly 
 might otherwise fill their place. Your Ladyship's 
 first rule will stand instead of all apologies. 
 Secondly, for the liberty of talking nonsense; 
 I must grant what I beg to be allowed for myself: 
 moreover, I should hate a letter which contained 
 nothing but good sense; it would be as dull as those 
 assemblies where people meet to talk sense, and 
 no one dares utter a syllable. Thirdly, you shall 
 change your subject, break off, and begin again, 
 and play as many variations as you please. As to not
 
 r 64 ] 
 
 Writing to me for six months, 1 do not feel myself 
 sufficiently disinterested to grant that with my 
 own free will ; though it is not in my power to help 
 myself, if you will not write to me, and I certainly 
 never shall harbour any suspicion or distrust, for 
 there is nothing to which I have such a decided 
 aversion. Were I to say that I should not find 
 pleasure in reading your Ladyship's letters, in 
 whatever number of scraps and humours they were 
 written, I hope you would not believe me. As 
 for the hand-writing, it is a maxim of mine, that 
 whoever writes me a copper-plate letter, does not 
 love me, and vice versa. I never can take pains, 
 (though at best my hand is very bad,) except when 
 I am writing a stiff letter to somebody I care not a 
 button about. Finally, I never read any thing out 
 of a letter, except it be some article of news, or 
 some common-place observation, because 1 think 
 that what is most interesting to the person to whom 
 the letter is addressed, is exactly what the rest of 
 the world will hear with indifference, perhaps with 
 ridicule, as not understanding or entering into the 
 sentiments of the writer. 
 
 " My Mother has read Camilla. I have not, 
 being at present quite taken up with some delightful
 
 [ 65 ] 
 
 German books. Indeed I never shall be satisfied 
 till you learn German. There is one book which 
 you may and must read directly, " The Italian." 
 I will say nothing of its contents. 
 
 tl We heard from my Father about a week ago, 
 He was at Newton- Aids, and very well. Amidst 
 all our fears on the subject of the French invasion, 
 (though I cannot say mine were ever very great,) we 
 could not help encouraging some faint hope that 
 Bath might be thought a safer place than Ireland 
 for the Kingston family j and if our good neigh- 
 bours the Messieurs had done no more harm, we 
 would have made them very low curtsies, and 
 thanked them with all our hearts. Our Millenium 
 Hall scheme appears so distant, that I fear we shall 
 be grown cross disagreeable old maids before we 
 can put it in execution. 
 
 , " I begyou will never be at any trouble to collect 
 news for me. There is nothing I care so little 
 about, ualess it immediately concerns the Kingston 
 family, particularly one member of it, and then 
 the smallest circumstance can never appear trifling 
 to me. — I do not by any means feel that I shall 
 never see you again; on the contrary, I am per- 
 suaded that we shall meet in some corner or other 
 
 F
 
 [ 66 ] 
 
 of the earth. — Have the goodness to present my 
 Mother's and my kindest respects to Lady Eleanor 
 and Lord Kingston, and our love to Miss King. 
 There is not room to tell you what to say to my 
 dearest Lady Isabella. 
 
 " If you see the Elphinf family, pray remember 
 us most kindly to them. We are not much gayer 
 here than you are at Kingston-Lodge, for we go 
 out very little ; but that I do not regret, though I 
 should enjoy it perhaps as much as other people, 
 if 1 was in the habit of it." &c. 
 
 The remainder of this correspondence is of later 
 date, and will appear in its proper place. 
 
 When Mrs. and Miss Smith returned to Bath 
 in October 1796, they found my Mother extremely 
 ill, and from them shereceived every comfortwhich 
 friendship could bestow. The kind attention which 
 she always experienced from Mrs. Smith made a 
 very deep impression on her heart; and it is im- 
 possible I should ever forget that to her my beloved 
 parent was indebted, during the last ten years of 
 her life, for some of the happiest hours she enjoyed. 
 The same unwearied kindness cheered thelastdays 
 f Dr. Law, Bishop of Elphin.
 
 [ 67 j 
 
 of her life, and supported me in one of the most 
 trying scenes oimine. My mother died on the 10th 
 of May 1797. Miss Smith was then staying with 
 us, and read three sermons to her on the preceding 
 
 evening, when she appeared uncommonly well. 
 
 Perhaps this awful scene might give a peculiarly 
 serious turn to a mind which was always disposed, 
 to deep reflection, and fervent piety. The fol- 
 lowing reflections are taken from her little pocket- 
 books, and were written in 1796 and 1797. 
 
 " I find it a very good method to write down 
 my thoughts as they occur, for an idea often strikes 
 me, which, turning to something else, I forget im- 
 mediately : but considering it as much as is neces- 
 sary to write it down, makes me more acquainted 
 with the subject, and makes my thoughts more yny 
 own. For want of some such plan, I see people 
 dreaming away their lives in inactivity of mind, 
 without forming any opinions of their own, till 
 from paying no attention to their thoughts, they 
 come not to think at all." 
 
 " When we contemplate the ways of Providence, 
 we are like a person unskilled in painting, who 
 
 f 2
 
 C 68 ] 
 
 looks at a half-finished picture; he is immediately 
 struck with the want of harmony in the colouring, 
 and the improper disposition of light and shade, 
 and thinks he shews his wisdom by finding faults in 
 the whole plan, and in the execution of every part; 
 but let him wait till it is finished, and he will then, 
 be forced to acknowledge that every stroke has 
 contributed to the beauty of the whole, and that 
 what he considered as defects, now appear the chief 
 beauties of the piece. Perhaps there is none but an 
 artist equal to the painter of the picture, who can, 
 before it is finished, imagine what effect will be 
 produced : unless then we can suppose the creature 
 to be equal to the Creator, and the picture to rise 
 up against the painter, let us not presume to call 
 in question the ordinances of God, but wait till 
 his plans are accomplished, when we shall be 
 convinced that " whatever is, is right." 
 
 " Is the capacity of man finite? Is God infinite? 
 Hew can the finite comprehend the infinite ?" 
 
 " The pity of the world appears to be very much 
 misplaced; it is entirely withdrawn from those who 
 have fallen into misfortune through their own
 
 [ 69 ] 
 
 fault, and most liberally bestowed on the virtuous 
 unfortunate. But the virtuous have no need of 
 pity ; they never can be miserable, whatever may 
 befal them ; and it is their place to look down with 
 pity on the wicked, whether glorying in the smiles 
 of fortune, or despairing at her frowns." 
 
 " I do not see that the failure of intellect which 
 we sometimes observe in old people, and in young 
 ones in some cases of sickness, is any argument 
 against the immortality of the soul. We are ig- 
 norant how the soul will act after its separation 
 from the body ; but we know that during their 
 union, neither can do any thing without the as- 
 sistance of the other ; therefore, when the faculties 
 decay, we are not to suppose that the soul is in- 
 jured, but that the organs, whatever they are, by 
 which it communicates with the body, and by 
 which ideas are presented to it, have sustained 
 some damage. As, if a man become blind, we 
 do not say that his soul is changed, but that the 
 organ by which images were presented to it, is in- 
 jured; and accordingly, if his eyes are cured, the 
 60ul is just as able to distinguish objects as ever. 
 In the same manner, the sick person, whose nerves
 
 r 70 ] 
 
 (or whatever it is on which the soul immediately 
 acts) have recovered their tone, is able to think, 
 and speak, and understand, as formerly. The 
 workman is not in fault, but some part of his 
 machine is out of order. 
 
 " The most difficult vice to conquer, is pride ; I 
 mean a high idea of our own merits, and a spirit 
 of rebellion. This came in Eve's way ; she fell, 
 and perhaps there is not one of her posterity who 
 would not have done the same." 
 
 " Reason is the most unreasonable of all things, 
 for without common sense to guide it, it never 
 knows where to stop." 
 
 " The most inconsistent thing in the world is to 
 expect consistency of man, at the same time that 
 we know him to be entirely dependent on circum- 
 stances; What we have most earnestly wished, is 
 often proved by events to have been the worst 
 thing that could happen to us. We do, and must, 
 change our opinion^ according to every circum- 
 stance that occurs, unless we could know all things, 
 *ind take in the present, past, and future, at a glance."
 
 C 71 ] 
 
 u It is surprising how the opinions of the same 
 person change in the course of a few years. It is 
 therefore improving, as well as amusing, to write 
 down the thoughts that occur, in order to look 
 them over after some time, and see in what re- 
 spects I may have advanced, in what receded, and 
 rectify errors." 
 
 " I have no idea of heaping up money, or of 
 any pleasure in saying so much is mine; it is not 
 mine till I use it. I shall therefore, whenever I 
 have any, lay it out as I find proper occasions : 
 trusting to that Providence which has never suf- 
 fered me to want, even when I had no probable 
 means of subsisting, to supply me when I stand in 
 need. Never refuse to give to-day, lest you should 
 want to-morrow." 
 
 " How light are all the troubles of this world to 
 those who value every thing it contains according 
 to its real worth ! They may appear insensible to 
 those who reckon by a different standard, but they 
 can bear even this imputation, for they know the 
 value of human applause. How happy should
 
 [ n ] 
 
 we be, if we could always feel as we sometimes 
 think r 
 
 " I cannot bear to hear people say, 'such a 
 person did me a favour, but I have returned it, and 
 am no longer obliged to him.' If any one does 
 me a favour, without the least expectation or wish 
 of a reward, though it should afterwards be in my 
 power to do ten times more for that person, T can 
 never repay the original obligation, which from 
 its nature does not admit of any recompense, but 
 remains for ever in its full force." 
 
 " One great cause of the republican spirit which 
 prevails at present, appears to have been a false 
 principle in education, that it is necessary to con- 
 vince a child by reason before you expect him to 
 obey. Now reason, being the faculty of comparing 
 ideas already presented to the mind, cannot exist 
 in a child, to whom few or no ideas have been 
 presented ; and no one was ever convinced by the 
 reasoning of another. It is therefore impossible 
 to convince him; and if he be suffered to do as he 
 please till he be capable of reasoning, it is a great 
 chance if his understanding be not so warped by
 
 [ 73 ] 
 
 the practice of evil, that he mistake it for good ; 
 and it is most probable that he may have contracted 
 such a habit of disobedience, as not willingly to 
 submit to the laws of his country, or even to those 
 of his God." 
 
 "The progress of understanding is like learning 
 to play on a musical instrument. Education does 
 not create it, any more than a music-master creates 
 fingers, it only gives us the power of using them 
 rightly. Give an instrument to a person who has 
 never heard music, and who is ignorant of the prin- 
 ciples of it, he will probably produce some sound, 
 but it will be discordant and without meaning. 
 This I should suppose the state of a man who has 
 always lived on a desolate island by himself. He 
 will have found the use of his bodily organs, but 
 will scarcely have discovered his mental faculties. 
 On the contrary, a person who has been taught 
 the principles of music, makes himself perfectly 
 acquainted with them by practice, till from playing 
 the music of others, he at length composes new 
 on the same principles ; as he learns to use his 
 understanding first by reading and hearing the 
 opinions of others, and then forms his own. Thus
 
 C 74 ] 
 
 the soul and body Are reciprocally as the musician 
 and the instrument." 
 
 "I find nothing so effectual in abating self 
 conceit, as to look on people who evidently have 
 quite as high an opinion of themselves in any 
 given respect, as I have, and to see that they are 
 mistaken. It is very possible I may be so too/' 
 
 " It is the fashion now to consider the abilities 
 of women as being on an equality with those of 
 men. I do not deny that there may be many 
 women, whose abilities, and still more theirpowers 
 of conversation, are superior to those of the gene- 
 rality of men ; but there never was among women 
 a Milton, a Newton, &c." 
 
 " The more talents and good qualities we have 
 received, the more humble we ought to be, because 
 we have the less merit in doing right." 
 
 il How very narrow are all the limits of the hu- 
 man understanding! Our situation in this world 
 is like that of a person groping about in the dark. 
 Whatever path of science we turn into, we meet
 
 [ 75 ] 
 
 with no obstacles that may not easily be sur- 
 mounted, we flatter ourselves that we have made 
 great discoveries, and think there will be no end 
 of our progress till we perfectly understand every 
 thing; when on a sudden we knock our heads 
 against the mud walls of our habitation, and are 
 beat back by the blow to the centre of ignorance 
 from whence we set out." 
 
 " No event which I thought unfortunate has 
 ever happened to me, but I have been convinced, 
 at some time or other, that it was not a misfortune, 
 but a blessing. I can never then in reason com- 
 plain of any thing that happens, because I am 
 persuaded it is permitted for some good purpose." 
 
 " I am surprised, on observing my thoughts, 
 to find how very rarely they are employed in any 
 thing worth thinking about, how seldom they are 
 even common sense. Conscience tells me that a 
 great part of my life is wasted in foolish imagi- 
 nations and idle dreams." 
 
 " We cannot have a more striking proof of the 
 incapacity of man, than the methods he takes to
 
 C 76 ] 
 
 hide from himself his own ignorance. When he 
 meets with any thing in nature which he can 
 neither explain nor understand, he invents a name 
 by which he imposes on the world with an appear- 
 ance of wisdom; and sometimes even fancies him- 
 self wise, because he has not acknowledged his 
 ignorance. For instance, we pretend to know what 
 it is that moves the planets in their orbits, and we 
 call it attraction; though it is plain we are no 
 wiser than if the word had never been used. We 
 meet with a fossil of which we cannot account for 
 the formation, a plant or an animal differing from 
 any we have before seen, we say it is a lusus 
 natura. Some person is affected with a disorder 
 we do not understand, it is immediately said to be 
 nervous. If two or three of our acquaintance are 
 affected in the same manner, it is a disorder that 
 goes about, it is in the air; though perhaps the air 
 has no more to do with it than any of the other 
 elements ; and each person, after uttering one of 
 these wise sentences, sits down satisfied that he 
 has completely explained his subject." 
 
 " It is not surprising that so few, so very few 
 geniuses appear in the world, if we consider how
 
 t 77 ] 
 
 many circumstances are necessary to their produce 
 tion ; for it is not enough that nature has given a 
 bold and enterprising spirit, capable of the greatest 
 undertakings, if the shell it inhabits is rooted to 
 one spot, and compelled to labour for daily bread : 
 it is not enough that she has created a poet, if the 
 mind, full of ardour and enthusiasm, be doomed 
 to plod the dull round of trade. She has in vain 
 bestowed the faculty of deep investigation, and of 
 tracing the hidden causes of things, on one, who, 
 in the constant hurry of action, finds no leisure 
 for meditation ; or given to a woman a spirit of 
 curiosity able to make useful discoveries in every 
 branch of science, which, from a narrow prejudice, 
 must be confined to the affairs of her neighbours. 
 Thus I am persuaded genius often exists, but lies 
 concealed, sometimes even from the possessor of it, 
 for want of occasions to call it forth." 
 
 "They are most vain, who say they have 
 no vanity : for no one ever thought that the want 
 of vanity he boasts of, proceeded from want of 
 merit; he rather thinks that he excels all mankind 
 in having a mind superior to vanity; and what i* 
 this opinion, but the summit of vanity?"
 
 [ 78 ] 
 
 "The greatest misfortune in the world is to 
 have more learning than good sense." 
 
 " Many people find fault with those who study 
 languages, and say they study only words, and 
 forget ideas; but those who do so never will learn 
 any number of languages, for it is totally impos- 
 sible to remember so great a number of words as 
 is containsd in one language without affixing 
 ideas to them. The truth is, those who learn lan- 
 guages to any purpose, study ideas only, through 
 the medium of words their signs. Unless we clearly 
 understand the sign, we cannot comprehend the 
 thing signified. Those who consider this matter 
 at all, must acknowledge that there are very few 
 words in the English language which have any 
 meaning in English, but that they are chiefly de- 
 rived from the Saxon, French, Latin, Greek ; and 
 those again from the Hebrew, and other Eastern 
 languages, ft follows, therefore, that those only 
 who understand all those languages, (perhaps many 
 more might be added,) perfectly understand 
 English; and those who are acquainted with none 
 of them, speak the words they have learnt from 
 custom, like a parrot, but without clearly under-
 
 [ 79 ] 
 
 standing the ideas which are meant to be conveyed 
 by them. The study of language* is therefore 
 not only pleasing and profitable for the sake of 
 reading the poetry, and other books which cannot 
 be translated ; but it give9 a much higher relish 
 for the beauties of our own language, by enabling 
 us to feel the force of every expression, which a 
 common reader passes over without observation." 
 
 tl Those who know a little are very anxious to 
 reform every thing; those who know more, are 
 convinced of the impossibility of compleat reform- 
 ation, and therefore are inclined to leave every 
 thing as they found it. Those who understand 
 French, or Latin, or German, derive all English 
 words from whichever of those languages they 
 happen to be acquainted with, and endeavour to 
 write and pronounce them accordingly; and cer- 
 tainly our language has suffered much from these 
 pretended reformers. On the contrary, if they 
 were to make themselves acquainted with all the 
 languages above-mentioned, they would probably 
 discover that they had been mistaken in many of 
 their etymologies. The English tongue is perhaps 
 more mixed than any other, and its corruptions
 
 [ 80 ] 
 
 are chiefly owing to half-learned reformers. This 
 reasoning is applicable to all schemes of general 
 reformation. We had better not meddle with 
 what we do not understand ; and if we put the 
 question home, what is that we do understand?" 
 
 " It appears to me probable, that in the original 
 language, all the nouns, and the roots of verbs, 
 (which were the third person singular of the pre- 
 terite,) were monosyllables, perhaps consisting of 
 not more than two letters; and that from thence 
 the different tenses of the verbs, and the deri- 
 vations of the nouns, were formed by the addition 
 of a letter before or after. The confusion at 
 Babel might consist in some men's being deprived 
 of the power of pronouncing certain letters." 
 
 " From the little information I can collect by 
 tracing languages towards their source, it ap- 
 pears probable that when the inhabitants of the 
 earth quarrelled at Babel, and dispersed in con- 
 sequence, Ham turned, as is generally allowed, 
 towards Africa, where Egypt was afterwards called 
 by his name, and that of his son Misraim. Shem 
 remained in the western parts of Asia, and spread
 
 [ 81 ] 
 
 from thence over Europe. This opinion is 
 founded on the very strong traces of the Per- 
 sian language which yet remain in the Celtic 
 and all European tongues, not excepting Greek 
 and Latin; though the modern Persian, with 
 which I compare them, is itself derived from the 
 Pehlevi, the ancient language of Persia, which 
 probably had a much greater affinity with the 
 Celtic. Noah says, in the 9th chapter of Genesis, 
 ' May God extend Japhet, and may he inherit the 
 tents of Sheen.' In the 10th chapter it is said, that 
 the islands were peopled by the descendants of 
 Japhet. From these circumstances I conclude 
 that the family of Japhet went eastward from 
 Babel, till, coming to the sea, some went over it to 
 the islands within sight, which form the Eastern 
 Archipelago; and others followed the coast north- 
 wards, till they came to some point from whence 
 they could see America. Thither some of them 
 went; while others spread themselves westward, 
 and these people I take to be the barbarians of the 
 north, who afterwards overran all Europe, and who 
 were the same as the wandering Tartars, their 
 brethren, now are. Thus the prophecy is fulfilled, 
 for Japhet is indeed extended, and at this day 
 
 G
 
 [ 82 3 
 
 inhabits the tents of Shem all over Europe. This 
 theory seems to me to derive great force from the 
 similarity of manners between the wandering tribes 
 of the north, the Tartars, and the Americans; for 
 though some nations of America, from a long 
 residence in one place, have acquired a degree of 
 civilization, yet there is always a tradition of their 
 having been in a wild state. It is reasonable to 
 suppose, the descendants of Japhet, in constantly 
 travelling about, would lose all the knowledge they 
 had gained from Noah, except such as was abso- 
 lutely necessary for their subsistence. We find the 
 descendants of Shem alone, who remained nearly 
 stationary, and the Egyptians and Chinese who 
 settled soon after they left Babel, had leisure to 
 cultivate the sciences before the elements of them 
 were lost. From my ignorance of the Chinese 
 language, I am at a loss to determine whether the 
 inhabitants of China are descended from Shem or 
 Japhet ; the position of the country would incline 
 one to believe the latter, though their manners, so 
 unlike their Tartar neighbours, seem to contra- 
 dict it; yet this objection may be done away, by 
 supposing them to settle immediately after the 
 dispersion, which appears probable from their
 
 [ 8S ] 
 
 reckoning the cycle of sixty years from a period so 
 remote as 2277 B. C. which answers exactly to the 
 building of Babel. Their language consists entirely 
 of monosyllables, which, with their known dislike 
 of innovation in every thing, inclines me to think 
 that it may perhaps differ less than any other from 
 the original language, or at least from that of Noah." 
 
 tf We laugh at Erostratus for setting fire to the 
 temple of Diana at Ephesus, that his name might be 
 remembered; but however ridiculous and foolish 
 his ambition might be, it was the same which has 
 always influenced and annoyed mankind. Even so 
 early as an hundred years after the deluge, we have 
 a great instance of it recorded, in all men's joining 
 in building the tower of Babel, ' to make them- 
 selves a name.' Since that time, to what end has 
 Alexander, and all the other conquerors of anti- 
 uity, waded through blood, if not to be talked of, 
 and that their names might be remembered ? Even 
 amongst those we call barbarians, the warrior 
 rushes headlong into danger, that the song of 
 the Bard may rise in his praise, and his deeds of 
 valour be remembered. Nor is the mischief of this 
 passion confined to bloodshed. Men will overturn 
 
 c 2
 
 [ 64 ] 
 
 nil the principles of the world, and publish the 
 most extravagant doctrines, merely to be talked of. 
 It is surely impossible that Hume could believe 
 his own system; he was only voracious of literary 
 fame. The same might be said of Voltaire and 
 his associates. It was the vanity of advancing 
 something new, and making a revolution in the 
 opinions of men, which prompted them in their 
 writings. The passion was given to excite us to 
 good deeds; but when men have no disposition to 
 distinguish themselves by what is good, they fix 
 on some splendid evil, which will be the most uni- 
 versally felt, and consequently the most talked of. 
 To this cause must in a great measure be attributed 
 the variety of opinions which exist in the world on 
 every subject; some of them so very absurd, that 
 it is impossible to suppose their authors could 
 believe in them. Perhaps he thinks himself the 
 cleverest man, who can persuade the world to 
 believe the most improbable fiction." 
 
 What I have here transcribed, and much that 
 is irrecoverably lost; the acquisitions in science 
 which I have endeavoured to trace out, as well as
 
 [ 85 ] 
 
 the virtues, to which I should in vain endeavour to 
 do justice, were comprised in the short period of 
 a life not yet extended beyond the twenty-first 
 year, and many of those years were spent without 
 a home, and without a library, and under the 
 pressure of afflictions, which, however nobly sup- 
 ported, 'taught even youth and innocence to 
 mourn.' Such was the life, which, when compared 
 with the standard of perfection at which she 
 aimed, appeared in her own eyes to call for the 
 reflections that conclude the little book I have 
 just transcribed, and which are dated January 
 1, 1798, 
 
 "Being now arrived at what is called years 
 of discretion, and looking back on my past life 
 with shame and confusion, when I recollect the 
 many advantages 1 have had, and the bad use I 
 have made of them, the hours I have squandered, 
 and the opportunities of improvement I have 
 neglected; — when I imagine what with those ad- 
 vantages I ought to be, and find myself what I am : 
 — I am resolved to endeavour to be more careful 
 for the future, if the future be granted me ; to try 
 to make amends for past negligence, by employing
 
 t 86 j 
 
 every moment I can command to some good pur- 
 pose; to endeavour to acquire all the little know- 
 ledge that human nature is capable of on earth, 
 but to let the word of God be my chief study, 
 and all others subservient to it; to model myself, 
 as far as I am able, according to the Gospel of 
 Christ; to be content while my trial lasts, and 
 when it is finished, to rejoice, trusting in the merits 
 of my Redeemer. I have written these resolutions 
 to stand as a witness against me, in case I should 
 be inclined to forget them, and to return to my 
 former indolence and thoughtlessness, because I 
 have found the inutility of mental determinations. 
 May God grant me strength to keep them !"* 
 
 During the winter of 1797 and 1798, which 
 Miss Smith spent at Bath, and the following 
 
 * Of this paper Mrs. Smith says, " I (irmly believe this 
 prayer was accepted, for I do not recollect any instance in 
 which she could justly be accused of either indolence or 
 thoughtlessness, except on the subject of her health ; on that 
 point she trusted too much to the strength of a naturally 
 good constitution ; and had so little confidence in human 
 skill, that she neglected such means in the commencement of 
 her last illness, as in all probability would have removed it."
 
 [ 87 ] 
 
 summer, when she was first at Conway, and after- 
 wards at Plas-Hently near Oswestry, she wrote 
 the following letters to Lady Isabella King 
 and Miss Hunt. 
 
 * To the Lady Isabella King. 
 
 « Bath, Sept. 6, 1797. 
 " I did promise, and thought it at the time a 
 stretch of complaisance, to wait patiently six 
 months for a letter, in case your Ladyship should 
 be attacked by a fit of laziness ; but I did not 
 answer for my patience enduring eight. In truth 
 I have been very impatient, though I have not 
 accused you of inconstancy, and thought you had 
 given up all acquaintance with me ; as I never 
 suspect any one whom I am once convinced loves 
 me, of ceasing to do so, unless I give them some 
 cause of offence. However I have no right to 
 complain, now that your dear letter is arrived ; but 
 I wish that you would oftener give me an oppor- 
 tunity of thanking you for such an one. 
 
 " Your Ladyship is building castles. You set 
 my curiosity at work, and do not gratify it. Is
 
 [ 38 ] 
 
 one of them a journey to Bath next winter. 3 Do 
 Jet it be soon, for we are building castles too, and 
 shall be flown in the spring. We are goino-, to 
 my great satisfaction, to settle somewhere in 
 a cheap and romantic country. My father says 
 Ireland; but my mother is terribly afraid of throat- 
 cutting, and talks of Wales, Scotland, or the Lakes 
 in Cumberland; and seems most inclined to the 
 neighbourhood of Der went water, which in point 
 of scenery is the finest thing I know, and if my 
 Father could come to us when he liked it, I should 
 be perfectly content. The plan of our house is 
 made, and our different employments allotted to 
 each of us. Kitty is to work in the garden under 
 my Mother's inspection; Juliet is to feed the 
 poultry; and I am to manage the dairy; so you 
 see our castle is in great forwardness, if a puff of 
 wind does not blow it away. Now you must give 
 me some hopes of seeing you this winter, for we 
 Shall perhaps never come to Bath again, and you 
 will not take the trouble of going to Keswick 
 to see us. 
 
 a When will Lady Oxmantown come? If she 
 does not make haste, Miss Bowdler's Essay, 
 which we have long had ready, will be printed; for
 
 [ 39 ] 
 
 Mrs. Bowdler at her death left to each of her 
 friends a copy of her daughter's works, instead of 
 a ring, and our friend is going to print a handsome 
 edition on purpose with the additional Essay.* 
 
 " Will you have the goodness to remember us 
 in the kindest manner to our Elphin, as well as 
 to our Kingston friends. I want to know a great 
 many particulars about each individual, even to 
 Alicia :f we have never heard whether she has 
 •recovered from the effects of her fall. 
 
 " This night it will be exactty a year since I saw 
 you last, when you came into my room and sat 
 beside me — I cannot thinks/or the last time. Do 
 not youlike making f des bouts del'an,'as Madame 
 de Sevigne calls it? lam particularly fond of it. 
 The anniversary seems to bring the former event 
 more immediately present to the imagination than 
 any intervening day ; if that event has been happy, 
 we enjoy it over again in the recollection; if unfor- 
 tunate, there is yet a pleasing melancholy in the 
 
 * " Essay on the duties and advantages of Sickness," 
 first printed in the 10th edition in quarto of Poems and 
 Essays by the late Miss Bowdlek, in 1798. 
 
 j- Lady Isabella King's horse.
 
 L 90 ] 
 
 repetition of every circumstance of it. Tt is like 
 Ossian's soft music, ' pleasing yet mournful to the 
 soul.' — Talking of music, my Mother has bought 
 me a Welsh Harp with the money that Brunette 
 is to sell for. I call the harp Brunette, in memory 
 of Lady Eleanor's kind present, and am very 
 busy teaching myself to play upon it. 
 
 " Have you ever made any enquiries for me about 
 the statue of Fiuhn Mac Coul, near Carrick ? It 
 appeared to us a very curious thing. I am abused 
 here as an apostate, but I am half inclined to think 
 that Ossian was an Irishman, and I want to know 
 every thing that can throw light on the subject. 
 It is said, Macpherson ordered the originals to be 
 published after his death ; if so, we shall soon be 
 better enabled to judge. You must excuse me if 
 I plague you too much on this subject. I atn mad 
 about Ossian ; — but I am mad about several things 
 —about a great many things; particularly about 
 some German books, which you must read before I 
 can rest. J am teaching Miss Bowdler German, 
 because I must have some one to enjoy them 
 with me. 
 
 " I do not know whether you have any taste for 
 mechanics. If you have, perhaps you will like to
 
 [ 91 ] 
 
 have a description of a very clever thing which is 
 now making near Bath ; if not, it is easily past 
 over. It is called a Cassoon ;* the use of it is to 
 convey boats on a canal, down a hill, without the 
 help of locks. It is a great box, forty feet long, 
 placed in a pit sixty feet deep, and full of water ; 
 the surface of which water is on a level with the 
 upper canal, and the bottom of the pit is even with 
 the lower canal. When a boat is to be carried 
 down, the door at the top of the pit is opened, and 
 the boat swims into the Cassoon, which is half full 
 of water. The Cassoon door is then shut, and 
 being made, by the addition of a small quantity of 
 water, heavier than the water in which it swims, it 
 sinks to the bottom; when the door at the bottom 
 of the pit, and the door at the other end of the 
 Cassoon, being opened, the boat goes out into the 
 lower canal. The Cassoon rises again, as it is then 
 lighter than the water in the pit. I do not know 
 whether I have made this account intelligible, but 
 it is very curious to see, and if you will come and 
 
 * This ingenious contrivance failed of success, from the 
 difficulty of securing the masonry of the pit against the 
 unequal pressure of the water.
 
 [ 92 ] 
 
 look at it, you shall understand it in a minute' 
 The inventor was a carpenter. 
 
 " Now you must not, my dearest Lady Isabella, 
 abuse me for sending you a stupid letter. You 
 bid me ' write soon, if I loved you.' I did not con- 
 sider whether I had any thing to say, but obeyed, 
 and I leave you to draw the inference," 
 
 "Bath, Nov. 18, 1797. 
 " Most sincerely do I sympathise with you, my 
 dearest Lady Isabella, in every event which con- 
 cerns you, but particularly in what regards the ex- 
 cellent Lord Kingston, for whom I feel so much 
 interested on his own account, as well as on yours. 
 O that I could indeed do you any good ! that I 
 could soothe your sorrows, and assist you in all 
 your tender attentions to ease the bed of sickness; 
 or, if it must be so, help you to bear the pain of 
 parting, supported by the hope of meeting again ! 
 But at this distance I can offer you nothing but 
 words, and they are poor comfort ; you can find 
 enough of them every where, though you will not 
 every where find a heart so tenderly interested in 
 your happiness as mine. — I entreat you to let me 
 know how you go on. If the disorder should be so
 
 [ 93 ] 
 
 far removed that you could come to Bath, I must 
 indulge a hope, though you have forbidden me." 
 
 " Bath, Jan. 17, 1798. 
 " Long since should I have written to my beloved 
 Lady Isabella, had 1 not feared that my letters 
 would be ill-timed, in the midst of many sorrows, 
 which though I sincerely sympathised, I could not 
 alleviate, and therefore was cautious not to disturb; 
 but no sooner do you kindly say that you will read 
 my letters, than I hasten to renew an intercourse 
 which gives me infinite pleasure, whenever it is 
 my turn to receive a letter. The writing one I 
 should consider as a task, if there was not a plea- 
 sure in indulging the idea of you, which makes 
 even that agreeable. I felt almost as if I had lost 
 my own Father, when I heard of the excellent 
 Lord Kingston's death. ■ ■ ■ ■ 
 
 There is nothing I am more thoroughly convinced 
 of, than that every thing which happens is for some 
 good purpose. We do not perhaps at the time 
 see any possible good that can result from any 
 particular event, but we often see it afterwards, and 
 if we do not live to see it, others do. This opinion 
 makes me perfectly easy, while I see every body
 
 [ 94 ] 
 
 frightened to death at the idea of an invasion. 
 I am persuaded that if it be for the benefit of 
 mankind that the French should conquer England, 
 and cut my throat amongst the rest, they will be 
 permitted to do so; if not, they will not.- ■ 
 
 " Will you tell me any place in Dublin to 
 which we might send the little Manuscript, which 
 has been ready this twelvemonth ? My Mother 
 will write soon. She sends kindest love to your 
 Ladyship, and begs to be respectfully and affec- 
 tionately remembered to Lady Eleanor, in which 
 I beg to join; and then will trouble you no longer 
 than to assure you of my everlasting regard and 
 affection." 
 
 " Bath, March 8th, 1798. 
 " I have but one quarrel with you, my dearest 
 Lady Isabella; nay not a quarrel, that is too harsh 
 a word. I have but one fault to find with you, 
 and it is this. You lay by your pen from week to 
 week, in hopes of having something to say ; now it 
 is not that I want. I want to know what you are 
 doing, thinking, and feeling, because that interests 
 me. If I want to laugh, I can look into a book of 
 witticisms; and into a book of proverbs, if 1 have 
 •
 
 [ 95 ] 
 
 un inclination for wise sayings; but in a letter 
 from 3'ou I wish to find whatever comes first into 
 your head to write, as that will probably be what 
 interests you, and of course me. You will say this 
 is only an apology for the letter I am going to 
 write, but finding a convenient opportunity for 
 writing I would not delay it, because if I waited 
 for that opportunity and a bright moment to meet, 
 I should never write at all; therefore you must 
 take me in all my dulness, if you wish to be trou- 
 bled with my letters. 
 
 " I feel excessively proud of the office you have 
 bestowed on me, and I will begin to exercise it.— 
 Have you read the Pursuits of Literature ? It is a 
 satirical poem. I dislike satire in general, but this 
 appears to me one of the cleverest books I ever 
 met with, and indeed this is the general opinion 
 respecting it. I should not have given mine so 
 decidedly, had you not particularly desired it. This 
 book cannot be read less than twice; once with 
 the notes, and the second time remembering the 
 notes, but not reading them. — I have read Robison 
 on the Uluminati. It is said by people well in- 
 formed on the subject to be a true representation. 
 There is another book which goes much deeper
 
 [ 96 ] 
 
 into the subject, by Barruel. I have not read it, 
 because I thought the other contained quite horrors 
 enough. We have loads of political pamphlets, 
 which I never read, any more than newspapers; 
 because 1 am sure to have the cream of them 
 without the trouble of skimming it; but one I 
 must recommend to you as being excellent in its 
 way. It is written by the eldest brother of your 
 favourite Miss Bowdler.* The title is ' Reform 
 or Ruin.' 1 believe it is now printed in Ireland. — 
 The little Essay shall be sent by the first convey- 
 ance. Perhaps that may be ourselves. 
 
 " Pray present my most affectionate respects to 
 Lady Eleanor. How does her weak health bear 
 all she has had to go through ? Do not expect me to 
 obey when you bid me forget the contents of your 
 last letter, for indeed I do not intend to forget a 
 word of it, though probably least of all that which 
 you allow me to remember. Now pray, my dear 
 Lady Isabella, write to me soon,— very soon; 
 and let it not be a bright letter, but a stupid one, the 
 
 * The Author of " Poems and Essays," published after 
 her death. None of her family had at that time the honour 
 of being personally known to Lady Isabella King.
 
 [ 97 ] 
 
 most stupid you can write, and you see I have sent 
 you a foil which will make any thing you write 
 appear bright as the sun. My poor brains have 
 nothing to put in it but the sincerest affection 
 of your &c." 
 
 " To Miss Hunt. 
 
 " Conway, May 2(3. 
 " Every day since I came here I have been 
 wishing to write to you, but because you were so 
 considerate as to bid me not do it till we were 
 settled, the time has been ungratefully put off. 
 Yet you have not been absent from my thoughts; 
 —no, if 1 had thought less about all in your 
 corner of the world, I might perhaps sooner have 
 felt disposed to write. However we are all very 
 well and Very comfortable now, remembering our 
 friends only as we ought, and as I trust we always 
 shall. I wish I were sure that you were equally 
 comfortable, but knowing your contented dispo- 
 sition, I am inclined to think you are. 1 think 
 I am content; and yet to be sure 1 should like to 
 have you here, and explore with you all the dark 
 
 H
 
 [ 98 ] 
 
 winding passages and broken staircases of this 
 beautiful Castle. There is one of the towers that 
 would make the nicest dwelling in the world. I 
 am sure you would wish to inhabit it. It stands 
 on a rock overhanging the river, which is more 
 properly an arm of the sea, and commands the 
 finest view imaginable. It consists of three circular 
 rooms one over the other; in the second of which 
 there is a semi-circular niche with a beautiful roof 
 of groined arches, supported by pillars, with a 
 seat, all round, capable of containing five or six 
 people, and three windows looking on the river 
 and its beautiful banks. To all this fairy castle 
 there is nothing wanting but the possibility of 
 getting at it, for the timbers are entirely gone, 
 and I pine in vain to get into the little niche. It 
 certainly would be very snug, filled exactly as one 
 would wish; but any place would do, so filled, 
 therefore let us be content at the foot of the tower. 
 " I am glad our dear Miss Bowdler is so happy 
 at her Tower. We have so quick communication 
 with her, that it scarcely seems as if we were se- 
 parated. Perhaps we are preparing by degrees 
 for a more lasting separation from all our friends; 
 but our fate is still uncertain. We must make the
 
 C 99 ] 
 
 best of the present, and let the future shift for 
 itself. I never felt such hot weather in May as 
 we have here ; but the air is uncommonly soft as 
 well as clear; and in the evenings we take delight- 
 ful walks, and find great use for our sketch-books. 
 There is another circumstance that would please 
 you; we meet with a great variety of beautiful 
 plants, particularly the little burnet-rose grows 
 in tufts on the mountains, in the marshes, and 
 almost every where. We find here, indeed, every 
 thing we wish for, except a few old friends. Our 
 books are not arrived, but that is no misfortune, 
 for I never find time to read. You wilJ wonder 
 what we do, and really I cannot very well tell, 
 except rambling about to take views, and finishing 
 them a little when we return home. I dui flatter 
 myself that here 1 should find time for every 
 thing, but either I am a very bad contriver, or 
 time does not stand still on any sp t of the earth. 
 If any one can catch him, 1 think it must he you,. 
 and I am certain you will make the best use of his 
 company." 
 
 " Conway, July 10, 1793. 
 " We are grown 6uch vagrants, that it is not 
 without many fruitless efforts that I sit down to 
 
 h 2
 
 r 100 3 
 
 write, even to you. I believe you will not dotibt 
 that my inclination makes that a lighter task than 
 if I were addressing myself to any one else; but I 
 am afraid if we stay much longer amongst these 
 delightful scenes, I shall grow completely and irre- 
 coverably idle. It is not so with you, I dare say ; 
 you are studying hard, and enjoying peace, quiet- 
 ness, and leisure, in your comfortable little retreat. 
 I believe I should envy you, if I were not where I 
 am. I often recollect how we all groaned together 
 at Bath, at the idea of the unpleasant summer we 
 expected to pass in our different lots; and com- 
 paring that idea with the happiness we actually 
 enjoy, (of which from our want of confidence we 
 were so particularly undeserving,) I determine 
 never again to be anxious about anything; per- 
 suaded that all events are much better disposed 
 than if /had the management of them. You will 
 think I am beginning to philosophise, because 
 there is nothing at present to disturb me; but 
 indeed I expect a very great misfortune. I will 
 not think of it before hand, nor complain if it 
 happen : this is all my philosophy can do. 
 
 " And now you must mount your old friend 
 Pegasus, and go with me to the top of Snowdon,
 
 [ ioi ] 
 
 to adore the rising sun. If you think your steed 
 will not he tired, you may as well meet me at 
 Caernarvon at five o'clock in the evening of the 
 seventh of last month. You know, present, past, 
 and future, are all one to your nine friends. Meet 
 me then at Caernarvon, go with me into the Castle, 
 ramble with me through dark passages withoutend 
 or number, many more than I had time to go into, 
 for they are galleries, leading all round the walls, 
 and round every tower, lighted only by small slits, 
 in a wall twelve feet thick, for shooting arrows ; 
 so that many hundred soldiers might be employed 
 in defending this castle, and be visible neither 
 without nor within. Ascend with me the Eagle 
 Tower, and count if you can the number of steps, 
 for indeed I forgot to reckon, and having no book 
 of travels from which to extract a journal, [ cannot 
 tell you. Hear Mr. C — , the barber, our cicerone, 
 very learnedly refute the opinion of Mr. Pennant, 
 that Edward II. was born in a little dark shabby 
 room in the tower, and establish his own, — that 
 that event certainly took place in the large cir- 
 cular room on the first floor ; acknowledging at 
 the same time that the nurse might possibly retire 
 occasionally with the child into Mr. Pennant's
 
 t 102 ] 
 
 room. Come on into another little room, and if 
 you choose to be remembered amongst fools, write 
 your name upon the planks which still remain. 
 Hear a long account from Mr. C — , of a boy 
 being let down to the bottom of one of the towers, 
 where there is water, to fetch up a dog that had 
 been thrown there, and discovering an iron gate, 
 through which he saw a subterraneous passage 
 never yet explored ; and hurry away from the 
 Castle, wishing to spend days and weeks in ex- 
 amining it. 
 
 " July 12. — I find myself so idle, and my travels 
 so much more tedious in the recital than in the per- 
 formance, that if I go on giving you a particular 
 account I shall never finish. I will therefore tell 
 you the rest of our adventures as briefly as possible. 
 Quitting the Castle, we took a most delightful 
 walk beside the river on which it stands, to 
 observe the outside of the building, which, as 
 beauty is but comparative, [ being of the sect of 
 the Conwayites, do not admire. We returned to 
 the Inn ; — [ suppose you are aware that we means 
 my Mother, Mrs. Geokge Smith, and I, who set 
 out together from Conway at nine the same morn- 
 ing;— well; we returned to the Inn, and ate an
 
 [ 103 ] 
 
 enormous supper. You know travellers always 
 
 tell you how much they eat, but I in compassion 
 
 will spare you the description of every dish, and 
 
 how much was paid for it, because I have forgotten 
 
 both ; however this supper is not mentioned in 
 
 vain, for indeed it was not eaten in vain. As soon 
 
 as we had accomplished it, we set off (about eleven 
 
 at night) for the foot of Snowdon, and travelled 
 
 eio-ht miles thro' a fine mountainous country by 
 o 
 
 moon-light. Before one we arrived at a little hut 
 where the guide lives, and after having him called 
 up, and loaded with a basket of bread and milk, and 
 a tin box for specimens, we began our march at a 
 quarter past one. The clouds were gathering over 
 the mountains, and threatening us with either 
 darkness or rain. We however escaped both, and 
 were only amused with every variety they could 
 give the landscape, by hiding or half obscuring 
 the moon, and by blotting out, now one mountain, 
 and now another, from our view ; till about two 
 o'clock, when the dawn began to appear, they 
 covered the moon, and we saw her no more. We 
 proceeded by a very easy ascent over boggy ground 
 till half-past two, when coming suddenly to the 
 top of the first range of hills, and meeting with a
 
 [ 104 ] 
 
 violent wind which bjew from the quarter where 
 the sun was to rise, (for we ascended the mountain 
 on the south-west side,) Mrs. G. Smtth was fright- 
 ened, and seeing a very steep ascent before her, 
 said she would sit down and wait for our return. 
 My Mother said she would stay with her, and I 
 proposed our all going back together; but my 
 Mother very kindly insisted, on my proceeding. 
 We therefore divided provisions, the ladies returned 
 to the hut from which we had set out, and I went 
 on with the guide, who could not speak a word of 
 English. We steered our course more towards 
 the south, and toiled up several mountains, in some 
 parts covered with loose stones, which had fallen 
 from the broken summits, but in general overgrown 
 with the different sorts of moss, and a kind of short 
 grass, mixed with immense quantities of the Gal- 
 hum pasillum. I picked up a few other plants, 
 but on the whole was disappointed in the botanical 
 way, as I found very little that I had not before 
 met with on the mountains in this neighbourhood i 
 however, this is notthe time of the year for moun- 
 tain curiosities. I went on as fast as I could without 
 stopping, except now and then for a moment to 
 look down on the mountains under my feet, as
 
 C 105 ] 
 
 clouds passed over them, thinking each summit I 
 saw before me was the last, and unable to gain any 
 information from the guide to satisfy my impa- 
 tience: for I wished to be at the top before sun-rise, 
 and pink clouds began to appear over the steep I 
 was climbing. I also knew that the Ladies would 
 be very impatient for my return, nor was I without 
 anxiety on their account, as I was not sure that 
 they would find their way back to the hut. These 
 ideas occupied my mind all the way up, and if 
 that deceitful but comforting lady — Hope, had not 
 continually presented to me the range of hills I 
 wasascendingas the last step in ambition's ladder, 
 I am not sure that, with all my eagerness to get to 
 the top, I should not have turned back. I was 
 debating this point very earnestly with myself, in 
 ascending an almost perpendicular green slope, 
 when on a sudden I saw at my feet an immense 
 chasm, all in darkness, and of a depth I cannot 
 guess, certainly not less than an hundred feet ; I 
 should suppose much more. It answers in some 
 respects to the idea I have formed of the crater of 
 a volcano, but evidently is not that, as there is no 
 mark of fire, the rock being composed, as it is in 
 general throughout this country, of a sort of slate-
 
 [ 106 ] 
 
 Nor does the mountain appear to have been thrown 
 down, but the pit to have sunk in ; which must 
 probably have been occasioned by subterranean 
 waters, as there is water at the bottom of the pit, 
 and the mountain is full of springs. You think 
 you are now at the top, but you are mistaken. I 
 am standing indeed at the top of the abyss, but 
 with a high rocky peak rising on each side of me, 
 and descending very near perpendicularly into the 
 lake at the bottom. I have taken a rough sketch 
 of one of these peaks, with the lake in the deepest 
 shadow ; I am turning over my paper, (which the 
 wind renders very difficult,) in order to draw 
 another; — I look up, and see the upper part illu- 
 minated by a beautiful rose-coloured light, while 
 the opposite part still casts a dark shade over its 
 base, and conceals the sun itself from my view. 
 If I were ready to jump into the pit with delight 
 at first seeing it, my ecstacy was now still greater. 
 The guide seemed quite delighted to see me so 
 much pleased, and took care in descending to lead 
 me to the edge of every precipice, which he had 
 not done in going up. I however presently recol- 
 lected that i was in a great hurry to get back, and 
 set off along the brink of the cavity for the highest
 
 [ 107 ] 
 
 peak, where I arrived at a quarter past four, and 
 saw a view of which it is impossible to form an idea 
 from description. For many miles around it was 
 composed of tops of mountains, of all the various 
 forms that can be imagined; some appeared 
 swimming in an ocean of vapour; on others the 
 clouds lay like a cap of snow, appearing as soft as 
 down. They were all far below Snowdon, and I 
 was enjoying the finest blue sky, and the purestair 
 I ever breathed. The whole prospect was bounded, 
 by the sea, except to the east and south-east, and 
 the greatest part of the land in those points was 
 blotted out by clouds. The sun, however, rose so 
 far towards the north-east as to be still hanging 
 over the sea. I took a sketch of a small part of 
 the mountains, with some of the little lakes which 
 appear at their feet ; sat down, for the first time, 
 on a circle of stones which is built on the top of 
 the hill, and made great havock in the bread and 
 milk, in which accomplishment the guide equalled, 
 if not surpassed me ; and at half-past four, almost 
 frozen, [ began to descend. My anxiety about 
 my friends increased as I came near the spot where 
 I had left them ; I made all possible haste, and 
 found them safe iu the hut at ten minutes past six.
 
 [ 1Q 8 ] 
 
 It certainly would have been pleasanter to have 
 had more time, and some one to enjoy the expedi- 
 tion with me, but I am delighted that I have been, 
 fcnd would not for any thing give up the recollec- 
 tion of the sublime scene. We got into the carriage 
 immediately, and went four miles further to 
 breakfast at a little village, from whence we walked 
 to the Devil's-Bridge, which is fine almost beyond 
 imagination : returned to Caernarvon to dinner, 
 walked about there in the evening, and went to bed 
 after thirty -nine hours of almost constant exercise. 
 After this I think you will not take the trouble 
 to enquire after my health ; it must be tolerably 
 good. I intended writing a very short letter, but 
 recollecting you would perhaps like some news 
 from Snowdon, I have been led on till I fear your 
 patience is exhausted, though I have suppressed 
 at least half of what I wish to say. 
 
 " To the Lady Isabella King. 
 
 " Plas Hently, Sept. 19, 1798. 
 
 " Plas Hently, Sept. 19, 1798. 
 '* Most sadly has your picture of happiness been 
 reversed, my dear Lady Isabella. I could not
 
 C 109 3 
 
 bear to answer so pleasant a letter with lamenta*- 
 tions, but I hope that your tranquillity is now 
 restored, and that you are as happy as I wish you, 
 which certainly is as much as you can wish for 
 yourself. We have been particularly interested in 
 the late invasion, because jthe scene of action has 
 been all our own country, about Boyle and Sligo. 
 I hope no harm has happened to it, or any of its 
 inhabitants. We reckoned that the French must 
 pass close by Nympsfield, and feared they would 
 choose to pay a visit to Mrs. O'Hara. Pray tell 
 me all you know about it, when you write. 
 
 " I conclude you have seen my Father by this 
 time. When we shall see him again, or whether 
 we ever shall, seems now so uncertain, that I should 
 be very unhappy, if I had not left off grieving for. 
 any thing. — This is a very ugly place, and a sad 
 change from Conway, where we were very happy. 
 We are but eight miles from Llangollen, where 
 Mrs. H. Bowdler now is, as well as the amiable 
 Ladies of the Vale, but we might as well be an 
 hundred miles off, for we never see them. 
 
 " I am very glad you like the new edition of Miss 
 Bowdler's Essays. The writer was dead before 
 1 knew the family; but those who have seen her
 
 r no ] 
 
 say the print is like, though I think they generally 
 agree that it is a flattering likeness. 
 
 H What you say of dissipation is exactly what I 
 expected from you. You have seen so little of it, 
 that it was very natural you should enjoy it at 
 first; but you certainly are not made for it, and 
 I am entirely of your opinion, that you must seek 
 for happiness in more rational employments, for 
 which you are well qualified. One can allow 
 those to spend their lives in folly, whose minds are 
 incapable of any thing better, but such as yours 
 should not be thrown away, and I am persuaded 
 will not.* You will laugh at my preaching, but 
 indeed the lack of new objects, and new subjects, 
 has very nearly occasioned a stagnation of ideas in 
 my mind. As your Ladyship says, I want some- 
 thing to interest me, and therefore I beg you to 
 write to give a fillip to my ideas, which will other- 
 wise be congealed into a mass of ice this winter. 
 I am sure you can perceive symptoms of freezing 
 in (his letter, though as you cannot perceive what 
 is not, I hope you will never find my regard and 
 
 * How far Miss Smith's ideas with regard to this lady 
 have been realized, is well known to the grateful inhabitants 
 of Bath.
 
 £ Jn 3 
 
 affection for you in the least degree cooled. It is 
 no compliment to say I should rejoice to hear from 
 you here, for the getting a letter from any body 
 is an event; how great then must be my joy at 
 receiving one which would delight me any where." 
 
 Miss Hunt had sent the letter containing the 
 description of Snowdon to our mutual friend 
 Mrs. De Luc; and Miss Smith heard that it had 
 been mentioned with approbation by an Illustrious 
 Lady, to whom Mrs. De Luc had read it. This 
 circumstance >vill explain the next letter. 
 
 " Shirley, March 25, 1 799. 
 " Unworthy as you are of a line from my pen, 
 I should be very glad of a few from yours, and 
 therefore must condescend to ask for them; trusting 
 to the insipidity of all I have to say, that my letter 
 will not be put in the trumpet of fame, and blown 
 to the four quarters of the world ; for ill as you 
 use your friends, I believe you have still sufficient 
 regard for a certain Mary Hunt, not to publish 
 £|iat she is the most treacherous of human beings, 
 and that she as much deserves to be taken up for
 
 [ 112 ] 
 
 treason, as any of his Majesty's disloyal subjects, 
 Now having vented my anger, I have nothing 
 more to say, but that I should be very glad to 
 hear from you. 
 
 "I have got — I will not tell you what; a little, 
 a very little book* always in my pocket. Mr. 
 CLixTON has given it me. It is two books bound 
 in one, and contains a vast deal of wisdom; but 
 you are a blab, and shall know no more. 
 
 " To our dear Miss Bowdles I have not written 
 for a long time, because conscience stood in the 
 way ; nor to some others, because idleness and cold 
 weather prevented me. Bedford is here for the 
 holidays. He is very much improved, and a very 
 fine boy. Give my love to all my friends; send 
 me a particular account of Mrs. F. Bateman, as 
 well as of your own invalids, and then I will pardon 
 and obliterate all your past offences. 
 
 " If you want to consult the Syriac translation of 
 the New Testament upon any particular passage, let 
 me know. Mr. Claxton has a very fine one, printed 
 in Hebrew characters, and the language is so very 
 like the Hebrew, and where it differs from that, 
 so like the Arabic, that I can read it very well." 
 * Sententise Rabbinorum.
 
 [ 113 ] 
 
 " May 7, 1799. 
 " I suppose you conclude that I am l afraid of 
 being tired with joxit answers;' but philosophers 
 sometimes draw false conclusions, and this is one 
 of them. I cannot enter into all the reasons for 
 not writing sooner. It is enough that here I am,— 
 while Mercury is vainly trying to get the better of 
 Apollo, — here I am writing to you, instead of 
 watching their conflict. It is true I have no very 
 great merit in my forbearance, because I cannot 
 see through the veil with which they have chosen 
 to conceal themselves; therefore be not too vain 
 in fancying I prefer your company to theirs. I 
 imagine you are at this moment visiting your 
 neighbour Dr. Herschell, and I desire you will 
 communicate to me in this nether world all the 
 information you collect in your nocturnal, as well 
 as diurnal, peregrinations to the heavens. I shall 
 envy,— no I will not say envy you, but I should 
 like to go with you, as I should have liked to 
 have had you with me in some of my late 
 amusements, such as seeing the British Museum, 
 pictures and statues without end, and some very 
 curious pieces of mechanism. 
 
 l
 
 [ H4 J 
 
 "I have just received an invitation to go and 
 look at the Gods through a good telescope. — All in 
 vain! I fancy we have been hu mbugged. I have seen 
 the sun as flat as a trencher, but not a bit of Mer- 
 cury. Do tell me, if it ought to be seen to-day; 
 and if it ought, what is the matter with our eyes. 
 
 " In town, I have been reading two volumes of 
 Sully's Memoirs, with which I am delighted, and 
 which I mean to finish the next time I can meet 
 with it. Since I came back, I have been reading 
 Cicero's letters to Atticus : I cannot say that I 
 understand every part of them, on account of many 
 allusions to circumstances of the times, but with 
 many parts I am much pleased." 
 
 In the summer of the year 1799, Mrs. Smith 
 and all her family removed to Ireland, where 
 Captain Smith's regiment was still quartered. 
 During their residence in that hospitable country, 
 they received much kind attention, which they 
 always mention with the warmest expressions of 
 gratitude. The following elegant poem, which 
 was addressed to Mrs. Smith when the family 
 left Balhtore in 1800, to reside at Patterdale, will
 
 [ 115 ] 
 
 shew the impression their characters and conduct 
 had made on the amiable and ingenious writer. 
 
 Soft o'er the vale of Ballitore 
 The gale of peace was wont to blow ; 
 
 Till discord rais'd her direful horn, 
 And fill'd the shades with sounds of woe. 
 
 The blood-stain'd earth, the warlike bands, 
 Our trembling natives saw with dread; 
 
 Dejected labour left her toil, 
 
 And summer's blithe enjoyments fled. 
 
 But see, th' avenging sword is sheath'd, 
 And mercy's voice is heard at last,— 
 
 How sweet, beside the winter's fire, 
 To ponder on the perils past ! 
 
 Ah! think not yet your trials o'er; 
 
 From yonder mountain's hollow side 
 The fierce banditti issue forth, 
 
 When darkness spreads her curtain wide. 
 
 With murd'rous arms and haggard eyes, 
 The social joys away they fright; 
 
 Sad expectation clouds the day, 
 And sleep forsakes the fearful night. 
 
 I 2
 
 t 116 ] 
 
 Now martial troops protecl the vale, 
 At distance prowl the ruffian band - 
 
 Oh, Confidence ! thou dearer guard, 
 Why hast thou left this luckless land ? 
 
 We droop and mourn o'er many a joy, 
 O'er many a friend to dust consign'd ; 
 
 But ev'ry comfort is not fled, 
 
 Eehold another friend we find. 
 
 Lo, Juliet comes to grace the plain,- 
 
 And friendship claims the precious prize ; 
 
 She grants the claim, nor does her heart 
 The children of the vale despise. 
 
 Though polish'd life, with every charm,, 
 To her its brilliant scenes display'd; 
 
 Though forni'd to ornament a court, 
 She deigns to dignify the shade. 
 
 But shades more worthy of the guest 
 From us this precious prize require j 
 
 Guiltless of blood, with quiet blest, 
 
 Where truth's own bard attunes his lyre. 
 
 • 
 
 Where Clarkson for the helpless pleads, 
 Where nature's charms majestic rise j 
 
 And broad Ulswater's beauteous lake 
 Gives back the mountains, woods, and skies. 
 * Thomas Wilkinson.
 
 [ 117 ] 
 
 There, Juliet, may thy lovely maids, 
 Their pencils' wond'rous art employ; 
 
 While each acquirement gives the pow'r 
 To increase their tender parent's joy. 
 
 Unknown to dissipated minds 
 
 The joys their gentle bosoms know; 
 
 'Tis theirs to turn the classic page, 
 'Tis theirs to melt at others' woe. 
 
 And there, releas'd from war's alarms, 
 May thy lov'd lord delighted rove ; 
 
 And lay the radiant scarf aside, 
 Dear pledge of Juliet's auxious love ! 
 
 Like the bright dames of ancient days, 
 She fram'd the web of crimson stain ; 
 
 To grace her hero's form, or bear 
 Her hero wounded from the plain. 
 
 And still dispensing kindness round, 
 The happy houshold shall unite; 
 
 While from amid surrounding bow'rs 
 Their virtues beam with native light. 
 
 And in their joys we still shall joy, 
 While fancy views their dear retreat; 
 
 Though Juliet's eye, and Juliet's smile, 
 No more our gladden'd sight shall meet.
 
 [ us ] 
 
 What though the tender tear shall start, 
 And soft regret the sigh shall send ; 
 
 Yet shall our conscious hearts exult 
 In the rich gift of such a friend !* 
 
 I will here insert some productions of which I 
 cannot exactly ascertain the date, but which were 
 certainly written before the removal to Ireland. 
 The imitation of Ossian was probably written at 
 a much earlier period; as Miss Smith's partiality 
 for the Highland Bard was not quite so great after 
 she became acquainted with the learned languages, 
 as it had been in her childhood : though she never 
 believed that the work was entirely modern, and 
 was very desirous to read the Poems published by 
 Dr. Smith in the original language, but the want 
 of a grammar prevented her making much pro- 
 gress. When she was in Ireland, she endeavoured 
 to collect traditional accounts of the Heroes of 
 Morven and Erin, and always mentioned with 
 
 * The author of these lines, a Quaker, is now publishing 
 by subscription, "Poems, by Mary Leadbeater, (late 
 Shackleton,) of Ballitore, including a translation of MafFceus's 
 13th JEntid."
 
 [ 119 ] 
 
 pleasure any circumstances which appeared to 
 prove the antiquity of the poems.* 
 
 Imitation of Ossian. 
 
 " It is the voice of woe," I cried, as our bark 
 was tossing on the foaming wave ; " it is the voice 
 of woe, O Finan; I hear it at times in the blast; 
 it shrieks from vonder rock. Now the storm is 
 somewhat abated, let us take our oars, and try to 
 reach the shore. Perhaps there is some one, more 
 wretched than we, to whom we may bring comfort; 
 and will not that be comfort to ourselves, son of 
 Derog?" 'We can bring no comfort there, O 
 Luno,' answered Finan, ''tis the land of departed 
 spirits. I see the dim forms of our fathers, sailing 
 in their grey robes of mist across the mountains. 
 They beckon us to approach, they shriek our 
 welcome, for full well they know the ocean soon 
 will bear us to that land of darkness; we shall never 
 more behold our lov'd, our lonely Kilda. Our 
 wives look out from the rocks, the fair Malvina, 
 and the raven-hair'd Edilda; they think they see a 
 * See her letters to Lady Isabella King.
 
 L 120 3 
 
 distant sail, joy sparkles in their eyes ; it was but 
 a passing cloud. They look silent and mournful 
 on each other, they slowly return to their children. 
 O Luno, let us not rashly urge our fate; it is rap- 
 ture to think yet a moment on Kilda.' " Does 
 Finan fear to die:" I sail; "Finan the bravest 
 among heroes; he who was first to climb the 
 rock, and seek the sea-fowl's nest; he who was 
 foremost in the fight; does he weep and tremble, 
 when summoned to the hall of his fathers ? When 
 the valiant Derog advances to welcome his cham- 
 pion, shall he meet the groveling soul of a little 
 man ?" Finan spoke not, he raised his oar; I took 
 up mine, we rowed till we reached the shore. The 
 voice of mourning had ceased; there was no sound 
 from the cave of the rock. We wandered on the 
 beach to seek the habitations of men. In the cave 
 of the rock sate a woman, beautiful as the dawn 
 of the morning to the benighted traveller, but her 
 form was wasted with sorrow ; she was like the 
 young rose of the mountain which the deer has 
 torn up by the roots; it is still lovely, but its 
 strength has failed. Her head was leaning on her 
 hand, she saw not our approach. On her knees 
 lay a young child, at her feet a youth like the sons
 
 [ 121 ] 
 
 of heroes. We gazed a moment in silence ; at 
 length I spake. ' Daughter of sorrow, tell thy 
 grief; we too have known misfortune, and learnt to 
 pity the distressed.' She raised her head, she 
 gazed with wild surprize. " Sons of the Ocean," 
 she replied, " I have no sorrow now. My child is 
 dead, and I shall follow him. Ere the dark dews 
 of evening fall, I shall meet thee, my child, in the 
 airy hall of my fathers." Her head sunk again 
 on her hand in silence. ' Yet tell us, lovely 
 mourner,' I said, * tell us, what land is this? for 
 we come from far, tossed by the tempest from the 
 lonely Kilda. " Strangers," she replied, "have ye 
 never heard of Kona? Rona, whose fame spread 
 wide as the light of day. Her sons were generous 
 and brave, her fields were fruitful in corn, her hills 
 were covered with sheep. Then was the stranger 
 welcome to the feast. Five families dwelt on our 
 plains; their chief was my father, the valiant 
 Cormac, whose presence was like sunshine to his 
 guests. Oft have I heard the voice of joy resound 
 in his hall, and seen the beam of gratitude in the 
 eye of the ship-wrecked mariner. But now famine 
 has wasted our island, and there is nothing left to 
 give the weary traveller." 'Surely,' I cried, 'the
 
 [ 122 j 
 
 Land of the liberal should ever be filled with 
 plenty, happiness should dwell in his habitation, 
 and his children should never taste of sorrow. Or 
 if the tear hang on their cheek for a moment, the 
 hand of pity should be near to wipe it away, and 
 to restore the smile of gladness. Then why is the 
 daughter of Cormac left desolate? Why does the 
 child of the generous suffer want ?' " Because she 
 chose riches rather than virtue," replied the lovely 
 mourner; " yet has she not been unpitied ; but 
 that pity, like yon coloured bow which makes the 
 dark cloud seem still darker, made her folly more 
 apparent, and tore her heart with anguish. Oh ! 
 son of other lands, I will tell thee my sad tale, 
 though the remembrance be painful to my soul. 
 Then wilt thou see that the daughter of Cormac 
 has not suffered unjustly. — Two youths sought the 
 hand of Evirallin, only daughter of the generous 
 Cormac. Dermod was rich, for his house was well 
 stored with corn, three cows gave him their milk, 
 and twenty sheep grazed for him on the mountain. 
 The store of Mordred was small, yet was he richer 
 than Dermod, for he had a noble soul. But I 
 chose Dermod with his flocks and herds; for I 
 said the wife of Dermod never can know want;
 
 [ 123 ] 
 
 pleasure will always attend her call, she has only to 
 wish, and be satisfied. 'Twas when the eve was 
 lengthened out almost to meet the dawn, and the 
 sun set far to the north, that I became the spouse 
 
 of Dermod. The soul of Mordred was sad. 
 
 The crop which then looked green, was blasted 
 ere the harvest ; it gave us not three months food. 
 In the spring the sea-weed failed on the coast, the 
 catlledied of hunger. Then was Dermod equalled 
 with the poorest. Our neighbours died around us. 
 We divided the last scanty meal; then wandered 
 different ways to seek for herbs and roots, or rather, 
 not to see each other die. As I mused on the top 
 of a rock, Mordred came up with a little cake. 
 'Eat,' he cried, 'Evirallin; preserve thy life and 
 that of thy child. While yet there was corn, I 
 was sparing ; I have still enough for many days. 
 Perhaps ere that is gone, some friendly bark may 
 bring us aid.' The tear of gratitude was on my 
 cheek, but I could not thank the generous Mordred. 
 Scarce had I tasted the food, when Dermod came 
 with haste; he tore the cake from my hand, ere 
 I could give him half, and eagerly devoured it. 
 Mordred, seized with rage, struck him to the 
 ground, and he fell headlong from the rock ; the
 
 [ 124 ] 
 
 dark wave received him, and he rose no more. 
 We both stood speechless for a moment, then 
 Mordred rushed forward to follow him, but I 
 seized his arm. "O Mordred," I cried, "leave 
 me not desolate. There is none left alive but thee, 
 and me, and this little babe. We all shall perish 
 soon, but let not me be the last. Leave me not 
 like the wounded sea-mew, whom her companions 
 have abandoned, to sit complaining on the desert 
 rock!" — The heart of Mordred was moved; he 
 walked slow and silent away. Each day did he 
 bring me a little cake. When I begged him to 
 eat, he would not ; he said, * I have eaten before.' 
 This day he came before the accustomed time, 
 he brought this little cake. 'Take it,' he cried, 
 'Evirallin; it is the last. I came sooner than 
 usual, for I felt that I could not live. I have never 
 tasted food since the day that I killed Dermod.' 
 He sunk down at my feet. In vain I tried to 
 restore him; the noble spirit fled. Then did I 
 pour out my grief; I mourned my own hard fate, 
 and I gave his praise to the winds. The son of 
 the rock repeated it, there was none else to hear. 
 But I remembered my child, which lay on the 
 matted sea-weed. I returned— it was dead! Then,
 
 [ 125 ] 
 
 were mv cares at an end ; I sat down to wait for 
 death, which will, ere long, relieve me. Yet, 
 strano-er, ere I go, receive this little cake ; 'tis all 
 the wretched Evirallin has to give. I could not 
 eat it ; 'twere like eating the flesh of Mordred !" — 
 She ceased; she was faint; two hours I supported 
 her head. Finan wept over Mordred. At length 
 I felt her hand ; it was cold and lifeless. We 
 made a grave beneath the hanging rock. We 
 laid the fair Evirallin in the narrow house, and 
 Mordred and the child beside her. We reared 
 these grey stones at their heads, to mark the spot 
 to future wanderers of the ocean. The last ray of 
 the setting sun look'd on the new-made grave V 
 
 I do not know when the following reflections 
 were written, but the idea was probably suggested 
 by the German poem quoted in a letter to Miss 
 Hunt, dated April 7, 1794. — See page 39- 
 
 " Reason and Revelation, the two lights which 
 the Almighty has given us to dispel the darkness 
 of ignorance, and guide us to the knowledge of
 
 [ 126 ] 
 
 truth, may be aptly compared to the two lights 
 He has placed to dispel the darkness of the natural 
 world, and lead us to an acquaintance with the 
 visible objects that surround us. 
 
 " As the sun is the grand instrument by which 
 light is dispensed to the whole earth, and so re- 
 splendent that all other lights may be accounted 
 darkness in comparison; — so revelation is the in- 
 strument by which knowledge is communicated, 
 and so much does it exceed all other evidence in 
 strength, that it alone deserves the name of 
 knowledge. 
 
 "As the moonshines with lustre borrowed from 
 the sun, and witnesses his existence even in his 
 absence, by reflecting a light which she could not 
 have received but from him ; — so reason shines with 
 the reflected lustre of revelation, and witnesses 
 its truth, even where, at first sight, it seems never 
 to have existed, by presenting ideas which the 
 mind of man could not have formed, and which 
 therefore must have been originally received from 
 revelation. 
 
 " As the sun diffuses not only light, but vivifying 
 heat, and may properly be called the animating 
 principle of nature; — so revelation diffuses not
 
 [ 127 ] 
 
 merely speculative knowledge, but that which 
 leads to everlasting life, and may be said to re- 
 animate the soul. 
 
 " The moon gives no heat ; neither will reason 
 ever lead us to life eternal. 
 
 " The sun shines in vain for whatever is not 
 exposed to its light and heat; and revelation has 
 been given in vain for those who will not receive 
 its influences. 
 
 " As the moon is not annihilated by the pre- 
 sence of the sun, but only lost in the superior 
 splendour of his beams; — so reason is not con- 
 tradicted by revelation, but lost in the superior 
 blaze of evidence. 
 
 " The sun is too dazzling for our unassisted 
 eyes to behold ; and revelation is too glorious for 
 our weak faculties fully to comprehend. 
 
 " The light of the moon is faint and dubious ; 
 and the light of reason is but an uncertain guide. 
 
 " The Scriptures plainly point to the analogy 
 between the natural and spiritual worlds, in num- 
 berless instances ; as, when the moon is called * the 
 faithful witness in heaven;' Christ is called * the 
 sun of righteousness/ ' the light of the world/ &c
 
 [ 128 ] 
 
 SONG FROM AFAR, 
 
 Translated from a German Poem by Matthhoiu 
 " When in the last faint light of ev'ning 
 A smiling form glides softly by, 
 A gentle sigh its bosom heaving, 
 
 Whilst thou in oaken grove dost lie ; 
 It is the spirit of thy friend, 
 Which whispers — ' All thy cares shall end." 
 
 u When in the mild moon's peaceful twilight 
 Foreboding thoughts and dreams arise, 
 And at the solemn hour of midnight 
 
 Paint fairy scenes before thine eyes ; 
 The poplars give a rustling sound, 
 It is my spirit hovers round. 
 
 " When, deep in fields of ancient stoiy, 
 Thou hang'st enraptur'd' o'er the page 
 
 That gives and takes the meed of glory, 
 Feel'st thou a breath that fans thy rage ? 
 
 And does the trembling torch burn pale ? — 
 
 My spirit drinks with thine the tale. 
 
 " Hear'st thou, when silver stars are shining, 
 
 A sound as Eol's harp divine, 
 Now the wild wind full chords combining, 
 
 Now softly murm'ring — « Ever thine 1' 
 Then careless sleep — to guard thy peace, 
 My watchful spirit ne'er shall cease."
 
 [ 129 ] 
 
 Observations in North-Wales, probably 
 written at Conway. 
 
 u 
 
 Snowdon, Penman-Mawr, and indeed all the 
 mountains I have examined in Caernarvonshire, 
 are composed of Schistus, the laminae of which, 
 where they are found in a state of rest, appear 
 generally to rise towards the soiuh-west. In some 
 of the rocks these lamina* are intersected at rierht 
 angles by veins of gypsum. The mountains are 
 perishing fast, owing to the position of the strata. 
 In winter the rain lodges in the intersections of the 
 stone, and by its expansive force in freezing blows 
 off immense masses; so that the surface of many 
 of the mountains, particularly of Penman-Mawr, 
 is nothing but a confused heap of loose stones of all 
 possible dimensions. The peaks have disappeared, 
 and are only to be traced by rocks lying confusedly 
 on the tops of mountains, where they evidently 
 must formerly have stood erect. Grand as this 
 country is, it is but the ruin of its former grandeur. 
 I find no marine productions amongst these moun- 
 tains, and indeed their rough and shaggy forms 
 place them in the rank of primary mountains. 
 
 K
 
 [ 130 ] 
 
 Neither have I found any traces of volcanos,. 
 What at first sight might appear most like one, 
 is the immense pit at the top of Snowdon; but the 
 stones are untouched by fire, and the cavity seems 
 to have been occasioned by water in the heart of 
 the mountain undermining its centre; while the 
 peaks, more perfect than any I have seen, though 
 covered with ruins, stand round staring at each 
 other, and at the lake newly formed at their feet, 
 as if they wondered at being exposed to the prying 
 eye of day. Vegetation does not cease at the top 
 of Snowdon: several sorts of moss, and lichen, a 
 kind of short grass, the gallium pusillum> and a 
 little thyme, grow even to the summit. 
 
 "It is a custom in this country that all those 
 who attend at a funeral give money to the clergy- 
 man, proportionate to their rank and fortune, and 
 that of the deceased. 
 
 " On Whit-Monday, all the country people must 
 be up at three or four o'clock in the morning to 
 keep holiday, on pain of being pulled out of bed 
 and put in the stocks by their companions. 
 
 " On Christinas-day, prayers are read in the 
 Churches at four in the morning, and six in the 
 evening. The church is very handsomely illumi-
 
 r 131 ] 
 
 ininated; and the people eat gingerbread, drink, 
 and behave very riotously, even during the service. 
 " What is the meaning of these customs ? 
 
 In her letters to Dr. Randolph,* Mrs. Smith 
 alludes to some reflections on the applause of the 
 world, which were probably written at an earlier 
 period of Miss Smith's life. 
 
 " I have known some very good people maintain 
 in theory, and almost all in practice, that we 
 ought to endeavour to gain the good opinion of 
 others. It strikes me so far otherwise, that I 
 should think it wrong to stir my finger on purpose 
 to gain the good opinion of the whole world. Not 
 that I despise it; 1 consider the esteem of the wise 
 and good as a treasure which I should be glad to 
 obtain ; but to obtain by being really worthy of it, 
 not by any little fraudulent arts exercised on pur- 
 pose to catch it. To be better thought of than I 
 deserve, is always a reproach; but the consciousness 
 of having gained that high opinion by appearing 
 in any respect better than I really am, would be to 
 
 * See Appendix. Letter II. 
 K 2
 
 [ !32 ] 
 
 me as insupportable as that of having forged a 
 bank-note. In either case I should have made 
 something pass for more than it was worth } I 
 should expect the fraud to be some time or other 
 discovered; and if not, I could not enjoy what I 
 had no right to possess. Perhaps there is nothing 
 more difficult to guard against than the desire of 
 'being admired, but I am convinced that it ought 
 never to be the motive for the most trifling action. 
 We should do right, because it is the will of God; 
 if the good opinion of others follow our good 
 conduct, we should receive it thankfully, as a va- 
 luable part of our reward; if not, we should be 
 content without it." 
 
 These sentiments are certainly highly charac- 
 teristic of the writer, for no human being, as Mrs, 
 Smith observes, ever seemed to seek the applause of 
 the world so little as she did. " The approbation 
 of God and her own conscience were the only 
 rewards she ever sought." Let me, however, guard 
 against her meaning being misunderstood, by 
 observing, that wishing to gain the applause of 
 others is very different from wishing to please them« 
 In the one case we act from selfish motives, in 
 the other they may be purely benevolent. To give
 
 [ 133 ] 
 
 pleasure to others by expressions of kindness and 
 affection, as well as to set them a good example, 
 forms a part of that law of kindness which is the 
 distinguishing feature of the Christian Religion ; 
 but our motive for every action should be duty to 
 God, and the desire of pleasing Him ; the applause 
 of our fellow-creatures may be the consequence of 
 our conduct, and when it is so, it may be received 
 with gratitude and pleasure ; but our conduct 
 should be [precisely the same in every instance, 
 whether this reward is likely to be obtained by it 
 or not. The Christian should act on higher mo- 
 tives, and " through evil report and good report," 
 he should always strive to please God. 
 
 At Balli tore, where the family spent nine months, 
 Miss Smith had access to a very curious collection 
 of books, chiefly Greek and Latin; and I wish to 
 give some idea of the use she made of them. 
 A bundle of papers found since her death is thus 
 entitled : " Fasciculus Plantarum rariorum. Dis-r 
 cerptae apud Ballitore, vere 1800, alias ob pulchri- 
 tudinem, aliae ob odorem, alipe ob curiositatem."* 
 
 * « A collection of curious Plants. Gathered at Bal- 
 litore in 1800, some for their beauty, some for their sweet- 
 ness, some for their rarity." — — Some errors in this Latin
 
 [ 134 ] 
 
 In each paper is the name of the author, and some 
 extracts in the original languages; some short, but 
 others of considerable length. I am informed that 
 many of the Greek extracts are taken from a 
 volume containing fragments of the minor poets. 
 Others are muchlonger quotations, from Epictetus, 
 Hesiod, and the Sybilline Oracles. The Latin 
 authors are, — Ciceronis specimen ; Terentius dis- 
 tillatus; Grotius de Veritate; Baconis Sermones 
 Fideles; and Bacon de Augmentis Scientiarum. 
 In English, there is Josephus, on which are notes 
 which refer to the whole of his works, both the 
 Antiquities and the Wars of the Jews, and it is 
 evident that Miss Smith had studied them with 
 attention. As a proof of the indefatigable appli- 
 cation with which she pursued her studies, I will 
 take this opportunity of mentioning some of the 
 papers found after her death : 
 
 sentence as printed in the first edition of this work having 
 been noticed (though with much candour and liberality) in 
 the Eclectic Review, the Editor thinks it necessary to say- 
 that the words were originally written exaftly as they are 
 now printed. They were written in a small hand, and with 
 a very bad pen, and an ignorant transcriber did not observe 
 the dipthongs.
 
 [ 135 ] 
 
 A compleat Analysis of Homer's Odyssey. 
 
 Extracts from Quintus Curtius. 
 
 Extracts from Maurice's History of Indostan. 
 
 Extra&s from Bruce's Travels. 
 
 Thirteen folio pages closely written, containing near a 
 
 thousand words, written in Hebrew, Arabic, and Persic, 
 
 to shew the resemblance between those languages. 
 A great number of Greek words, with their signification. 
 A collection of Welsh words. 
 A collection of words from Africa, — Mandingo, Foulah, 
 
 Zangay, &c. 
 Explanation of many of the proper names in Scripture. 
 A colledion of words from the Chinese. 
 Explanation of the names of many stars, with their titles 
 
 in Arabic : and other papers in that language. 
 Extracts from Bartholinus, in the Icelandish language. 
 An abstract of the contents of the Edda, &c. &c. 
 
 To account for the trouble which Miss Smith 
 took in collecting so many words in different lan- 
 guages, and making so many extracts from books, 
 it must be recollected that she was often without a 
 home, and deprived of the assistance of dictionaries; 
 and that the books from which she derived so 
 much pleasure and improvement were not her own, 
 and perhaps for a short time only accessible to her.
 
 r 136 3 
 
 After Mrs. Smith returned from Ireland, she 
 resided during some months at Patterdale, by the 
 Lake of Uls water, from whence tiie following little 
 Poem, written by Miss Smith, was sent by her and 
 her sister, with a very elegant Irish Poplin, to a 
 friend, whose services, though not her affection, 
 they always greatly over-rated, 
 
 " Patterdale, Dec. 8, 1800. 
 
 " Were India's choicest treasures ours, 
 And did we give them all to thee, 
 Yet could not that be call'd a gift, 
 
 Which would not send the debtors free. 
 
 *' For more than worlds to thee we owe, 
 
 Who still hast prov'd our kindest friend ; 
 Then add one favour to the past, 
 To take the trifle we can send. 
 
 i( To purchase pleasure for ourselves 
 
 Thy bounteous hand a store supply'd ; 
 The little part we thus employ 
 
 Has bought us more than all beside." 
 
 « E. S, and C. S." 
 
 From Patterdale, Elizabeth writes thus to Miss, 
 Hvnt.
 
 [ 137 ] 
 
 " March 22, 1801. 
 " You have perhaps heard of the little farm 
 purchased, and house hired at Coniston, where 
 we are to be planted in May. In the mean time 
 we vegetate in a very beautiful country; but this 
 is not the season for enjoying it, and other enjoy- 
 ments we certainly have none; but we look forward 
 to the land of promise, and flatter ourselves all will 
 be better in the next house. My father is still 
 
 in Ireland* Do you remember, Werter says 
 
 every day he lives amongst the country people he 
 is more delighted with Homer, because he finds 
 his account correspond so exactly with nature? I 
 find it the same here. Our neighbours are very 
 little advanced beyond the state of civilization 
 described by him, and their manners agree surpri- 
 singly. 1 could give you many instances of this, 
 and shew you several Nestors, if I had the hap- 
 piness of seeing you here, I cannot indeed boast 
 of having met with a Hector. What is still more 
 astonishing is that the belief in ghosts and witches 
 is still in full force. We have heard several serious 
 
 * Mr. Smith went into the army in the year 1794, soon 
 after the misfortune which deprived him of Piercefield, and 
 he spent several years in Ireland with his regiment.
 
 [ 138 J 
 
 and; very recent stones of ghosts that have been 
 seen and laid in the neighbourhood ; and there is 
 an old Conjuror living close by, who is always 
 applied to, and who exerts his power when the 
 butter will not come, or when any thing is lost; 
 beside many others of the same trade, in whose 
 incantations the poor people believe at least as 
 firmly as they do in the Bible. When I come to 
 witchcraft, you will think it is time for me to leave 
 off. I obey, intreating you to be assured of my 
 most sincere affection." 
 
 The circumstance which gave occasion to the 
 following reflections, happened exactly as it is 
 here described. 
 
 « Patterdale, Feb. 1801. 
 " Alone on the pathless steep I wander'd, 
 I sought the foaming waterfall ; 
 And high o'er the torrent's brink I clamber'd, 
 Which loud and dreadful roar'd beneath. 
 
 u At length I came where a winter's streamlet 
 Had torn the surface from the earth ; 
 Its bed was fill'd with dry shelving gravel, 
 Which slid beneath my hands and feet.
 
 [ 139 j 
 
 « The pebbles roll'd rattling down the steep slope, 
 Then dash'd into the dark abyss, 
 
 I follow'd — there was nought to save me, 
 
 Nor bush, nor rock, nor grass, nor moss. 
 
 Then did I tranquilly my life resign ; 
 1 If 'tis the will of God that here 
 
 I I perish, may that will be done !' but sudden 
 Across my mind th' idea flash'd — 
 
 « 'Twas not by his command I hither came; 
 
 * 'Tis I, who wickedly have thrown away 
 
 * That life which He for nobler ends had giv'n.' 
 Then, with a deep repentance for my fault, 
 And firm reliance on his mighty pow'r, 
 
 I pray'd to Him who is, who fills all space, 
 
 * O Lord, deliver me! 1 know Thou can'st!' 
 Instant I rais'd my eyes, I know not why, 
 And saw my sister stand a few yards off; 
 
 She seem'd to watch me, but she could not help. 
 Then, as the busy brain oft sees in sleep, 
 I thought she saw me slip into the stream, 
 And dash rebounding on from rock to rock. 
 Swiftly she ran all down the mountain side 
 To meet below my mangled lifeless limbs, 
 And tatter'd garments. — Life then had value, 
 It was worth a struggle, to spare her soul 
 That agony. — I pass'd, I know not how, 
 The danger ; then look'd up— she was not there,
 
 r ho ] 
 
 Nor had been ! 'Twas perhaps a vision sent 
 To save me from destruction. Shall T then 
 Say that God does not heed the fate of mortals, 
 When not a sparrow falls without his will, 
 And when He thus has saved a worm like me? 
 So when I totter on the brink of sin, 
 May the same mercy save me from the gulph !" 
 
 • 
 
 On some remarkable sweet tones issuing from 
 the wood on the fire, during a very severe frost. 
 
 " Patterdale, January 1801. 
 «' The storm is past ; the raging wind no more, 
 Between the mountains rushing, sweeps the vale. 
 Dashing the billows of the troubled lake 
 High into air ; — the snowy fleece lies thick ; 
 From every bough, from every jutting rock 
 The crystals hang ; — 'the torrent's roar has ceas'd,— - 
 As if that voice which called creation forth 
 Had said, « Be still !' All nature stands aghast ; 
 Suspended by the viewless power of cold. 
 
 " Heap high the fire with wood, and let the blaze 
 With mimic sunshine gild our gloomy room. 
 The rising flame now spreads a cheerful ray ; 
 We hover round, rejoicing in the heat ; 
 The stiffen'd limbs relax, the heart dilates. 
 Hark to that sound ! Amid the burning pile 
 A voice, as of a silver trumpet, speaks,
 
 [ 141 ] 
 
 " Children of Taste ! Nature's enthusiasts ! 
 Ye, who, with daring pride, attempt to paint 
 These awful scenes ; is this an offering fit 
 To great Ulswater's Genius ? Is it thus 
 Ye adore the picturesque, the beautiful ? 
 In this your homage to the dread sublime? 
 Oft as ye stray where lofty Stybrow tow'rs, 
 Or Glencoin opes her ramparts, to the lake, 
 Ye view the roots of trees that once have been,— 
 The hypocritic tear in every eye 
 Stands trembling, and ye almost curse the man 
 Who laid their leafy honours low ; — perhaps 
 Some sage reflection follows, on the fate 
 Of greatness tumbled from its airy height, — 
 Of youth and beauty lopp'd in early bloom, — 
 Or else on avarice, that fiend who turns 
 The woods to gold, the heart to steel. — Then home 
 Ye hie, and feed the fire with those lov'd trees 
 Whose fall ye have deplor'd. For this, be sure 
 Our sister Dryads ne'er shall spread their arms 
 To screen ye from the summer's noon-tide ray ; 
 But ere the sun ascends his fiery car, 
 Banish'd from these sequester'd glades, far off. 
 To scorching plains and barren mountains go, 
 Where not a bough shall wave to fan the breeze, 
 Nor rill shall murmur coolness as it flows. 
 Then learn how vain th' excuse — "I did no wrong; 
 I only shar'd the gain of him who did."
 
 [ 142 ] 
 
 I will here insert reflections on various subjects 
 found amongst Miss Smith's papers, most of 
 which, I believe, were written after her return 
 from Ireland. 
 
 " Why are the writings of the ancients, gene- 
 rally speaking, superior to those of the moderns? 
 Because paper was scarce. Of course they would 
 think deeply, and consider their subject on every 
 side, before they would spoil their parchment by 
 writing what on reflection might appear not 
 worth preserving. The same cause, added to the 
 labour of transcribing, would prevent copies being 
 multiplied, except of what was really valuable. 
 Thus what has come down to our time, is only the 
 cream of the writings of the ancients, skimmed 
 off" by the judgment of their immediate suc- 
 cessors, and cannot fairly be compared with the 
 general mass of modern literature." 
 
 "One of the most common subjects of com- 
 plaint, among those who wish to shew their 
 wisdom by arraigning the whole economy of the 
 universe, is the inequality in the distribution of 
 the goods of this life. It is unfair, say they, that
 
 C 143 ] 
 
 a fool should be surrounded with dignities, ho- 
 nours, and affluence, while a wise man perhaps begs 
 at his door. This is a mistake, arising, as false 
 opinions generally do, from a too hasty view of 
 the subject. Let the wisdom of the one be 
 weighed against the exterior trappings of the other, 
 and it will then appear that the wise man has by 
 much the greater share of the goods even of this 
 life, wisdom being the most valuable gift that 
 God can bestow. It may also be proved that he 
 is the happiest. He is of course virtuous, for true 
 wisdom is the mother of virtue, and his wisdom 
 and virtue will teach him to be contented with 
 whatever lot the will of God may ordain for him. 
 This is more than the fool in the midst of his 
 wealth can ever attain to. He is allways pursuing 
 some new bauble; and despising all he possesses 
 in comparison with what he wishes to obtain; and 
 though he may riot in what he calls pleasure for a 
 time, he never enjoys that inward satisfaction, that 
 sunshine of the mind, which alone deserves the 
 name of happiness. If, then, honours, distinc- 
 tions, and riches, were given exclusively to the 
 wist? and good, what would become of the foolish 
 aud the wicked r They would lose their only enjoy-
 
 [ 144 ] 
 
 meht, and become much more wretched than it 
 is possible for a wise man to be under any circum- 
 stances. At the same time the happiness of the 
 wise would not increase in the same proportion 
 as that of the fool diminished ; because his mind 
 being fixed on higher objects, he would but lightly 
 regard those advantages on which the other sets 
 so high a value. The dog eats meat, and delights 
 in all the dainties of the table; but must the 
 sheep therefore complain that it has only grass ? 
 It has the food best adapted to its nature. Were 
 the dog turned out to graze, he would starve." 
 
 "The hand of a friend imparts inestimable 
 value to the most trifling' token of remembrance j 
 but a magnificent present from one unloved is like 
 golden fetters, which encumber and restrain not 
 the less for being made of costly materials." 
 
 " Humility has been so much recommended, 
 and is indeed so truly a christian virtue, that some 
 people fancy they cannot be too humble. If they 
 speak of humility towards God, they are certainly 
 right ; we cannot, by the utmost exertion of our 
 faculties, measure the distance between Him and
 
 [ 145 ] 
 
 us, nor prostrate ourselves too low before Him; 
 but with regard to our fellow-creatures, I think the 
 case is different. Though we ought by no means 
 to assume too much, a certain degree of respect 
 to ourselves is necessary to obtain a proportionate 
 degree from others. Too low an opinion of 
 ourselves will also prevent our undertaking what 
 we are very able to accomplish, and thus prevent 
 the fulfilment of our duty; for it is our duty to 
 exert the powers given us, to the utmost, for good 
 purposes; and how shall we exert powers which 
 we are too humble-minded to suppose we possess? 
 In this particular, as in all others, we should con- 
 stantly aim at discovering the truth. Though our 
 faculties, both intellectual and corporeal, be ab- 
 solutely nothing compared with the Divinity, yet 
 when compared with those of other mortals, they 
 rise to some relative value, and it should be our 
 study to ascertain that value, in order that we 
 may employ them to the best advantage ; always 
 remembering that it is better to fix it rather below 
 than above the truth." 
 
 " It is very surprising that praise should excite 
 vanity; for if what is said of us be true, it is no 
 
 L
 
 [ 146 ] 
 
 more than we knew before, and cannot raise us in 
 our own esteem; if it be false, it is surely a most 
 humiliating reflection, that we are only admired 
 because we are not known; and that a closer 
 inspection would draw forth censure, instead of 
 commendation. Praise can hurt only those who 
 have not formed a decided opinion of themselves, 
 and who are willing, on the testimony of others, 
 to rank themselves higher than their merits 
 warrant, in the scale of excellency." 
 
 " Pleasure is a rose near which there ever 
 grows the thorn of evil. It is wisdom's work so 
 carefully to cull the rose, as to avoid the thorn, and 
 let its rich perfume exhale to heaven in grateful 
 adoration of Him who gave the rose to blow." 
 
 " As the sun breaking forth in winter, so is joy 
 in the season of affliction. As a shower in the 
 midst of summer, so are the salutary drops of 
 sorrow mingled in our cup of pleasure." 
 
 " A sum of happiness sufficient to supply our 
 reasonable desires for a long time is sometimes 
 condensed into a little space, as light is concen-
 
 [ 147 ] 
 
 trated in the flash. Such moments are given to 
 enable us to guess at the joys of heaven." 
 
 " In vain do we attempt to fix our thoughts on 
 heaven; the vanities of this world rise like a cloud 
 of dust before the eyes of the traveller, and ob- 
 scure, if not totally conceal, the beautiful and 
 boundless prospect of ttie glorious country towards 
 which we are tending." 
 
 " If it were the business of man to make a 
 religion for himself, the Deist, the Theophilan- 
 thropist, the Stoic, or even the Epicurean, might 
 be approved; but this is not the case. We are 
 to believe what God has taught us, and to do 
 what He has commanded. All other systems are 
 but the reveries of mortals, and not religion." 
 
 " The Christian life may be compared to a 
 magnificent column, whose summit always points 
 to heaven. The innocent and therefore real plea- 
 sures of this world are the ornaments on the pe- 
 destal; very beautiful, and highly to be enjoyed, 
 when the eye is near ; but which snould not too 
 long or too frequently detain us from that just 
 
 L 2
 
 [ 148 J 
 
 distance, where we can contemplate the whole 
 column, and where the ornaments on its base 
 disappear." 
 
 " The cause of all sin is a deficiency in our 
 loveofGon. If we really loved Him above all 
 things, we should not be too strongly attached to 
 terrestrial objects, and should with pleasure re- 
 linquish them all to please Him. Unfortunately, 
 while we continue on earth, our minds are so 
 much more strongly affected by the perceptions 
 of the senses than by abstract ideas, that it re- 
 quires a continual exertion to keep up even the 
 remembrance of the invisible world." 
 
 " When I hear of a great and good character 
 falling into some heinous crime, I cannot help 
 crying, Lord, what am I, that I should be 
 exempt? O preserve me from temptation, or 
 how shall I stand, when so many, much my su- 
 periors, have fallen?" 
 
 " Sublimity is something beyond the little 
 circle of our comprehension, and whatever within 
 that circle approaches the circumference, ap-
 
 [ 149 ] 
 
 proaches the sublime. The pleasure occasioned 
 by the idea of sublimity seems to me to consist 
 in the exertion of the mind ; which, when violent, 
 overpowers weak minds, as violent exercise does 
 weak bodies, but makes strong ones feel and re- 
 joice in their own energy. Mr. Burke certainly 
 understood and felt the sublime; but I think he 
 would have defined it better, if, instead of saying 
 it is occasioned by terror, he had said, it is some- 
 thing incomprehensible to the mind of man, some- 
 thing which it struggles to take in, but cannot; 
 which exerts all its powers, yet baffles them. The 
 instances he brings of it would in general agree 
 much better with thisidea than with thatof terror ; 
 as, an extent of space of which the eye sees not 
 the bounds, a degree of darkness which conceals 
 them, every thing which occasions indistinctness 
 and difficulty. The same perpendicular height 
 gives a more sublime idea to a person on the 
 summit than at the base, because the eye cannot 
 so easily measure the height." 
 
 " Imagination, like the setting sun, casts a 
 glowing lustre over the prospect, and lends to 
 every object an enchanting brilliancy of colouring;
 
 [ 150 J 
 
 but when reason takes the place of imagination, 
 and the sun sinks behind the mountain, all fade 
 alike into the night of disappointment." 
 
 " Study is to the mind what exercise is to the 
 bodv: neither can be active and vigorous without 
 proper exertion. Therefore if the acquisition -of 
 knowledge were not an end worthy to be gained, 
 still study would be valuable on its own account, 
 as tending to strengthen the mind : just as a walk 
 is beneficial to our health, though we have no 
 particular object in view. And certainly, for that 
 most humiliating mental disorder, the wandering 
 of the thoughts, there is no remedy so efficacious 
 as intense study." 
 
 " An hour well spent condemns a life. When 
 we reflect on the sum of improvement and delight 
 gained in that single hour, how do the multitude 
 of hours already past rise up and say, what good 
 has marked us? Would'st thou know the true 
 worth of time, employ one hour." 
 
 " To read a great deal would be a sure preven- 
 tive of much writing, because almost every one 
 might find all he has to say, already written."
 
 [ 151 ] 
 
 " A woman must have uncommon sweetness of 
 disposition and manners to be forgiven for pos- 
 sessing superior talents and acquirements." 
 
 " As by weighing a guinea in water, we prove 
 whether it be really gold, so by weighing our own 
 faculties and attainments with those of the world 
 in general, we may ascertain their real worth. 
 Whatever bulk they have gained by the swelling 
 of vanity, so much weight will they lose on the 
 trial. No one can be convinced how difficult it is 
 to know himself, without observing the erroneous 
 opinions which others entertain of themselves; 
 but having seen how far vanity will lead them, we 
 must suspect ourselves." 
 
 " It is not learning that is disliked in women, 
 but the ignorance and vanity which generally ac- 
 company it. A woman's learning is like the fine 
 clothes of an upstart, who is anxious to exhibit to 
 all the world the riches so unexpectedly acquired. 
 The learning of a man, on the contrary, is like 
 hereditary rank, which having grown up with him, 
 and being in a manner interwoven with his nature, 
 he is almost unconscious of possessing it. The
 
 [ 152 ] 
 
 I 
 
 reason of this difference is the scarcity of the com- 
 modity amongst females, which makes every one 
 who possesses a little, fancy herself a prodigy. 
 .As the sum total increases, we may reasonably 
 hope that each will become able to bear her share 
 with a better grace," 
 
 "Why do so many men return coxcombs from 
 their travels ? Because they set out fools. If a man 
 take with him even a moderate share of common 
 sense, and a desire of improvement, he will find 
 travelling the best introduction to an acquaint- 
 ance with himself, and of course the best corrector 
 of vanity; for if we knew ourselves, of what could 
 any of us be vain? Vanity is the fruit of igno- 
 rance, which thrives most in subterranean places, 
 where the air of heaven, and the light of the sun, 
 never reach it." 
 
 " Hope without foundation is an ignis fatuus, 
 and what foundation can we have for any hope, 
 but that of heaven ?" 
 
 " Great actions are so often performed from 
 little motives of vanity, self-complacency, and the
 
 [ 153 ] 
 
 like, that I am more apt to think highly of the 
 person whom I observe checking a reply to a pe- 
 tulant speech, or even submitting to the judgment 
 of another in stirring the fire, than of one who 
 gives away thousands." 
 
 " To be good and disagreeable is high treason 
 against virtue." 
 
 " Our endeavours to reach perfection are like 
 those of Sysiphus to roll the stone up the hill; we 
 have a constant tendency downwards, which we 
 must exert all our efforts to counteract." 
 
 "A great genius can render clear and intelligible 
 any subject within the compass of human know- 
 ledge ; therefore what is called a deep book, (too 
 deep to be understood,) we may generally conclude 
 to be the produce of a shallow understanding." 
 
 " We were placed in this world to learn to be 
 happy ; that is, so to regulate and employ our pas- 
 sions as to make them productive of happiness; if 
 we do not learn this lesson, but on the contrary, 
 make them productive of misery, by cultivating
 
 [ 154 ] 
 
 and encouraging the malevolent, instead of the 
 benevolent affections, heaven itself cannot make us 
 happy. For a being accustomed to indulge envy, 
 hatred, and malice, against superior excellence, 
 would be in a state of the most agonizing torture, 
 if placed in the midst of perfection, where every 
 object calculated to inspire love and admiration, 
 veneration and gratitude, in a well-disposed mind, 
 would excite the opposite painful emotions in his." 
 
 " A happy day is worth enjoying; it exercises 
 the soul for heaven. The heart that never tastes of 
 pleasure, shuts up, grows stiff, and incapable of 
 enjoyment. How then shall it enter the realms of 
 bliss? A cold heart can 'receive no pleasure even 
 there. Happiness is the support of virtue; they 
 should always travel together, and they generally 
 do so; when the heart expands to receive the 
 latter, her companion enters of course. In some 
 situations, if I ever do right, it is mechanically, or 
 in compliance with the deductions of reason ; in 
 others, it is from an inward sentiment of good- 
 ness, from the love of God, and admiration of the 
 beauty of virtue. I believe it is impossible to be 
 wicked and happy at the same time."
 
 [ 155 ] 
 
 " When we think of the various miseries of the 
 world, it seems as if we ought to mourn continually 
 for our fellow-creatures ; and that it is onty for 
 want of feeling that we indulge in joy for a single 
 moment. But when we consider all these appa- 
 rent evils as dispensations of Providence, tending 
 to correct the corruption of our nature, and to fit 
 us for the enjoyment of eternal happiness, we can 
 not only look with calmness on the misfortunes of 
 others, but receive those appointed for ourselves 
 with gratitude." 
 
 " Happiness is a very common plant, a native 
 of every soil; yet is some skill required in ga- 
 thering it; for many poisonous weeds look like it, 
 and deceive the unwary to their ruin." 
 
 " Courage has been extolled as the first of 
 human virtues ; again, it has been considered as 
 the mere mechanical effect of blood and spirits. 
 Whence arise these opposite opinions? To an- 
 swer this question, we must trace fear to its 
 origin, i, e. the cradle. We are all naturally 
 cowards, as we are gluttons, &,c. The first passions 
 of children are, a des,ire of food; fear, when any
 
 [ 156 J 
 
 thing approaches which they fancy may hurt 
 them ; and anger, when their inclinations are 
 thwarted. These instincts are wisely implanted, 
 for the purpose of self-preservation, not only in 
 the human species, but in the whole animal crea- 
 tion. By these we are and must be guided, till 
 reason gain sufficient strength to rule them. In 
 some this never happens, and they are children all 
 their lives; or rather they degrade themselves to 
 brutes, by not using their reason for the purpose 
 for which it was given. Since, then, fear is na- 
 tural, courage does not consist in its absence, but 
 in its proper regulation by reason ; to fear only 
 when there is cause to fear. On this subject there 
 will be various opinions. Some think any bodily 
 pain or injury a cause of fear, others dread the 
 censure or ridicule of the world, &c. It is the 
 Christian alone, who, having his treasure in heaven, 
 can find no cause of fear in this world, and who 
 is therefore the only hero. Others may possess 
 degrees of courage sufficient for outside shew, to 
 impose upon the world, to be admired, and to be 
 talked of; but which having no better foundation 
 than vanity, emulation, or shame, all originally the 
 offspring of fear, will shrink from even a small
 
 t 157 ] 
 
 trial which no eye beholds, because their natural 
 timidity having been argued down by only weak 
 and partial reasons, will always recur when those 
 reasons fail. Such courage is not a virtue, though 
 still, as being an exertion of reason, upon what- 
 ever principles, it is more respectable than cow- 
 ardice. It is the foundation of religion alone, 
 which exalts courage to the highest virtue, and at 
 the same time makes it universal, as being an uni- 
 versal principle applicable to all circumstances." 
 
 In the month of May 1802, Mrs. Blake and 
 Mrs. E. Hamilton went to spend the summer 
 near the Lakes ; and I had the pleasure of intro- 
 ducing them to Mrs. Smith. I take the liberty of 
 inserting some short extracts from Mrs. Hamil- 
 ton's letters, because they describe the situation 
 of my friends far better than I am capable of 
 doing it. The talents of the writer are well known, 
 and universally admired. 
 
 " Monk Cojiiston, Aug, 8. 
 " Were it possible that your heart could feel a 
 pang of envy, it would certainly be excited by the
 
 [ 158 ] 
 
 date of this letter, which at a glance will convey 
 to you an idea of the happiness I just now enjoy. 
 
 " You wish me to be particular in my description 
 of the place, and of every thing concerning the 
 dear inhabitants. I wish I could say that the 
 house was comfortable, but in truth it is not. I 
 cannot help wishing that a more commodious 
 dwelling could be reared; and I am sure that were 
 you to have a sight of this in winter, you would be 
 of my opinion. The situation is indeed enchanting, 
 and during the summer months, inconveniences 
 within doors are little felt ; but it grieves me to 
 be convinced of what they must amount to in 
 December. Mrs. Smith's spirits still support her. 
 Not all the sufferings she has been doomed to 
 experience, have had power to destroy the energy 
 of a mind that is superior to the malice of fortune. 
 Her gentle daughters are indeed admirable crea- 
 tures. Their sweet manners, their amiable con- 
 tentedness, and cheerful enjoyment of every 
 blessing which Providence has placed within their 
 reach, is truly engaging." 
 
 " Sept. 2d. 
 "I cannot help reproaching myself for having 
 added to your anxiety about your deservedly dear
 
 L 159 ] 
 
 friends, especially as they seem determined against 
 building at present. While they can enjoy their 
 pursuits out of doors, the house is of little conse- 
 quence, as by exposure to the air the body is 
 fortified to endure damp, and this it is which has 
 preserved the health of the whole family; but 
 when the weather does not permit the use of exer- 
 cise, I fear it must prove injurious. I was not sorry 
 that the weather was bad while I was at Coniston, 
 as it gave so much more time for conversation, 
 and every hour endeared the whole family to me 
 more and more." 
 
 " Oct. 25. 
 " I spent a few delightful hours with Mrs. Smith, 
 whose society I preferred to all the beauties of the 
 Lake, across which my Sister was conducted by 
 the Nymphs, who in the days of Paganism would 
 have been worshipped as beings of a superior order, 
 so elegantly graceful do they appear, when with 
 easy motion they guide their light boat over the 
 waves. After having seen all this country, I con- 
 sider Coniston as the most eligible spot they could 
 possibly have fixed on. I have no doubt that with 
 their judicious plan of cultivation the land will,
 
 [ 160 ] 
 
 in three years time, double its value. The situation 
 is uncommonly beautiful. The scenery is such as 
 to charm every mind that is susceptible of the emo- 
 tions of sublimity or beauty. Its remoteness from 
 what is called good neighbourhood is another great 
 advantage, for there they can preserve the dignity 
 of retirement. Their present house is certainly 
 damp, but the soil is very dry, and houses properly 
 built are liable to no such inconvenience." 
 
 " Edinburgh, Bee. 13. 
 " We began to feel the want of society at Bow- 
 ness, and were on that account doubly obliged to 
 our dear Coniston friends, for a most kind and wel- 
 come visit of the young ladies. ?»Trs. Smith, to 
 our great regret, was not well enough to come, as 
 the Lake, which is in summer so agreeable, presents 
 in winter a formidable barrier on account of the 
 extreme cold. I never before saw so much of 
 Miss Smith, and in the three days she spent with 
 us, the admiration which I had always felt for her 
 extraordinary talents, and as extraordinary virtues, 
 was hourly augmented. She is indeed a most 
 charming creature, and if one could inoculate her-
 
 C 161 ] 
 
 with a little of the Scotch frankness, I think she 
 would be one of the most perfect of human beings."* 
 
 * I take the liberty of adding an extract from a letter lately 
 received from Mrs. E. Hamilton. 
 
 " Edinburgh, March \\, 1809. 
 " I cannot but be highly flattered by your expressing a 
 wish to insert in the Fragments some passages from my 
 letters which related to the ever beloved and regretted Miss 
 Smith ; for be assured, no circumstance could be more gra- 
 tifying to my feelings than to be permitted to add my mite 
 to the tribute paid to her memory. But it was not on a first 
 acquaintance that her extraordinary qualities were to be 
 appreciated. She did not emit those brilliant flashes which 
 dazzle the imagination ; and so superior were the native 
 graces of her mind to the ornaments which embellished it, 
 that acquirements which in others would have been admired 
 as astonishing, were in her sometimes almost unobserved. 
 To those who had been accustomed to contemplate the 
 possessor of genius or learning raised upon the pedestal of 
 vanity, and extorting the homage of applause from all be- 
 holders, the simplicity, to which all ostentatious display was 
 abhorrent, would have appeared as a defect, and therefore it 
 is not surprising that her merit should have been sometimes 
 overlooked. But whoever compared it with a higher stan- 
 dard than that of the world, must have been sensible of its 
 
 M
 
 [ 163 ] 
 
 Tn the year 1803, Mr. Sotheby, the elegant 
 translator of Oberon, expressed to me a wish 
 that Miss Smith's uncommon talents should be 
 employed in something which might interest the 
 public ; particularly in translations from the Ger- 
 man. He could scarcely credit what I said of the 
 facility with which she translated from that very 
 difficult language ; and taking down Gesner's 
 works, which was the only German book in my 
 possession, he turned to one of the Idylls, and re- 
 quested me to ask her to translate it. I believe 
 she had never read it, and I know she had no dic- 
 tionary; but I told her that Mr. Sotheby had 
 commended the poem highly, and I wished she 
 would make me understand it. The next mornin°- 
 she brought me the following. 
 
 " A Picture of the Deluge. 
 
 " The marble towers were already deep buried 
 beneath the flood, and dark waves rolled over 
 
 near approach to perfection, and while they bestowed on her 
 character the admiration so justly due, they would he led to 
 ftflecl with gratitude that the model on which all her vir- 
 tues were Formed, is within the reach of all who with equal 
 eincerity endeavour to mould themselves to its likeness."
 
 [ 163 ] 
 
 the mountain tops; one lofty summit stood 
 alone above the waters. Its sides resounded with 
 the mingled cries of wretches who attempted to 
 ascend, and whom death followed on the dashing 
 wave. Here, a crag, rent from the mountain, 
 fell with its burthen of helpless mortals into the 
 foaming flood ; there, the wild stream of a torrent 
 hurried down the son, as he was dragging up his 
 dying father, or the despairing mother with the 
 load of her children. Only the highest summit 
 now remained above the deluge. 
 
 " Semin, a noble youth, to whom the most 
 noble of maidens had sworn eternal love, had 
 saved his beloved Semira on the summit. All 
 else were dead. They stood alone in the howling 
 storm ; the waves dash'd over them. Above them 
 growl'd the thunder, and beneath roar'd the furious 
 ocean. Darkness reign'd around, save when the 
 lightning shew'd the horrid scene. Each cloud's 
 dark brow threaten'd vengeance, and each wave 
 roll'd on a thousand corses; it roll'd on with fury, 
 seeking for more destruction. — Semira press'd her 
 beloved to her trembling heart; tears ran with 
 the rain-drops down her faded cheeks. She spoke 
 with a faltering voice. — 
 
 M 2
 
 [ 164 ] 
 
 " There is no more safety, O my beloved ! my 
 Semin ! Death surrounds us. O destruction! O 
 misery ! Death comes every moment nearer. 
 Which of those waves, oh, which will overwhelm 
 us ? Hold me, hold me in thy trembling arms, O 
 my beloved ! Soon, soon shall I, shalt thou, be 
 no more ; swallow'd up in the universal destruc- 
 tion. Now, — O God! yonder it rolls. How 
 dreadful! It rolls yet nearer, illumined by the 
 lightning. Now, — O God ! our Judge !" she said, 
 and sunk on Semin. His trembling arm sur- 
 rounded his fainting love. No voice breathed 
 from his quivering lips. He saw destruction no 
 longer ; he saw only the fainting Semira leaning 
 on his bosom, and felt more than the chill of death. 
 Now he kiss'd her pale cheek, wet with the chilling 
 rain ; he press'd her closer to his breast, and said, 
 * Semira, beloved Semira, wake ! Oh, yet return 
 to this scene of horror, that thine eyes may look 
 on me once more; that thy pale lips may once more 
 tell me that thou lov'st me even in death, yet 
 once more, ere the flood o'erwhelm us both!' He 
 said, and she awoke. She look'd on him with an 
 eye full of tenderness and inexpressible sorrow, — 
 then on the wide scene of desolation. " O God,
 
 I 165 ] 
 
 our Judge !" she cried, " is there no protection, 
 is there no pity for us ? O how the waves dash, 
 how the thunder roars around us. What terrors 
 announce the unpropitiated judgment. O God! 
 our years flowed on in innocence. Thou, the most 
 virtuous of youths ! — Woe, woe is me ! They are 
 all gone; they who adorn'd my life with the flowers 
 of joy are all gone! — And thou who gavest me life, 
 — O agonizing sight! the wave tore thee from my 
 side. Yet once didst thou raise thy head and 
 thine arms ; thou wouldst have blest me, and wert 
 overwhelm'd. O they are all gone — and yet — O 
 Semin, Semin ; beside thee the lonely desolated 
 world would be to me a Paradise. Our youthful 
 years flow'd on in innocence. Oh, is there no 
 salvation, no mercy f Yet why does my afflicted 
 heart complain? O God, forgive! We die. 
 What is the innocence of man in thy sight ?" 
 The youth supported his beloved as she trembled 
 in the storm, and said, ' Yes, my beloved, life is 
 banish'd from the earth ; the voice of the dying no 
 more is heard amidst the roaring of the ocean. O 
 Semira, my dearest SemTra, the next moment will 
 be our last ! Yes, they are gone, the hopes of this 
 life are all gone ; every pleasing prospect that we
 
 [ 166 J 
 
 imagined in the enraptured hours of our love, is 
 vanished. We die;— but O let us not wait the 
 universal doom like those who have no hope; and 
 O my beloved, what is the longest, the happiest 
 life? A dew-drop that hangs from the juttinw 
 rock, and before the morning sun falls into the 
 sea. — Raise up thy drooping spirit. — Beyond this 
 life is peace and eternity. Let us not tremble 
 now, as we pass over. Embrace me, and so let 
 us await our destiny. Soon, my Semira, soon 
 shall our souls rise above this desolation ; full of 
 feeling, of inexpressible happiness, shall they arise. 
 O God, hope fills my soul with courage. Yes, 
 Semira, let us lift up our hands to God. Shall a 
 mortal adjust his balance? He who breath'd into 
 us the breath of life ; He sends death to the 
 righteous, and to the unrighteous; but well is it for 
 him who hath walked in the path of virtue. We 
 pray not for life, O righteous Judge ! Take us 
 from hence ; but oh, invigorate the hope, the sweet 
 hope of inexpressible happiness, which death shall 
 no more disturb.— Then roll, ye thunders, and rage, 
 thou ocean : dash over us, ye waves ! Praised be 
 the righteous Judge, praised ! Let this be the last 
 thought of our soul in the dying body,'— Courage
 
 [ 167 J 
 
 and joy animated the face of Semira. She rais'd 
 her hands in the storm, and said, " Yes, I feel the 
 delightful, the glorious hope! Praise the Lord, O 
 my tongue; weep tears of joy, my eyes, till death 
 shall close ye. A heaven filled with happiness 
 awaits us. Ye are all gone before, ye beloved ! 
 We come. Soon, O soon we shall again behold 
 you ! They stand before his throne, the Righteous 
 One's ; He has gathered them together from his 
 judgment. Roar, ye thunders ; rage, destruction ; 
 ye are hymns of praise to his righteousness. Roll 
 over us, ye waves. See, my beloved ! — Embrace 
 me — yonder it comes ; death comes on yon dark 
 wave. Embrace me, Semin ; leave me not. O 
 already the flood uplifts me from the earth." — ' I 
 embrace thee, Semira/ said the youth; ' I em- 
 brace thee ! O death, thou art welcome. We are 
 prepared. Praised be the eternal Just One !' — The 
 next wave found them lock'd in each other's 
 arms; the succeeding found them not!" 
 
 Mr. Sotheby was extremely pleased with this 
 translation, and his encouragement and kind as- 
 sistance led me to engage my beloved friend in a
 
 [ 168 ] 
 
 work, which employed much of her time and at- 
 tention, and in which she took particular pleasure ; 
 till her last fatal illness put an end to her pursuits, 
 and to all our earthly hopes in regard to her. 
 The work to which I allude, is a translation of 
 Letters and Memoirs relating to Mr. and Mrs. 
 Klopstock. The interest which was awakened by 
 Mrs. Klopstock's letters, lately published in the 
 Correspondence of Mr. Richardson, led me to 
 suppose that authentic information with regard to 
 that amiable woman would be well received by 
 the public ; and the kindness of the venerable Dr. 
 Mumssen, of Altona, who had been the intimate 
 friend of Klopstock, supplied me with many letters 
 and other works in prose and verse, which Miss 
 Smith translated. I will here insert some ex- 
 tracts from letters, which were sent to me with 
 different parts of this little work, the materials for 
 which were received by me, and forwarded to her 
 at different times. 
 
 " Coniston, November 9, 1804. 
 " My Mother has, I hope, told you, my dearest 
 friend, that Mr. Sotheby's book arrived the day
 
 [ 169 ] 
 
 before she left home, which was as soon as I 
 could do any good with it. My mother and I 
 were so comfortable together, that I did not at- 
 tempt to do any thing, except translating the 
 little Ode to Bodmer one night after she was gone 
 to bed. I shall now have a clear week between 
 her going and my Sister's coming, and that will be 
 sufficient to do all you want. But I ought to tell 
 you what I have got, that you may explain your 
 wishes more fully. The two volumes contain a 
 series of odes arranged in chronological order 
 from 1747 to 1797, published by Klopstock him- 
 self in 1798. Mr. Sotheby's book contains some 
 of the same odes, with a few others, some pieces 
 of prose, most of which seem to have been writ- 
 ten foi the Northern Spectator; and his letters to 
 his wife after her death. This book was published 
 in 1771. The Preface contains an extract from 
 a letter of Bodmer's, giving a very interesting 
 account of Klopstock when a boy, and of his first 
 reading Milton. Would you wish to have that ? 
 There is nothing in this volume which can have 
 been written by Meta, except a dialogue between 
 Klopstock and her on the subject of Fame. In 
 an Ode to Schmidt her death is mentioned with
 
 C 170 ] 
 
 great feeling. I have translated this, with all the 
 other pieces just mentioned, and if you want only 
 what relates to her, this is all that Mr. Sotheby's 
 book can supply, except a letter on the fashions, 
 to the Northern Spectator, in which she is men- 
 tioned as an example. I think you should publish 
 that for the good of your neighbours. 1 come 
 now to the Odes. There are six addressed to, or 
 relating to, his wife, under the name of Cidli. 
 These are done, and so is the Ode to God, because 
 you desired it ; but I think you must be mistaken 
 in supposing it related to his wife, because it was 
 written in 1748, which, according to her letters to 
 Richardson, was three years before he ever saw her. 
 He probably meant Fanny, the sister of his friend 
 Schmidt, to whom he addressed several poems in 
 the same year. This is all I can find for you that 
 in any way concerns Mrs. Klopstock, and now I 
 want to know whether you wish for any more. 
 There is a very long and fine Ode to the Omni- 
 present, written in 1758, probably soon after her 
 death, in which she is not mentioned, but it shews 
 the turn that his mind had taken. There are also 
 several others of a religious cast in the year fol- 
 lowing. I shall go on with these till my Sister's
 
 [ 171 ] 
 
 return, and then shall wait your orders to send 
 what you choose. I cannot conclude without 
 thaflkiug you most heartily for the employment. 
 I am so delighted with Klopstock, that 1 feel very 
 glad of an excuse to give up my whole time and 
 thoughts to him. As to the Dictionary, I am 
 sorry to have troubled Mr. Sotheby, for I have not 
 yet found any use for it. The English often runs 
 so naturally in the same course with the German, 
 that I have nothing to do but to write it down. 
 Perhaps you will be kind enough to mention any 
 thing you dislike; then if it be Klopstock's fault, 
 you must be content; if mine, it shall be corrected 
 with thankfulness. 
 
 " P. S. I have just found two more Odes, written 
 in 1750, in which i had not observed the name of 
 Cidli. One is on the death of Clarissa. They 
 shall be done immediately." 
 
 " November l Z5. 
 " A thousand thanks for your letter, which I hope 
 to find space to answer in the sheet which is to 
 be dispatched on the next post-day. You have 
 now got all that relates to Meta. I think you will 
 find some of the prose tedious ; but I will send it,
 
 [ 172 ] 
 
 and then you will judge for yourself. There is 
 a life of Klopstock in the new edition of his 
 works ; but whether it contain many interesting 
 particulars, is more than I know. 
 
 " That you may not suspect me of arrogance 
 in saying that I made no use of the Dictionary, I 
 must tell you that the difficulty of Klopstock's 
 Odes (for difficult many of them certainly are) does 
 not consist in hard words, but in the wide range 
 of ideas, and the depth of thought, which he has 
 expressed in very concise language ; of course, 
 often bordering on obscurity, but such obscurity as 
 no dictionary has power to dissipate. On the 
 contrary, in translating the prose, I have several 
 times had occasion to consult it for names of 
 things in common use, which never occur in 
 poetry, and it has not always afforded the infor- 
 mation I wanted. There are some words for 
 which I am still at a loss, which I send in German, 
 in hopes that Miss Hunt can explain them. If 
 you imagine me making rapid progress, you are 
 totally mistaken. Since my sisters and Bedford* 
 came home, my perfect stillness is at an end ; and 
 my brains being of that kind which requires the aid 
 * Third sonof Mr. Smith, now in the 6th dragoon guards.
 
 [ 173 ] 
 
 ©V outward composure, it is not without difficulty 
 that I can now translate the prose, and the poetry 
 I do not think of attempting. The present sheet 
 is all I have translated since their return, though 1 
 have still some left of what I had done before. I 
 fear it will be so long before all our materials are 
 collected, that the subject will be forgotten in the 
 world. Never I intreat you, think of thanking 
 me; but be assured that if 1 can do any thing to 
 amuse you, whether it be of any further use, or 
 not, the pleasure of doing so is to me an ample 
 reward." 
 
 " December 22. 
 
 " Last night arrived your parcel,— your little 
 parcel of great treasures. The letters between 
 Klopstock and his wife are highly interesting to 
 those who know and love them as we do; and 
 Mrs. Klopstock's Letters from the Dead to the 
 Living, as well as many of the letters of their 
 friends written after her death, will, I am sure, 
 delight you. 
 
 "You put a dash under warm bed-chamber, aa 
 if you thought we could not give you one ; it is 
 therefore my duty to tell you, that it is the warmest
 
 [ '74 ] 
 
 and best thing we have; and that if it were possible 
 to transport you hither, we sho*uld not despair of 
 making you comfortable, even in the depth of 
 winter; nor of hearing you admire our mountains 
 every time the sun shone. In fact, their present 
 colouring is so rich, and the small elevation of the 
 sun above the horizon is so favourable to the 
 lights and shadows, that when a gleam does dart 
 across the valley, it is, in a painter's eye, more 
 beautiful than in summer. The mountains in the 
 back-ground are covered with snow, but we have 
 only a little sprinkling on the top of our highest 
 neighbour. I hope, too, you would not here be so 
 often ' sick at heart' as you are at Bath, and al- 
 ways must be, till you learn, what you never will 
 learn, to care for nobody but yourself. We ex- 
 pected Miss Hunt would have some influence in 
 keeping you quiet, by making you happy at home ; 
 but it seems even her power is not sufficient. Give 
 my kind love to her. Louis* is at home for the 
 holidays. He and Bedford are very grateful 
 for your kind remembrance. As to your own 
 children, I need not waste paper in telling you 
 how much they love you." 
 
 * The youngest son ; now in the Navy.
 
 C 175 ] 
 
 " March 22, 1805. 
 "A small box will be dispatched to-morrow, 
 containing a translation of all the prose in Mr. 
 Sotheby's book, and of Mrs. Klopstock's Letters 
 from the Dead to the Living. Thinking that you 
 would be curious to know at least the subject of 
 the " Ode to Fanny," I have attempted an imi- 
 tation, though as Mrs. Lindegren says, it is beyond 
 the power of translation. By way of preface to 
 the whole, I have sent " The Poem's complaint/ 
 that you may see what poor Klopstock would say 
 to me if he could. Mr. Sotheby's book and the 
 letters, I return with thanks. If you wish to have 
 Mrs. Klopstock's unfinished tragedy of "The 
 Death of Abel," it shall be done, or any thing else 
 that you bid me do. I fear you will find some 
 German sticking to the translation, which I have 
 not been able to rub off. I have added some of 
 my Sunday work,* for your private amusement. 
 You are so well acquainted with the subject, and 
 have the power of consulting so many books, that 
 you will probably know I am mistaken in many 
 instances, and you will highly oblige me by telling 
 me so. Where I may be right, it is often no more 
 * Translations of some of the Psalms.
 
 C 176 J 
 
 than a lucky guess, and guesses must sometimes 
 prove erroneous. At the bottom of the box you 
 will find a few transparencies done by Kitty and 
 me for your shew-box.* Tukpin sends her duty ; 
 
 if she durst, I believe it would be her love.T 
 
 How we wish that Coniston were Middle-Hill just 
 now! I do not mean that Coniston should be any 
 thing but what it is, only that it should be as easy 
 for you to get at it. We should make you well 
 directly, brace up your nerves with om* clear air, 
 delight your eyes with our prospects, and make 
 you feel so happy, that you would scarcely believe 
 that you ever had felt otherwise ; and then how 
 happy should we be !" 
 
 " April 16. 
 " Your gratitude to me, dearest friend, is like 
 Turpin's duty to you, rejected because you 
 
 * At Patterdale and Coniston, Miss Smith andher sisters 
 found much employment for the pencil, and I am in posses- 
 sion of a beautiful set of transparencies, from scenes in that 
 country, which prove how well they employed it. Elizabeth 
 discovered a method of clearing the lights with wax, in- 
 stead of oil or varnish, which I think answers perfectly well. 
 
 f The faithful servant mentioned by Mrs. Smith. See 
 Appendix : Letter III.
 
 [ 177 ] 
 
 owe none. The employment has been very de- 
 lightful to me. I could not have got through the 
 winter without something to engage my thoughts, 
 to fix my attention ; and I could hardly have 
 found any thing that would do this more agree- 
 ably than the Klopstocks: yet I should have 
 wanted a sufficient motive for spending so much 
 time on them, had not you supplied one in the 
 pleasure of doing any thing fox you. You have 
 provided both the subject and the motive for 
 action; and thus on this, as on all other occasions, 
 I am highly indebted to you. I have now sent all 
 that was wanting of the little volume, except some 
 of the letters of their friends, which seem to throw 
 no particular light on the subject, and are only 
 interesting as they shew how much the Klopstocks 
 were beloved. If you find this packet more in- 
 correct than the former, do not think that 1 am 
 tired of the work; I was only very much hurried 
 to get all done in time for my Mother's box, so 
 much as not to be able to read it over, after it was 
 written, to see whether the stops had happened to 
 fall in the right place. Mr. Satche's speech was 
 never touched till within the last two hours. Of 
 course I was obliged to send the foul copy unread ; 
 
 N
 
 L 178 j 
 
 but it is the facts only that you want, and those 
 you have got; no matter in what language, if you 
 can but read it. All you desired me to do, is, I 
 think, now sent. I do not wonder you are disap- 
 pointed in Klopstock's prose; it seemed to me in 
 general dull. His wife, 1 think, writes with more 
 ease. I thought it was best to give you every 
 thing, and leave you to weed for yourself. I have 
 accordingly been as faithful as I could. You must 
 reconcile yourself to Fanny. I rather think that 
 Klopstock was more in love with her than even 
 with your favourite Meta ; at least the odes which 
 relate to her appear to me to be the finest. His 
 second wife was a blessing sent by heaven, to make 
 him endure existence for the good of the human 
 race. Do not blame him for having been fortunate 
 enough, at very different periods of his life, to meet 
 with three such women. In truth, he is so great a 
 favourite of mine, that I would gladly excuse him 
 at any rate. 
 
 "I never read Peters on Job, nor any thing 
 about the Hebrew language, except the book of 
 Dr. Kennicott's which you lent me, and Lowth's 
 Protections. Parkhurst has been my only guide, 
 but I fancy he is a very good one."
 
 [ 179 ] 
 
 I afterwards received from Dr. Muinssen and 
 Mrs. Klopstock other letters and papers, which 
 delayed our intended publication. Some of these 
 were translated by Miss Smith, but others did 
 not arrive till she was too ill to attend to them. 
 
 As a specimen of Miss Smith's translations 
 from the Hebrew Bible, I insert Jonah's prayer, and 
 the last chapter of Habakkuk. I do not presume 
 to form any judgment with regard to these trans- 
 lations ; but they were shewn to a gentleman who 
 is well acquainted with the language, and who was 
 requested to give his opinion of them. He said 
 that the author had certainly an extraordinary 
 knowledge of Hebrew; that he thought him 
 rather too free for a biblical translator, but he 
 shewed great acquaintance with the language, as 
 well as a refined taste, and that many of his con- 
 jectures were eminently happy. This opinion 
 
 was formed entirely from a critical examination of 
 the work, without any knowledge of the author ; 
 whose acquaintance with the language would cer- 
 tainly have appeared much more extraordinary, 
 had this Gentleman known that these translations, 
 and many others from the same sacred book, were 
 the work of a Young Lady who never received any 
 
 N 2
 
 C 130 ] 
 
 instruction with regard to the Hebrew language 
 from any person whatever. She had no idea of 
 ever offering them to the public, and it is now 
 done principally to shew with what attention she 
 pursued this most interesting of all studies, and 
 how well she adhered to the resolution she had 
 formed, to let the word of God be her chief study, 
 and all others subservient to it. She translated 
 some chapters in Genesis, the whole book of Job, 
 many of the Psalms, some parts of the Prophets, 
 &e. She spent some time with me in the year 
 1803, when she brought me her translation of Job, 
 and many observations on different parts of the 
 Old Testament. We had much conversation on 
 such subjects, from which I always derived infor- 
 mation as well as delight. She had shewn me her 
 translation of the eleventh chapter of Genesis, in 
 the year 1797, when she was only twenty years old; 
 and as it differs considerably from that in the 
 English Bible, I requested a friend to shew it to 
 Mrs. Carter, who said that the idea was new to 
 her, but she thought the words might bear that 
 interpretation. I was afterwards informed that Sir 
 William Jones had given the same interpretation 
 to that chapter. I do not know whether it is
 
 E 181 ] 
 
 mentioned in the works of that great man, from 
 which Miss Smith afterwards derived much in- 
 formation, and of which she always spoke with 
 enthusiastic admiration; but they were not then 
 published. 
 
 JONAH's PRAYER. 
 " c. ii. v. 2. 
 
 « I call on Jehovah from my prison, 
 
 And He will hear me : 
 
 From the womb of the grave I cry, 
 
 Thou hearest my voice. 
 
 Thou hast cast me into wide waters in the depth of theses, 
 
 And the floods surround me ; 
 
 AH thy dashing and thy rolling waves 
 
 Pass over me. 
 
 And I said I am expelled 
 
 From before thine eyes ; 
 
 O that I might once more behold 
 
 Thy holy temple! 
 
 The waters on every side threaten my life, 
 
 The deep surrounds me ; 
 
 Sea-weed is the ^binding of my head : 
 
 * « The binding of the head was a preparation for burial,
 
 L 182 ] 
 
 I am going down to the clefts of the mountains. 
 
 The earth has shut her bars 
 
 Behind me for ever. 
 
 But Thou wilt raise my soul from corruption, 
 
 Jehovah, my God ! 
 
 In the fading away of my life, 
 
 I think upon Jehovah; 
 
 And my prayer shall come unto Thee 
 
 In thy holy temple. 
 
 They who serve false gods 
 
 Forsake the fountain of mercy ; 
 
 But I with the voice of praise 
 
 Will sacrifice to Thee. 
 
 What I have vowed I will perform, 
 
 Salvation is Jehovah's!" 
 
 « HABAKKUK. 
 
 " The two first chapters of Habakkuk contain 
 a prophecy of the invasion of Judea by the Chal- 
 deans, and of the vengeance which God will take 
 on them for the evils they inflict on his people, 
 whom He promises He will not utterly forsake ; 
 'for the earth shall be filled with the knowledge 
 of the glory of the Lord, as the waters cover the
 
 [ 183 ] 
 
 sea-' referring to the eleventh chapter of Isaiah, 
 which contains a clear prediction of the Messiah. 
 The third chapter is an ode, apparently intended to 
 be suno- by two persons, or two companies. No. I. 
 representing the Prophet foretelling what is to 
 happen to the Jews. No. IT. some one recounting 
 the great works and deliverances already per- 
 formed by God, as reasons for trusting that He 
 will ao-ain deliver his people. In the conclusion, 
 both parts join in a chorus of praise. 
 
 " The Jirst division is a prediction of the coming 
 of Christ. It is answered by a description of 
 God's actual appearance on Mount Sinai. 
 
 " The second tells of evils impending on some 
 neighbouring nations. Answered by an account of 
 the deluge, when the ark was saved upon the waves. 
 
 " The third, a threat of vengeance on the ene- 
 mies of God. Answered by the judgments in- 
 flicted on Egypt, when the Israelites were brought 
 
 out in safety. 
 
 " The fourth refers immediately to the threatened 
 invasion by the Chaldeans. The answer is plain : 
 I will yet trust in the Lord, who will at length 
 deliver me from my enemies. 
 
 « The whole concludes with a chorus of praise,"
 
 [ 184 ] 
 
 « A SONG IN PARTS. 
 
 BT HABAKKVK THE PROPHET. 
 " UPON" JUDGMENTS, OR MAGMTICEXT WORKS. 
 
 " Jehovah ! I have heard thy report, 
 
 f I have seen, Jehovah ! thy work. ' 
 
 In the midst of years Thou wilt cause him to live, 
 
 In the midst of years Thou wilt give knowledge, 
 
 In trembling Thou wilt cause to remember mercy. 
 
 H. 
 
 " The Almighty came from the south, 
 
 And the Holy One from Mount Paran. Selah. 
 
 His glory coTered the heavens, 
 
 And his splendour filled the earth. 
 
 And the brightness was as the light ; 
 
 Rays darted from bis hands, 
 
 And from the *cloud, the abode of his power, 
 
 Before Him went the pestilence, 
 
 And glowing fire came forth from his feet. 
 
 * "A Song in Parts:" may notH7iP, of which the meaning is, 
 vision," "coming between," &c. mean "a divided piece," 
 '• a dialogue ? : ' 
 
 tmrifcrYun qu.? 
 
 • " The cloud which accompanied the appearance of Jehovah.
 
 [ 135 ] 
 
 He stood, and measured the earth, 
 He beheld, and explored the nations. 
 And the durable mountains burst asunder, 
 The ancient hills fell down, 
 His paths in days of old. 
 
 I. 
 
 « I have seen the tents of Cushan under affli&ion, 
 The curtains of the land of Midian shake. 
 
 u. 
 
 « Was Jehovah incensed in the flood i 
 
 Truly in the floods was thy wrath, 
 
 Verily in the waters thy fury; 
 
 But Thou madest thy chariot of salvation to ride on the 
 
 swift ones, 
 Then didst Thou set to view thy bow, 
 The pledge to the tribes for thy word. Selah. 
 
 The floods ploughed vallies in the earth ; 
 The mountains saw Thee, they travailed, 
 Torrents of water gushed forth. 
 
 The abyss uttered his voice, 
 
 The sun lift up his hands on high, 
 
 The moon stopped in her mansion, 
 
 At the brightness of thy flying arrows, 
 
 At the lightning of thy flashing spear.
 
 [ 186 ] 
 
 i. 
 
 « In indignation Thou wilt tread the earth, 
 In fury Thou wilt stamp the nations. 
 
 ii. 
 « Thou wentest forth for the salvation of thy people, 
 The salvation of thine anointed. 
 
 Thou didst cut off the first-born from the house of the wicked, 
 Thou didst provoke the stubborn to bending. Selah. 
 
 Thou didst strike the fountain with his rod, 
 *They were scatter'd, f they came forth like a whirlwind, 
 To destroy their flourishing crops, 
 While the food of the oppressed was in safety. 
 Thou didst walk thy horses through the sea, 
 Troubling the great water.s. 
 
 I. 
 «* I heard, and my bowels were moved, 
 At the sound my lips quivered, 
 Rottenness entered into my bones, 
 And they trembled beneath me; 
 While I groaned for the day of tribulation, 
 The coming up of the people to assault us. 
 
 ii. 
 
 u Though the fig-tree do not blossom, 
 
 And there be no fruit on the vine ; 
 
 * " The frogs scattered over the land, 
 f " The flies, locusts, &c.
 
 [ 187 ] 
 
 Though the produce of the olive fail, 
 And the parched field yield no food ; 
 Though the flock be cut off from the fold, 
 And there be no cattle in the stalls ; 
 Yet I will rejoice in Jehovah, 
 I will exult in God, my Saviour. 
 
 chorus. 
 
 " Jehovah my Lord is my strength, 
 He will set my feet as the deer's, 
 He will make me to walk on high places." 
 
 « To the Conqueror of my Assailants ; 
 or, 
 " To Him who causeth me to triumph in my afflictions." 
 
 Continual study of the Hebrew poetry probably 
 suggested this Hymn, which is dated Feb. 18, 1803. 
 
 " O Thou ! who commandest the storm, 
 And stillest its rage with a word ; 
 Who dark'nest the earth with thy clouds, 
 And call'st forth the sun in his strength; 
 Who hurlest the proud from his throne, 
 And liftest the poor from the dust;
 
 [ 188 ] 
 
 Who sendest afflictions for good, 
 
 And blessings at times for a curse ; 
 
 Whose ways are impervious to man, 
 
 Whose decrees we've no power to withstand ; — 
 
 Thou hast plac'd me in poverty's vale, 
 
 Yet giv'n me contentment and bliss. 
 
 Should'st Thou e'er set me up on the hill, 
 
 O let not my heart be elate ; 
 
 But humility ever abide, 
 
 And gratitude rule in my breast ; 
 
 Let me feel for the woes of the poor, 
 
 Which now I've no pow'r to relieve ; 
 
 Let compassion not end with a tear, 
 
 But charity work for thy sake ; 
 
 And the streams of beneficence fall, 
 
 Enriching the valley beneath ; 
 
 Then though Thou should'st wrap me in clouds, 
 
 And threaten the hill with a storm ; 
 
 Yet the sun-shine of peace shall break forth, 
 
 And the summit reflect its last ray." 
 
 I am not sure that the following reflections are 
 original. They may perhaps be translated from 
 the German; but the sentiments with regard to 
 the weakness of human reason, and the absolute 
 necessity of divine assistance, would certainly
 
 L 189 ] 
 please Miss Smith, as they are perfectly in unison, 
 with her own ideas. 
 
 " It is declared in the Scriptures that the natural 
 man knoweth not the things of God, neither can 
 he comprehend them; and I am convinced that 
 this is true. God only requires the heart and its 
 affections, and after those are wholly devoted to 
 Him, He himself worketh all things within it and 
 for it. f My son, give me thy heart;' and all the 
 rest is conformity and obedience. This is the 
 simple ground of all religion, which implies a 
 reunion of the soul to a principle which it had 
 lost in its corrupt and fallen state. Mankind 
 have opposed this doctrine, because it has a direct 
 tendency to lay very low the pride and elevation of 
 the heart, and the perverseness of the will, and 
 prescribes a severe mortification to the passions ; 
 it will be found, notwithstanding, either in time or 
 eternity, a most important truth. 
 
 « In the Holy Scriptures nothing appears to 
 have a reference to the great work of salvation, but 
 a rectitude of the heart, and subjection of the will; 
 and it is clear to my understanding that it should
 
 [ 190 ] 
 
 be so : for the mere operations of the head, the 
 lucubrations of reason on divine subjects, are as 
 different as men. The natural powers of man may 
 be sanctified by the influences of religion in the 
 soul, and cease from opposition in matters wherein 
 formerly they took supreme direction; but until 
 they are in awful silence before God, the work of 
 redemption is unfelt and unknown. 
 
 " Religion is an universal concern; the only 
 important business of our lives. The learned and 
 the ignorant are equally the object of it; and it is 
 highly becoming the Father of Spirits, the friend 
 of man, that all the spirits which He has made, 
 should be equal candidates for his regard; that his 
 mercy should operate upon a principle, of which 
 mankind are equal partakers. If the reason or 
 the understanding were alone capable of religious 
 discernment, nine-tenths of the world would be 
 excluded from his providence : but not so does his 
 mercy operate. He influences by love, and the 
 affections are the only objects of it. 
 
 " Look into the opinions of men, contemplate 
 their great diversity, their complete opposition to
 
 [ 191 3 
 
 each other ; and where shall the serious, the reflect- 
 ing mind find a peaceful station to rest upon? 
 Where shall it find ' the shadow of a mighty rock, 
 in a weary land' of fluctuating devices and tempests 
 of opinion ? Not in human literature, not in the 
 inventions of men ; but in silence before the God 
 of our lives, in pure devotion of the heart, and in 
 prostration of the soul. The knee bends before 
 the Majesty of Omnipotence, and all the powers of 
 the mind say, Amen !— In matters so important as 
 pure religion, the salvation of the immortal soul, 
 it is highly worthy of Divine Wisdom that He 
 should take the supreme direction to Himself alone, 
 and not leave any part of the work to the device 
 of man; for it is evident to every candid enquirer, 
 that whenever he interferes he spoils it. Religion 
 is of so pure and spotless a nature, that a touch 
 will contaminate it. It is uniform, consistent, and 
 of the same complexion and character in all na- 
 tions. Languages and customs may greatly differ; 
 but the language of pure devotion of the heart to 
 its Maker is one and the same over the face of the 
 whole earth. It is acknowledged and felt ' through 
 the unity of the spirit, in the bond of peace.' There 
 is a harmony and consistency in the works of God,
 
 I 192 ] 
 
 external and internal; the external operations of 
 nature are strictly typical of internal things; the 
 visible of the invisible world. 
 
 " I am convinced that the Author of our being 
 has left nothing to man with respect to the forma- 
 tion of religion in the mind of a child, but the 
 opening his path, and clearing his road from the 
 thorns and briars of contagious example. The 
 influences of man consist in pure example, dispas- 
 sionate persuasion, and an early subjection of the 
 will to what is written in the law of God. The 
 enlightening the understanding, the purification 
 of the heart, the accomplishing the course of rec- 
 titude to the invisible world, and qualifying the 
 soul for beatitude amongst the spirits of the just, 
 must be left to Supreme wisdom and mercy. The 
 sciences are of very partial concern, are in the 
 hands of a few, and are the proper objects of human 
 wisdom, and attainable by its powers alone; but 
 their center and their circumscription is in time. 
 From high attainments in these the mind of man 
 is taught to wonder, but 1 much question whether 
 he is often taught to adore. They are too apt to 
 raise the mind, to engage a devoted .idolatrous
 
 [ 193 ] 
 
 attention, and fix a supercilious disregard to the 
 humble appearance of a meek and quiet spirit ; 
 and if it were possible that they should accompany 
 the soul from time to eternity, they would prove a 
 subject of humiliation before an eye that is more 
 extensively opened ; yet these may be sanctified by 
 the influence of religion." 
 
 I do not know when Miss Smith read Mr. Locke's 
 Essay on Human Understanding, but it gave occa- 
 sion to the following remarks, which are prefaced 
 with a modest allusion to her own inferiority to 
 this great writer, and were never, I believe, seen 
 by any body till after her death. 
 
 '* A fly found fault with one of the finest works of man." 
 
 " Locke's ideas on Infinity appear to me to 
 want his usual clearness. Perhaps the fault is in 
 my own understanding. I will try to unravel my 
 thoughts on the subject, and see on which side 
 the error lies. 
 
 " His manner of representing to himself infinity 
 is to add together certain known quantities, 
 
 o
 
 [ 194 ] 
 
 whether of space or duration, as miles, or years, 
 and when tired with multiplication, he contem- 
 plates a boundless remainder. This, indeed, serves 
 to bewilder the mind in the idea of incompre- 
 hensible immensity; the remainder which is always 
 left, is a cloud that conceals the end ; but so far 
 from convincing us there is none, the very idea of 
 a remainder carries with it that of an end; and 
 when we have in thought passed through so large 
 a part of space or duration, we must be nearer the 
 end than when we set out. I think the cause of 
 Mr. Locke's confusion on this subject is his use 
 of the word parts. He says that the parts of ex- 
 pansion and duration are not separable, even in 
 thought. Then why say they have parts? Surely 
 whatever has parts, may be divided into those 
 parts ; and what is not divisible, even in imagina- 
 tion, has no parts. He forgets his own excellent 
 definition of time and place, that c they are only 
 ideas of determinate distances, from certain known 
 points, fixed in distinguishable, sensible things, 
 and supposed to keep the same distance one from 
 another ;' only marks set up for our use while ori 
 earth, to help us to arrange things in our narrow 
 understandings by shewing their relative situations,
 
 [ 195 ] 
 
 and not really existing in nature. This he forgets, 
 and having granted that duration and expansion 
 have parts, he applies his minutes and his inches 
 
 to measure eternity and infinite space. To 
 
 prove the fallacy of this method, suppose 10,000 
 diameters of the earth to be some part, a 10th or 
 10,000th part of infinite space; then infinite space 
 is exactly 10 times, or 10,000 times 10,000 dia- 
 meters of the earth, and no more. Infinite space 
 has certain bounds, which is a contradiction. 
 There is no impropriety in taking a foot-rule to 
 measure the ocean, because multiplied a certain 
 number of times, it will give the extent of the 
 ocean; but no multiple of what is finite can 
 ever produce infinity; for though number abstrac- 
 tedly be infinite, a series of numbers may go on 
 continually increasing, yet no one of those num- 
 bers can express infinity, each being in itself a 
 determined quantity. When in the beginning of 
 a series, two are added together, each of those two 
 must be circumscribed, consequently the whole 
 
 circumscribed ad infinitum. On the contrary, 
 
 unity seems much more capable of expressing 
 infinity, though we finite beings, incapable at pre- 
 sent of comprehending it, can form but a vague 
 
 o 2
 
 [ 196 ] 
 
 and inadequate idea. Unity has no bounds, nor, 
 as Mr. Locke says, any shadow of variety or com- 
 position; and to appeal at once to the highest 
 authority, it is the sign that the Great Creator has 
 used, as being the most proper to convey an idea 
 of Himself to our finite understandings. 
 
 " Succession, without which, Mr. Locke says, 
 he cannot conceive duration, is still a division of 
 it into parts. 1 believe his opinion to be right) 
 that our only perception of duration is from the 
 succession of our own ideas; but is our perception 
 of it the cause of its existence? No more than our 
 walking over the ground is the cause of its exten- 
 sion. He grants this, when he says, that during 
 sleep we have no perception of duration, but the 
 moment when we fall asleep, and that in which 
 we awake, seem to us to have no distance. Since 
 then there may be duration without our perception 
 of succession, may it not be actually without suc- 
 cession? Where all things are eternal, there can 
 be no relation of the end of one to the beginning 
 of another; consequently no time, the measure of 
 a relation which does not exist. There is another 
 case in which Mr. Locke thinks a man would per-
 
 [ 197 ] 
 
 ceiveno succession in duration;— if it were possible 
 for him to keep his mind entirely fixed on one 
 idea. Does not this apply to the Supreme Being, 
 who having always all ideas present to his mind, 
 can perceive no succession? As He fills at once 
 all space, He exists at once through all eternity 
 I do not pretend to have discovered this by the 
 chain of my own reasoning ; it is suggested to me 
 by the name which God gives us of himself. He 
 tells us, not only that He is H\ «>, the existing; 
 but also that He is m!T, existence, present, future, 
 and past, in one, which seems to me to mean, not 
 merely that He can look forward or backward into 
 a record of events, but that there is no succession 
 in his duration ; that what we call present, past, 
 and future, are always equally present ; that all is 
 perfect unity; there is no variety or shadow of 
 changing. Many passages might be brought from 
 Scripture to confirm this opinion, and some, which 
 I think are not intelligible without it; such as, ' a 
 thousand years are with Him as one day ;' ' before 
 Abraham was, I am;' ' time shall be no longer;' 
 * there was no place found ;' answer exactly to 
 Locke's definition above, and prove that there is no 
 division in eternity or infinite space. The dispute
 
 [ 198 J 
 
 about fore-knowledge and free-will might be 
 settled by viewing the subject in this light. If 
 there be no succession in the existence of God, 
 if the past and future be equally present; He sees 
 the whole course of our lives at once, as clearly 
 as any particular moment which we now call 
 present, without influencing our actions more at 
 one point of time than at another. The infinite 
 divisibility of matter too may be denied, on the 
 ground that what admits of division or multipli- 
 cation, cannot be infinite. 
 
 "I have observed another inaccuracy in Mr. 
 Locke, as spots are most visible on the whitest 
 substance. 
 
 " He defines knowledge to be ' the perception 
 of the agreement or disagreement of any of our 
 ideas.' So far well: but to be sure that it is real 
 knowledge, he says, ? we must be sure those ideas 
 agree with the reality of things.' This is also 
 true; but as we have no perception of things but 
 by means of sensation, and we have often, on a 
 closer inspection, discovered that our senses have 
 deceived us, how can we know that they do not 
 always deceive us? If we cannot know this, we 
 cannot be sure that our ideas agree with th<
 
 [ 199 ] 
 
 reality of things, consequently cannot attain to 
 any real knowledge during this life. We can only 
 believe testimony which upon experience we have 
 reason to think true, and can be said absolutely 
 to know nothing but what God has been pleased 
 to reveal. If it be asked, how we know that He 
 has revealed any thing to us ; the answer is, we 
 can only believe it ; but on examining the tes- 
 timony, we find there is full as good proof that we 
 have revelations from God Himself in the Scrip- 
 tures, as that any object of sensation is what it 
 appears to be. If therefore we grant our assent to 
 the one, why refuse it to the other ? And having 
 once established that we have revelations from 
 God Himself in the Scriptures, it follows, that 
 what is so revealed must be true; and that from 
 thence we may reap real knowledge. Whatever 
 else we call knowledge, is either mere conjecture, 
 or derived through some channel or other from 
 revelation. Of this I am the more convinced by 
 observing ideas current amongst men, which it 
 seems impossible they should originally form. 
 Such is the idea of a God, of infinity, and eternity ; 
 for notwithstanding the boasted powers of human
 
 [ 200 J 
 
 reason, and the light of nature* — since I find 
 them incapable of discovering the essence of the 
 most familiar object, or of taking the first step in 
 any science, I have great reason to doubt their 
 power of discovering the being of God ; and 
 infinity and eternity never coming within their 
 perception, 1 am persuaded men never could form 
 such ideas. Therefore if they were led by the 
 contemplation of nature to conjecture there must 
 be some cause of all the wonders it presents, they 
 would still seek for some cause of that cause, and 
 merely be lost in endless speculations. If it be 
 objected, that some of the ancient philosophers 
 had the idea of infinity, and that the existence of 
 a God is believed by most nations: I answer, it 
 was not human reason made those discoveries; if 
 it were, why have not all nations equal lights, all 
 having the same guide? On the contrary, I have 
 no doubt that whatever vague ideas of Deity are 
 found in any country, might, if we knew the exact 
 history of its inhabitants, be traced to the original 
 revelation to Adam, to Noah, &c. preserved or 
 corrupted by tradition. This has been done in a 
 
 * " I wish to ask what Mr. Locke means by the light of 
 nature, when he has proved that we have no innate ideas ?
 
 [ 201 ] 
 
 great measure with respect to some of the Indian 
 nations, by Sir William Jones and others; and it 
 still remains a fine field for future research. If we 
 examine those nations of antiquity which had the 
 most nearly adequate ideas of the Deity, we shall 
 find them to be those which were favoured with 
 the most frequent revelations. The Jews clearly 
 stand foremost in both these respects ; and why 
 should they, who were never thought superior to 
 the Greeks in abilities, be supposed capable of 
 more sublime ideas, unless they received them 
 from revelation ? Why should some of the Greek 
 philosophers come so much nearer the truth than 
 others of not inferior capacities, but that, besides 
 the vulgar belief of their country, (the corruption 
 of original revelation,) they received instruction 
 from some of the Jews, or from the study of the 
 Sybilline Oracles, and the verses of Orpheus? If, 
 on the contrary, we look at those nations furthest 
 removed in time and place from the centre of dis- 
 persion, as the savages of America, Africa, &c. 
 those particularly, who, having had the least 
 commerce with the rest of the world, come nearest 
 to our ideas of nature; we find that their reason, 
 though unwarped by the prejudices of education,
 
 [ 202 ] 
 
 far from leading them to superior knowledge, and 
 a more intimate acquaintance with God and his 
 works than is to be met with in civilized society, 
 has left them but one decree above the brutes 
 they associate with. Original revelation, not only 
 of the existence of a God, but of all arts and 
 sciences, except perhaps those most immediately 
 necessary to existence, being in some entirely 
 worn out, in others so mutilated and defaced as 
 scarcely to be recognized; — in the midst of this 
 darkness no genius starts up with the discovery 
 of abstract truth ; there does not seem even to be 
 any progress in improvement; for the accounts of 
 some of them at this day agree exactly with what 
 ■was written of them ages ago. If then man were 
 originally created in the savage state, how came 
 the improvements we observe amongst ourselves, 
 since when reduced again to that state, we see him 
 incapable of taking the first step towards getting 
 out of it? I think this is the fair way of stating 
 the parallel between human reason and divine 
 revelation ; for though all knowledge would still 
 come from God, if He made man capable of dis-> 
 covering it, it seems to me plain that He has not 
 done so ; and therefore we should do well to apply
 
 [ G03 ] 
 
 to his Word for instruction in the first place, as 
 being the only fountain of real knowledge." 
 
 The family hadresided five years atConiston, and 
 had enjoyed very good health. Elizabeth was 
 particularly fond of the place, and the air seemed 
 to agree with her better than any other. The 
 beauty of the surrounding scenery, her enthusiastic 
 admiration of such magnificent and sublime views 
 as that country affords, and her taste for drawing, 
 certainly led her to trust too much to the strength 
 of her excellent constitution, and to use more ex- 
 ercise than was good for her; but it did not appear 
 to disagree with her, and I do not know that there 
 was any cause of alarm in regard to her health, 
 till the fatal evening in July 1805, which is men- 
 tioned by Mrs. Smith in a letter to Dr. Ran- 
 dolph, to which I refer the reader.* It was on 
 the 1 7th of October 1 80.5, that Miss Smith arrived 
 at Bath in the sad state which that letter describes. 
 What I felt at this meeting may be easily ima- 
 gined. During the few days which she spent 
 with me, the skill of Dr. Gibbes, and the care of 
 
 * See Appendix. Letter III.
 
 [ 204 ] 
 
 tenderest of parents, appeared to be attended 
 with all the benefit we could expect. She had lost 
 her voice, as well as the use of her limbs; but she 
 enjoyed society, and expressed particular pleasure 
 in meeting Mr. De Luc, who spent some hours 
 withus. When she was able to be removed to the 
 house of her kind friends Mr. and Mrs. Claxton, 
 in Somerset-place, 1 went to Clifton, where a dan- 
 gerous illness detained me, till my extreme anxiety 
 to see Miss Smith before she left Bath, determined 
 me to return on the 21st of December. My dear 
 friend came to me the next morning, and appeared 
 so much better in every respect, that I was led to 
 cherish hopes which lessened the pain of our ap- 
 proaching parting. She could then converse with 
 ease and pleasure, and walk without difficulty ; and 
 the last hours which I was ever to enjoy with her 
 in this world, were some of the most delightful 
 that I ever spent. She anxiously wished to be 
 removed to Sun bury to see her amiable sister 
 before her marriage ; and after sleeping one night 
 at my house, she set out for that place with Mrs. 
 Smith, and L saw hev no more. 
 
 A letter written immediately after her removal 
 from Bath, to her kind friend Mrs. Claxton,
 
 [ 205 ] 
 
 shews how much better she was at that time, 
 and that she was able to resume some of her fa- 
 vourite pursuits. 
 
 " To Mrs. Claxton. 
 
 " Sunbury, Dec, 28, 1805. 
 " Dear Madam, 
 " Having no excuse of illness for employing an 
 amanuensis, I take the pen myself to thank you 
 for all your goodness to me, of which I assure 
 you I shall always retain a grateful sense. The 
 good effects of your nursing now appear. I was 
 certainly somewhat fatigued with the journey, 
 and for the first two days after I arrived, was 
 but indifferent; but yesterday and to-day I am 
 astonishingly well, have learnt to sleep, and cough 
 but little. I have been thus particular in the ac- 
 count of myself, because, from the kind interest 
 you and Mr. Claxton take in my welfare, I 
 know you would wish it. 
 
 " I am very busy tracing the situation of Troy, 
 in Mr. Gell's book, and am very well satisfied 
 with it. Yesterday we took an airing to Hamp-
 
 [ 206 ] 
 
 ton-Court and Twickenham. The day was de- 
 lightful, and the air seemed to give me new life. 
 
 " Kitty returns her best thanks for all your 
 good wishes, and hopes to make her acknowledg- 
 ments more fully in person. You have perhaps 
 heard that she is to be married on Wednesday, and 
 go to 
 
 With grateful and affectionate respects to Mr. 
 Claxton, I remain, dear Madam, 
 
 " Your ever obliged, &c. E. Smith." 
 
 For some time after she arrived at Sir John 
 Legard's at Sun bury, Elizabeth was able to enjoy 
 the agreeable society which that house affords, to 
 walk out a little, and to take constant exercise in 
 a carriage; but these favourable appearances did 
 not continue long. I had a letter in which she 
 hinted at the dangerous state in which she evi- 
 dently thought she was ; and an extract from one 
 written to her beloved sister speaks the same lan- 
 guage with regard to her health. 
 
 " March 2Sth. 
 " I waut you, my Kitty, to be as composed on 
 this subject, as I am myself. You must not be
 
 [ 207 ] 
 
 frightened when you hear 1 am worse, nor because 
 it is said that I am better, suppose that I am to be 
 immediately well; for both mean nothing, and 
 perhaps last but a few hours. I have myself a de- 
 cided opinion of the probability of the event, and 
 I see no kindness in feeding you with false hopes. 
 I wish you to be prepared for whatj/oM, though 
 not /, would call the worst. I do not mean that 
 there are any symptoms to cause immediate alarm, 
 but the constitution seems to be wearing out; that, 
 however, may be restored by the warm air of the 
 spring and summer. Assure Mr. Allan of my 
 esteem and regard, and tell him I shall never forget 
 bis kind attentions to me, &c." 
 
 To her friend Mrs. Wilmot she writes thus: 
 
 " Coniston, July 4, 1806. 
 " I am sure, my dear Mrs. Wilmot has not at- 
 tributed to unkindness or neglect, or any of those 
 impossible things, my keeping unanswered a most 
 kind letter of her's, from January to July. The 
 case is this. I thought you heard enough of me 
 while my Mother was at Bath. After she came to
 
 [ 208 j 
 
 Sunbury, we were always going, and I was never 
 Well enough, or quiet enough, to write to you as I 
 liked; besides, I thought I should write from 
 Matlock, where I should fancy that you were pre- 
 sent, and that I was talking to you. Often, indeed, 
 did we talk of you, and wish for you there ; but 
 there again there was no quiet, and I never felt 
 equal to writing or doing any thing. In short I 
 have never had a pen in my hand from the time I 
 left Sunbury, till now ; and now if my father were 
 not going to-morrow, I should put off writing, in 
 hopes of being more able to say something to you 
 some other day. This, however, I can say to-day, 
 or any day — that though my strength has failed, 
 my memory and affections have not; and that 
 while they remain, you will ever hold your place 
 in the one, and your share in the other. I am 
 much concerned at the accounts which 1 hear of 
 
 y OU , It is very tedious to suffer so long; but 
 
 we shall all be better soon. 
 
 " As to myself, of whom I know you will wish 
 to hear something, I do very well when the sun 
 shines, and the wind is in the south ; I seem then 
 to inhale new life at every pore ; but if a northern 
 blast spring up, (my original enemy,) I seem to
 
 [ 209 ] 
 
 shrink and wither like a blighted leaf. To avoid 
 this enemy, I am obliged to keep the house, which 
 is not at all favourable to a recovery. I have been 
 as ill, I think, since 1 came home, as I have ever 
 been; but better the last few days, which have 
 been fine ones. My mother is all kindness and 
 attention to me, and Turpin is the best nurse in 
 the world; but all this care will turn to no account, 
 unless the summer should happen to be a fine one. 
 I am perfectly easy as to the event, and only wish 
 
 I were not so troublesome to others. You 
 
 would love Louis, if you knew how thoughtful 
 and attentive he has been to me. He will be a 
 o-reat loss to me, and to my mother a still greater; 
 for he is her constant companion, and a very 
 entertaining one. My mother desires me to say 
 every thing that is kind for her ; but indeed I 
 have so much to say for myself, and am so totally 
 incapable of saying it, that I must leave you to fill 
 up the blank with what you know of us both, not 
 forgetting that Mrs. Bateman is always to have 
 her full share. Your ever affectionate &c." 
 
 From the time that Mrs. Smith left Bath, 
 which was about the end of March, the accounts 
 
 p
 
 [ 210 ] 
 
 which I received in all her letters, most strongly 
 painted the anguish which her too tender heart 
 felt, while watching the gradual approach of the 
 dreaded event which she had from the first con- 
 sidered as inevitable. On the 9th of July, Capt. 
 Smith and his youngest son Louis spent some 
 hours with me in their way to Plymouth, and 
 brought me a letter from Elizabeth, of which 
 the following is an extract. It is the last that i 
 ever received from that dear hand ! 
 
 " Having determined to send a few lines by my 
 father to my best of friends, before your kind and 
 most welcome letter arrived, I am not now dis- 
 obeying your commands by writing, but fulfilling 
 my own previous intention. I can never thank 
 you enough for all the kind interest you take in 
 me and my health. I wish my friends were as 
 composed about it as I am ; for, thanks to you and 
 your ever dear and respected mother, I have learnt 
 to look on life and death with an equal eye, and 
 knowing where my hope is fixed, to receive every 
 dispensation of Providence with gratitude, as in- 
 tended for my ultimate good. The only wish I 
 ever form, and even that I check, is that my illness
 
 [ 211 ] 
 
 might be more severe, so it might be shortened ; 
 that I might not keep my father and mother so 
 lono- in suspense with regard to all their plans, and 
 occasion so much trouble and anxiety to my friends. 
 —I should like to say much to you on this subject, 
 but I am pressed for time, and as you may see, I 
 do not make a very good hand of writing.— You 
 enquire how the change of weather affected me : 
 As much as you can possibly suppose. During 
 the hot weather I really thought I should get rid 
 of the cough; but with the cold every symptom 
 returned as strong as ever. Yesterday and to-day 
 have been warm and" pleasant : I get into the tent, 
 where I now am, and revive. We shall indeed 
 lose a great comfort when Louis goes. He has 
 been most kindly attentive to me. &c. &c." 
 
 In my answer to this letter I did not attempt to 
 deceive my friend; I knew her too well to think 
 it necessary or right to do so . I wrote as to a 
 Christian on the verge ot eternity, and whose whole 
 life, as her mother justly observes, had been a 
 preparation for death. I received her thanks for 
 my letter, in a most kind message conveyed to me 
 by Mrs. Smith, who spoke in every letter of in- 
 
 p 2
 
 [ 212 ] 
 
 creasing illness, — till in one which she kindly 
 addressed to my friend Mrs. Davies, she said, 
 " this morning the angel spirit fled !" 
 
 At Hawkshead, where she was interred, a small 
 Tablet of White Marble is erected to her memory, 
 on which are inscribed the following words — 
 
 In Memory of 
 
 ELIZABETH, 
 
 Eldest daughter of GEORGE SMITH, 
 
 of Coniston, Esq. 
 
 She died August 7, 1806, aged 29. 
 
 She possessed great Talents, 
 
 Exalted Virtues, 
 
 And humble Piety.
 
 APPENDIX.
 
 LETTERS 
 
 From Mrs. Smith to the Rev. Dr. Randolph, 
 written after the Death of Miss Smith. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 Coniston, 1807. 
 " T Am gratified, my dear Sir, in complying with 
 1 your wish, because the request proves that 
 the esteem which you professed for my beloved 
 daughter's character, is not buried with her in the 
 grave; and because it justifies me to myself for 
 dwelling so much on a subject on which I have a 
 melancholy pleasure in reflecting. I shall repress 
 the feelings and partiality of a parent, and merely 
 state a few simple facts, connected with the pro- 
 gress of her mind. 
 
 ' « Elizabeth was born at Burnhall, in the 
 county of Durham, in December 1776. At a very 
 early age she discovered that love of reading, and 
 that close application to whatever she engaged in, 
 which marked her character through life. She 
 was accustomed, when only three years old, to leave
 
 C 216 ] 
 
 an elder brother and younger sister to play and 
 amuse themselves, while she eagerly seized on such 
 books as a nursery library commonly affords, and 
 made herself mistress of their contents. At four 
 years of age she read extremely well. What in 
 others is usually the effect of education and habit, 
 seemed born with her ; from a very babe the utmost 
 regularity was observable in all her actions ; what- 
 ever she did was well done, and with an apparent 
 reflection far beyond her years. I mention these 
 minute circumstances, because I know that 
 whatever pourtrays her character will interest the 
 friend for whose perusal I write. 
 
 :( In the beginning of 1782, we removed into a 
 
 distant county, at the earnest intreaty of a blind 
 
 relation; and in the following year, my attendance 
 
 on him becoming so necessary as daily to engage 
 
 several hours, at his reciuest I was induced to 
 
 take a young lady, whom he wished to serve in 
 
 consequence of her family having experienced 
 
 some severe misfortunes. This lady was then 
 
 scarcely sixteen, and I expected merely to have 
 
 found a companion for my children during my 
 
 absence; but her abilities exceeded her years, and 
 
 she became their governess during our stay in
 
 [ 217 ] 
 
 Suffolk, which was about 18 months. On the death 
 of mv relation in 1784, we returned to Burnhall, 
 and remained there till June in the following year, 
 when we removed to Piercefield. In the course of 
 the preceding winter Elizabeth had made an 
 uncommon progress in music. From the time of 
 our quitting Suffolk, till the spring of 1786, my 
 children had no instruction except from myself; 
 but their former governess then returned to me, and 
 continued in the family three years longer. By 
 her the children were instructed in French, and in 
 the little Italian which she herself then understood. 
 I mention these particulars to prove how very little 
 instruction in languages my daughter received, 
 and that the knowledge she afterwards acquired of 
 them was the effect of her own unassisted study. 
 " It frequently happens that circumstances ap- 
 parently trifling determine our character, and 
 sometimes even our fate in life. I always thought 
 that Elizabeth was first induced to apply herself 
 to the study of the learned languages, by acci- 
 dentally hearing that the late Mrs. Bowdler ac- 
 quired some knowledge of Hebrew and Greek, 
 purposely to read the Holy Scriptures in the original 
 language. In the summer of 1789, this most ex-
 
 I 218 ] 
 
 cellent woman, with her youngest daughter, spent 
 a month at Piercefield, and I have reason to hail it 
 as one of the happiest months of my life. From 
 that period to the hour of her death, I had in Mrs. 
 Bowdler the steadiest, the most affectionate of 
 friends; a friend who had at heart not only the 
 temporal, but the eternal happiness of myself and 
 family ; and who, in proportion as summer friends 
 flew off, became yet more attached to me. 
 
 " From the above-mentioned visit I date the 
 turn of study which Elizabeth ever after pursued, 
 and which, I firmly believe, the amiable conduct 
 of our guests first led her to delight in. Those 
 who knew the late Mrs. Bowdler, could not 
 withhold from her their love and reverence. With 
 young persons she had a manner peculiar to herself, 
 which never failed to secure their affections, at the 
 moment she conveyed to their minds the most 
 important instructions. The Word of God was 
 her chief study and delight, and she always endea- 
 voured to make it so to others. The uncommon 
 Strength of her understanding, and the clearness 
 with which she explained the most abstruse sub- 
 jects, ensured her the admiration and respect of all
 
 [ 219 ] 
 
 who heard her; and none listened with more 
 attention than Elizabeth; on whose young mind 
 every good and amiable principle was afterwards 
 strongly impressed by Mrs. H. Bowdler. My 
 daughter was then only twelve years old: but her 
 superior talents and turn of mind gained the valu- 
 able affection of her much older friend, who never 
 lost an opportunity of improving the former and of 
 forming the latter. As a proof of the correctness 
 of this assertion, I send you a letter written by 
 Mrs. H. Bowdler to my daughter on her being 
 confirmed^ and which I have reason to believe 
 made all the impression my excellent friend in- 
 tended, and was ever afterwards the standard by 
 which she formed her character. 
 
 " I am, dear Sir, &c." 
 
 Mrs. H. Bowdler to Miss Smith. 
 
 [Sent to Dr. Randolph iv'ith the preceding Letter ■.] 
 
 " My dear Friend, Bee. 1791. 
 
 " You are now entering on what appears to me 
 the most important period of life, and let me hope 
 that my anxiety for your happiness, and the tender
 
 [ 220 ] 
 
 affection which I feel for you, will plead my excuse 
 for troubling you with a few observations upon it. 
 In childhood, our actions are under the controul 
 of others, and we are scarcely answerable for them; 
 but from the period when we renew our baptismal 
 vow in Confirmation, and solemnly dedicate our- 
 selves to the service of our Creator and Redeemer 
 by receiving the Holy Eucharist, we must be 
 considered as thinking and acting for ourselves ; 
 though still subject to the commands, and happy 
 in the advice, of our parents. You have I presume, 
 been sufficiently instructed in all the necessary 
 articles of faith; but I know you think deeply on 
 all subjects, and if you feel any doubts, or see any 
 difficulties, in the Christian Religion, this is the 
 time when you should endeavour to satisfy yourself 
 with regard to them; and perhaps my library might 
 afford you that satisfaction, if you would indulge 
 me with your confidence, and mention them to me. 
 The necessary articles of faith appear to me few 
 and simple, and rather addressed to the heart than 
 the head. The Gospel was preached to the poor 
 and ignorant, as well as to the learned; and the 
 seed sprung up and bore fruit, whenever it fell on 
 good ground. But those who have abilities and
 
 [ 221 ] 
 
 opportunity should spare no pains to examine the 
 evidences which have convinced some of the wisest 
 men that ever lived, of the divine authority of the 
 Holy Scriptures; and such an examination is par- 
 ticularly necessary in the present times. When we 
 are convinced that the Bible is the word of God, 
 and the rule of our faith and practice, nothing 
 remains hut to listen with reverence and devotion 
 to the divine instruction it contains, and to believe, 
 on the authority of God, what our weak reason 
 could never have discovered, nor can fully com- 
 prehend. The humble, pious, and virtuous mind, 
 which willingly accepts the gracious promises of 
 the Gospel, and is fully resolved to practise the 
 duties it enjoins, will seldom be disturbed by those 
 objections to its doctrines which have been often 
 answered to the satisfaction of the best and wisest 
 men. The Christian religion is so suited to a feel- 
 ing heart, that I think we can want no arguments 
 for its truth, except those which are drawn from its 
 evident tendency to make us virtuous and happy. 
 To love the God who created and redeemed us ; 
 to express our gratitude for infinite obligations, 
 by the sincere though imperfect service of a few- 
 years; to cast all our care on Him who careth for
 
 [ 222 ) 
 
 us; and, secure in his protection, to banish every 
 gloomy apprehension which might disturb our 
 peace; — this surely must appear an easy task to 
 those who know and feel the pleasure of even an 
 earthly friendship: but when we add to this the 
 certainty that our endeavours to please will be not 
 only accepted, but rewarded; when every Christian 
 can say, \ after a few years, perhaps after a few 
 hours, I shall, if it is not my own fault, be happy, 
 perfectly happy to all eternity ;' surely, with such 
 encouragements and such hopes, no temptation 
 should have power to draw us from our duty. Yet 
 when we look into the world, when we see how 
 little influence these principles have in society, and 
 how seldom they guard the heart against the allure- 
 ments of pleasure, or support it under the pressure 
 of affliction ; it must be evident to every thinking 
 mind, that very great and constant care is neces- 
 sary to preserve through life those good resolutions, 
 which I believe most people form when they enter 
 into it. For this purpose allow me to recommend 
 constant devotion. A few minutes spent every 
 morning and evening in this duty will be the 
 best preservative against the temptations to which 
 we must be exposed ; but in order to make it
 
 [ 223 ] 
 
 really useful, it should be accompanied with self- 
 examination, and it should be followed by such 
 an habitual sense of the presence of God as may 
 influence our conduct in every part of our life. 
 In our gayest as well as in our gravest moments ; 
 in our studies, and our pleasures ; in the tender 
 intercourse of friendship ; in the sprightly sallies 
 of a conversation which seems only intended for 
 amusement ; still we should be able to turn our 
 thoughts with heartfelt satisfaction to that tender 
 Parent to whom we owe all our guiltless pleasures. 
 ' Whether ye eat or drink, or whatever ye do, do 
 all to the glory of God.' The business in which 
 we cannot ask his protection and assistance, cannot 
 be an innocent pursuit; the amusement for which 
 we dare not thank Him, cannot be an innocent 
 pleasure. This rule strongly impressed on the mind, 
 and applied to every circumstance in life, will be a 
 constant guard over virtue in all situations, and a 
 constant check to every thought as well as action 
 which is contrary to our duty,— —Such, I think, 
 should be the piety of a true Christian, and such 
 piety will undoubtedly afford the highest pleasures 
 we are capable of feeling in this world, while it 
 guards that virtue which will secure our happiness
 
 [ 224 ] 
 
 in the next. But to entitle ourselves to this inter- 
 course with our God, we must carefully and 
 constantly attend to the state of our souls, by 
 frequent and diligent self-examination. As this 
 appears to me a point of great importance at all 
 times, and particularly as preparatory to receiving 
 the Holy Sacrament, allow me to explain more 
 fully what I took the liberty of saying when we 
 conversed on this subject. 
 
 " At our entrance into life, (by which I mean 
 the period which follows the total dependence 
 of childhood,) it is necessary to obtain a just idea 
 of our own character, and of our particular duties. 
 Nobody is so perfect as not to have a tendency 
 to some fault. Pride, passion, fretfulness, obsti- 
 nacy, indolence, and many other failings, are 
 perhaps born with us; and whoever has not disco- 
 vered one or more of these in his heart, certainly 
 does not know himself. Let us then, as the first 
 step towards wisdom and virtue, carefully study 
 our own character, and determine where our prin- 
 cipal danger lies; and remember, as my beloved 
 Sister observes, that 'he who has discovered a fault 
 in his character, and entreated God's assistance to 
 conquer it, has engaged Omnipotence on his side/
 
 [ 225 ] 
 
 " The next point to be considered is our parti- 
 cular situation, and the duties it requires. It is 
 vain to suppose we could do better in different cir- 
 cumstances, or to think that our imaginary merits 
 will cover our real faults; we are not to choose 
 our own part in life, but to act properly that which 
 is assigned to us. What are my particular duties? 
 How can I best serve God? How can I most 
 contribute to the happiness of those with whom I 
 am connected? How can I employ my time and 
 my talents to the best advantage ? What are the 
 errors into which I am most likely to fall ? Do I 
 hurt those whom I am most bound to please, by 
 pride, peevishness, or contempt; or do I make them 
 happy by constant kindness, gentleness, and long- 
 suffering? These are questions which every human 
 being should ask his own heart, and which only 
 his own heart can answer. From an examination 
 of this kind, I should wish every one who really 
 aims at Christian perfection to make out in writing 
 a plan of life suited to his particular situation and 
 character, and resolutely determine to act up to it. 
 This requires time and reflection; but this once 
 done, our task will be much easier afterwards. 
 A few minutes every night should be spent in. 
 
 Q
 
 [ 226 ] 
 
 considering how far we have conformed to that 
 plan through the day, which I think is most easily 
 discovered by considering how the day has been 
 spent; for every thing, be it ever so trifling, if it 
 is to be done at all, may be done well or ill. — Did 
 I attend to my devotions in the morning? Have 
 I done good, or contributed to the happiness of. 
 others ; or have I given pain to any human being 
 by unkindness? Have I been surprised by those 
 faults, whatever they are, which I have most reason 
 to dread ; or have I carefully avoided them ? — 
 Such questions constantly asked, and impartially 
 answered, will prevent our acquiring wrong 
 habits; and nothing is unconquerable, which is not 
 habitual. Bishop Andrews says, sleep is so like 
 death, that I dare not venture on it without 
 prayer ; and I think it would be well if we con- 
 sidered it in that light, and made our peace with 
 God at the end of every day, as if it were the last 
 we should enjoy. I am sure the habit of doing 
 this would greatly lessen the horrors of that awful 
 period, when we must make up our accounts, 
 however painful it may be to us. When habit 
 has made this easy, little more will be necessary 
 to guard us against that self-deceit which is
 
 [ 227 ] 
 
 our most dangerous enemy ; but at slated times, 
 as at the beginning of every year, and when we 
 intend to receive the Sacrament, it will be useful 
 to take a general review of our past life, and com- 
 pare it with the plan we had determined to pursue, 
 in order to see how far we have kept the good re- 
 solutions we had formed, and in what respect it 
 is most necessary to guard our future conduct. 
 
 " Perhaps, my dear young friend, I have said 
 nothino- which your own good sense would not 
 point out to you much better than I am capable 
 of doing it, and I have taken a liberty for which 
 I can only plead the advantage which very mo- 
 derate talents must gain from experience. I have 
 lived longer in the world than you, and have felt 
 the ill effects of many errors which I hope you will 
 avoid ; but I have also sometimes felt the good 
 effects of those principles, and that line of conduct, 
 which I wish to recommend to you, and in which 
 I trust Providence will guide you to eternal hap- 
 piness. &c. &c." 
 
 8 2
 
 [ 228 ] 
 
 LETTER N. 
 
 Mrs. Smith to the Rev. Dr. Randolph. 
 
 "At the age of thirteen, Elizabeth became a 
 sort of governess to her younger sisters, for I then 
 parted with the only one I ever had; and from that 
 time the progress she made in acquiring languages, 
 both ancient and modern, was most rapid. — This 
 degree of information, so unusual in a woman, 
 occasioned no confusion in her well-regulated 
 mind. She was a living library, but locked up 
 except to a chosen few. Her talents were ' like 
 bales unopened to the sun;' and, from a want of 
 communication, were not as beneficial to others 
 as they might have been; for her dread of being 
 called a learned lady caused such an excess of 
 modest reserve as perhaps formed the greatest 
 defect in her character. But I will go back to 
 the period of which I was speaking. 
 
 " When Elizabeth was fifteen years old, we 
 were reading Warrington's History of Wales, in 
 which lie mentions the death of Llewellyn-ap- 
 Gryfryd, as happening on the banks of the Wye 
 ataplace which he calls Buillt, audits having been
 
 [ 229 ] 
 
 occasioned by his being pierced with a spear, as he 
 attempted to make his escape through a grove. 
 We amused ourselves by supposing that Llew- 
 ellyn's death must have happened in our grove, 
 where two large stones were erected (as we chose 
 to imagine) to commemorate that event ; and that 
 the adjoining grounds were from thenceforth called 
 Piercefield. This conversation gave rise to a poem, 
 of which Mrs. H. Bowdler has a copy, with 
 other papers on the same subject, for a sight of 
 which I refer you to her. 
 
 " When a reverse of fortune drove us from 
 Piercefield, my daughter had just entered her se- 
 venteenth year, an age at which she might have 
 been supposed to have lamented deeply many con- 
 sequent privations. Of the firmness of her mind 
 on that occasion, no one can judge better than 
 yourself; for you had an opportunity to observe 
 it, when immediately after the blow was struck, 
 you offered, from motives of generous friendship, 
 to undertake a charge which no pecuniary consi- 
 derations could induce you to accept a few months 
 before. I do not recollect a single instance of a 
 murmur having escaped her, or the least expression 
 of regret at what she had lost ; on the contrary,
 
 [ 230 ] 
 
 she always appeared contented; and particularly 
 after our fixing at Coniston, it seemed as if the 
 place and mode of life were such as she preferred, 
 and in which she was most happy. 
 
 " I pass over in silence a time in which we had 
 no home of our own, and when, from the deranged 
 state of our affairs, we were indebted for one 
 to the kindness and generosity of a friend ; # nor 
 do I speak of the time spent in Ireland, when 
 following the regiment with my husband, because 
 the want of a settled abode interrupted those 
 studies in which my daughter most delighted. 
 Books are not light of carriage, and the blow 
 which deprived us of Piercefield, deprived us of a 
 library also. But though this period of her life 
 afforded little opportunity for improvement in 
 science, the qualities of her heart never appeared 
 in a more amiable light. Through all the incon- 
 veniences which attended our situation while living 
 in barracks, the firmness and cheerful resignation 
 of her mind, at the age of nineteen, made me 
 blush for the tear which too frequently trembled 
 in H) y eye, at the recollection of all the comforts 
 we had lost. 
 
 * Mis. Morgan, now Mrs. George Smith,
 
 [ 231 ] 
 
 " In October 1800, we left Ireland, and deter- 
 mined on seeking out some retired situation in 
 England; in the hope that by strict ceconomy, 
 and with the blessing of cheerful, contented minds, 
 we might yet find something like comfort; 
 which the frequent change of quarters with four 
 Children, and the then insecure state of Ireland, 
 made it impossible to feel, notwithstanding the 
 kind and generous attention we invariably received 
 from the hospitable inhabitants of that country.— 
 We passed the winter in a cottage on the banks cf 
 the Lake of Ulswater, and continued there till the 
 May following, when we removed to our present 
 residence at Coniston. This country had many 
 charms for Elizabeth. She drew correctly from 
 nature, and her enthusiastic admiration of the 
 sublime and beautiful often carried her beyond the 
 bounds of prudent precaution with regard to her 
 health. Frequently in the summer she was out 
 during twelve or fourteen hours, and in that time 
 walked many miles. When she returned at night 
 she was always more cheerful than usual; never 
 said she was fatigued, and seldom appeared so. 
 It is astonishing how she found time for all she 
 acquired, and all #he accomplished. Nothing was
 
 C 232 ] 
 
 neglected; there was a scrupulous attention to 
 all the minutiae of her sex ; for her well-regulated 
 mind, far from despising them, considered them 
 as a part of that system of perfection at which 
 she aimed; an aim which was not the result of 
 vanity, nor to attract the applause of the world ; 
 no human being ever sought it less, or was more 
 entirely free from conceit of every kind. The 
 approbation of God and of her own conscience 
 were the only rewards she ever sought ; but her 
 own words declare this truth much more forcibly 
 that I can, in a paper which is now in Mrs. H. 
 Bowdler's possession. 
 
 " Her translation from the Book of Job was 
 finished in 1803. During the two last years of 
 her life, she was engaged in translating from the 
 German some letters and papers, written by Mr. 
 and Mrs. Klopstock. Amongst her papers I found 
 a letter from Mrs. H. Bowdler on this subject, 
 dated Middlehill, near Bath, March 1805, in 
 which she says, *■ my endeavours to obtain a clear 
 account of the new edition of Klopstock's Works 
 have been unsuccessful, but I still hope that I shall 
 very soon know whether it contains any thing new, 
 or worth sending to you. In the mean time, if
 
 [ 233 ] 
 
 you are not tired, let me have every thing written 
 by Mrs. Klopstock. We can determine on no- 
 thing till we have got all our treasures.' The rest 
 of this letter does not particularly relate to my 
 daughter, but I cannot forbear copying it, for a 
 reason that will be obvious to you. ' Miss Hunt 
 and I wished for a little country air, and perfect 
 quiet. We are in a lovely spot ; not possessing 
 the sublime beauties of your country, but the 
 prettiest, cheerful scene imaginable; ornamented 
 with little neat cottages, fields covered with lambs, 
 fine trees, and the whole beautifully varied with 
 hill and dale. To me it has still greater charms, 
 as it is my native country, the scene of my early 
 happiness : 
 
 « Where erst my careless childhood stray'd, 
 ' A stranger yet to pain ! 
 
 My first house is always before my eyes, and my 
 last is so near, that I can listen to the bell which 
 tolled for those who were most dear to me on 
 earth, and visit the humble tomb where 1 hope to 
 rest will) them. Do you remember how often, 
 during the last few weeks of her life, and after 
 her faculties were much weakened by illness, my
 
 [ 234 J 
 
 dearest mother used to say to herself, ' Verily 
 there is a reward for the righteous ?' We have 
 placed these words on the stone which covers a 
 vault, in which a little space remains for me. 
 God grant that I may have reason to repeat them 
 in my last moments with the faith and hope that 
 
 animated her sweet countenance ! Near forty 
 
 years have elapsed since my parents quitted their 
 residence in this country, but it is very pleasing 
 to witness the gratitude with which they are still 
 remembered. I talk to the poor grey-headed pea- 
 sants, and delight to hear them say, ' The Squire 
 and Madam were very good.' Whatever those 
 may think who have only titles or wealth to boast 
 of, the good are remembered longer than the great ; 
 and the name which I inherit from my father, still 
 conciliates more good-will in this little spot than 
 any in the Peerage. Indeed it is so easy to be 
 beloved, it costs so little money or trouble, and 
 it pays such rich interest, that I wonder more 
 attention is not bestowed on it.'* 
 
 * Some apology may perhaps be required from the Editor, 
 for not omitting the little tribute of filial affection, which 
 Mrs. Smith had inserted in a letter written to a,friend of 
 both families. To those who have equal reason to be proud
 
 [ 235 ] 
 
 " For the translations from Klopstock, and from 
 the Hebrew Bible, as well as for many other 
 writings both in verse and prose, I refer you to 
 Mrs. H. Bowdler. 
 
 " I am, dear Sir, &c. &c." 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 Mrs. Smith to the Rev. Dr. Randolph. 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 " In compliance with your request, I will now 
 endeavour to trace the progress of the fatal disease 
 which deprived me of my beloved child, to the last 
 closing scene. In the summer of the year 1805, 
 Elizabeth was seized with a cold, which terrai- 
 
 of their parents, the writer of this note ventures to appeal on 
 this occasion ; and by them she hopes to be forgiven. In 
 her answer to this letter, Miss Smith says, " Your inscrip- 
 tion on the stone pleases me exceedingly. The words are 
 in every sense appropriate. No one could witness the latter 
 days of that holy life, without feeling a perfect conviction 
 of their truth."
 
 f 236 ] 
 
 mated in her death; and I wish the cause was more 
 generally known, as a caution to those whose stu- 
 dious turn of mind may lead them into the same 
 error. I will give the account as she herself related 
 it, a very short time before she died, to a faithful 
 and affectionate servant who first came into the 
 family when my daughter was only six weeks old. 
 
 ' One very hot evening in July, I took a book, 
 and walked about two miles from home, where I 
 seated myself on a stone beside the Lake, Being 
 much engaged by a poem I was reading, I did 
 not perceive that the sun was gone down, and was 
 succeeded by a very heavy dew; till in a moment 
 I felt struck on the chest as if with a sharp knife. 
 I returned home, but said nothing of the pain. 
 The next day being also very hot, and every one 
 busy in the hay-field, 1 thought 1 would take a 
 rake, and work very hard, to produce perspiration, 
 in the hope that it might remove the pain, but it 
 did not.' 
 
 " From that time, a bad cough, with occasional 
 loss of voice, gave me great apprehension of what 
 might be the consequence if the cause were not 
 removed ; but no intreaties could prevail on her 
 to take the proper remedies, or to refrain from
 
 [ 237 ] 
 
 her usual walks. This she persisted in, being 
 sometimes better and then a little worse, till the 
 beginning of October. — I had long beea engaged 
 tp spend the winter with a most dear and inte- 
 resting friend at Bath, and my three daughters 
 had accepted a kind invitation to pass that time 
 at Sunbury. Elizabeth had, previous to her 
 illness, offered to accompany me to Bath, in order 
 first to make a visit to Mr. and Mrs. Claxton, in 
 the hope that she might possibly beguile some of 
 the painful hours which that worthy man con- 
 stantly, though so patiently, endures : at least she 
 thought that she might afford some little comfort 
 to Mrs. Claxton. To these friends we were 
 bound, by every tie of gratitude and affection, to 
 offer every consolation in our power. Their hearts 
 were ever open to our griefs : their house always 
 offered shelter and protection from the various evils 
 which assailed us. To my third son they have 
 proved themselves, if possible, more than parents. 
 
 • " A few days before we were to set out from 
 Coniston, my daughter became so rapidly worse, 
 that 1 doubted the possibility of her bearing the! 
 journey; at the same time 1 was most anxious to 
 
 remove her to a milder climate, and within reach
 
 [ 238 ] 
 
 of medical assistance. When we reached Kendal, 
 I insisted on taking the advice of a physician, as 
 to the propriety of continuing our journey, and I 
 received his directions for proceeding as fast as she 
 could bear without inconvenience; her pulse, he 
 said, indicated considerable inflammation, and a 
 warmer climate would be very desirable. She bore 
 travelling much better than 1 could have expected, 
 making no complaint, but of pain in her legs, till 
 we reached Glocester, when I was astonished to 
 find that she had lost all use of them. The next 
 morning her voice too was gone; and in this sad 
 state, unable to speak or to stand, she was carried 
 to the house of our beloved friend in Park-street. 
 From this deplorable condition she was soon re- 
 lieved by the skill and attention of Dr. Gibbes, 
 and we had sanguine expectations of her being 
 restored to health. As soon as she had recovered 
 the power of walking, she was removed to Somer- 
 set-Place; but instead of a comfort, she became 
 an additional cause of anxiety to Mr. and Mrs. 
 Claxton. Friends less tenderly attentive, or les9 
 uniformly attached, would have shrunk from the 
 charge of receiving her, instead of pressing the 
 performance of her promise. 1 saw her daily, and
 
 [ 2S9 ] 
 
 had the joy of seeing her gradually amend. After 
 continuing six weeks in Somerset-place, she was 
 anxious to see her beloved sister before her mar- 
 riage; and with Dr. Gibbes's approbation, she 
 accompanied me to Sunbury. Her delicate state 
 of health was well known to Sir John Legard, 
 but he most kindly urged her removal to his 
 house, thinking that the society of her sisters, and 
 the change of air, might be beneficial. In this 
 conjecture he was right, and I left her, at the end 
 of ten days, much better ; although the marriage 
 of her sister had greatly agitated her spirits, as 
 occasioning a separation from the favourite of 
 her heart. 
 
 " I returned to the friend whom I had left ill at 
 Bath, and continued to receive the most flattering 
 accounts of Elizabeth's health, not only from 
 herself, but from many who observed the delight- 
 ful change. In one of my letters to her, I asked 
 if she thought she should be better in any other 
 place, or if she could point out any situation in 
 which she would feel herself more comfortable. 
 In her answer she said, I know no place in which 
 I can be better, or any that I should like half so 
 well. The kindness and attention of Sir J. and Lady
 
 t 240 J 
 
 Legard cannot be exceeded. I am left at perfect 
 liberty to do as I like, and you know how pleasant 
 it is to me to listen to the conversation of two or 
 three very sensible men, without being obliged to 
 
 take any part in it.' On the 6th of March my 
 
 beloved friend Lady **** expired. A few days 
 before that event I had a letter from my daughter 
 to tell me that as she had some symptoms of return- 
 in <y inflammation, she had been bled, but more 
 as a preventive, than from any necessity. On the 
 23d I arrived at Sunbury, just as she was going out 
 in a carriage with Lady Legard. I had indulged 
 the pleasing expectation of seeing her materially 
 better, and was therefore thunderstruck at the 
 first sight of her, for 1 instantly thought I disco- 
 vered confirmed decline in her countenance. On 
 my expressing to my friends my surprize, they told 
 me she had been greatly better, that the change I 
 perceived had only taken place a few days before, 
 and might be ascribed to the long continuance of 
 a cold east wind, i wrote the next day to Dr. 
 Baillie, and fixed a time for meeting him in 
 London. After seeing her, the Doctor candidly 
 •told me it was a very bad case; that he would try 
 a medicine which sometimes had proved very
 
 [ 241 ] 
 
 beneficial, but owned that he had little expectation 
 of its succeeding with her, and desired to see her 
 again in ten days, which he accordingly did. He 
 then said he would not trouble her with more 
 medicine; and on my intreating him to tell me 
 exactly what plan he would wish to be pursued, 
 without at all considering my situation ; he replied, 
 ' In the month of May she may go where she 
 likes, but early in September you had better go to 
 Flushing in Cornwall ; unless she should be very 
 much better than I own I expect, and in that case 
 I would recommend your going to the Madeiras ; 
 but to send you there, with my present opinion of 
 the case, would only be aggravating your sorrow, 
 by removing you from your country and your 
 friends.' To Clifton Elizabeth always expressed 
 a particular dislike, saying that she was sure the 
 want of shade would kill her ; and as she shewed 
 a decided preference to Coniston, it was deter- 
 mined that we should go thither. Sir J. Legard 
 would not suffer us to depart till the weather 
 became perfectly mild ; indeed I must ever grate- 
 fully remember his uncommonly friendly atten- 
 tion. Though a constant invalid and sufferer 
 himself, scarcely a day passed without his suggest- 
 
 R
 
 [ 242 ] 
 
 ing something likely to contribute to my daugh- 
 ter's ease and comfort: nor was Lady Leg ard 
 less constant in her kind attentions. 
 
 " On the 6th of May we quitted the hospitable 
 mansion of our friend:, at Sunbury, where my 
 daughters had passed five months. Matlock water 
 had been recommended by some people, and with 
 Dr. Baillie's approbation we determined to make 
 some stay there. At that place Elizabeth saw 
 her father, after an absence of many months. The 
 pleasure of meeting him, the novelty of the scene, 
 and the remarkable fineness of the weather, seemed 
 to give her increased strength and spirits; and the 
 day after our arrival she walked so far, that I 
 confessed myself tried; but this apparent amend- 
 ment was soon over, and she relapsed into her 
 former languid state, unable to walk to any dis- 
 tance, and only riding a little way, while some one 
 walked beside her. We remained at Matlock near 
 three weeks, but not perceiving that she gained 
 any benefit, we set off for Coniston. Travelling 
 always seemed to agree with her, and on the 
 arrival at her favourite spot, I again perceived an 
 alteration for the better, but it was only for a few 
 days. I had a tent pitched as near the house as I
 
 I 243 ] 
 
 could, in which she sat the chief part of the day. 
 When the weather permitted, she went out in an 
 open carriage, and however languid she appeared, 
 still the grandeur of the scenery never failed to 
 call forth her admiration. One day, when we 
 were sitting in the tent, and talking of the sur- 
 rounding beauties, she asked me if that would not 
 be a good situation for a new cottage* I agreed 
 that it would, but added, " I can determine on 
 nothing, till I see how the next winter in Cornwall 
 agrees with you. Should your health be better 
 there, we shall certainly sell this place, and settle 
 in the south." She answered with more than usual 
 quickness, ' If I cannot live here, I am sure I 
 can no where else.' This was the only thing she 
 ever said to me which implied an expectation of 
 approaching death. I understand that she wrote 
 to some of her friends on the subject, and I find 
 a letter from Mrs. H. Bowdler, which evidently 
 alludes to something Elizabeth had written to 
 her respecting her illness ; for in it she says, ' You 
 have long had a worse opinion of your state of 
 
 * A House is now built on the beautiful spot pointed out 
 by Miss Smith, and in consequence of this conversation 
 called Tent-Lodge. 
 
 r2
 
 [ 244 ] 
 
 health than £ hope it deserves ; but much attention 
 is and will be necessary, and I depend on your 
 promise of taking care of yourself. I felt little 
 doubt that you were ready to leave a world, in 
 which as yet you have not had much enjoyment, 
 for one that is much better suited to such a mind 
 as yours ; but we cannot spare you yet. You will, 
 I hope, find much to interest you in life : and 
 though I may not live to see it, you may, some 
 time or other, be surrounded with blessings, which 
 
 may make amends for all past sorrows.'* In 
 
 another letter from the same friend, dated July 16, 
 1806, she says, ' When we ask to be relieved from 
 our sufferings, we ask what our Heavenly Father 
 often in mercy denies; but when we ask to be 
 supported under them, we ask what we shall cer- 
 tainly obtain. May you experience this, dear 
 child of my heart, under every trial ; and may 
 
 those who love you as I do, experience it too.' 
 
 No other part of this letter was preserved, which 
 I the more regret, as I have since learnt that it was 
 in answer to one which Elizabeth had written to 
 
 * This was written at a very early period of Miss Smith's 
 illness ; and when all her friends, except her mother, had 
 hopes of her recovery.
 
 [ 245 ] 
 
 prepare her friend for the event which soon after- 
 wards took place. Her total silence to me, I fear, 
 mav be ascribed to her perceiving, in spite of all 
 my endeavours lo conceal it, that I had long been 
 too apprehensive of her real state. No one seemed 
 to think her so ill as I did. Indeed, the change 
 was so gradual, that it was only by a comparison 
 with the preceding week, that we were sensible of 
 her having lost strength in the last. It was not 
 till the Monday before her death that any mate- 
 rial alteration appeared, and I know you are 
 already informed, by a letter which I wrote to our 
 mutual friend, of what passed during the last three 
 days of her painful existence. 
 
 " I have now, my dear sir, complied with your 
 request, with regard to my beloved daughter. 
 Perhaps my desire of fulfilling your wish, may 
 have led me into a tedious detail of little matters; 
 and it is more than probable that the havoc which 
 time and sorrow have made in my mind, may have 
 occasioned my omitting some things of more im- 
 portance. I do not attempt to draw any character 
 of this inestimable being, because it was well 
 known and understood by you; and the conduct 
 of her whole life speaks much more in her praise
 
 [ 246 ] 
 
 than could be expressed even by the partial pen 
 of a mother. 
 
 " I am, &c. &c." 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 From Mrs. Smith to Mrs. H. Bowdler. 
 
 "August, 1806. 
 " Thank God, I can now with some com- 
 posure sit down to thank my best and dearest 
 friend for all her kind letters ; but after such a 
 loss, we must have time to weep, and time to dry 
 our tears, before we can either receive or bestow 
 
 comfort. My neighbours have been kindly 
 
 attentive to me, offering to come here, and beg- 
 ging me to go to them; but I have answered, 
 that home and perfect quiet are all I can enjoy 
 at present. God bless dear Mrs. Davies, for the 
 kind enquiry of who would comfort me. She 
 knows how to administer comfort, even when she 
 most needs it herself. This I have experienced 
 from her, and ever gratefully shall I feel it. But
 
 [ 247 ] 
 
 God has comforted me, and the gratifying con- 
 viction that my angel is for ever happy, with the 
 consciousness of having to the best of my abilities 
 fulfilled my duty towards her, are consolations 
 which I would not exchange for this world's wealth. 
 " I shall have a melancholy pleasure in com- 
 plying with your request, and will begin where my 
 last letter ended. Turpin slept in a room only 
 separated from my beloved child by a boarded 
 partition, and so close to her bed that she could 
 hear her breathe. On Wednesday morning 
 Turpin told me she was much the same, though 
 the sweet sufferer herself said she was better. I 
 went to her, as usual, the moment I was out of 
 bed, and was struck with the change in her coun- 
 tenance. On feeling her pulse, I was persuaded 
 she could not continue long. She told me she 
 was better, and would get up. She did so, and 
 was cheerful when she spoke, though it evidently 
 increased her pain, and difficulty of breathing. 
 When she coughed or moved, she seemed to be in 
 agony. She took nourishment as usual, and on 
 my asking what book I should read to her, she 
 mentioned Thomson's Seasons. [ read Winter. 
 She made many observations, and entered entirely
 
 [ 248 ] 
 
 into the subject. About three o'clock Mrs. 
 Dixon called, having come with a party to see 
 the Lake. Elizabeth said she should like to see 
 her. Before she went up stairs, I requested she 
 would feel the pulse, which I was persuaded indi- 
 cated the termination of her sufferings before 
 many hours. She entered into conversation 
 cheerfully. Mrs. Dixon told me that she thought 
 I was mistaken; that her pulse were not those of 
 a dying person, and she was of opinion that she 
 might last some time. So much were all deceived, 
 who did not watch every turn of her countenance 
 as I did ! The apothecary came afterwards. He 
 thought her in great danger, but could not say 
 whether immediate or not. At nine she went to 
 bed. I resolved to quit her no more, and went to 
 prepare for the night. Turpin came to say that 
 Elizabeth entreated I would not think of stav- 
 ing in her room ; and added, < she cannot bear 
 you should do it., for she says you are yourself 
 unwell, and rest is necessary for you.' Think of 
 her sweet attention ! I replied, « on that one- 
 subject I am resolved ; no power on earth shall 
 keep me from her; so go to bed yourself." 
 Accordingly I returned to her room, and at tea
 
 [ 249 ] 
 
 gave her the usual dose of laudanum. After a 
 little time she fell into a dose, and I thought slept 
 till past one. She then took some mint-tea. Her 
 breath was very bad, and she was uneasy and 
 restless, but never complained; and on my wiping 
 the cold sweat off her face, and bathing it with 
 camphorated vinegar, which 1 did very often in 
 the course of the night, she thanked me, smiled, 
 and said, ' that is the greatest comfort I have.' 
 She slept again for a short time; and at half past 
 four asked for some chicken-broth, which she 
 took perfectly well. On being told the hour, she 
 said, * how long this night is;' She continued 
 very uneasy, and in half an hour after, on my 
 enquiring if I could move the pillow, or do any 
 thing to relieve her, she replied, ' there is nothing 
 for it but quiet ;' I said no more, but thinking that 
 she was dying, I sat upon the bed watching her. — 
 At six she said, ' I must get up, and have some 
 mint-tea ;' I then called for Turpin, and felt my 
 angel's pulse ; they were fluttering, and I knew 
 I should soon lose her. She took the tea well, 
 Turpin began to put on her clothes, and was 
 proceeding to dress her, when she laid her head 
 on the faithful creature's shoulder, became con-
 
 [ 250 ] 
 
 vulsed in the face, spoke not, looked not, and in 
 ten minutes expired. 
 
 " It did not appear that she thought her end 
 was so very near; for only two days before, she 
 told Turpin the chaise was finished, and she 
 should speak to me to have it home, for it would 
 be better to go an airing in it, before we set out on 
 the journey. I did not tell her my opinion of her 
 state, because I might be mistaken, and I believed 
 that her whole life had been one state of prepara- 
 tion for the awful change. Every paper I have 
 found confirms this gratifying idea. On reflection, 
 I have every thing to reconcile me to her loss, but 
 my own selfish feelings; and having witnessed 
 the sufferings of humanity in a beloved child, 
 
 " Though raised above 
 " The reach of human pain, above the flight 
 " Of human joys ; — yet with a mingled ray 
 " Of sadly pleas'd remembrance, must I feel 
 " A mother's love, a mother's tender woe!" 
 
 " Be easy, my dearest friend, on the subject of 
 my health; it is as good as usual, and I wonder 
 myself at the skate of my mind. I believe the
 
 [ 251 ] 
 
 overlooking my Elizabeth's papers has admi- 
 nistered more comfort, to me than I could have 
 received from any other source ; for every line has 
 strengthened my conviction that the dear writer of 
 them must be happy. I regret her having de- 
 stroyed many papers lately. Those remaining are 
 chiefly religious and moral reflections, translations 
 from the Bible, &c. I wish to send them to you, 
 with some little trifle of her property for each of 
 her dearest friends. You will value them as 
 having been hers, and excuse the dotage of a 
 parent who wishes her friends to remember the 
 treasure she once possessed. Tell me that you 
 and all whom I tenderly love are better. I need 
 not name them. I have a thousand things to sa\^ 
 to you, but it cannot be now. God for ever bless 
 you, my dearest friend ! Thank all those who so 
 kindly feel for me." 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 " September 1. 
 " Mr. Allan very kindly desires me to set ofF 
 directly for Edinburgh, thinking it necessary I 
 should immediately quit a place in which I have
 
 [ 252 ] 
 
 suffered so much ; and I have a very kind letter 
 from Kitty, which I have answered by saying that 
 it is my intention to be with them on the 26th. 
 I have also a most friendly invitation from Mrs. 
 Richardson ; two or three of my neighbours 
 have kindly made the same offer; but at present I 
 like no place but this. I love to look at the seat on 
 which my angel sat. at the bed on which she lay; 
 in short, nothing consoles me but what reminds 
 me of her. It is a sorrow which is soothing to 
 my mind, and raises it above the petty griefs to 
 which I have too often given way. Nature never 
 bestowed on me her talents : habit never gave 
 me the same application ; but my beloved child 
 has left me an example, which I should glory in 
 following, and I pray God that I may be enabled 
 to do so ! 
 
 I had promised Mr. and Mrs. Green, that 
 the first visit I made should be to them, provided 
 they would assure me that I should see no one 
 else. Whilst I was there, Mrs. G. was called out 
 to a lady who was going on directly, and who 
 had with her Mr. and Mrs. George Cox; I 
 begged to see her; but this unexpected meeting 
 overset all my firmness, and she observed that
 
 [ £53 ] 
 
 she had never seen me so cut down before. 1 
 answered that I had never before lost so much. 
 1 No/ said she, ' nor any other human being.* 
 You may imagine how grateful these words were 
 to my heart. The dear woman stayed only a few 
 minutes, and is gone to Edinburgh, where she 
 will see our beloved Kitty. I have blotted my 
 paper, hut you will excuse it." 
 
 u 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 September 8. 
 On the 5th I dispatched a little box for you. 
 It contains all the papers, a small parcel, 8cc. 
 You will observe in one of the memorandum- 
 books a few words respecting the expenditure of 
 the legacy left her by your excellent mother, 
 which I am sure will please you.* I think I did 
 know your sainted parent ; and doing so, I felt a 
 reverence and affection for her little short of 
 
 * « Account of a legacy left me by that excellent and 
 ever-honoured Mrs. Bowdler. May I spend every sixpence 
 as she would advise me to do, if she were present!'
 
 [ 254 ] 
 
 yours. When I consider her unvaried affection 
 for me, I fear I am tempted to think better of 
 myself than I ought. 
 
 " Bedford's sudden removal from this country 
 has sensibly affected me, because T feel persuaded 
 that I must not expect to see him more.* If it 
 please God to preserve his life, it will probably be 
 years before he returns ; and (like you) I do not 
 look far in this world, nor dare I look forward to 
 any pleasing event. In five short months I wit- 
 nessed two sad scenes of death, and the impression 
 each made on my mind can never be effaced. 
 
 " I can now again attend my own parish church, 
 and L cannot tell you how gratifying it is to me; 
 — I seem to meet my beloved Elizabeth every 
 Sunday. This idea occasions sensations that I 
 would not exchange for any earthly treasure. 
 They are not such as depress my spirits ; quite 
 otherwise. They excite my hope, increase my 
 piety, and strengthen me to meet the trials of the 
 ensuing week. Indeed I feel that she is dearer to 
 me every day." 
 
 * The third son of Mrs. Smith, who was then ordered 
 to join the Expedition under General Crawford.
 
 [ 255 } 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 From Mrs. Green to Mrs. H. Bowdler. 
 
 " September 9, 1806. 
 
 "Feeling as I know you do for your beloved 
 friend at Coniston, I think it will be a comfort to 
 hear from one who has had much intimate con- 
 versation with her since the sad loss she has sus- 
 tained. It is true that to you she has opened her 
 whole heart, and you know all that passes there 
 better than I can tell you; but it will interest you 
 to hear of her looks and deportment from a friend 
 who has seen her frequently, and who feels for her 
 most sincerely. Yesterday evening we returned 
 from Coniston, after passing two days there. Her 
 firmness, her collected mind, exceed any thing I 
 have -een, because I trace through it feelings the 
 most acute. 
 
 " The instant we heard of what had happened, 
 Mr. GkbeNj impressed by the idea of her receiving 
 the blow in a state of solitude, was inclined to go 
 directly, but I convinced him that it was better to 
 write first. I soon had a few lines, which afforded 
 all the satisfaction we could expect to receive:
 
 [ 256 ] 
 
 quiet, she said, was at first absolutely necessary, 
 but it would be a comfort to see us when she 
 could support the meeting. A worthy Clergyman 
 afforded all necessary assistance, and to him she 
 gave directions as to all that was to be done. The 
 last solemn ceremony took place early in the 
 morning, and was conducted with perfect simpli- 
 city. It was over before we heard of it, otherwise 
 Mr. Green and I should have been tempted, 
 through respect for the living and the dead, to have 
 attended. On Mr. Green's account, however, 
 I believe it was better omitted, though he says it 
 would have been a satisfaction ; but it might have 
 been too much for his nerves, for they were so 
 much affected by his first visit to Coniston, that 
 it was several days before he recovered. Indeed 
 it was an affecting visit. On that day three weeks 
 we had seen your dear girl sitting under the 
 same tent in a field overlooking the Lake, accom- 
 panied by her Father, Mother, and Sister; now we 
 found her place empty, her Mother and Sister 
 alone ! It was not very long before Mrs. Smith 
 had the resolution to speak of her. She sought 
 and found the highest consolation in dwelling on 
 her virtues, and on the proofs she had found in
 
 [ 257 ] 
 
 the writings she left behind, that she was well pre- 
 pared to quit this world. Mrs. Smith afterwards 
 read to us the most kindly sympathising letter 
 from Thos. Wilkinson that ever was written on 
 such an occasion, with some verses to the memory 
 of his favourite, so characteristic, and coming so 
 truly from the heart, that neither Mr. Green nor 
 I could restrain our tears. Mr. Green rejoices in 
 having fitted up that shew-box for you, and means 
 to do an appropriate moon-light for it." 
 
 LETTER VIII. 
 From Mrs. Green to Mrs. H. Bowdler. 
 
 "Mr. Green has been trying to do his promised 
 moon-light in a way that may do some justice to 
 his regard for you, and to the memory of the 
 interesting person to whom it alludes; but he bids 
 me tell you that, when most anxious to do his best, 
 he seldom can please himself. He trusts however 
 that you will be in some degree gratified by this 
 token of his regard to you, and to the memory of 
 one so justly dear to you, and so affectionately 
 
 s
 
 [ 258 ] 
 
 valued by himself. He applied to me for some 
 lines to write on the space he has left at the 
 bottom of the frame, and was pleased with my 
 suggestion of selecting a couplet from the verses 
 written by Thos. Wilkinson. They came pure 
 from the heart of one who truly appreciated her 
 character, and tenderly lamented her loss." &c. # 
 
 I will here add the letter and poem mentioned 
 by Mrs. Green. The author, Thos. Wilkinson, 
 a Quaker, is well known, and universally respected 
 in the country where he resides; and Mrs. Smith 
 says of him, " He is one of the very few people 
 who really knew my daughter, and he felt for her 
 
 * With this letter I received a beautiful landscape, with 
 an urn sacred to the memory of my beloved friend, which is 
 placed with her transparencies. This picture was one of 
 the last efforts of Mr. Green's elegant pencil. That inge- 
 nious, amiable, and most excellent man died on the 10th 
 of June, 1807. The lines to which Mrs. Green alludes 
 are now indeed peculiarly appropriate, and they are placed 
 on the Picture : 
 
 " Long shall my care these sweet memorials save; 
 " The hand diat traced them rests within the grave!"
 
 [ 259 ] 
 
 character that esteem which the wise and good 
 ever entertain for each other." Miss Smith had 
 much pleasure in his society and correspondence, 
 and he sometimes attended her and her sisters in 
 their long walks amongst the mountains. 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 
 Thomas Wilkinson to Mrs. Smith. 
 
 ff My dear Friend, 
 " Will it be an intrusion on the sacredness of 
 thy sorrow, thus to address thee? I have heard of 
 thy loss, and can truly say I sympathise therein. 
 I have awoke in tears in the night, to meditate 
 on the affecting event; and the thoughts of my 
 friend, and precious daughter, are frequently my 
 companions by day. Many are now my recol- 
 lections of dear Elizabeth; her sweet and serious 
 countenance is often so vivid in my remembrance, 
 that I sometimes can hardly think I shall see her 
 no more. How unsearchable are the ways of the 
 Almighty ! He frequently selects the wisest 
 and the best for Himself, whilst 'the world lying 
 in wickedness' seems to want their example and 
 
 s 2
 
 [ 260 ] 
 
 reproof, and the virtuous and drooping Christian 
 their encouragement and support. Yet we are 
 not to question his ways j for surely they are in 
 wisdom, though that wisdom we cannot compre- 
 hend. Never let us forget, my friend, that this 
 is a state of trial. Affliction and trial will termi- 
 nate in the grave, and if we are faithful to the 
 last, we shall rise in happiness. I have had no 
 particulars of the trying event; when thou hast 
 strength to write, it would be desirable to know 
 how thou and Juliet are, and whether thy hus- 
 band, or any branch of the family, were at Coniston 
 during the solemn scene ? Thy lot has often been 
 to bear the heaviest part of the burden. I shall 
 devote the rest of my paper to a little memorial of 
 its kind to thy valued daughter. 
 
 " Farewell! with true esteem and affection, I 
 remain thy sincere and sympathising friend, 
 
 " T. W." 
 
 LINES INCLOSED. 
 
 it HOW dark this river murmuring on its way; 
 This wood how solemn, at the close of day ! 
 What clouds come on, what shades of evening fall, 
 Till one vast veil of sadness covers all : —
 
 [ 261 ] 
 
 Then why alone thus lingering do I roam, 
 Heedless of clouds, of darkness, and of home I— 
 Well may I linger in this twilight gloom 
 Alone, and sad — Eliza's in her tomb ! 
 She who so late, by kindred taste ally'd, 
 Paced this lone path, conversing at my side ; 
 The wildering path 'twas her delight to prove, 
 Through the green valley, or the cooling grove. 
 
 « Can I forget, on many a summer's day, 
 How through the woods and lanes we wont to stray ; 
 How cross the moors and up the hills to wind, 
 And leaves the fields and sinking vales behind : 
 How arduous o'er the mountain steeps to go, 
 And look by turns on all the plains below ; 
 How scal'd th' aerial cliffs th' adven'trous maid, 
 Whilst, far beneath, her foil'd companion staid ? 
 
 " Yet whilst to her sublimest scenes arise, 
 Of mountains pil'd on mountains to the skies, 
 The intellectual world still claim'd her care,— . 
 There she would range, amid the wise and fair, 
 UntutorM range ; — her penetrating mind 
 Left the dull track of school research behind; 
 Rush'd on, and seiz'd the funds of Eastern lore, 
 Arabia, Persia, adding to her store. 
 
 " Yet unobtrusive, serious, and meek, 
 The first to listen, and the last to speak j
 
 [ 262 ] 
 
 Though rich in intellect, her powers of thought 
 In youth's prime season no distinction sought ; 
 But ever prompt at duty's sacred call, 
 She oft in silence left the social hall, 
 To trace the cots and villages around, 
 No cot too mean, where misery might be found j 
 How have I seen her at the humblest shed, 
 Bearing refreshment to the sick man's bed ; 
 His drooping spirits cheer'd — she from his door 
 Return'd, amid the blessings of the poor ! 
 
 " Oh, lost Eliza! dear ingenuous maid, 
 While low in earth thy cold remains are laid, 
 Thy genuine friendship, thy attentions kind, 
 Rise like a vision on my pensive mind ; 
 Thy love of truth, thy readiness to please, 
 Thy sweet, refin'd simplicity and ease, 
 Enhanc'd the favours of ingenious art, 
 And made thy gifts pass onward to the heart ; 
 These beauteous tints,* these peaceful scenes I view, 
 Thy taste design'd, and ready friendship drew ; 
 Long shall my care the sweet memorials save — 
 The hand that traced them rests within the grave ! 
 
 " Lamented Maiden ! pensive and alone, 
 While sorrowing friendship pours her tender moan, 
 
 * " Her drawings in a rustic building beside the river Emont."
 
 [ 263 j 
 
 Sad memory sees thee, at our parting hour, 
 Pale, weak, yet lovely as a drooping flower 
 Which sheds its leaves on autumn's sickly bed;— 
 Thou from thy pillow rais'd thy peaceful head; 
 To me thou held'st thy feeble hand— it bore 
 Naambannaf dying on his native shore; 
 Like his, Religion's holy truths, address'd 
 To thy young mind, were treasur'd in thy breast; 
 Like his, we saw thy early blossoms wave; 
 Now see the Virtues weeping o'er thy grave!" 
 
 The last manuscript with which I was favoured 
 by Dr. Mumssen arrived too late; and when I 
 wrote to thank hirn for it, I mentioned the irre- 
 parable loss I had sustained, and spoke of my 
 lamented friend in the following words; which 
 drew from him an answer so gratifying to my feel- 
 ings, that I hope I may be pardoned for inserting 
 it. My letter contains a very imperfect sketch of 
 Miss Smith's character, but it is drawn with truth. 
 
 f An affedting account of the pious Afiican, Henry Granville 
 Naambanna, which she gave the author, as he took his last leave of 
 her a short time before her death.
 
 [ <264 ] 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 Extract from a Letter from Mrs. H. 
 Bowdler to Dr. Mumssen. 
 
 " September 1806. 
 " The lovely young creature on whose account 
 I first applied to you, had been for above a year 
 gradually declining, and on the 7th of August she 
 resigned her pure spirit to God who gave it. Her 
 character was so extraordinary, and she was so very 
 dear to me, that I hope you will forgive my dwel- 
 ling a little longer on my irreparable loss. Her 
 person and manners were extremely pleasing, with 
 a pensive softness of countenance that indicated 
 deep reflection ; but her extreme timidity concealed 
 the most extraordinary talents that ever fell under 
 my observation. With scarcely any assistance, 
 she taught herself the French, Italian, Spanish, 
 German, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew languages. 
 She had no inconsiderable knowledge of Arabic 
 and Persic. She was well acquainted with 
 Geometry, Algebra, and other branches of the 
 Mathematics. She was a very fine musician. She 
 drew landscapes from nature extremely well, and 
 was a mistress of perspective, She shewed an
 
 [ 265 ] 
 
 early taste for poetry, of which some specimens 
 remain ; but 1 believe she destroyed most of the 
 effusions of her youthful muse, when an acquaint- 
 ance with your great poet, and still more when the 
 sublime compositions of the Hebrew bards, gave 
 a different turn to her thoughts. With all these 
 acquirements she was perfectly feminine in her 
 disposition ; elegant, modest, gentle, and affection- 
 ate; nothing was neglected, which a woman ought 
 to know ; no duty was omitted, which her situation 
 in life required her to perform. But the part of 
 her character on which I dwell with the greatest 
 satisfaction, is that exalted piety, which seemed 
 always to raise her above this world, and taught 
 her, at sixteen years of age, to resign its riches and 
 its pleasures almost without regret, and to support 
 with dignity a very unexpected change of situation. 
 
 For some years before her death the Holy 
 
 Scripture was her principal study, and she translated 
 from the Hebrew the whole book of Job, &c. &c. 
 How far she succeeded in this attempt I am not 
 qualified to judge; but the benefit which she 
 herself derived from these studies must be evident 
 to those who witnessed the patience and resignation 
 with which she supported a long and painful illness,
 
 [ 266 ] 
 
 the sweet attention which she always shewed to 
 the feelings of her parents and friends, and the 
 heavenly composure with which she looked for- 
 ward to the awful change which has now removed 
 her to a world, ' where (as one of her friends 
 observes) her gentle, pure, and enlightened spirit 
 will find itself more at home than in this land 
 of shadows.' &c. &c. 
 
 LETTER XI. 
 
 Dr. MUMSSEN IN REPLY. 
 
 " Mtona, Oct. 3, 1806. 
 " Let me very heartily sympathise with you, 
 dear Madam, in your sorrow. The loss you have 
 suffered is great, is irrecoverable in this world. 
 The account you gave me of the extraordinary 
 character of your late angelic friend, has filled my 
 breast with admiration and awe. I have read your 
 letter with tears. So many accomplishments, 
 natural and moral: so much of science, erudition, 
 and eminence of rare talents, combined with gi ace, 
 with gentleness, and all the virtues that adorn a 
 female mind! It is wonderful, and cannot be 
 enough admired. Great, indeed, must have been
 
 [ 267 ] 
 
 your happiness in the possession of this treasure, 
 
 Alas ! the gentle spirit that moved her tender 
 
 limbs is soon divested of its mortal garment, and 
 gone to join its kindred Angels ! 
 
 « Vattene in pace, Alma beata e bella !' 
 But I think her happy in this our period ; for what 
 can be more fortunate on earth than to fall into 
 the hands of the virtuous, and free from contact of 
 a corrupted race, to make her passage over our 
 unlucky planet pure and immaculate, and with the 
 robe of innocence appear before her Creator ? To 
 taste all the sweets of science and art, and having 
 satisfied all honest desires, remove from the feast 
 of life with gratitude. "Tis a consummation 
 devoutly to be wished !' 
 
 " Your being deprived of such a hand, I fear, 
 will put a stop to your honourable project; yet I 
 will hope that somebody will be found to assist 
 you in reducing and sifting the materials you have 
 
 collected. 
 
 " Pray tell me the name of your late young 
 friend, that I may honour her memory. Such 
 radiant flames seldom descend to inhabit terres- 
 trial forms. 
 
 " With true esteem and affection, I am, &e."
 
 [ 268 ] 
 
 LETTER XII. 
 
 From the Rev. Dr. Randolph to Mrs. Smith. 
 
 " I have to thank you, my dear Mrs. Smith, 
 for your very interesting manuscript. To those 
 who once shared the friendship of your excellent 
 daughter, the most trifling incidents of her life are 
 now become valuable records ; and scenes of child- 
 hood, when connected with the expansive powers 
 of genius, cease to be insignificant; as the smallest 
 rill assumes an importance from being contemplated 
 as the source of a great and majestic river. Let me 
 however confess, that without a more powerful 
 motive for my request, than the one you so justly 
 assign to me, I should have spared you the sad 
 remembrance of the days of infantine occupations; 
 and judging of the culture by the produce, have 
 given due credit to your system of education, nor 
 felt any inclination to pry further into the secrets 
 of a mother's care. 
 
 *f But the plant you had the happiness to rear 
 in the moral garden of life, (though, alas! of short 
 duration,) exhibited such a luxuriant fertility, and 
 a vigour of shoot so far exceeding the ordinary
 
 f 269 } 
 
 growth of intellect, that it seems a duty we owe 
 to society to mark the several points and stages of 
 its advancement to such early maturity. 
 
 " I see you start at the proposal I am about to 
 make ; but the papers now before me not only 
 serve to increase my admiration of your beloved 
 child, but convince me, the more I read them, that 
 she that is gone ought to live in universal remem- 
 brance; that over such a grave grief should not be 
 dumb : and that the world, deprived by her death 
 of one of its brightest ornaments, has a claim to 
 every memorial of her exalted worth and talents, 
 to shew the unthinking crowd what may be done, 
 and to hold forth an example of what has been done 
 even in so short a space of time, by fulfilling the 
 duties of a Christian life, and the purposes of 
 rational existence. 
 
 " You know that I am no advocate, generally 
 speaking, for biographical sketches and memoirs. 
 The vanity of some of these communications might 
 well be spared, and the profligacy of others ought 
 not to be endured. But if the reflecting reader, 
 tired or disgusted with a mere series of adventures, 
 should prefer a narrative that led the mind to 
 thought, to one that only filled it with wonder or 

 
 [ 270 ] 
 
 amusement ; if he had rather follow Cowper to 
 his study, than a General to the field, or a statesman 
 to the cabinet; to such a class of readers, I scruple 
 not to say, you have it in your power to offer a 
 most captivating publication. Every page I un- 
 fold fills me with fresh astonishment; and when I 
 collect the evidence of your daughter's attain- 
 ments within the short period of her earthly ex- 
 istence, when I combine the graces of person, and 
 the elegance of accomplishments, with her more 
 noble and higher distinctions of intellect, I seem 
 to lose sight of what once adorned society, and to 
 be tracing a form of ideal perfection. 
 
 " Over every thing she touches she seems to 
 spread a new charm : and whether she furnishes 
 materials from her own capacious mind, or draws 
 them from the stores of others, there is a choice 
 and arrangement, which evinces the soundest 
 judgment, as well as the sweetest imagination. Her 
 feelings are exquisite, but never romantic; and in 
 the flight of her most excursive fancy, she keeps 
 within the bounds of truth and taste. In all that 
 she invents or describes, nothing is overcharged 
 or unnatural. Her pen, like her pencil, places 
 every object in the most pleasing point of view;
 
 [ 271 ] 
 
 and the delicacy of her thoughts is even height- 
 ened by the purity, I may say piety, of the ex- 
 pressions in which they are conveyed. In her 
 various translations from the German, and other 
 languages, most of which 1 have compared with 
 the different authors, she never mistakes or weakens 
 the spirit of the original. Klopstock, under her 
 management, talks English as well as his native 
 tono-ue: and the warmest of his admirers would 
 rejoice to hear the facility and precision with 
 which she has taught their favourite poet and 
 
 philosopher to converse amongst us. Of her 
 
 Hebrew versions, of which I would not allow 
 myself to be a competent judge, I can now speak in 
 the strongest terms of praise, from the testimony 
 of some of our best Hebrew scholars, to whom the 
 Book of Job has been more particularly submitted. 
 Theopinion of this extraordinary production, trans- 
 mitted to me by a friend who ranks amongst the first 
 in this department of literature, I here subjoin. 
 
 * My dear Sir, 
 < I have exceeded the time I had prescribed to 
 myself for sending you my report of the MS. of 
 Job ; but I was desirous to form the best judgment
 
 [ 272 ] 
 
 I was capable of, before I ventured on a final 
 opinion. I have now, however, most full}- satis- 
 fied my mind upon the subject; and I feel that I 
 should do great injustice to the work, if I did not 
 pronounce it to be an excellent translation. After 
 a close scrutiny, and a careful comparison with the 
 original, it strikes me as conveying more of the 
 true character and meaning of the Hebrew, with 
 fewer departures from the idiom of the English, 
 than any other translation whatever that we 
 possess. It combines accuracy of version with 
 purity of style, and unites critical research with 
 familiar exposition. From the received trans- 
 lation it very seldom unnecessarily deviates, 
 which I consider to be a proof of the author's 
 taste and judgment: for, in general, the language 
 of our English Bible is such as no one possessing 
 these would wish to alter. The correction of error, 
 and the improvement of the sense, seem to be the 
 only inducements, and serve as the chief guides in 
 every variation of phrase adopted in the version of 
 your friend. These variations are undoubtedly 
 sometimes considerable, but always ingenious, 
 and generally well founded, and never hazarded 
 but with reasonable colour, and manifestly after
 
 [ 237 ] 
 
 much investigation. New readings and new sig- 
 nifications are occasionally introduced; and from 
 the appearance of some of these at the com- 
 mencement of the work, I had at first been led to 
 entertain doubts as to the merit of the translation; 
 but upon farther acquaintance, and a fuller 
 review, I find them much less frequent and less 
 violent than (I am sorry to say) are to be met with 
 in most of our modern versions of the various parts 
 of the Old Testament. Conjectural emendations 
 of the text particularly are most sparingly indulged 
 in ; so that, upon the whole, 1 cannot but recom- 
 mend the publication of the entire version ; in 
 the fullest confidence that it will be received as a 
 valuable present by thelovers of biblical literature.'* 
 
 " Upon such proofs, I may venture to rest my 
 justification, if any be necessary, for earnestly re- 
 questing your permission to draw from the journal 
 of her improvement a simple narrative of your 
 daughter's life. Many of the documents must 
 
 * Letter from the Rev. Dr. Magee, of Trinity college, 
 Dublin, author of Discourses on the Doftrine of the 
 Atonement. 
 
 T
 
 [ 274 ] 
 
 necessarily be omitted, but enough may be given 
 to confirm our estimate of her worth, and prove 
 to the world that it has not been raised beyond its 
 due standard by the partiality of her sorrowful and 
 
 surviving friends. If the dear companion of 
 
 some of her early studies might be prevailed on 
 to undertake the arrangement of the materials, 
 (and 1 think our solicitations to her for that pur- 
 pose may not be in vain,) your mind will be better 
 reconciled to the measure, and the world will be 
 
 satisfied as to the fidelity of the detail. Let us, 
 
 I beseech you, unite to accomplish this ; and 
 believe me, &c. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 Printed by Richard Cruttwell, St. jamesVStreet, Bath.
 
 Just Published, price Is. in boards, 
 
 THE BOOK OF JOB; 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE HEBREW 
 BY THE LATE 
 
 MISS ELIZABETH SMITH. 
 
 WITH A 
 
 PREFACE AND ANNOTATIONS, 
 
 BT THE 
 
 REV. F. RANDOLPH, D.D.
 
 
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