Gloucestershire, at which place he resided with his family for above a year, and then returned to Annan on a visit. While there, St George's Chapel in Edinburgh becoming vacant, he was induced, by the persuasion of his friends, to offer himself a candidate. He came to Edinburgh for that purpose, and preached several times. The performance of his sacred duties was in unison with his character, simple, elegant, and affecting. He evinced, both in his manner and his doctrine, the deepest impression of those impor tant truths he was to explain; but laboured more to inspire his hearers with pious feelings, and to imbue their minds with love, and peace, and charity, than to bewilder their under standings, or dazzle their imaginations. He appeared like the Apostle of Peace, making mankind ashamed of every turbulent and unruly passion. He forgot not the awful justice of his Divine Master; but mercy was the attribute on which he loved to dwell. His appearance, in the robes of his sacred office, was solemn and devout, while the deep tones of a voice, rich in natural pathos, were rendered still more impressive by the pale hue which sickness had spread over his fine features; and he seemed like a messenger sent from Heaven, that was to lead the way to that happier state of living to which he was directing his fellow travellers. His excellence as a preacher was acknowledged; and at one time there appeared to be a majority of the electors in his favour; but, upon the final trial, another can didate was successful.

This disappointment was most painful to his friends, who were eager to again enjoy the society of one in whom they so much delighted, but he bore it without a murmur, and replied to the impatient and indignant lamentations of a much interested friend, in the language of meekness and consolation, saying, "It mattered not where we passed our time for a few short years." Before returning to Annan, he paid a last visit to his respected mother, who resided in Glasgow, and who died soon after.

When the affair of St George's chapel was finally settled, he went to Durham, and became a candidate for a minor canonry; but failed there also, as it had been promised to another before he applied. He officiated three

months as an interim curate, and was extremely popular; after which, he was appointed to the curacy of Sedgefield, in that see. In this place he preached before the bishop, who expressed high approbation of him, and warm interest in his favour; but before there was time for any preferment from his lordship's patronage, the bad health to which he had always been subject, increased to an alarming degree. Being afflicted with violent headach, and oppressive asthma, he was induced to come to Edinburgh for change of air. He arrived at the house of Mrs Archibald Grahame, his only surviving sister, very much indisposed. He was often agonized with excruciating pain in his head; yet he had intervals of ease, and was able occasionally to see and converse with many of his friends; at which time he evinced all that playful cheerfulness, which in former days was so attractive in his manners. He found in this amiable sister a soothing and an attentive nurse; but his malady wearing an alarming aspect, Mrs Grahame joined him in Edinburgh ; and on his expressing an ardent desire to go to Glasgow, she accompanied him in his last journey to that place. Though very ill before he set out, and aware of his danger, he did not imagine his dissolution so near; but was animated with the idea of visiting the scenes of his early days and happiest recollections. He even hoped to preach in his native town, and took two sermons for that purpose, the subjects of which bear a striking analogy to the situation of their author; the text of one of them being, "O death where is thy sting?" The victory indeed was soon to be his. He became worse by the way, and two days after, having arrived at WhiteHill, near Glasgow, the residence of his eldest brother, he expired on the 14th of September 1811, in the fortyseventh year of his age.

Immediately afterwards, there was published a beautiful monody on his death, peculiarly soothing to the feelings of his friends; the elegant author seemed to have wandered in his favourite haunts, and to have caught, with affectionate ardour, his very tone of simple pathos and holy enthusiasm.

It appeared, from the report of the medical attendants, that the complaint in his head had been of many years duration, and must have occasioned

Soon after this, he published, in the Kelso Mail, under the signature of Matilda, a succession of beautiful pictures of nature through several months of the year, beginning with April, which were afterwards extended and printed in an edition of his works, with the title of "The Rural Calendar." About the year 1800, he wrote Mary Stuart, a tragedy. This latter piece was rather a favourite with the author, and though not adapted to the stage, it contains many fine poetical passages, and must ever be considered an elegant dramatic tale.

From a sense of duty, however, he paid all due attention to the labours of his profession, especially after his inarriage, which took place in March 1802. He married Miss Grahame, eldest daughter of Richard Grahame, Esq. of Annan, a woman possessed of very superior powers of understanding, and much kindness of heart. On her judgment and reflection he relied with unlimited confidence. In political and moral principles they were perfectly congenial; but his poetical propensity she was led to discourage, from an idea, that it interfered with his professional duties. On discovering, how ever, that he was the author of the Sabbath, which his timidity induced him to keep a profound secret even from her, she became convinced, that to check his natural bias to poetry, would be like extinguishing the mental vision that was destined to explore the most interesting beauties of the natural, and the most refined modifications of the moral world; and from that period she was proud of his genius, and deeply interested in its success. The unfavourable review of the Sabbath, she was much less willing to excuse than he was himself. He indeed never indulged any displeasure against its author; he loved the man so much, and felt such respect for his critical powers, that he bowed in acquiescence to the decision, and was rather offended with those friends who expressed themselves indignantly upon the occasion.

The extreme delicacy and diffidence of Grahame's character, are strikingly exemplified in some circumstances which attended the first publication of this beautiful poem. None of his friends had the slightest previous intimation or suspicion of its existence. To avoid observation while it was

printing, he and his respectable publisher, Mr Pillans, always held their necessary interviews at some tavern, and seldom more than once at the same place. On its publication he brought the book home with him, and left it on his parlour table. Returning soon after, he found Mrs Grahame engaged in its perusal; but without venturing to ask her opinion, he continued walking up and down the room in breathless anxiety, till she burst out in the warmest eulogiums on the perform ance; adding, "Ah! James, if you could but produce a poem like this!": The disclosure of the author will readily be anticipated; but the mutual hap piness of such a moment, when the timid reserve of the poet yielded, in the fulness of delight, to the applause of a judge so respected and beloved, may be better imagined than described.

From this time he became still more attached to poetry; and at Kirkhill, a beautiful retirement on the banks of the Esk, where he resided during two successive summers, he composed the poem of " The Birds of Scotland." In this neighbourhood were the ruins of the once splendid abode of the sanguinary M'Kenzie, and the humble cottage of John Kilgour, which he has in that poem so interestingly contrasted.

About this period, his original desire of entering into the church revived with irresistible power; and the writer of this Memoir will never forget the eager longing with which he surveyed the humble church of Borthwick, on a fine summer evening, when the sun's last rays had gilded the landscape, and rendered every object in nature more sweet and impressive. He cast a look of delighted complacency around the peaceful scene, and said, with an accent of regret, "I wish such a place as that had fallen to my lot.” And when it was remarked, that continued retirement might become wearisome, "Oh! no," he replied, "it would be delight. ful to live a life of usefulness among a simple people, uninolested with petty cares and ceremonies."

In the following spring, having seriously formed the design of quitting the bar, he left Edinburgh, and, after spending a few months at Annan, proceeded to Chester, and from thence to London, where he was ordained by the Bishop of Norwich. He was soon after appointed curate of Shipton in

Gloucestershire, at which place he resided with his family for above a year, and then returned to Annan on a visit. While there, St George's Chapel in Edinburgh becoming vacant, he was induced, by the persuasion of his friends, to offer himself a candidate. He came to Edinburgh for that purpose, and preached several times. The performance of his sacred duties was in unison with his character, simple, elegant, and affecting. He evinced, both in his manner and his doctrine, the deepest impression of those impor tant truths he was to explain; but laboured more to inspire his hearers with pious feelings, and to imbue their minds with love, and peace, and charity, than to bewilder their under standings, or dazzle their imaginations. He appeared like the Apostle of Peace, making mankind ashamed of every turbulent and unruly passion. He forgot not the awful justice of his Divine Master; but mercy was the attribute on which he loved to dwell. His appearance, in the robes of his sacred office, was solemn and devout, while the deep tones of a voice, rich in natural pathos, were rendered still more impressive by the pale hue which sickness had spread over his fine features; and he seemed like a messenger sent from Heaven, that was to lead the way to that happier state of living to which he was directing his fellow travellers. His excellence as a preacher was acknowledged; and at one time there appeared to be a majority of the electors in his favour; but, upon the final trial, another can didate was successful.

This disappointment was most painful to his friends, who were eager to again enjoy the society of one in whom they so much delighted, but he bore it without a murmur, and replied to the impatient and indignant lamentations of a much interested friend, in the language of meekness and consolation, saying, "It mattered not where we passed our time for a few short years." Before returning to Annan, he paid a last visit to his respected mother, who resided in Glasgow, and who died soon after.

1

When the affair of St George's chapel was finally settled, he went to Durham, and became a candidate for a minor canonry; but failed there also, as it had been promised to another before he applied. He officiated three

months as an interim curate, and was extremely popular; after which, he was appointed to the curacy of Sedgefield, in that see. In this place he preached before the bishop, who expressed high approbation of him, and warm interest in his favour; but before there was time for any preferment from his lordship's patronage, the bad health to which he had always been subject, increased to an alarming degree. Being afflicted with violent headach, and oppressive asthma, he was induced to come to Edinburgh for change of air. He arrived at the house of Mrs Archibald Grahame, his only surviving sister, very much indisposed. He was often agonized with excruciating pain in his head; yet he had intervals of ease, and was able occasionally to see and converse with many of his friends; at which time he evinced all that playful cheerfulness, which in former days was so attractive in his manners. He found in this amiable sister a soothing and an attentive nurse; but his malady wearing an alarming aspect, Mrs Grahame joined him in Edinburgh; and on his expressing an ardent desire to go to Glasgow, she accompanied him in his last journey to that place. Though very ill before he set out, and aware of his danger, he did not imagine his dissolution so near; but was animated with the idea of visiting the scenes of his early days and happiest recollections. He even hoped to preach in his native town, and took two sermons for that purpose, the subjects of which bear a striking analogy to the situation of their author; the text of one of them being," O death where is thy sting?" The victory indeed was soon to be his. He became worse by the way, and two days after, having arrived at WhiteHill, near Glasgow, the residence of his eldest brother, he expired on the 14th of September 1811, in the fortyseventh year of his age.

Immediately afterwards, there was published a beautiful monody on his death, peculiarly soothing to the feelings of his friends; the elegant author seemed to have wandered in his favourite haunts, and to have caught, with affectionate ardour, his very tone of simple pathos and holy enthusiasm.

It appeared, from the report of the medical attendants, that the complaint in his head had been of many years duration, and must have occasioned

agonizing pain. What a deep sympathy in his sufferings does this information awaken, and what a profound respect for his fortitude and resignation! especially when it is remembered, that the languor and pensiveness so often apparent, which his friends usually ascribed to nervous sensibility, was the effect of a mortal disease. He had long been sensible of a temporary pause in the beating of his pulse and the throbbing of his heart, which is understood to have proceeded from the same cause.

He left two sons and a daughter most promising children. There was no part of his character more impressive than the paternal; for, mingled with a sensitive anxiety for their safe ty, he paid minute attention to the earliest movements of their minds, and delighted in observing the impressions of which they were susceptible, and sharing like a play-mate in their innocent gambols; but his feelings are best expressed in his own affecting lines on his son's birth-day. "O! sportive looks of love, devoid of guile, I prize you more than beauty's magic smile;

Yes, in that face, unconscious of its charm, I gaze with bliss, unmingled with alarm. Ah, no! full oft a boding horror flies Athwart my fancy, uttering fateful cries. Almighty Power! his harmless life defend, And if we part, 'gainst me the mandate send.

And yet a wish will rise,-would I might live,

Till added years his memory firmness give!
For, O! it would a joy in death impart,
To think I still survived within his heart:

To think he'll cast, midway the vale of

To hear the anthem of the vocal horn: To teach religion, unallied to strife,

voted to his wife with the tenderest affection. Home was the scene of his best enjoyments, and in domestic life he was most endearing. He hated all display; and though well acquainted with every branch of literature, and qualified for intercourse with the first of the learned and the wise, yet the mild affability of his manners encouraged the humblest effusions of the unaffected and unassuming. He possessed a native frankness that banish ed restraint. He had a keen relish of wit in others, and sometimes displayed no common degree of it himself: It did not dart upon his associates with the flash of the meteor, to dazzle and astonish, but was like the enlivening rays of the setting sun, reflected from the rippling waves of a pure and transparent lake He looked upon conversation as a pastime in which all were entitled to engage, and joined in common topics with an easy gayety; but when subjects of importance were discussed, or his indignation roused. by acts of injustice or oppression, his feelings burst forth with all the unrestrained splendour of a generous and lofty mind, overwhelming his opponents with a torrent of unexpected eloquence.

Piety was interwoven with every emotion of his heart, and he constantly felt the power of the Deity in all his works. The study of Nature was his. best in her most simple dress; and supreme delight; but he loved her the wild flower that sprung on the banks of a lonely stream, pleased him more than the gayest of the cultivated garden.

He loved the poor, and knew the best parts of their nature; discovered their virtuous propensities through the rude garb that covered them; and their limited attainments, drew forth while he adapted his conversation to the latent sparks of intelligence with which they were endowed. He justly and emphatically styles himself" the poor man's bard." In the Georgics this is particularly obvious-a poem

life."

These dear children have also had the misfortune to lose their excellent mother, and are now under the care of her father and an amiable sister, at Annan.

Grahame would have been ill able to bear this affliction, for he was de

be indifferent to those who possess a relish for beautiful description and genuine feeling.

His aspect to strangers appeared sedate even to seriousness; but this vanished on a nearer approach, and the smile that occasionally illumined his countenance, was like a beam of sun

4.