and in 1796 his only remaining one. These afflictions, together with the insanity of his wife, of which there were some indications even a few years after they were married, seriously affected his health. In April, 1799, he suffered a stroke of the palsy,-a repetition of which, in 1802, deprived him of the use of his limbs; and death finally ended his sufferings, in the sixty-eighth year of his age, on the 18th of August, 1803. He was buried beside his two sons in the churchyard of St. Nicholas, Aberdeen.

The fame of Dr. Beattie rests chiefly upon The Minstrel. It is a didactic poem, in the Spenserian stanza, designed "to trace the progress of a poetical genius, born in a rude age, from the first dawning of fancy and reason till that period at which he may be supposed capable of appearing in the world as a minstrel." The character of Edwin, the Minstrel (in which Beattie embodied his own early feelings and poetical aspirations), is very finely drawn, and a vein of pathetic moral reflection runs through the whole of the poem, which is of the purest kind, and highly elevating in its influence.

The character of Dr. Beattie is delineated in his writings, of which the most prominent features are purity of sentiment and warm attachment to the principles of religion and morality. He was the friend of every good cause, and was one of the earliest advocates for the suppression of the slave-trade and for the abolition of slavery. All his treatises, critical, philosophical, and moral, are very able as well as very instructive, and are written in a style of classic purity; and it may with truth be said that no one can read his works with a candid mind and rise from the perusal of them unimproved,-which is the highest praise an author can receive.2

LOVE OF NATURE.

It is strange to observe the callousness of some men, before whom all the glories of heaven and earth pass in daily succession, without touching their hearts, elevating their fancy, or bearing any durable remembrance. Even of those who pretend to sensibility, how many are there to whom the lustre of the rising or setting sun, the sparkling concave of the midnight sky, the mountain forest tossing and roaring to the storm, or warbling with all the melodies of a summer evening; the sweet interchange of hill and dale, shade and sunshine, grove, lawn, and water, which an extensive landscape offers to the view; the scenery of the ocean, so lovely, so majestic, and so tremendous, and the many pleasing varieties of the animal and vegetable kingdom, could never afford

tion which he pours forth against the iniquitous system shows what were his feelings

as a man.

is formed with regularity must have an intelligent cause. I therefore told him the name of the Great Being who made him and all the world, concerning whose adorable nature I gave him such information as I thought he could in some measure comprehend. The Lesson affected him deeply, and he never for got either it or the circumstance that intro-plishments; for he was an excellent classical duced it."

1 In his Elements of Moral Science, he devotes a considerable space to the subject of slavery, refuting the arguments then adduced by its supporters with the triumph of a clearbeaded logician; while the virtuous indigna

2 "Throughout the whole of the North of Scotland, in these days, there was not one that could compete with Dr. Beattie, the recluse professor at Aberdeen, in variety of accom

scholar, a veritable poet, a scientific as well as practical musician, an indefatigable student, and, as a metaphysician, unsurpassed at that epoch, unless it were by his friend and colleague, Dr. Reid."-GILLIES' Literary Veteran

so much real satisfaction as the steam and noise of a ball-room, the insipid fiddling and squeaking of an opera, or the vexations and wranglings of a card-table! But some minds there are of a different make, who, even in the early part of life, receive from the contemplation of nature a species of delight which they would hardly exchange for any other, and who, as avarice and ambition are not the infirmities of that period, would, with equal sincerity and rapture, exclaim,—

"I care not, Fortune, what you me deny;

You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace;
You cannot shut the windows of the sky,

Through which Aurora shows her brightening face;
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace

The woods and lawns by living streams at eve:

Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace,
And I their toys to the great children leave;

Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave."

Such minds have always in them the seeds of true taste, and frequently of imitative genius. At least, though their enthusiastic or visionary turn of mind, as the man of the world would call it, should not always incline them to practise poetry or painting, we need not scruple to affirm that without some portion of this enthusiasm no person ever became a true poet or painter; for he who would imitate the works of nature must first accurately observe them, and accurate observation is to be expected from those only who take great pleasure in it.

To a mind thus disposed, no part of creation is indifferent. In the crowded city and howling wilderness, in the cultivated province and solitary isle, in the flowery lawn and craggy mountain, in the murmur of the rivulet and in the uproar of the ocean, in the radiance of summer and gloom of winter, in the thunder of heaven and in the whisper of the breeze, he still finds something to rouse or to soothe his imagination, to draw forth his affections, or to employ his understanding. And from every mental energy that is not attended with pain, and even from some of those that

are,

-as moderate terror and pity,-a sound mind derives satisfaction; exercise being equally necessary to the body and the soul, and to both equally productive of health and pleasure. This happy sensibility to the beauties of nature should be cherished in young persons. It engages them to contemplate the Creator in his wonderful works; it purifies and harmonizes the soul, and prepares it for moral and intellectual discipline; it supplies a never-failing source of amusement; it contributes even to bodily health; and, as a strict analogy subsists between material and moral beauty, it leads the heart by an easy transition from the

1 Castle of Indolence, canto ii. stanza 3.

one to the other, and thus recommends virtue for its transcendent loveliness, and makes vice appear the object of contempt and abomination.

OPENING STANZAS OF "THE MINSTREL."

Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb1
The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar!
Ah! who can tell how many a soul sublime
Has felt the influence of malignant star,
And waged with Fortune an eternal war;
Check'd by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown,
And Poverty's unconquerable bar,

In life's low vale remote has pined alone,
Then dropp'd into the grave, unpitied and unknown!

And yet the languor of inglorious days
Not equally oppressive is to all;

Him who ne'er listen'd to the voice of praise
The silence of neglect can ne'er appal.

There are, who, deaf to mad Ambition's call,

Would shrink to hear the obstreperous trump of Fame;
Supremely blest, if to their portion fall

Health, competence, and peace. Nor higher aim
Had he, whose simple tale these artless lines proclaim.

The rolls of fame I will not now explore;

Nor need I here describe, in learned lay,
How forth the Minstrel fared in days of yore,
Right glad of heart, though homely in array,
His waving locks and beard all hoary gray;
While from his bending shoulder, decent hung
His harp, the sole companion of his way,
Which to the whistling wind responsive rung:
And ever as he went some merry lay he sung.

Fret not thyself, thou glittering child of pride,
That a poor villager inspires my strain:
With thee let Pageantry and Power abide;
The gentle Muses haunt the sylvan reign,
Where through wild groves at eve the lonely swain
Enraptur'd roams, to gaze on Nature's charms.
They hate the sensual, and scorn the vain;
The parasite their influence ne'er warms,
Nor him whose sordid soul the love of gold alarms.

1The conception of the commencement of the Minstrel is fine, and highly poetical, and it is beautifully and vigorously executed; but already falls off in the second canto, both in invention and expression." Read a very al critique on Beattie's Poems in Sir Egerton Brydges's Imaginative Biography, i.

13-173.

Lord Lyttelton (author of Dialogues of the Dead, and of a Dissertation on the Conversion and Apostleship of Paul) thus wrote to Mrs.

Montagu, March, 1771:-"I read the Minstrel with as much rapture as poetry, in her noblest, sweetest charms, ever raised in my soul. It seemed to me that my once most-beloved minstrel, Thomson, was come down from heaven, refined by the converse of purer spirits than those he lived with here, to let me hear him sing again the beauties of nature and the finest feelings of virtue, not with human, but with angelic strains."

THE POETS CHILDHOOD.

There lived in Gothic days, as legends tell,
A shepherd swain, a man of low degree,
Whose sires, perchance, in Fairyland might dwell,
Sicilian groves, or vales of Arcady;

But he, I ween, was of the north countrie!1
A nation fam'd for song, and beauty's charms;
Zealous, yet modest; innocent, though free;
Patient of toil; serene amidst alarms;
Inflexible in faith; invincible in arms.

The shepherd-swain of whom I mention made,
On Scotia's mountain fed his little flock;
The sickle, scythe, or plough he never sway'd;
An honest heart was almost all his stock;
His drink the living water from the rock;
The milky dams supplied his board, and lent

Their kindly fleece to baffle winter's shock;
And he, though oft with dust and sweat besprent,
Did guide and guard their wanderings, wheresoe'er they went.
From labor health, from health contentment springs :
Contentment opes the source of every joy:

He envied not, he never thought of kings;
Nor from those appetites sustain'd annoy,
That chance may frustrate, or indulgence cloy;
Nor fate his calm and humble hopes beguiled;

He mourn'd no recreant friend, nor mistress coy,
For on his vows the blameless Phoebe smiled,
And her alone he loved, and loved her from a child.

No jealousy their dawn of love o'ercast,

Nor blasted were their wedded days with strife;
Each season look'd delightful, as it past,

To the fond husband and the faithful wife.
Beyond the lowly vale of shepherd life
They never roam'd; secure beneath the storm
Which in Ambition's lofty land is rife,
Where peace and love are canker'd by the worm
Of pride, each bud of joy industrious to deform.
The wight, whose tale these artless lines unfold,
Was all the offspring of this humble pair:
His birth no oracle or seer foretold;

No prodigy appear'd in earth or air,
Nor aught that might a strange event declare.
You guess each circumstance of Edwin's birth;
The parent's transport, and the parent's care;
The gossip's prayer for wealth, and wit, and worth;
And one long summer-day of indolence and mirth.
And yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy:

Deep thought oft seem'd to fix his infant eye;

1 There is hardly an ancient ballad or ro- | mance wherein the minstrel or harper who appears is not declared, by way of eminence, to have been "of the north countrie." It is

probable that under this appellation were for merly comprehended all the provinces to the north of the Trent,

Dainties he heeded not, nor gaude, nor toy,
Save one short pipe of rudest minstrelsy:
Silent when glad; affectionate, though shy;
And now his look was most demurely sad;

And now he laugh'd aloud, yet none knew why.
The neighbors stared, and sigh'd, yet bless'd the lad:
Some deem'd him wondrous wise, and some believed him mad.

But why should I his childish feats display?
Concourse, and noise, and toil he ever fled;
Nor cared to mingle in the clamorous fray

Of squabbling imps; but to the forest sped,
Or roam'd at large the lonely mountain's head;
Or, when the maze of some bewilder'd stream

To deep untrodden groves his footsteps led,
There would he wander wild, till Phoebus' beam,
Shot from the western cliff, released the weary team.

Th' exploit of strength, dexterity, or speed
To him nor vanity nor joy could bring;
His heart, from cruel sport estrang'd, would bleed
To work the wo of any living thing,

By trap or net, by arrow, or by sling;
These he detested, those he scorn'd to wield;

He wish'd to be the guardian, not the king, Tyrant far less, or traitor, of the field.

And sure the sylvan reign unbloody joy might yield.

Lo! where the stripling, rapt in wonder, roves
Beneath the precipice o'erhung with pine;
And sees on high, amidst th' encircling groves,
From cliff to cliff the foaming torrents shine;
While waters, woods, and winds in concert join,
And Echo swells the chorus to the skies:

Would Edwin this majestic scene resign

For aught the huntsman's puny craft supplies?
Ah! no: he better knows great Nature's charms to prize.

And oft he traced the uplands, to survey,

When o'er the sky advanced the kindling dawn,
The crimson cloud, blue main, and mountain gray,
And lake, dim-gleaming on the smoky lawn:
Far to the west the long, long vale withdrawn,
Where twilight loves to linger for awhile;

And now he faintly kens the bounding fawn,
And villager abroad at early toil:

But, lo! the Sun appears, and heaven, earth, ocean, smile.

And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb,

When all in mist the world below was lost. What dreadful pleasure! there to stand sublime, Like shipwreck'd mariner on desert coast, And view th' enormous waste of vapor, toss'd In billows, length'ning to th' horizon round,

Now scoop'd in gulfs, with mountains now emboss'd! And hear the voice of mirth and song rebound,

Flocks, herds, and waterfalls, along the hoar profound.