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His skill, his courage, his exertion, struggled vehemently with his disease. Repeated and daring use of the lancet at length subdued it, but, in all likelihood, irreparably weakened the system. He never looked so well after as before his seizure; increased debility of step, and a certain wanness of countenance, awakened those fears for him which great numbers felt who calculated upon his assistance when hours of pain and danger might come. It was said, that during his illness he reproved the sensibility and tears of Mrs. Darwin, and bid her remember that she was the wife of a philosopher.

"The public papers and magazines recorded, with tolerable accuracy, the nature of his final seizure; the conversation he held in the garden of his new residence, the Priory, with Mrs. Darwin and her female friend; the idea which he communicated to them, that he was not likely to live to see the effect of those improvements he had planned; Mrs. Darwin affectionately combating that idea by observing, that he looked remarkably well that evening; his reply that he had generally found himself in his best health a few days preceding his attacks; the spirits and strength with which he arose the next morning at six to write letters; the large draught of cold butter-milk, which, according to his usual custom, he had swallowed: all these circumstances early met the public eye; and, in the imperfect sketches of his life which accompanied them, a strange habit was imputed to Dr. Darwin, which presents such an exterior of idiot-seeming indelicacy that the author of this tract is tempted to express her intire disbelief of its truth; viz. that his tongue was generally hanging out of his mouth

as he walked along. She has often. of late years, met him in the streets of Lichfield, alone and musing, and never witnessed a custom so indecent. From the early loss of his teeth he looked much older than he was. That loss exposes the tongue to view while speaking, and Dr. Darwin's mouth certainly thus disclosed the ravages of time, bat by no means in any offensive degree.

"It was the general opinion that a glass of brandy might have saved him for that time. Its effects would have been more powerful from his utter disuse of spirits; but such was the abhorrence in which he held them, that it is probable no intreaties could have induced him to have swallowed a dram, though surely on any sudden chill of the blood, its effect, so injurious on habitual application, might have proved restoring.

"On that last morning, he had written one page of a very sprightly letter to Mr. Edgeworth, describing the priory, and his purposed alterations there, when the fatal signal was given. He rang the bell, and ordered his servant to send Mrs. Darwin to him. She came immediately, with his daughter, miss Emma Darwin, They saw him shivering and pale. He desired them to send directly to Derby for his surgeon, Mr. Hadley.— They did so, but all was over before he could arrive.

"It was reported at Lichfield, that, perceiving himself growing rapidly worse, he said to Mrs. Darwin, My dear, you must bleed me instantly.' Álas, I dare not, lest-Emma, will you? There is no time to be lost. Yes, my ' dear father, if you will direct me.' At that moment he sunk into his chair, and expired!”

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"Mr. Day looked the philosopher. Powder and fine clothes were, at that time, the appendages of gentlemen. Mr. Day wore not either. He was tall and stooped in the shoulders, full made, but not corpulent and in his meditative and melancholy air a degree of awkwardness and dignity were blended. We found his features interesting and agreeable amidst the traces of a severe small pox. There was a sort of weight upon the lids of his large hazle eyes; yet when he declaimed,

of good and evil, Passion, and apathy, and glory, and shame,'

very expressive were the energies gleaming from them beneath the shade of sable hair, which, Adamlike, curled about his brows. Less graceful, less amusing, less brilliant than Mr. E., but more highly ima. ginative, more classical, and a deeper reasoner: strict integrity, energetic friendship, open-handed bounty, sedulous and diffusive charity, greatly overbalanced, on the side of virtue, the tincture of misanthropic gloom and proud contempt of common-life society, that marked the peculiar character, which shall unfold itself on these pages. In succeeding years, Mr. Day published two noble poems, The Dying Negro, and the Devoted Legions; also Sandford and Merton, which by wise parents is put into every youthful hand

"Mr. Day's father died during his infancy, and left him an estate of twelve hundred pounds per annum. Soon after his mother married a gentleman of the name of Philips. The author of this narrative has often heard Mr. Day describe him as one of those common characters, who seek to supply their inherent want of consequence, by a busy teizing interference in circumstances with which they have no real concern.

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hundred pounds a year out of her "Mrs. Philips, jointured with three son's estate, was left his sole guardian, or united with another person in the trust, whom she influenced. Herself, influenced by such a husband, often rendered uncomforta ble the domestic situation of a highspirited youth of genius. may well suppose he impatiently brooked the preceptive impertinence, and troublesome authority of a man whom he despised, and who had no claim upon his obedience, though he considered it as a duty to pay some outward respect to the husband of his mother.

"She frequently repined at the narrowness of her jointure, and still oftener expressed solicitude lest Mr. Philips, who had no fortune of his own, should lose in the decline of life, by losing her, all comfortable subsistence. It was Mr. Day's first act, on coming of age, and into possession of his estate, to augment his mother's jointure to four hundred, and to settle it upon Mr. Philips during his life. This bounty, to a man who had needlessly mortified

mortified and embittered so many years of his own infancy and youth, evinced a very elevated mind. That mind had also been wounded by the caprice of a young lady, who claimed the triumph of a lettered heart,' without knowing how to value and retain her prize.

"Even at that period, when youth, elate and gay, steps into life,' Mr. Day was a rigid moralist, who proudly imposed on himself cold abstinence, even from the most innocent pleasures; nor would he allow an action to be virtuous, which was performed upon any hope of reward, here, or hereafter. This severity of principle, more abstract and specious, than natural or useful, rendered Mr. Day sceptical towards revealed religion, though by no means a confirmed deist. Most unlike doctor Johnson in those doubts, he resembled him in want of sympathy with such miseries as spring from refinement and the softer affections; resembled him also, in true compassion for the sufferings of cold and hunger.To the power of relieving them he nobly sacrificed all the parade of life, and all the pleasures of luxury. For that mass of human character which constitutes polished society, he avowed a sovereign contempt; above all things he expressed aver sion to the modern plans of female education, attributing to their in fluence the fickleness which had stung him. He thought it, however, his duty to marry; nursed systematic ideas of the force of philosophie tuition to produce future virtue, and loved to mould the infant and youthful mind.

"Ever despicable in Mr. Day's estimation were the distinctions of birth, and the advantages of wealth; and he had learnt to look back with resentment to the allurements of

the graces. He resolved, if possi ble, that his wife should have a taste for literature and science, for moral and patriotic philosophy.So might she be his companion in that retirement, to which he had destined himself; and assist him in forming the minds of his children to stubborn virtue and high exer tion. He resolved also, that she should be simple as a mountain girl, in her dress, her diet, and her manners; fearless and intrepid as the Spartan wives and Roman heroines. There was no finding such a creature ready made; philoso phical romance could not hope it. He must mould some infant into the being his fancy had imaged.

"With the late Mr. Bicknel, then a barrister, in considerable practice, and of taintless reputation, and several years older than himself, Mr. Day lived on terms of intimate friendship. Credentials were procured of Mr. Day's moral probity, and with them, on his coming of age, these two friends journied to Shrewsbury, to explore the hospi tal in that town for foundling girls. From the little train, Mr. Day, in the presence of Mr. Bicknel, selected two of twelve years each; both beautiful; one fair, with flaxen locks, and light eyes; her he called Lucretia. The other, a clear, auburn brunette, with darker eyes, more glowing bloom, and chesnut tresses, he named Sabrina.

"These girls were obtained on written conditions, for the performance of which Mr. Bicknel was guarantee. They were to this effect; that Mr. Day should, within the twelvemonth after taking them, resign one into the protec tion of some reputable tradeswoman, giving one hundred pounds to bind her apprentice; maintaining her, if she behaved well, till she

married,

married, or began business for her self. Upon either of these events, he promised to advance four hundred more. He avowed his intention of educating the girl he should retain, with a view to making her his future wife; solemnly engaged never to violate her innocence; and if he should renounce his plan, to maintain her decently in some creditable family till she married, when he promised five hundred pounds as her wedding portion.

"Mr. Day went instantly into France with these girls; not taking an English servant, that they might receive no ideas, except those which himself might choose to impart.

"They teazed and perplexed him; they quarrelled, and fought incessantly; they sickened of the small pox; they chained him to their bed-side by crying, and screaming if they were ever left a moment with any person who could not speak to them in English. He was obliged to sit up with them many nights, to perform for them

the lowest offices of assistance.

"They lost no beauty by their disease. Soon after they had recovered, crossing the Rhone with his wards in a tempestuous day, the boat overset. Being an excelFent swimmer he saved them both, though with difficulty and danger to himself.

"Mr. Day came back to Eng. land in eight months, heartily glad to separate the little squabblers.Sabrina was become the favourite. He placed the fair Lucretia with a chamber milliner. She behaved well, and became the wife of a respectable linen-draper in London. On his return to his native country, he entrusted Sabrina to the care of Mr. Bicknel's mother, with whom she resided some months in a couny village, while he settled his af

fairs at his own mansion-house, from which he promised not to remove his mother.

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It has been said before, that the fame of Dr. Darwin's talents allured Mr. Day to Lichfield. Thither he led, in the spring of the year 1770, the beauteous Sabrina, then thirteen years old; and taking a twelvemonth's possession of the pleasant mansion in Stowe Valley, resumed his preparations for implanting in her young mind the characteristic virtues of Arria, Por tia, and Cornelia. His experiments had not the success he wished and expected. Her spirit could not be armed against the dread of pain, and the appearance of danger.When he dropped melted sealingwax upon her arms she did not endure it heroically; nor when he fired pistols at her petticoats, which she believed to be charged with balls, could she help starting aside, or suppress her screams.

"When he tried her fidelity in secret-keeping, by telling her of well-invented dangers to himself, i which greater danger would resalt from it's being discovered that he was aware of them, he once or twice detected her having imparted them to the servants, and to her play-fellows.

She betrayed an averseness to the study of books, and of the rudiments of science, which gave little promise of ability, that should, one day, be responsible for the educa tion of youths, who were to emulate the Gracchi.

"Mr. Day persisted in these experiments, and sustained their continual disappointment during a year's residence in the vicinity of Lichfield. The difficulty seemed to lie in giving her motive to exertion, self-denial and heroism. It was against his plan to draw it

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from the usual sources, pecuniary reward, luxury, ambition, or vanity. His watchful cares had precluded all knowledge of the value of money, the reputation of beauty, and its concomitant desire of ornamented dress. The only inducement, therefore, which this lovely artless girl could have to combat and subdue the natural preference, in youth so blossoming, of ease to pain, of vacant sport to the labour of think ing, was the desire of pleasing her protector, though she knew not how, or why he became such. In that desire, fear had greatly the ascendant of affection, and fear is a cold and indolent feeling.

"Thus, after a series of fruitless trials, Mr. Day renounced all hope of moulding Sabrina into the being his imagination had formed; and ceasing to behold her as his future wife, he placed her at a boardingschool in Sutton-Coldfield, Warwickshire. His trust in the power of education faltered; his aversion to modern elegance subsided. From the time he first lived in the vale of Stowe, he had daily conversed with the beautiful miss Honora Sneyd of Lichfield. With out having received a Spartan education, she united a disinterested desire to please, fortitude of spirit, native strength of intellect, literary and scientific taste, to unswerving truth, and to all the graces. She was the very Honora Sneyd, for whom the gallant and unfortunate najor Andre's inextinguishable passion is on poetic, as his military fame and hapless destiny are on patriot, record. Parental autho rity having dissolved the juvenile engagements of this distinguished youth and maid, Mr. Day offered to Honora his philosophic hand.She admired his talents; she revered his virtues; she tried to

school her heart into softer sentiments in his favour. She did not succeed in that attempt, and inges nuously told him so. Her sister, miss Elizabeth Sneyd, one year younger than herself, was very pretty, very sprightly, very artless, and very engaging, though count. less degrees inferior to the endowed and adorned Honora. To her the yet love-luckless sage transferred the heart, which Honora had with sighs resigned. Elizabeth told

Mr. Day she could have loved him, if he had acquired the manners of the world, instead of those austere singularities of air, habit, and address.

"He began to impute to them the fickleness of his first love; the involuntary iciness of the charming Honora, as well as that for which her sister accounted. He told Elizabeth, that for her sake, he would renounce his prejudices to external refinements, and try to ac quire them. He would go to Paris for a year, and commit himself to dancing and fencing masters. He did so; stood daily an hour or two in frames, to screw back his shoulders, and point his feet; he practised the military gait, the fashionable bow, minuets, and cotillions: but it was too late; habits so long fixed, could no more than partially be overcome. The endea vour, made at intervals, and by vi sible effort, was more really ungraceful than the natural stoop, and unfashionable air. The stu died bow on entrance, the suddenly recollected assumption of attitude, prompted the risible instead of the admiring sensation; neither was the showy dress, in which he came back to his fair one, a jot more be coming.

"Poor Elizabeth reproached her reluctant but insuppressive ingrati

tude,

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