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Then some leap'd overboard with dreadful yell,

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

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

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

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

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

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fot, till the place

ran o'er at of oldgns, who still rule


pinnace, had
of the gale;
vas but bad,
kets for a sail,
1 a young lad

the ship's rail;
far less be stored,
aen on board.
day went down
like a veil,
ut disclose the frown
'd but to assail;
2 night was shown,
r faces pale
velve days had Fear
Death was here.
is, hen-coops, spars
had been cast 100,
struggling tars,
of no great use:
jut a few stars;
d with their crews;
ch io port,
sumk, in short
rild farewell!
pod still the brave;

The seventh day, and no wind-the burning sun

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


From his pale lips, and ever on him gazed;

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

To claim for Mrs. Barbauld the praise of purity and elevation of mind, might well appear superfluous. She is decidedly one of the most eminent female writers which England has produced; and both in prose and poetry she takes the highest rank. Her prose style is easy and graceful, alike cal.

g dear to the admirers of gebles
ild and only daughter of the Rer

he village of Kjbworth Harcourt,
ce on the 20th of Jane, 1743. In
remarkable powers of mind, being
ears of age. Her education et
y solid character; and thought
i imparting to females ang tinide

of her time to the study of Laza any authors in that language with

satisfied without gaiving site

ge of Kibworth to take change di ngacademy at Warringte, d. In the cultivated society ciates, and here for fifteen years as the most brilliant

, portie de her brother to collect the nd arrange them for publicati hey received by the publice

, che ar. Her brother also iodamas of prose pieces, which was Tiscellaneous Pieces, in Proses det with much approbation

, and

culated to engage the most common and the most elevated understanding. Her “Essay on Romances' is a professed imitation of the style of Dr. Johnson; and he is himself said to have allowed it to be the best that was ever attempted, “ because it reflected the color of his thoughts, no less than the turn of his expressions." Her poems are addressed more to the feelings than to the imagination; but the language never becomes prosaic, and has sublimity and pathos, without bombast or affectation. Her hymns are among the best sacred lyrics in the language, and it has been justly said of her that “the spirit of piety and benevolence that breathes through her works pervaded her life."'!


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

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

Fies; and you do well, for


most elevated understanding.
ticn of the style of Dr. Joha.

to be the best that was ever
mis thoughts, no less than the
Iressed more to the feelings
Fer becomes prosaic, and has
naffectation. Her hymns are
e, and it has been justly said
nce that breaibes through ber


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have been generally mis sense, is a thing of great

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, and s, a very small part is in a smaller still can be die



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till they are tried, and no longer : they will teach him to talk, and
nothing more. The circumstances in which your son is placed will
be even more prevalent than your example; and you have no right
to expect him to become what you yourself are, but by the same
means. You, that have toiled during youth, to set your son upon
higher ground, and to enable him to begin where you left off, do
not expect that son to be what you were diligent, modest, active,
simple in his tastes, fertile in resources. You have put him under
quite a different master. Poverty educated you; wealth will edu-
cate him. You cannot suppose the result will be the same. You
must not even expect that he will be what you now are; for
though relaxed, perhaps, from the severity of your frugal habits,
you still derive advantage from having formed them; and, in your
heart, you like plain dinners, and early hours, and old friends,
whenever your fortune will permit you to enjoy them. But it wilí
not be so with your son: his tastes will be formed by your present
situation, and in no degree by your former one.

are sensible of the benefit of early rising; and you may, if you
please, make it a point that your daughter and your son shall retire
at the hour when you are preparing to see company. But their
sleep, in the first place, will not be so sweet and undisturbed amidst
the rattle of carriages, and the glare of tapers glancing through
the rooms, as that of the village child in bis quiet cottage, pro-
tected by silence and darkness: and, moreover, you may depend
upon it that, as the coercive power of education is laid aside, they
will in a few months slide into the habitudes of the rest of the
family, whose hours are determined by their company and situa-
tion in life. You have, however, done good, as far as it goes;

it is something gained, to defer pernicious habits, if we cannot prevent them.

There is nothing which has so little share in education as direct precept. I do not mean to assert that sentiments inculcated in education have no influence; they have much, though not the most: but it is the sentiments we let drop occasionally, the conversation they overhear when playing unnoticed in a corner of the room, which has an effect upon children; and not what is addressed directly to them in the tone of exhortation. If you would know precisely the effect these set discourses have upon your child, be pleased to reflect upon that which a discourse from the pulpit, which you have reason to think merely professional, has upon you. Children have almost an intuitive discernment between the maxims you bring forward for their use, and those by which you direct your own conduct. Be as cunning as you will

, they are always more cunning than you. Every child knows whom his father and

d. You engage

ed, they educate your

"y will give him the mesas omplishments; but in the

can do little tor

son! You "sation with your friends

likings and dislikings nie
ociety you live in wil edo
him; abore all

, Fourt
? table, will educate him
n from the continual info-
to withdraw yourself from
ne education of your se
, his education was already
sa insensible education-
more constant and pont
uence to the habit

, then
his education goes on st
me; you can neither stop
2 a tendency to make paar
iments are good precisely

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> Miss Lucy Aikın.

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