sion was made for her, as for the poor in general.

Hunger now stared her in the face; yet a sense of shame still forbade her to ask relief of a parish, in which she had lived with credit and respect. But her distresses did not escape the vigilance of the overseer of the poor, who gave her to understand that she had no settlement in the village, as her husband had never been included in the rates. She was born at a sea-port town in Kent, seventy miles from her present residence; to this place she was ordered to be removed. Having submitted to the insolence and cruelty of the parish-officers in the towns through which she passed, and having survived the fatigue of a journey rendered dangerous by the weakness of her health, she arrived at the place of her destination, and was sent to the workhouse. She had there been supported near three years, when death put an end to her sorrows. Two of her sons are now in the service of their country, and inherit their father's bravery; perhaps, his fate.

THE COUNTRY SPECTATOR, No. 27, April 9, 1793.

No. CLXV.

Mista senum ac juvenum densantur funera ; nullum
Sæva caput Proserpina fugit.

HORAT.

Both age and youth, promiscuous, crowd the tomb;
No mortal head can shun th' impending doom.

THAT the good and evil, the felicities and misfortunes of human life, are alike precarious, is a great and established truth, known and felt by the most rude and untutored people. Every one knows that our lives, being at the divine disposal, are not for a moment sure. The hand of death hangs over us in the joyous hours of hilarity, threatens the tranquil pleasures of connubial happiness, and meets us with its pointed dart, amidst the dignity of religious and philosophic retirement. Death shoots his stings from every side, and is terrible to all. The rose of youth, and the gray hairs of age; the blushing smiles of beauty, and the paleness of declining elegance; the glittering magnificence of royalty, and the humble roof of rural quietness; the rudeness of unlettered barbarism, and the polish of instructed genius; must all yield to the inevitable blow.

When the social comforts of life thus drop away, let us not, like Zeno, coldly refuse to pay our tribute to departed worth, but, with all the warmth of Tibullus, speak the language of our hearts.

I have been led into these reflections by the death of that celebrated and illustrious man, who has opened the long hidden mines of Oriental literature, and displayed them to the European world, with all the brilliancy of British eloquence. And can there be a subject more worthy the notice of an Indian Observer, than that exalted character? The man, who, with all the amiable and endearing qualities of the heart, disdaining the lesser amusements of life, devoted his time to the service of his country, of science, and of virtue.

Possessing in all the habitudes of life a perennial spring of cheerfulness, and a conciliating gentleness of manners, warmed by the simple greatness of moral affection, is there a heart so callous as not to feel his loss? Is there a husband who knows the tenderness of love, and the purity of domestic felicities; is there a friend who glows with sincerity; or is there a man who respects the divine attributes of virtue, who does not deplore it with the deepest regret?-Their breasts beat in unison of sorrow,

and, with the calm manliness of silent grief, pay their heart-felt tribute of affection, to the memory of the brother of human kindness ?

Virtues so transcendant, a heart so perfect, and a mind so sound, form, indeed, a combination of private excellencies, rare and admirable.

Religion, the source of every moral goodness, found, in him, a constant supporter, and an obedient child. Moderate and magnanimous, he was orthodox without bigotry, and zealous without ostentation. With all the mildness of Christianity, he enjoyed its benefits, and participated its enjoyments.

Such endearing benignity, seldom equalled, and not to be surpassed, added a lustre to the splendour of his public character, unparalleled even in the annals of literary record.

We contemplate both the private and public endowments of Sir William Jones, with a correspondent and peculiar satisfaction. At home he was always good, and abroad he was always great. As a great man, whether we consider the perspicacity of his genius, the variety of his powers, or the extent of his erudition, we are alike enamoured and astonished.

Of his mental qualifications, at once so splendid and extraordinary, let me indulge in the enumeration. That promptitude of perception which sees through systems at a glance, that brightness of understanding which no paradoxical theorems can cloud, that solidity of judgment which scepticism dares not approach, and, above all, that retention of memory which carries worlds on its wing, were possessed by him in all the amplitude of perfection. With such properties, a lively fancy, corrected by an exquisite taste, formed his mind, while he was yet a boy, to the charms of poetry, which, in his maturer years, ripened into eminence as a poetical critic. But his infant attachment and partiality to the velvet paths of the muses, did not prevent him from penetrating with persevering assiduousness the thorny avenues of science. As a lawyer, he distinguished himself at an early age; and he not only attained a superior knowledge in the laws of his own country, but in those also of every other of the civilised globe. Without having travelled much, but with a perfect knowledge of the ancient tongues, he not only mastered all the polished languages of Europe, but also those of Asia. The Sanskreet, a language of which, till Mr. Wilkins's publication, little was known, but the