full activity. To have sat or even reclined looking at the peach would have been nothing. An anecdote not less characteristic is told by Johnson. The Countess of Hertford, to whom, as a dabbler in verse and a patron of poets, he had been advised, while he had few friends, to inscribe his SPRING, was in the habit of impressing some unfortunate poet into her service every summer to assist her studies and admire her verses; and Thomson one season received this honour, and went into attendance to do duty on her Ladyship and the muses. The poet, however, had a much stronger natural inclination to assist Lord Hertford and his friends in their jovial carouses than to listen to the verses of her Ladyship, who never afterwards repeated the invitation. Thomson was buried in Richmond churchyard, and a monument is erected to his memory in Westminster Abbey. A monument as imperishable remains in the exquisite lines of Collins, who, with genius as high, met a fate so much less fortunate. FROM WINTER. 'Tis done! dread Winter spreads his latest glooms, And reigns tremendous o'er the conquer'd year. How dead the vegetable kingdom lies! How dumb the tuneful! horror wide extends Thy sober Autumn fading into age, And pale concluding Winter comes at last, And shuts the scene. Ah! whither now are fled Those dreams of greatness? those unsolid hopes Of happiness? those longings after fame? Those restless cares? those busy bustling days? Those gay-spent festive nights? those veering thoughts, Lost between good and ill, that shar'd thy life? His guide to happiness on high. And see! Ye vainly wise! ye blind presumptuous! now In palaces, lay straining her low thought PHILIP DODDRIDGE. BORN 1702-DIED 1751. THIS celebrated divine, the author of many excellent and popular religious works, and of a few hymns, was a minister and tutor in Northampton. Intense application to study brought on pulmonary consumption, of which he died at Lisbon. THE SABBATH. LORD of the Sabbath, hear our vows Thine earthly Sabbaths, Lord, we love : No more fatigue, no more distress, No rude alarms of raging foes- O long-expected day! begin; Dawn on these realms of wo and sin; Fain would we leave this weary road, JOHN WESLEY. BORN 1703-DIED 1791. THIS well-known divine was the second son of the rector of Epsworth. At Oxford he and his brother Charles Wesley formed a religious society, to which their contemporaries gave the ludicrous name of Methodists, a name which has since become so formidable. The brothers, who were equally devout and zealous, if not equal in ability, went, in 1735, to Georgia, voluntary missionaries to the Indian tribes. In 1739, the first Methodist congregation was formed by Wesley at Bristol; but his biography is too copious and important to be compressed, This celebrated person, remarkable alike for bodily and mental activity, is calculated to have travelled three hundred thousand miles, and to have preached forty thousand sermons. The life of this intrepid apostle, written by Dr Southey, is one of the most interesting pieces of biography that late years have produced. THERE REMAINS A REST FOR THE LORD, I believe a rest remains To all thy people known; A rest where pure enjoyment reigns, And thou art lov'd alone. Celestial Spirit, make me know Now, Saviour, now thy pow'r bestow, Remove this hardness from my heart, To me the rest of faith impart, Come, O my Saviour, come away, SAMUEL JOHNSON. BORN 1709-DIED 1784. THIS distinguished English classical writer was the son of a bookseller in Lichfield. He received a learned education, and became an author by profession. Though more celebrated as a moralist, and a describer of life and manners, than a poet, he has left many excellent verses of the best tendency. VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF ROBERT CONDEMN'D to Hope's delusive mine, |