Episcopalian, the Nonjuror, and the Presbyterian, were equally welcome. Miss Hamilton represents her aunt as a woman, all whose views extended beyond this world. Her father's death had thrown her on the world, or rather on heaven, for to heaven 'all her thoughts were directed.' 'Never,' she says, have I 'met with a mind at once so gentle and so strong.' To the example, not less than to the precepts, of these excellent friends, she attributes the formation of her own religious character.

In her thirteenth year, Elizabeth was re-established at home, and it was at this period, that an intimate of the family, took some pains to shake the foundation of her religious principles. In reference to so important a circumstance in her intellectual history as this, our readers must join with us in earnestly wishing that Miss Hamilton could have been her own biographer. Nothing more satisfactory is afforded by Miss Benger, than the following statement.

The attack was the more dangerous, as it approached in the form of ridicule; and she had from nature that quick sense of the ridicu lous which often misleads its possessor. The sceptical arguments to which she listened were new, and therefore inflamed curiosity, while they perplexed inexperience: they had also the attraction of a certain specious liberality, always inviting to a youthful imagination; above all, they were seconded by the excessive strictness of the Kirk and its distasteful service. Still Elizabeth found it difficult to believe, that her aunt, wise and good as she was, could be the dupe of error. To terminate this state of doubt, which to her ardent temper was insupportable, she took the prompt resclution of reading the scriptures by stealth, and deciding the question from her own unbiassed judgment. The result of this examination was, a conviction of their truth; and she observed that the moral precepts connected with the doctrines of Christianity, were too pure to have been promulgated by an impostor.'

Although there frequently occurs a great deficiency of explicitness in Miss Hamilton's own expressions in reference to her views of religious truth, we are yet happy at meeting with abundant indications in all her works, that the reading of the Scriptures, which she continued, through life, to make her constant practice, did not suffer her to stop short in her convictions of the truth of Christianity, at this negative and most important conclusion. As to the excessive strictness and distasteful service of the Kirk,' too, so far from their having the tendency on her mind which Miss Benger imagines, we find her speaking of the forms of the Church of England, in contrast, as leaving less room for the warmth of ardour in devotion which frequently awakes the heart, and calls forth all the powers of the soul.' We hope we shall not be accused of captiousness. Miss Benger has gratified us too much by the general style in which she has executed the task so happily committed to her, for us to be dis

posed to criticise with severity, any expressions which we may deem objectionable; but a biographer cannot be too careful to avoid communicating the effect of her own opinions, to the character she undertakes to portray; and there are indications, that on certain points, the sentiments of Miss Hamilton and those of her friend, were not formed in precisely the same school.

Another circumstance which had a very material share in forming Miss Hamilton's character, was, the epistolary correspondence with her brother, which commenced after their meeting in Scotland. In him, the object of her most enthusiastic feelings of affection, she found a director of her studies, and in his approbation an incentive to exertion. As her elder brother, he was naturally led to assume the tone of a paternal monitor, and her ingenuous sense of his superior talents and attainments, led her always to look up to him, as well as to their elder sister, whom she as yet knew only from his description, as a model which left no room for self-satisfaction with her own attainments. Of this beloved brother,' she thus speaks, eleven years after the loss of him had cast a shade over her prospects of happiness, which at the time did not seem to allow of the hope of its being dissipated,

Eleven years have this day elapsed since, in the departure of my beloved brother, the bitterness of death passes over me. In him my affections were from infancy wrapped up all the love, the admiration, the esteem, which other characters have separately excited, were in him united. Betwixt us, there was a sympathy of soul, a correspondence of sentiment and of feeling, of which few can form any conception. Our minds were cast in the same mould, operated upon by the same circumstances, excited by the same objects. It was by viewing my own character in him, that I acquired confidence in my own powers, respect for my own virtues, and a consciousness of my own infirmities. Endeared as he was by every, tie of friendship, of confidence, and of affection, I considered him as the animating soul of my existence. With him, my every hope of happiness expired I submitted to the dispensation of Providence without repining; but all possibility of further enjoyment in this life seemed at an end; for with every enjoyment his idea was so strongly associated, that I did not think the separation could ever be made. How little do they know of the constitution of the human mind, who talk of indulging "eternal sorrow!" The goodness of the Great Creator has, happily, rendered it impossible. The mind, overburdened with affliction, is impelled to seek relief. During the violence of its first emotions, it indeed obstinately rejects every idea that is not in unison. with the present feeling; but as no strong emotion can long exist in the extreme, but must necessarily lose its force, and become in some degree exhausted by its own efforts, ideas less and less connected with the object which excited it will gradually present themselves, suggesting trains of thought which cheat the mind into tranquillity. Long as it was before I experienced the full benefit of this relief

which the God of nature has provided, I did experience it. As time advanced, new objects of interest arose; and though the memory of my dearest, my beloved brother, must ever be graven on my inmost soul, neither the strength of my affection, nor the deep sense of the loss I had sustained, could prevent sorrow from being changed into tender melancholy. Even melancholy itself in time was dissipated, and the natural cheerfulness of my temper resumed its tone. My lot has indeed fallen in pleasant places. My life has been a series of blessings and of enjoyment: my sorrows have been few; and though, from the keenness of my feelings, they have been severe, they have borne no proportion to my pleasures. The pleasures which my natural temper and the turn of my mind have ever rendered most delightful, are those which arise from the communication of sentiment, and which give a lively exercise to the sympathies of the heart, and the faculties of the understanding. In the society of my dearest brother those were first called forth; and in losing him, I thought I had lost them for ever. Blessed be God! this has not been the case. Since losing him, I have enjoyed the happiness of living in a very superior society, of forming intimacies with many of the best, the wisest, and the worthiest of human characters. I have commenced many friendships, which I hope and trust will neither cease in this world, nor in the next, but which will continue to form a part of my happiness, when all imperfections shall have been done away.'

In the year 1780, Miss Hamilton had an opportunity presented by the death of her excellent aunt, of exhibiting all the firmness and amiableness of her well-regulated mind. Mr. Marshall was now at an age which required the soothing attentions of affection, and on his return from his morning walk round the farm, he looked for the youthful companion who now presided at his table, and whose absence no other individual could supply. Miss Hamiltou accordingly adopted a resolution to refuse every invitation in which he was not included, and for the first six years after her aunt's death, scarcely absented herself from Ingram's Crook, unless her uncle accompanied her.'

"He treats me,' she writes to her brother, with the affection of a father, and all the confidence of a friend. He leaves every thing entirely to my management within doors, and expresses approbation of every thing I do. Indeed I never take a step without his advice. I exert my utmost power to make him easy and happy!'

In another letter to the same beloved correspondent, then in India, she describes the state of monotonous seclusion, which she had good sense and good spirits enough to make cheerful.

Here tranquillity holds an uninterrupted reign. From the time I get up in the morning, till my uncle makes his appearance at dinner-time, I have no more use for the faculty of speech, than the Monks of La Trappe: then, indeed, I get a little conversation in the style of the country, of the badness of the weather, the deepness of the roads, the qualities of manure, or politics, which we discuss to admiration. Had my uncle been commander-in-chief of the sea of

land forces, or I prime minister at home, Cornwallis would have been victorious, and Graves had sent the French home with disgrace. After settling these important matters, my reverend companion takes his nap, and I rattle at the harpsichord, till our reading-time begins, (which is usually from seven till eleven;) and then I hold forth on various subjects. History and travels are our chief favourites; but with them we intermix a variety of miscellaneous literature, with now and then a favourite novel, to relish our graver studies. This is a picture of the last three months, and may serve as one for many more to come; and yet my spirits are unimpaired, and my vivacity almost what it was half-a-dozen years ago.

My uncle joins in offering his love to my dear Charles; and bids me assure you of the happiness it would afford him to see you seated at his heartsome Ingle.'

Happily nature,' she says at another time, has furnished me with a good flow of spirits, and an imagination that can find amuse. ment within itself. Were this not the case, I should be apt to feel the effects of continued dulness; and still, in some cross moments, I can't help thinking it a little hard, that with all the good will imaginable towards the pleasures of society, I should be condemned to pass the best days of my youth in such a solitude, that I might, to all intents and purposes, be as well shut up in a monastery.'

Under these circumstances, it was inevitable that our romantic recluse should find out the means of amusing herself by making yerses; but her artless effusions were long uncommunicated, and except from the apparent facility and freedom of her sportive productions, it does not appear that she was addicted to bestow much time on this employment. The following lines are extracted from a poem, entitled, " Anticipation," which she wrote about this period. The author'supposes herself presented with a mirror, in which she is permitted to contemplate her friends as they should appear when changed and modified by the lapse of thirty years.' She then turns to her own portrait.

With expectation beating high,
Myself I now desire to spy,
And strait I in the glass surveyed
An antique maiden much decayed,
Whose languid eye, and pallid cheek,
The conquering power of time bespeak.
But though deprived of youthful bloom,
Free was my brow from peevish gloom.
A cap, tho' not of modern grace,
Hid my grey hairs and decked my face.
No more I fashion's livery wear,
But cleanly neatness all my care.
Whoe'er had seen me must have said,

There goes one cheerful, pleased, old maid.”

In the year 1787, her beloved brother returned from India,

made one of the happy circle at Ingram's Crook, and Miss Hamilton no longer felt that she lived in seclusion. This auspicious season was an era in her history. While Mr. Hamilton was engaged in prosecuting his translation of the Hedaya, she was his almost constant associate, and caught from his conversation that taste for Oriental literature, and familiarity with the customs and manners of the East, which she afterwards turned to so good account in her Hindoo Rajah. In the year 1788, she paid her first visit to London, in company with her brother, and tasted of the novel pleasures and excitements of polished society. After the death of her excellent uncle, which took place soon after her return to Ingram's Crook, she rejoined her brother and sister in the metropolis. The printing of the Hedaya being completed, Mr. Hamilton received the appointment of President at the Vizier's Court, and began to prepare for a departure which was never to take place. Unexpected circumstances deferred his embarkation, and, in the interval, a cold, contracted in his farewell visit to Ingram's Crook, terminated in a pulmonary complaint, under which he lingered a few months, till at length, in the prime of his hopes, with the prospect of realizing all his early dreams of distinction,' he expired.

After this melancholy period, little remains to occupy the details of the biographer, besides notices of the several literary works which, in fulfilment of her revered brother's admonitions, Miss Hamilton was encouraged successively to undertake. Unable, after his death, to force her thoughts altogether from the only subject that appeared worthy to engage them, she was led to conceive the design of writing a work in which she might perpetuate some of the recollections, and indulge the feelings connected with the beloved object of her regret.

The Hindoo Rajah bears many traces of the melancholy that pervades the author's mind: her individual feelings are embodied in Charlotte, and a beautiful tribute is offered to her lamented brother, in the delineation of the character of Percy, who is not introduced to the scene as a living actor, but as one already reposing in the grave: to have brought him forward in person, invested with life and energy, to have detailed in conversation his opinions and sentiments, would have been too painful an effort, to her, whose tears were still flowing over his ashes. There is, in deep-felt reality, a counter-power to the sorcery of the imagination; and, in our waking, as in our sleeping dreams, it is long before the beloved image of one we have lost, is permitted to mingle familiarly with the visionary forms that float upon the mind; the master-chord of feeling is no sooner touched, than an impression is produced which dissolves the momentary illusion.'

This, her first publication, appeared in 1796, and its success encouraged her soon to engage in a second work, "The Modern Philosophers," which was published early in 1800, and passed

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