of the lake of Ulswater, and continued there till the May following, when we removed to our present residence at Coniston. This country had many charms for Elizabeth. She drew correctly from nature, and her enthusiastick admiration of the sublime and beautiful often carried her beyond the bounds of prudent precaution, with regard to her health. Frequently in the summer she was out during twelve or fourteen hours, and in that time walked many miles. When she returned at night she was always more cheerful than usual; never said she was fatigued; and seldom appeared so. It is astonishing how she found time for all she acquired, and all she accomplished. Nothing was neglected. There was a scrupulous attention to all the minutiae of her sex; for her well regulated mind, far from despising them, considered them as a part of that system of perfection at which she aimed; an aim which was not the result of vanity, nor to attract the applause of the world. No human being ever sought it less, or was more entirely free from conceit of every kind. The approbation, of God, and of her own conscience, were the only rewards she ever sought. "Her translation from the book of Job was finished in 1803. During the two last years of her life, she was engaged in translating from the German some letters and papers, written by Mr. and Mrs. Klopstock. "In the summer of the year 1805, Elizabeth was seized with a cold, which terminated in her death: and I wish the cause was more generally known, as a caution to those whose studious turn of mind may lead them into the same errour. I will give the account as she herself related it, a very short time before she died, to a faithful and affectionate servant who first came into the family when my daughter was only six weeks old. "One very hot evening in July, I took a book, and walked about two miles from home, where I seated myself on a stone beside the lake. Being much engaged by a poem I was reading, I did not perceive that the sun was gone down, and was succeeded by a very heavy dew; till in a moment I felt struck on the chest as if with a sharp knife. I returned homé, but said nothing of the pain. The next day being also very hot, and every one busy in the hay-field, I thought I would take a rake, and work very hard, to produce perspiration, in the hope that it might remove the pain; but it did not." "From that time, a bad cough, with occasional loss of voice, gave me great apprehension of what might be the consequence if the cause were not removed; but no entreaties could prevail on her to take the proper remedies, or to refrain from her usual walks. This she persisted in, being sometimes better and then a little worse, till the beginning of October." About this time, Miss Smith accompanied her mother on a visit to Bath; and thence to Sunbury: but finding no amendment in her health, they returned to Coniston, where Miss Smith expired on the 7th of August, 1806, aged 29, and was interred at Hawkshead. The following account of her death is given by Mrs. Smith, in a letter to Mrs. H. Bowdler. "I shall have a melancholy pleasure in complying with your request, and will begin where my last letter ended. Turpin slept in a room only separated from my beloved child by a boarded partition, and so close to her bed that she could hear her breathe. On Wednesday morning Turpin told me she was much the same, though the sweet sufferer herself said she was better. I went to her, as usual, the moment I was out of bed, and was struck with the change in her countenance. On feeling her pulse, I was persuaded she could not continue long. She told me she was better, and would get up. She did so, and was cheerful when she spoke, though it evidently in creased her pain, and difficulty of breathing. When she coughed or moved, she seemed to be in agony. She took nourishment as usual, and on my asking what book I should read to her, she mentioned Thomson's Seasons. I read Winter. She made many observations, and entered entirely into the subject. About three o'clock Mrs. Dixon called, having come with a party to see the lake. Elizabeth said she should like to see her. Before she went up stairs, I requested she would feel the pulse, which I was persuaded indicated the termination of her sufferings before many hours. She entered into conversation cheerfully. Mrs. Dixon told me that she thought I was mistaken; that her pulses were not those of a dying person; and she was of opinion that she might last some time. So much were all deceived, who did not watch every turn of her countenance as I did! The apothecary came afterwards. He thought her in great danger, but could not say whether immediate, or not. At nine she went to bed. I resolved to quit her no more, and went to prepare for the night. Turpin came to say that Elizabeth entreated I would not think of staying in her room; and added, 'she cannot bear you should do it, for she says you are yourself unwell, and rest is necessary for you.' Think of her sweet attention! I replied, on that one subject I am resolved; no power on earth shall keep me from her: so go to bed yourself.' Accordingly I returned to her room, and at ten gave her the usual dose of laudanum. After a little time she fell into a doze, and I thought slept till one. She then took some mint tea. Her breath was very bad, and she was uneasy and restless, but never complained: and on my wiping the cold sweat off her face and bathing it with camphorated vinegar, which I did very often in the course of the night, she thanked me, smiled and said,That is the greatest com fort I have.' She slept again for a short time; and at half past four asked for some chicken-broth, which she took perfectly well. On being told the hour, she said, 'How long this night is! She continued very uneasy, and in half an hour after, on my inquiring if I could move the pillow, or do any thing to relieve her, she replied, there is nothing for it but quiet.' I said no more, but thinking that she was dying, I sat on the bed, watching her. At six she said, 'I must get up, and have some mint-tea.' I then called for Turpin, and felt my angel's pulse. It was fluttering, and I knew I should soon lose her. She took the tea well. Turpin began to put on her clothes, and was proceeding to dress her, when she laid her head on the faithful creature's shoulder, became convulsed in the face, spoke not, looked not, and in ten minutes expired." The character of Miss Smith is thus briefly summed up by Mrs. Bowdler, in a letter to Dr. Mumssen: "Her character was so extraordinary, and she was so very dear to me, that I hope you will forgive my dwelling a little longer on my irreparable loss. Her person and manners were extremely pleasing, with a pensive softness of countenance that indicated deep reflection; but her extreme timidity concealed the most extraordinary talents that ever fell under my observation. With scarcely any assistance, she taught herself the French, Italian, Spanish, German, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew languages. She had no inconsiderable knowledge of Arabick and Persick. She was well acquainted with geometry, algebra, and other branches of the mathematicks. She was a very fine musician. She drew landscapes from nature extremely well, and was a mistress of perspective.. She showed an early taste for poetry, of which some specimens remain; but, I believe, she destroyed most of the effusions of her youthful muse, when an acquaintance with your great poet, and still more when the sublime compositions of the Hebrew bards, gave a different turn to her thoughts. With all these acquirements she was perfectly feminine in her disposition; elegant, modest, gentle, and affectionate. Nothing was neglected, which a woman ought to know; no duty was omitted, which her situation in life required her to perform. But the part of her character on which I dwell with the greatest satisfaction, is that exalted piety, which seemed always to raise her above this world, and taught her, at sixteen years of age, to resign its riches and its pleasures, almost without regret; and to support with dignity a very unexpected change of situation. For some years before her death the Holy Scripture was her principal study, and she translated from the Hebrew the whole book of Job, &c. &c. How far she succeeded in this attempt I am not qualified to judge; but the benefit which she herself derived from these studies must be evident to those who witnessed the patience and resignation with which she supported a long and painful illness; the sweet attention which she always showed to the feelings of her parents and friends, and the heavenly composure with which she looked forward to the awful change which has now removed her to a world, 'where (as one of her friends observes) her gentle, pure, and enlightened spirit will find itself more at home than in this land of shadows, &c. &c." To this Dr. M. replies in a letter, from which we select the following paragraph: "The account you gave me of the extraordinary character of your late angelick friend, has filled my breast with admiration and awe. I have read your letter with tears. So many accomplishments, natural and moral; so much of science, erudition, and eminence of rare talents, combined with grace, with gentleness, and all the virtues that adorn a female mind! It is wonderful, and cannot be enough admired. Great, indeed, must have been your happiness in the possession of this treasure! Alas! the gentle spirit that moved her tender limbs, is soon devested of its mortal garment, and gone to join its kindred angels! "Vattene in pace, Alma beata e bella!" But I think her happy in this our period; for what can be more fortunate on earth than to fall into the hands of the virtuous, and, free from contact of a corrupted race, to make her passage over our unlucky planet, pure and immaculate, and, with the robe of innocence, appear before her Creator? To taste all the sweets of science and art, and, having satisfied all honest desires, remove from the feast of life with gratitude—‹ "Tis a consummation devoutly to be wish ed." FROM THE EUROPEAN MAGAZINE. WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. OBIIT 1616, ÆT. 53. William Shakspeare was born at Stratford on Avon, in this county [Warwickshire] in whom three eminent poets may seem, in some sort, to be compounded. 1. Martial in the warlike sound of his surname (whence some may conjecture him. of a military extraction) Hastivibrans, or Shakspeare. 2. Ovid, the VOL. III. most natural and witty of all poets; and hence it was that queen Elizabeth, coming into a grammar school, made this extempore verse: 2 M Persius a crab-stuffe, Bawdy Martial, Ovid a fine wag. 3. Plautus, who was an exact comedian, yet never any scholar, as our Shakspeare (if alive) would confess himself. Add to all these, that though his genius generally was jocular, and inclining him to festivity, yet he could (when so disposed) be solemn and serious, as appears by his tragedies; so that Heraclitus himself (I mean, if secret and unseen) might afford to smile at his comedies, they were so merry, and Demoeritus scarce forbear to sigh at his tragedies, they were so mournful. He was an eminent instance of the truth of that rule, Poeta non fit, scd nascitur: one is not made but born a poet. Indeed, his learning was very little; so that as Cornish diamonds are not polished by any lapidary, but are pointed and smooth ed even as they are taken out of the earth, so nature itself was all the art which was used upon him. Many were the wit-combats betwixt him and Ben Jonson, which two I behold like a Spanish great gallion and an English man of war. Master Jonson (like the former) was built far higher in learning; solid, but slow in his performance. Shakspeare with the English man of war, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about, and take advantage of all winds, by the quickness of his wit and invention. He died anno Domini 1616, and was buried at Stratford upon Avon, the town of his nativity-Fuller. On the Ascent of Salmon over the Elevations, in the Course of Rivers, called SalmonLeaps. By John Carr, Esq. of Manchester. To the Editor of the Philosophical Magazine. SIR, The natural element of salmon certainly is salt, not fresh water. It is in the sea only that they acquire their growth, and attain that vigorous strength and muscular energy in which they are not, perhaps, excelled by any other animal of equal weight and bulk. Nature, however, has determined that they shall propagate their species only in fresh water; and it is for that sole, but important purpose, that they quit the ocean and ascend rivers and streams almost up to their very sources, in every country where they abound. Summer and autumn are the seasons when they enter fresh water in the greatest numbers, and when the shallowness and transparency of the streams necessarily occasion the period of their ascent being limited to times of flood only. But at these times such are the instinctive energies which impel, and the muscular powers which enable, them to advance, that no natural or artificial barrier across the streams, over which a sufficiency of water tumbles, has ever yet been known to arrest their progress upwards; and if at these times their course is stayed, it results less from the height or other difficulty of the opposing obstacle, than from a deficiency of that due proportion of the descending fluid, which is requisite to allow the natural force to the exertion of their wonderful powers. ever From the elevated ascent of these extraordinary fish, many waterfalls and cascades have acquired the name of salmon-leaps. They are numerous in the united kingdom, being found in Wales, Ireland, and Scotland; and some are of such a height as to call forth the admiration and astonishment of every person who views them. No one has ever seen a salmon actually leap over any of these elevations, and the proof of their doing so rests wholly on the circumstance of the fish being found in abundance above the falls, and the indubitable certainty that they must have passed them. I have never seen, in any publication, an explanation of the manner in which salmon actually do ascend these heights, and the general opinion certainly is that the fish really leap over them. This notion of leaping is probably encouraged by observing, that when the rivers are but partially flooded, the salmon actually do leap up against the falls. Great numbers of them may be seen thus employed for whole days together; but none will ever be observed to leap higher than about three feet, whereas to the top of the fall is probably many times that height. At some of these leaps, indeed, it requires only a simple inspection, and a moment's reflection, to perceive that no animal unprovided with wings could possibly clear them in the manner of a leap. This impossibility, however, has been very little attended to, and in some of the older publications on the subject, the very manner of the leap has been described, by gravely affirming that the salmon coils himself up in the form of a ring, and scizing his tail in his mouth, by the strained violence of an elastick spring overtops the high ascent in an aërial somerset. So readily accessible is the marvellous in minds untutored by reflection, that this most extravagant absurdity was once a very general opinion, and is still credited by many. The analogy of a bent cane flying off with an elastick bound was deemed sufficient both to illustrate and establish the fact, and no consideration was paid to the awkward circumstance of the tail and mouth of the fish being at right angles to each other. It is now proper to say what is the real mode by which salmon actually do pass over the heights inquestion: and this I shall speak, not from any speculative guess or reasoning on the subject, but from my own personal observation, having frequently seen the transaction take place. In every instance, then, where salmon ascend those leaps, they do it by swimming up, and over the face and brow of the water-fall, penetrating through the interiour of the descending body of water, by means of their vast, muscular power operating on the action of their tail. They never pass these leaps but· at times when the stream is very much flooded, and a large, unbroken mass of water is descending. Without such a solid column of water their ascent would be physically impossible. At these times the water, as in all cases of flood, is highly discoloured; and so dartingly quick is the ascent of the fish, as rather to resemble the transient gleam of a passing shadow over the water, than a real substance penetrating through it. These are probably the causes of all the obscurity in the case. Indeed, when standing at the distance of only a few yards, it requires a very strong and steady eye to catch the evanescent figure of the ascending fish, and beholding can alone convey any adequate conception of the rapid facility of the passage upwards. In a few instances I have seen the salmon beaten back, on making the turn at the top; but that is uncommon, and it rarely occurs that the effort of the fish miscarries. This extraordinary ascent of salmon up a perpendicular column of descending water, must, of course, |