illustrious navigators Byron, Wallis, Carteret, Phipps, Cook, and Vancouver. In the company of these, some of whom were long his neighbours at Twickenham, he delighted to increase his knowledge by an interchange of sentiments on topics of literature and common life. His conversation was enriched by various reading, and embellished by wit of the most delicate and unobtrusive kind. His temper made him universally beloved. It was uniformly cheerful, mild, and benevolent.

The conclusion of his life is thus related by his biographer. "He was considerably advanced in his eighty-third year before he was sensible, to any considerable degree, of the infirmities of age: but a difficulty of hearing, which had for some time gradually increased, now rendered conversation troublesome and frequently disappointing to him. Against this evil, his books, for which his relish was not abated, had hitherto furnished an easy and acceptable resource; but, unfortunately, his sight also became so imperfect, that there were few books he could read with comfort to himself. His general health, however, remained the same, and his natural good spirits and cheerfulness of temper experienced no alteration. Having still the free use of his limbs, he continued to take his usual exercise, and to follow his customary habits of life, accepting of such amusement as conversation would afford, from those friends who had the kindness to adapt their voices to his prevailing infirmity: and that he still retained a lively concern in all those great and interesting events which were then taking place in Europe, may be seen in some of his latest productions. But as his deafness increased, he felt himself grow daily more unfit for the society of any but his own family, into whose care and protection he resigned himself with the most affectionate and endearing confidence, receiving those attentions which it was the first pleasure of his children to pay him, not as a debt due to a fond and indulgent parent, but as a free and voluntary tribute of their affection. In the contemplation of these tokens of esteem and love, he seemed to experience a constant and unabating pleasure, which supplied, in no small degree, the want of other interesting ideas.

"It is well known, that among the many painful and humiliating effects that attend the decline of life, and follow from a partial decay of the mental powers, we have often to lament the change it produces in the heart and affections: but from every consequence of this sort, my father was most happily exempt. This I allow myself to

3

say upon the authority of the medical gentleman 3 of considerable eminence, by whose skill and friendly attentions he was assisted through the progressive stages of his slow decline; and who has repeatedly assured me, that, in the whole course of his extensive practice, he had never seen a similar instance of equanimity and undeviating sweetness of temper.

"During this gradual increase of feebleness, and with the discouraging prospect of still greater suffering, which he saw before him, his exemplary patience and constant care to spare the feelings of his family were eminently conspicuous: nor did the dis tressing infirmities, inseparably attendant on extreme debility, ever produce a murmur of complaint, or even a hasty or unguarded expression. It is somewhat singular, and may be regarded as a proof of an unusually strong frame, that no symptom of disease took place all the organs of life continued to execute their respective functions, until nature, being wholly exhausted, he expired without a sigh, on the 17th of September, 1802, leaving a widow, two sons, and a daughter."

3" David Dundass, esq. of Richmond."

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It appears from the whole of his son's very interesting narrative, that few men have enjoyed a life of the same duration so little interrupted by vexation or calamity. His fortune, if not relatively great, was rendered ample by judicious management, and as he had been highly favoured by Providence in his person and in his family, he felt the importance of those blessings with the gratitude of a Christian. Such information as the following, so honourable to the subject of it, and to him who relates it, ought not to be suppressed.

"At an early age he attentively examined the evidences of Christianity, and was fully satisfied of its truth. His was, in the truest sense, the religion of the heart; and he always felt that a constant conformity to its precepts was the strongest and best proof he could give of the sincerity of his faith. Of its prescribed forms and exterior duties, he was no less a strict observer : whatever were his engagements, he constantly passed his Sundays at home with his family, at the head of whom he never failed to attend the public service of the day, until prevented by a bodily infirmity, for some years before his death; but he still continued his practice of reading prayers to them every evening: a usage of more than sixty years: these were taken from our liturgy, of which he was a great admirer.

"When no longer able to partake of the communion at church, he continued to receive it at home, on the festivals and other suitable occasions, to the latest period, and his manner of joining in this service, furnished an edifying example of the happy influence of a mind void of offence towards God and man.

"His devotional exercises were always expressed in so solemn a manner, and with such unaffected piety, as showed that his lips spoke the language of his heart; but his impressive tone of voice, when offering prayer and thanksgiving, marked that to be the branch of worship most suited to his feelings: and in conformity with this sentiment, he frequently remarked, that in our petitions we are liable to be misled, both as to their object and motive; but in expressing our thanksgivings to the Deity, we can never err, the least favoured among us having received sufficient tokens of the bounty of Providence, to excite emotions of the sincerest gratitude.'

"This principle of piety led him also to bear afflictions in the most exemplary manner. Whatever trials or deprivations he experienced through life, he always met with fortitude, and his demeanour under the losses which he was ordained to suffer in his own family, was such, that those only who saw him near, and knew how sacred he held the duty of submission to the Divine Will, and the self command this produced, could form any idea how poignantly they were felt.”—

Of his literary character, his son has formed a just estimate, when he says, that he is to be regarded rather as an elegant than a profound scholar. Yet where he chose to apply, his knowledge was far from being superficial, and if he had not at an early period of life indulged the prospect of filling the station of a retired country gentleman, it is probable that he might have made a distinguished figure in any of the learned professions. It is certain that the ablest works on every subject have been produced, with very few exceptions, by men who have been scholars by profession, to whom reputation was necessary as well as ornamental, and who could not expect to rise but in proportion to the abilities they discovered. Mr. Cambridge, without being insensible to the value of fame, had yet none of the worst perils of authorship to

encounter.

As a writer he was better known to the world, but he could not have

been more highly respected by his friends.

About a year after his death his son, the rev. George Owen Cambridge, published a splendid edition of all his works (except his History of the War) to which he prefixed an account of his Life and Writings. To this very interesting narrative, the present sketch is indebted for all that is valuable in it; but from what is here borrowed the reader can have but a feeble conception of a composition which does so much. honour to the moral and literary reputation of the father, and to the filial piety and chastened affection of the son.

The Scribleriad, which entitles Mr. Cambridge to a place in this collection, is one of those poems that, with great merits, yet make their way very slowly in the world. It was received so coolly, on the publication of the first two parts, that he found it necessary to write a preface to the second and complete edition, explaining his design.

He had some reason to apprehend that it had been mistaken, and that the poem was in danger of being neglected. In this preface, he lays down certain rules for the mock heroic, by which, if his own production be tried, it must be confessed he has executed all that he intended, with spirit and taste. As an imitator of the true heroic, he is in general faithful, and his parodies on the ancients show that he had studied their writings with somewhat different from the ardour of an admirer of poetry, or the acuteness of a critical linguist. But it may be doubted whether the rules he wishes to establish are sufficiently comprehensive, whether he has not been too faithful to his models, and whether a greater and more original portion of the burlesque would not have conferred more popularity on his performance.

His preference of Don Quixote, as a true mock heroic, is less a matter of dispute. In all the attributes of that species of composition, it is unquestionably superior to any attempt ever made, and probably will ever remain without a rival, for what subject ean the wit of man devise so happily adapted to the intention of the writer? Its great excellence, too, appears from its continuing to please every class of readers, although the folly ridiculed no longer exists, and can with some difficulty be supposed to have ever existed. But Cervantes is in nothing so superior, as in the delineation of his hero, who throughout the whole narrative creates a powerful interest in his favour, ́and who excites ridicule and compassion in such nice proportions as never to be undeserving of sympathy, or overpowered by contempt.

Mr. Cambridge was not so fortunate in a hero. He was content to take up Scriblerus, where Pope and Swift, or rather Arbuthnot, left him; a motley, ideal being, without an exemplar, combining, in one individual, all that is found ridiculous in forgotten volumes, or among the pretenders to science and the believers of absurdities. Mr. Cambridge's hero, therefore, without any qualities to secure our esteem, is an antiquary, a pedant, an alchymist, and what seldom is found among such characters, a poet. In conducting him through a series of adventures, upon the plan sketched by the triumvirate above mentioned, it is with great difficulty that he is able to avoid the errour they fell into, either of inventing nonsense for the sake of laughing at it, or of glancing their ridicule at the enthusiasm of useful research, and the ardour of real science, and justifiable curiosity.

False science, like every thing else that is false, may be a legitimate object of ridi