lord Clarendon's character of the lord Falkland.

* * * * *

Mrs. LAETITIA PILKINGTON.

This unfortunate poetess, the circumstances of whose life, written by
herself, have lately entertained the public, was born in the year 1712.
She was the daughter of Dr. Van Lewen, a gentleman of Dutch extraction,
who settled in Dublin. Her mother was descended of an ancient and
honourable family, who have frequently intermarried with the nobility.

Mrs. Pilkington, from her earliest infancy, had a strong disposition to
letters, and particularly to poetry. All her leisure hours were
dedicated to the muses; from a reader she quickly became a writer, and,
as Mr. Pope expresses it,

'She lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came.'

Her performances were considered as extraordinary for her years, and
drew upon her the admiration of many, who found more pleasure in her
conversation, than that of girls generally affords. In consequence of a
poetical genius, and an engaging sprightliness peculiar to her, she had
many wooers, some of whom seriously addressed her, while others meant no
more than the common gallantries of young people. After the usual
ceremony of a courtship, she became the wife of Mr. Matthew Pilkington,
a gentleman in holy orders, and well known in the poetical world by his
volume of Miscellanies, revised by dean Swift. As we have few materials
for Mrs. Pilkington's life, beside those furnished by herself in her
Memoirs published in 1749, our readers must depend upon her veracity for
some facts which we may be obliged to mention, upon her sole authority.

Our poetess, says she, had not been long married, e'er Mr. Pilkington
became jealous, not of her person, but her understanding. She was
applauded by dean Swift, and many other persons of taste; every
compliment that was paid her, gave a mortal stab to his peace. Behold
the difference between the lover and the husband! When Mr. Pilkington
courted her, he was not more enamoured of her person, than her poetry,
he shewed her verses to every body in the enthusiasm of admiration: but
now he was become a husband, it was a kind of treason for a wife to
pretend to literary accomplishments.

It is certainly true, that when a woman happens to have more
understanding than her husband, she should be very industrious to
conceal it; but it is like wise true, that the natural vanity of the sex
is difficult to check, and the vanity of a poet still