e circumstance not unworthy of being set down among these minutiae.
Happening both of us to be engaged a few minutes one morning, when we
had a young prig of a Scotch lawyer to breakfast with us, my dear
sister, with her usual simplicity, put the toasting-fork with a slice of
bread into the hands of this Edinburgh genius. Our little book-case
stood on one side of the fire. To prevent loss of time, he took down a
book, and fell to reading, to the neglect of the toast, which was burnt
to a cinder. Many a time have we laughed at this circumstance and other
cottage simplicities of that day. By the bye, I have a spite at one of
this series of sonnets (I will leave the reader to discover which), as
having been the means of nearly putting off for ever our acquaintance
with dear Miss Fenwick, who has always stigmatised one line of it as
vulgar, and worthy only of having been composed by a country squire.

432. *_To the Spade of a Friend_. 1804. [XIV.]

This person was Thomas Wilkinson, a Quaker by religious profession; by
natural constitution of mind--or, shall I venture to say, by God's
grace? he was something better. He had inherited a small estate, and
built a house upon it, near Yanwath, upon the banks of the Emont. I have
heard him say that his heart used to beat, in his boyhood, when he heard
the sound of a drum and fife. Nevertheless, the spirit of enterprise in
him confined itself in tilling his ground, and conquering such obstacles
as stood in the way of its fertility. Persons of his religious
persuasion do now, in a far greater degree than formerly, attach
themselves to trade and commerce. He kept the old track. As represented
in this poem, he employed his leisure hours in shaping pleasant walks by
the side of his beloved river, where he also built something between a
hermitage and a summer-house, attaching to it inscriptions, after the
manner of Shenstone at his Leasowes. He used to travel from time to
time, partly from love of Nature, and partly with religious friends, in
the service of humanity. His admiration of genius in every department
did him much honour. Through his connection with the family in which
Edmund Burke was educated, he became acquainted with that great man, who
used to receive him with great kindness and condescension; and many
times have I heard Wilkinson speak of those interesting interviews. He
was honoured also by the friendship of Elizabeth Smith, and of Thomas
Clarkson and his excellent wi