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 I have heard Wilkinson speak of those interesting interviews. He
was honoured also by the friendship of Elizabeth Smith, and of Thomas
Clarkson and his excellent wife, and was much esteemed by Lord and Lady
Lonsdale, and every member of that family. Among his verses (he wrote
many) are some worthy of preservation; one little poem in particular,
upon disturbing, by prying curiosity, a bird while hatching her young in
his garden. The latter part of this innocent and good man's life was
melancholy. He became blind, and also poor, by becoming surety for some
of his relations. He was a bachelor. He bore, as I have often witnessed,
his calamities with unfailing resignation. I will only add, that while
working in one of his fields, he unearthed a stone of considerable size,
then another, then two more; observing that they had been placed in
order, as if forming the segment of a circle, he proceeded carefully to
uncover the soil, and brought into view a beautiful Druid's temple, of
perfect, though small dimensions. In order to make his farm more
compact, he exchanged this field for another, and, I am sorry to add,
the new proprietor destroyed this interesting relic of remote ages for
some vulgar purpose. The fact, so far as concerns Thomas Wilkinson, is
mentioned in the note on a sonnet on _Long Meg and her Daughters_.--I.
F.]

One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."--ED.

Spade! with which Wilkinson hath tilled his lands,
And shaped these pleasant walks by Emont's side,
Thou art a tool of honour in my hands;
I press thee, through the yielding soil, with pride.

Rare master has it been thy lot to know; 5
Long hast Thou served a man to reason true;
Whose life combines the best of high and low,
The labouring[1] many and the resting few;

Health, meek