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394 the course of life which had been interrupted by political persecution. He was conducting a newspaper at Salem, when he died of a severe cold, in the latter part of the year 1803.

This extraordinary genius was, perhaps, a fair specimen of a class of literary men who lived in the lalter part of the eighteenth century, and were characterized by many of the general peculiarities of that bad era, in a form only exaggerated perhaps by their abilities. They were generally open scoffers at what their fellow creatures held sacred; decency in private life, they esteemed a mean and unworthy virtue; to desire a fair share of worldly advantages, was, with them, the mark of an ignoble nature. They professed boundless benevolence, and a devotion to the spirit of sociality, and thought that talent not only excused all kinds of frailties, but was only to be effectually proved by such. The persons "content to dwell in decencies for ever," were the chief objects of their aversion; while, if a man would only neglect his affairs, and keep himself and his family in a sufficient degree of poverty, they would applaud him as a paragon of self-denial. Fortunately, this class of infatuated beings is now nearly extinct ; but their delusion had not been exploded, till it had been the cause of much intellectual ruin, and the vitiation of a large share of our literature.

URQUHART, (, of Cromarty, as he designates himself, was a writer of some note, in the seventeenth century, but is much more remarkable for the eccentricity, than either the depth or extent, of his genius. Of this singular person, there is scarcely anything more known, than that he was knighted, though for what service is not recorded, by Charles I. at Whitehall; and that having, at an after period, viz., in 1651, accompanied his successor, Charles II., from Scotland, in his invasion of England, he was taken prisoner at the battle of Worcester. After his capture, he was detained in London on his parole; and this interval he employed in writing some of the extraordinary works which have perpetuated his name.

He appears to have travelled, at some period of his life, through the greater part of Europe, to have been well skilled in the modern languages of the continent, and to have been tolerably accomplished in the fashionable arts of the times in which he lived.

Meagre and few as these particulars are, they yet comprehend all that is left us regarding the history of a person, who, to judge by the expressions which he employs, when speaking of himself in his writings, expected to fill no inconsiderable space in the eyes of posterity. Amongst Sir Thomas's works, is a translation of Rabelais, remarkably well executed; but, with this performance, begins and ends all possibility of conscientiously complimenting him on his literary attainments. All the rest of his productions, though in each occasional scintillations of genius may be discovered, are mere rhapsodies, incoherent, unintelligible, and extravagantly absurd. At the head of this curious list, appears "The Discovery of a most exquisite Jewel, more precious than diamonds inchased in gold, the like whereof was never seen in any age; found in the kennel of Worcester streets, the day after the fight, and six before the autumnal equinox, &ci, &c., anno 1651." This extraordinary work was written, as its author avows, for the extraordinary purpose of helping him, by the display of talent which he conceived it would exhibit, to the recovery of his forfeited