Anna Letitia Barbauld, a name long dear to the admirers of genius and the lovers of virtue, was born at the village of Kibworth Harcourt, in Leicestershire, on June 20th, 1743. She was the eldest child and only daughter of John Aikin, D.D., and Jane, his wife, daughter of the Rev. John Jennings, of Kibworth, and descended by her mother from the ancient family of Wingate, of Harlington, in Bedfordshire.

That quickness of apprehension by which she was eminently distinguished, manifested itself from early infancy. Her mother writes thus respecting her in a letter which is still preserved: “I once, indeed, knew a little girl who was as eager to learn as her instructors could be to teach her; and who, at two years old, could read sentences and little stories in her wise book, roundly, without spelling, and, in half a year more, could read as well as most women; but I never knew such another, and, I believe, never shall.”

Her education was entirely domestic, and principally conducted by her excellent mother, a lady whose manners were polished by the early introduction to good company which her family connections had procured her; whilst her mind had been cultivated, and her principles formed, partly by the instructions of religious and enlightened parents, and partly by the society of the Rev. Dr. Doddridge, who was for some years domesticated under the parental roof.

In the middle of the last century, a strong prejudice still existed in England against imparting to females any degree of classical learning; and the father of Miss Aikin, proud as he justly was of her uncommon capacity, long refused to gratify her earnest desire of being initiated in this kind of knowledge. At length, however, she in some degree overcame his scruples; and, with his assistance, she enabled herself to read the Latin authors with pleasure and advantage; nor did she rest satisfied without gaining some acquaintance with the Greek.

The obscure village of Kibworth was unable to afford her a suitable companion of her own sex: her brother, the late Dr. Aikin, was more than three years her junior; and as her father was, at this period, the master of a school for boys, it might have been apprehended that conformity of pursuits, as well as age, would tend too nearly to assimilate her with the youth of the ruder sex, by whom she was surrounded. But the vigilance of her mother effectually obviated this danger, by instilling into her a double portion of bashfulness and maidenly reserve; and she was accustomed to ascribe an uneasy sense of constraint in mixed society, which she could never entirely shake off, to the strictness and seclusion in which it had thus become her fate to be educated.

Her recollections of childhood and early youth were, in fact, not associated with much of the pleasure and gayety usually attendant upon that period of life; but it must be regarded as a circumstance favorable, rather than otherwise, to the unfolding of her genius, to be left thus to find, or make, in solitude, her own objects of interest or pursuit. The love of rural nature sank deep in her heart. Her vivid fancy excited itself to color, animate, and diversify, all the objects which surrounded her; the few but choice authors of her father’s library, which she read and re-read, had leisure to make their full impression, to mould her sentiments, and to form her taste. The spirit of devotion, early inculcated upon her as a duty, opened to her, by degrees, an exhaustless source of tender and sublime delight; and while yet a child, she was surprised to find herself a poet.

Just at the period when longer seclusion might have proved seriously injurious to her spirits, an invitation given to her learned and exemplary father to undertake the office of classical tutor to a highly respectable academy at Warrington, in Lancashire, was the fortunate means of transplanting her to a more varied and animating scene. This removal took place in 1758, when Miss Aikin had just attained the age of fifteen; and the fifteen succeeding years, passed by her at Warrington, comprehended probably the happiest, as well as the most brilliant, portion of her existence. She was at this time possessed of great beauty, distinct traces of which she retained to the latest period of her life. Her person was slender, her complexion fair, with the bloom of perfect health: her features were regular and elegant; and her light blue eyes beamed with the light of wit and fancy.

A solitary education had not produced on her its most frequent ill effects, pride and self-importance; the reserve of her manners proceeded solely from bashfulness, for her temper inclined her strongly to friendship, and to social pleasures; and her active imagination, which represented all objects tinged with hues “unborrowed of the sun,” served as a charm against that disgust with common characters and daily incidents, which so frequently renders the conscious possessor of superior talents at once unamiable and unhappy.

Nor was she now in want of congenial associates. Warrington academy included among its tutors names eminent both in science and literature; with several of these, and especially with Dr. Priestley and Dr. Canfield and their families, she formed sincere and lasting friendships. The elder and more accomplished among the students composed an agreeable part of the same society; and its animation was increased by a mixture of young ladies, either residents in the town, or occasional visitors, several of whom were equally distinguished for personal charms, for amiable manners, and cultivated minds. The rising institution, which flourished for several years in high reputation, diffused a classic air over all connected with it. Miss Aikin, as was natural, took a warm interest in its success; and no academic has ever celebrated his alma mater in nobler strains, or with a more filial affection, than she has manifested in that portion of her early and beautiful poem, “The Invitation,” where her theme is this “nursery of men for future years.”

About the close of the year 1771, her brother, after several years of absence, returned to establish himself in his profession at Warrington an event equally welcome to her feelings and propitious to her literary progress. In him she possessed a friend with discernment to recognize the stamp of genius in her productions, and anticipate their fame, combined with zeal and courage sufficient to vanquish her reluctance to appear before the public in the character of an author. By his persuasion and assistance, her poems were selected, revised, and arranged for publication; and when all these preparations were completed, finding that she still hesitated and lingered, like the parent bird, who pushes off its young to their first flight, he procured the paper, and set the press to work on his own authority. The result more than justified his confidence of her success; four editions of the work were called for within the year of publication, 1773; compliments and congratulations poured in from all quarters; and even the periodical critics greeted her muse with nearly unmixed applause.

She was not permitted to repose upon her laurels. Her brother, who possessed all the activity and spirit of literary enterprise, in which she was deficient, now urged her to collect her prose pieces, and to join him in forming a small volume, which appeared also in the year 1773, under the title of “Miscellaneous Pieces in Prose, by J. and A. L. Aikin.” These likewise met with much notice and admiration, and have been several times reprinted. The authors did not think proper to distinguish their respective contributions, and several of the pieces have, in consequence, been generally misappropriated. The fragment of “Sir Bertrand,” in particular, though alien from the character of that brilliant and airy imagination which was never conversant with terror, and rarely with pity, has been repeatedly ascribed to Mrs. Barbauld, even in print.

Having thus laid the foundation of a lasting reputation in literature, Miss Aikin might have been expected to proceed with vigor in rearing the superstructure; and the world awaited with impatience the result of her further efforts. But an event, the most important of her life, was about to subject her to new influences, new duties, to alter her station, her course of life, and to modify even the bent of her mind. This event was her marriage, which took place in May, 1774.

Her husband, the Rev. Rochemont Barbauld, was a dissenting minister, descended from a family of French Protestants, who had taken refuge in England in the reign of Louis XIV. Mr. Barbauld was educated in the academy at Warrington, and, at the time of his marriage, had been recently appointed to the charge of a dissenting congregation at Palgrave, in Suffolk, near Diss, in Norfolk, where he had announced his intention of opening a boarding-school for boys. This undertaking proved speedily successful a result which must in great part be attributed, first to the reputation, and afterwards to the active exertions, of Mrs. Barbauld. She particularly superintended the departments of geography and English composition, which latter she taught by a method then unusual, but which has since been brought much into practice. Her plan, according to the statement of Mr. William Taylor, of Norwich, one of her first pupils, was, to read a fable, a short story, or a moral essay, aloud, and then to send them back into the school-room to write it out on slates in their own words. Each exercise was separately examined by her: the faults of grammar were obliterated, the vulgarisms were chastised, the idle epithets were cancelled, and a distinct reason was always assigned for every correction, so that the arts of inditing and criticising were in some degree learnt together. Mrs. Barbauld also instructed the pupils in the art of declamation; and the pleasing accomplishments of good reading and graceful speaking have probably never been taught with more assiduity or with better success than by herself. After a few years thus devoted, Mrs. Barbauld was solicited to receive several little boys as her own peculiar pupils; and among this number may be mentioned Lord Denman, the present Chief Justice of England, and the celebrated Sir William Gell. It was for the use of these, her almost infant scholars, that she composed her “Hymns in Prose for Children.”

In 1775, Mrs. Barbauld published a small volume entitled “Devotional Pieces, compiled from the Psalms of David, with Thoughts on the Devotional Taste, and on Sects and Establishments.” About the same time, she wrote that admirable little volume, “Early Lessons,” a publication which has ever since been a standard work, and, though frequently imitated, yet remains unrivalled amidst all its competitors.

This little volume was written for the use of one of her nephews, who had been adopted by Mr. Barbauld and herself, in consequence of their having no child of their own. In the present day, when parents are in possession of the labors of many clever persons for aiding the task of early instruction, it is difficult to form a correct estimate of the value of Mrs. Barbauld’s “Early Lessons.” At the time of its first appearance, as at present, there was a multitude of books professedly written for children, but few adapted to the comprehension of a child of very tender age, that were not at the same time injurious from their folly or puerility.

It would seem that the value of a book which was not only free from these objections, but calculated to impress upon the mind of the child just ideas and noble principles, could not fail to be appreciated by every parent and teacher; but there are those who maintain that the reformation begun by Mrs. Barbauld is an evil. It would seem that, in putting “Mother Goose’s Melodies,” “Jack the Giant-Killer,” and other works of the kind, into the hands of children, as soon as they begin to read, we are likely to distort their minds by grotesque representations, which may exert a lasting and pernicious influence on their understandings; that we set about teaching what is false, and what we must immediately seek to unteach; that we inculcate the idea upon the young mind that books are vehicles of fiction and incongruity, and not of truth and reason.

If the works alluded to produce any effects, they must be of this nature; and on some minds they have probably had a fatal influence. Yet such is the prejudice engendered by early associations, that many grave persons, whose first reading was of the kind we have mentioned, lament the repudiation of “Mother Goose” and her kindred train, and deem it a mistake to use books in their place founded on the idea of Mrs. Barbauld’s works that truth is the proper aliment of the infant mind, as well calculated to stimulate the faculties as fiction, and that its exhibition is the only safe and honest mode of dealing with those whose education is intrusted to our care.

The success of the school at Palgrave remained unimpaired; but the unceasing call for mental exertion, on the part of the conductors, which its duties required, so much injured their health, that, after eleven years of unremitting labor, an interval of complete relaxation became necessary; and Mrs. Barbauld accompanied her husband, in the autumn of 1785, to Switzerland, and afterwards to the south of France. In the following year they returned to England, and, early in 1787, took up their residence in Hampstead, where, for several years, Mr. Barbauld received a few pupils.

In 1790, Mrs. Barbauld published an eloquent and indignant address to the successful opposers of the repeal of the corporation and test acts. In the following year was written her poetical epistle to Mr. Wilberforce, on the rejection of the bill for abolishing the slave trade. In 1792, she published “Remarks on Mr. Gilbert Wakefield’s Inquiry into the Expediency and Propriety of Public or Social Worship;” and in 1793, she produced a work of a kind very unusual for a female a sermon, entitled “The Sins of Government Sins of the Nation.” In all these works Mrs. Barbauld showed those powers of mind, that ardent love for civil and religious liberty, and that genuine and practical piety, by which her life was distinguished, and for which her memory will long be held in reverence. In particular, her “Remarks on Mr. Wakefield’s Inquiry” may be noticed as being one of the best and most eloquent, and yet sober, appeals in favor of public worship that has ever appeared.

Our youthful readers will be pleased to learn that Mrs. Barbauld wrote some of the articles in that entertaining work by her brother, Dr. Aikin, entitled “Evenings at Home.” These contributions were fourteen in number. It would be useless to distinguish them here, or to say more concerning them than that they are equal in merit to the other parts of the volumes. These papers, trifling in amount, but not in value, comprise all that Mrs. Barbauld published from 1793 to 1795, when she superintended an edition of Akenside’s “Pleasures of Imagination,” to which she prefixed a critical essay. In 1797, she brought out an edition of Collins’s “Odes,” with a similar introduction. These essays are written with elegance, and display much taste and critical acuteness.

Mr. Barbauld became, in 1802, pastor of a Unitarian congregation at Newington Green, and at this time he changed his residence to Stoke Newington. The chief inducement to this removal was the desire felt by Mrs. Barbauld and her brother to pass the remainder of their lives in each other’s society. This wish was gratified during twenty years, and was interrupted only by death. In 1804, she published a selection of the papers contained in the Spectator, Guardian, Tatler and Freeholder, with a preliminary essay, in which is given an instructive account of the state of society at the time the papers originally appeared, and of the objects at which they aimed. This essay has been much admired for its elegance and acuteness. In the same year, Mrs. Barbauld prepared for publication a selection from the correspondence of Richardson, the novelist, prefixing a biographical notice of him, and a critical examination of his works.

About this time, Mrs. Barbauld’s husband, to whom she had been united for more than thirty years, fell into a state of nervous weakness, and at last died, in November, 1808. From the dejection occasioned by this loss, Mrs. Barbauld sought relief in literary occupation, and undertook the task of editing a collection of the British novelists, which was published in 1810. To these volumes she contributed an introductory essay, and furnished biographical and critical notices of the life and writings of each author; these were written with her usual taste and judgment. In the next year, she composed and published the longest and most highly-finished of her poems, entitled “Eighteen Hundred and Eleven.” The time at which this poem appeared was by many persons looked upon with gloomy forebodings, and the matters of which it treats were considered as indicative of the waning fortunes of Great Britain. It was perhaps owing to the spirit of melancholy prediction by which it is pervaded, that the poem was not received by the public as it deserved. It is written throughout with great power and in harmonious language; its descriptions are characterized by deep feeling and truth, and its warnings are conveyed with an earnestness which is the best evidence of the sincerity of the author.

The unfair construction applied to her motives in writing this poem probably prevented Mrs. Barbauld from appearing again as an author. Her efforts were confined to the humble task of administering to the gratification of a circle of private friends. Although arrived at years which are assigned as the natural limit of human life, her fancy was still bright, and she continued to give evidence by occasional compositions of the unimpaired energy of her mind. Her spirits were greatly tried, during the latter years of her life, by the loss of her brother, who died in 1822, and of several cherished companions of her early days, who quickly followed. Her constitution, naturally excellent, slowly gave way under an asthmatic complaint, and on the 9th of March, 1825, after only a few days of serious illness, she died, in the eighty-second year of her age.

In domestic and social life, Mrs. Barbauld was characterized by strong sense, deep feeling, high moral principle, and a rational but ardent piety. She passed through a lengthened term of years, free from the annoyance of personal enmities, and rich in the esteem and affection of all with whom she was connected. The cause of rational education is more indebted to her than to any individual of modern times, inasmuch as she was the leader in that reformation which has resulted in substituting the use of truth and reason for folly and fiction, in books for the nursery. She has also shown that a talent for writing for youth is not incompatible with powers of the highest order. Her epistle to Mr. Wilberforce is full of lofty sentiment, and, at the same time, is most felicitously executed. We give a specimen of her writing in a lighter vein, which has been justly celebrated for its truth and humor.

“WASHING-DAY.

“The muses are turned gossips; they have lost
The buskined step, and clear, high-sounding phrase,
Language of gods. Come, then, domestic muse,
In slip-shod measure, loosely prattling on
Of farm, or orchard, pleasant curds and cream,
Or drowning flies, or shoes lost in the mire,
By little whimpering boy, with rueful face;
Come, muse, and sing the dreaded washing-day.
Ye who beneath the yoke of wedlock bend
With bowed soul, full well ye ken the day
Which week, smooth gliding after week, brings on
Too soon; for to that day nor peace belongs,
Nor comfort. Ere the first gray streak of dawn,
The red-armed washers come and chase repose;
Nor pleasant smile, nor quaint device of mirth,
E’er visited that day: the very cat,
From the wet kitchen scared, and reeking hearth,
Visits the parlor an unwonted guest.
The silent breakfast meal is soon despatched,
Uninterrupted save by anxious looks
Cast at the lowering sky, if sky should lower.
From that last evil, O, preserve us, heavens!
For, should the skies pour down, adieu to all
Remains of quiet: then expect to hear
Of sad disasters dirt and gravel stains
Hard to efface, and loaded lines at once
Snapped short, and linen-horse by dog thrown down,
And all the petty miseries of life.
Saints have been calm while stretched upon the rack,
And Guatimozin smiled on burning coals;
But never yet did housewife notable
Greet with a smile a rainy washing-day.
But grant the welkin fair; require not, thou
Who call’st thyself perchance the master there,
Or study swept, or nicely-dusted coat,
Or usual ’tendance; ask not, indiscreet,
Thy stockings mended, though the yawning rents
Gape wide as Erebus; nor hope to find
Some snug recess impervious! should’st thou try
Th’ accustomed garden walks, thine eye shall rue
The budding fragrance of thy tender shrubs,
Myrtle or rose, all crushed beneath the weight
Of coarse checked apron, with impatient hand
Twitched off when showers impend; or crossing lines
Shall mar thy musings, as the cold, wet sheet
Flaps in thy face abrupt. Woe to the friend
Whose evil stars have urged him forth to claim,
On such a day, the hospitable rites!
Looks blank at best, and stinted courtesy,
Shall he receive. Vainly he feeds his hopes
With dinner of roast chickens, savory pie,
Or tart, or pudding: pudding he nor tart
That day shall eat; nor, though the husband try,
Mending what can’t be helped, to kindle mirth
From cheer deficient, shall his consort’s brow,
Clear up propitious; the unlucky guest
In silence dines, and early shrinks away.
I well remember, when a child, the awe
This day struck into me; for then the maids
I scarce knew why looked cross, and drove me from them;
Nor soft caress could I obtain, nor hope
Usual indulgences jelly or creams,
Relic of costly suppers, and set by
For me, their petted one; or buttered toast,
When butter was forbid; or thrilling tale
Of ghost, or witch, or murder: so I went
And sheltered me beside the parlor fire:
There my dear grandmother, eldest of forms,
Tended the little ones, and watched from harm,
Anxiously fond, though oft her spectacles
With elfin cunning hid, and oft the pins
Drawn from her ravelled stockings, might have soured
One less indulgent.
At intervals my mother’s voice was heard,
Urging despatch: briskly the work went on,
All hands employed to wash, to rinse, to wring,
To fold, and starch, and clap, and iron, and plait.
Then would I sit me down, and ponder much
Why washings were. Sometimes through hollow bowl
Of pipe amused we blew, and sent aloft
The floating bubbles; little dreaming then
To see, Montgolfier, thy silken ball
Ride buoyant through the clouds so near approach
The sports of children and the toils of men.
Earth, air, and sky, and ocean, hath its bubbles,
And verse is one of them this most of all.”