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