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the illu^strious-character, whom we all deplo're—I shall, I can say but little. A long interval must take place between the heavy blo`w/ which has been stru ́ck, and the consideration of its effect, before a'ny-one, (and how many are th'ere!) of those/ who have revered and lov^ed Mr. Fox, as I' hav'e-done, can speak of his death/ with the feeling, but ma^nly compo'sure/, which becomes the dignified regret/ it ought to inspire.-To say any thing to you/ at this' moment/, in the fresh hour of your unburthened so'rrows-to depi'ct, to dwe'll/ upon the great tra'its of his character-must be un'necessary, and/ almo ́st/ insulting. His i'mage/ still lives before your eyes-his virtues/ are in your he'arts—his lo ́ss is your despair. I have see'n/ in a public pri`nt, what are stated to have been his la'st-words-and they are truly-stated. They were the se -"I di'e happy." Th'en, (turning to the more immediate o'bjects of his private-affections,) he added, "but/ I p'ity you." Gen'tlemen, this statement is precisely tru`e. But Oh! if the solemn/ fleet'ing-hour had allowed of such' considera`tions, and/ if the unassuming nature of his dignified mind/ had not withh'eld-him, whic`h of you will allow his title to have said, (not only to the sharers of his domes`tic-love, han'ging in mute despair upon his c'ouch)-"I pity you;" but prophetically to have added, "I pity En'gland-—I pity Europe-I pity human na'ture!"—He died in the spirit of pea'ce; tranquil in his own expiring he'art, and che'rishing to the la'st, (with a parental solicitude,) the consoling ho`pe/ that he should be able to give established tra'nquillity/ to h'arassed, conten'ding-nations. Let us tru'st, that that stroke of de^ath/ which has borne him fro'm-us, may not have left the peace of the world, and the civilized charities of ma'n, as orphans upon the earth! With su'ch-a-man, to have battled in the cause of genuine li'berty — with su'ch a m'an, to have struggled against the inroads of oppression and corruption – with such an example befo're me, to have to bo`ast/ that I never in my life/ gave one vo`te-in-parliament/ that wa's not on the side of freedom, is the congratulation/ that attends the retrospect of my public-life. His frie'ndship/ was the pride and ho'nour of my da'ys. I ne'ver, for on`e-moment, regretted to share wi'th-him the difficulties, the ca'lumnies, and/ so metimes/ even the dangers, that attended his honourable-life. And now, reviewing my past political con'duct, (were the option possible that I should re-tre'ad the p'ath,) I solemnly

and deliberately decl'are, that I would purs'ue the same course — beaʼr-up/ under the same pre`ssure — ab'ide/ by the same principles and remain by his si'de, an ex'ile from power, distinction, and emolument ! If I have missed the opportunity of obtaining all the support/ I might, perhaps, have ha'd, on the present occasion, (from a very scrupulous d'elicacy, which I think became, and was incumbent-upon-me) -I cannot repe'nt it! In so doing, I acted on the feelings/ upon which/ I am sensible/ all tho'se would have ac'ted/ who loved Mr. Fo'x as I'-did. I fe'lt/ within myse`lf/, th'at/ while the slightest-aspiration/ might still quiver on those lips, that were the copious-channels of e'loquence, wi'sdom, and bene`volence -th'at/ while on'e-drop of life's-blood might still war'm tha'theart, which throbbed only for the goʻod-of-mankind—I shou ́ld not, I could not/ have acted o'therwise.

There i's/ in true friendship/ this`-advantage, that the inferior mind/looks to the presiding in'tellect, as its gui'de and lan'dmark/ while living, and to the engraven memory of his pr ́inciples/ as a rule of con'duct/ after his de'ath! Yet far'ther still, (unmixed with any i'dle superstition,) there may be gained a salutary lesson/ from contemplating/ what would be grateful to the mind of the dep'arted, were he con'scious of what is passing here. I do solemnly belie've, tha't/ could suc'h-a-consideration/ have entered into Mr. Fox's last mo'ments is nothing his wasted spirits/ would so have de'precated, as a con'test of the n'ature/ which I now deprecate and relinquish.


Gentlemen! the hour is not far dis'tant, when an awful kn ́ell shall te'll-you, that/ the unburied remains of your revered patriot/ are passing through your streets, to that sepulchralhome, where your kin'gs- your her'oes your sa`ges — and your poets, will be honoured by an associa'tion with hismortal-remains. At that ho'ur/ when the sad sole'mnity shall take place, (in a private-way, as more suited to the simple dignity of his character, than the spl'endid gau'diness of public pageantry;) when yo'u, (a'll of yo'u,) shall be se'lf-marshalled in reverential so'rrow-mu'te, and reflecting on your mightyloss-at that moment/ shall the disgusting contest of an election-wran'gle/ break the solemnity of su'ch-a-scene? Is it fitting that a'ny-man/ should overlook the crisis, and risk the monstrous and disgu'sting-contest? Is it fitting that I should be tha't-man?



Mr. SHE'RIDAN is no mo`re!—What a vo`lume is included in these few wor'ds, even when they are applied to the hu'mblest-in'dividual! The loss of father, or so`n, of hi`m/ who was the st'ay and support of decli'ning-age/ or fee`ble-youth! whose counsels gu'ided, whose affections gla^ddened the little circle around-him! All this mind, all this he^art, to be mu'te and mo'tionless and du^mb for ever! B'ut/ when a Sheˇridan is withdrawn from us-the ma'ster-mind, the master-genius! talents/ which have ado ́rned and dignified the country in which he was born, and the a'ge/ in which he li`ved—the first statesman, the first or`ator, the first po'et, the first wit—when such a man is taken-from-us, what a vas't-chasm! what an irr^eparable lo'ss! That so much ge'nius, that so much miˇnd/

can di'e!

To Mr. She'ridan/ belonged every kind of intellectual ex'cellence-he' cultivated every species of literature, and he cultivated no'ne/ which he did not adorn.

As a dramatic writer, fort'y year's have elapsed since The School-for-Scandal was brough't out,/ and yet what writer has produced an'y-comedy/ to be put in competition with it? Who has equalled The Critic? As a Po'et, wh'o has surpassed the Monody on the death of Gar'rick? As an o'rator (with the exception of Pitt and Bur'ke), who exce'lled him?

He had strength without coarseness, li'veliness without frivo'lity; he was boʻld, but de'xterous in his attacks -not easily repelled, but whe'n-repelled, effecting his retreat in good or'der. Often severe-much oftener wi'tty, and g'ay, and gra'ceful disentan'gling what was conf'used-enli ́vening what was du'll-very cle'ar in his arran'g gement-very comprehensive in his views;-flashing upon his he'arers/ with such a burst of brilliancy! when no o'ther-speaker/ was listened-to, he could arrest and chain down the me'mbers/ to their se'ats-all hanging upon him with the most eager at'tention

*This eulogium was written in 1816, immediately after the death of this unrivalled wit and most commanding and captivating orator, but unfortunate and neglected man!-He had attained the age of 65.

-a'll fixed in won'der and deli`ght; h'e never tired-he could adapt himself (more than any o'ther-man,) to all min'ds, and to all capacities:-"From gra've to g'ay, from li'vely to severe." Every quality of an o'rator/ was uni'ted-in-him-the mindthe eye, (qui'ck, sparkling, pene'trating, match'less-almost/ for bri'lliancy and expression)-the attitude, the gesture, the voice. Mr. Pi'tt/ had more di'gnity, more copi'ousness, more gra'sp, more s'arcasm. Bu't, in rich'ness of i'magery, he was inferior to She'ridan, who had n'o superior bu't Burke.* He was less powerful and commanding in argument/ than Mr. Fox, but this was the only advantage Mr. Fo'x/ had over him. As an o'rator, we should place him after Pi'tt and Burke. A friend to the liberty of the press, he was a'rdent, u'niform, sin'cere. He never relaxed in his efforts: he was not one of tho'se/ who would disguise their fears of its po'wer/ under affec'ted-apprehensions/ of its licentiousness; he knew that every great-institution ha's its defe'cts: he did not wish to cut down the tree/ because of an excrescence/ on one of its bra'nches.

From political life/ he had been lo'ng withdra'wn. His retire'ment was un'willing, and he had not in it the comforts/ that should ac'company-retirement. We fear that he had not even personal-security; and that grief/ may have had no small sh'are/ in withdrawing from our sph'ere so splendid a lu'minary, the la'st of that constellation of great-men, who rendered the se'nate of Great-Britain mo're-illustrious/ than the se'nates/ either of A'thens, or of Ro'me.


HOGG,―(The Ettrick Shepherd.)†

I CAN remember well

When yon was such a world as that you left;
A nursery of intellect for those

* Mr. Burke, who has been designated "the saviour of his country," was born in Dublin, and died in London in 1797, aged 67, regretted, if not beloved, by all parties.

†The "Ettrick Shepherd," James Hogg, whose "Queen's Wake" and "Pilgrims of the Sun" will outlive this generation, died, esteemed and respected by a large circle of friends, in 1835, aged 59.

Where matter lives not. Like these other worlds

It wheeled upon its axle, and it swung
With wide and rapid motion. But the time
That God ordained for its existence, run;

Its uses in that beautiful creation,

Where nought subsists in vain, remained no more
The saints and angels knew of it, and came
In radiant files, with awful reverence,

Unto the verge of Heaven, where we now stand,
To see the downfal of a sentenced world.
Think of the impetus that urges on

These ponderous spheres, and judge of the event
Just in the middle of its swift career,

The Almighty snapt the golden cord in twain
That hung it to the heaven-Creation sobbed!
And a spontaneous shriek rang on the hills
Of these celestial regions. Down amain
Into the void, the outcast world descended,
Wheeling and thundering on! Its troubled seas
Were churned into a spray, and, whizzing, flurred
Around it like a dew. The mountain tops,
And ponderous rocks, were off impetuous flung,
And clattered down the steeps of night for ever
Away into the sunless, starless void,

Rushed the abandoned world; and through its caves,
And rifted channels, airs of Chaos sung.

The realms of night were troubled-for the stillness
Which there from all eternity had reigned,
Was rudely discomposed; and moaning sounds.
Mixed with a whistling howl, were heard afar
By darkling spirits! Still with stayless force,
For years and ages, down the wastes of night
Rolled the impetuous mass !—of all its seas
And superficies disencumbered,

It boomed along, till by the gathering speed,
Its furnaced mines, and hills of walled sulphur,
Were blown into a flame.-When, meteor like,
Bursting away upon an arching track,
Wide as the universe, again it scaled
The dusky regions.-Long the heavenly hosts
Had deemed the globe extinct-nor thought of it,
Save as an instance of Almighty power:

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