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the illu“strious-character, whom we all deplo're—I shall, I can say/ bu't litt'le. A long interval must take place between the heavy blo'w/ which has been struʼck, and the consideration of its effect, before a'ny-one, (and how ma'ny are th'ere !) of those/ who have revered and lov‘ed Mr. Fox, as I hav'e-done, can speak of his de'ath/ with the fe’eling, but ma‘nly compo'sures, which becomes the dignified regret it ought to inspi're.—To say any thing to you at this' moment/, in the fresh hour of your unburthened soʻrrows—to depi'ct, to dwe'll/ upon the great tra'its of his cha'racter-must be un'necessary, and/ almo'st/insu'lting. His i’mage/ still lives before your eyes_his vir'tues/ are in your he'arts—his loʻss is your despa'ir. I have see'n/ in a public pri'nt, what are stated to have been his laʼst-words—and they are tru'ly-stated. They were the'se — “I di'e hap'py.” Th’en, (turning to the more immediate o'bjects of his pri'vate-affections,) he ad’ded, “ but/ I pity yoʻu.” Gen’tlemen, this statement is precisely true. But Oh'! if the solemn/ feet'ing-hour had allowed of such considerations, and/ if the unassuming nature of his dignified mi'nd/ had not withh'eld-him, whic'h of will allow his title to have sa'id, (not only to the sharers of his domestic-love, han'ging in mute despa'ir upon his c'ouch) —“I pity yoou;" but/ prophe'tically/ to have ad'ded, “ I pity En ́gland— I pity Eu'rope — I pity human nature !” — He died in the spirit of pea'ce; tra'nquil in his own expiring he'art, and che'rishing to the la'st, (with a parental solicitude,) the consoling hoʻpe/ that he should be able to give established tra'nquillity/ to harassed, contending-nations. Let us tru'st, that that stroke of death/ which has borne him fro'm-us, may not have left the peace of the wor'ld, and the civilized charities of ma'n, as orp'hans upon the e'arth! With su'ch-a-man, to have battled in the cause of genuine li'berty — with su'ch a m'an, to have strugglèd against the inroads of oppression and corru'ption -- with such an ex'ample befoʻre me, to have to bo‘ast/ that I ne’ver in my life/ gave one vote-in-parliament/ that wa's not on the side of fre’edom, is the congratulation, that attends the restrospect of my pu'blic-life. His frie'ndship/ was the pr'ide and hoʻnour of my days. I ne'ver, for on'e-moment, regretted to share with-him the difficulties, the ca'lumnies, and/ soometimes even the daîngers, that attended his hoʻnourable-life. And no'w, revie'wing my påst political con'duct, (were the option poʻssible that I should re-tread the path,) I so'lemnly and deliberately decl'are, that I would purs'ue the same cou'rse

- bea'r-up/ under the same pre'ssure - ab'ide/ by the same pr’inciples—and remain by his side, an ex'ile from po'wer, disti'nction, and emo'lument ! If I have missed the opportunity of obtaining a'll the sup'port/ I might, perhaps, have had, on the present occassion, (from a very scrupulous d'elicacy, which I think became, and was incu'mbent-upon-me)

- I ca'nnot repe'nt it! In so do'ing, I acted on the fee'lings/ upon wh'ich/ I am sensible/ all tho'se would have ac'ted) who loved Mr. Fo'x as I'-did. I fe'lt/ within myse'lfs, th'at/ while the slig'htest-aspiration might still quiver on those li'ps, that were the copious-channels of e'loquence, wi'sdom, and bene'volence --thʼat, while on'e-drop of life's-blood might still war'm tha'theart, which throbbed only for the go'od-of-mankind—I shou'ld not, I could not/ have acted o’therwise.

There is/ in true frie’ndship/ this'-advantage, that the inferior mind, looks to the presiding in'tellect, as its gui'de and landmark/ while living, and to the engraven memory of his pr'inciples/ as a rule of conduct/ after his de’ath! Yet farther sti'll, (unmixed with any idle supers’tition, there may be gained a salutary le’sson/ from contemplating/ what would be grateful to the mind of the departed, were he con'scious of what is passing he're. I do solemnly belie've, tha't could suc'h-a-consideration/ have entered into Mr. Fox's last moʻments

there is nothing his wasted spirits/ would so have de'precated, as a con test of the n'ature, which I now deprecate and relinquish.

Ge’ntlemen ! the ho'ur is not far dis'tant, when an awful kn'ell shall te'll-you, that/ the unburied rema'ins of your revered pa'triot/ are passing through your streets, to that sepu'lchralhome, where your kin'gs — your

your sa 'ges — and your po'ets, will be bo‘noured by an associa'tion with hi'smortal-remains. At that ho'ur/ when the sad sole'mnity shall take place, (in a pri'vate-way, as more suited to the simple di'gnity of his cha'racter, than the splendid gau'diness of public pageantry ;) when yoʻu, (a'll of yoʻu,) shall be se'lf-marshalled in reverential so'rrow--mute, and reflecting on your mi’ghtyloss — at that moment/ shall the disgusting contest of an election-wran'gle/ break the solem'nity of su'ch-a-scene? Is it fitting that a'ny-man/ should overlook the crisis, and risk the mo'nstrous and disgu'sting contest ? Is it fitting that I should be tha't-man ?

her'oes

can di'e!

EULOGY ON MR. SHERIDAN.*

ANONYMOUS. Mr. SHE'RIDAN IS NO MO'RE !—What a vo'lume is included in these few wor’ds, even when they are appli'ed to the hu'mblest-in'dividual! The loss of father, or so'n, of hi'm/ who was the stay and support of decli'ning-age/ or fee'ble-youth ! whose cou'nsels gu'ided, whose affe°ctions gla^ddened the little circle aroʻund-him! All this mi'nd, all this heʻart, to be mu'te and mo'tionless and duạmb for e’ver! B’ut/ when a She`ridan is withdrawn fro'm us— the maʼster-mind, the maoster-genius! talents/ which have ado'rned and dig'nified the country in which he was bor'n, and the a'ge/ in which he lived—the first statesman, the first or'ator, the first po'et, the first woit — when such a man is ta ken-from-us, what a vas't-chasm ! what an irreparable lo'ss! That so much ge'nius, that so much miond/

To Mr. She'ridan/ belonged every kind of intellectual ex'cellence—he' cultivated every species of li'terature, and he cultivated no'ne/ wh‘ich he did not ad'orn.

As a dramatic wri'ter, forty year's have elapsed since the Schoʻol-for-Scandal was brough't out,/ and yet what writer has produced an'y-comedy/ to be put in competition with it? Who has esqualled The Cr'itic?" As a Po'et, who has surpassed the Mo'nody on the dea'th of Gar'rick ? As an oʻrator (with the exception of Pitt and Bur'ke), who exce'lled him ?

He had stren’gth without coa'rseness, li'veliness without frivo'lity; he was boʻld, but de'xterous in his atta'cks -- not easily repe’lled, but whe'n-repelled, effecting his retr'eat in good or'der. Often sev'ere—much oftener wi'tty, and gʻay, and graceful — disentan'gling what was conf'used - enli'vening what was du'll — very cle'ar in his arran'gement- very compreheʼnsive in his vi'ews ;— flashing upon his he’arers/ with such a bu’rst of bri'lliancy ! when no other-speaker/ was list'ened-to, he could arrest and chain down the me'mbers/ to their se’ats--all hanging upon him with the most eager attention

[graphic]

* 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 delight; h'e never ti'red—he could ada'pt hims'elf (more than any oʻther-man,) to all min’ds, and to all capacities :-“ From gra've to gʻay, from li'vely to sever'e.” Every quality of an oʻrator/ was uni'ted-in-him--the mi'ndthe e'ye, (qui'ck, spa’rkling, pene'trating, match'less-almost/ for bri'lliancy and expr'ession) — the att'itude, the ge'sture, the voic'e. Mr. Pi'tt/ had more di'gnity, more copiousness, more gra'sp, more s'arcasm. Bu't, in rich'ness of i'magery, he was infe'rior to She'ridan, who had n'o supe'rior bu't Burke.* He was less powerful and commanding in argument/ than Mr. Fo'x, but th'is was the only advantage Mr. Fo'x/ had o'ver him. As an oʻrator, we should place him after Pi'tt and Bu'rke. A friend to the li'berty of the pr'ess, he was a'rdent, u’niform, sin'cere. He never relaxed in his effoʻrts : he was not one of thoʻse/ who would disguise their fe'ars of its po'wer/ under affec'ted-apprehensions/ of its liceụntiousness; he knew that every gre'at-institution ha's its defe'cts: he did not wish to cut down the tr'ee/ because of an excres'cence/ on one of its bra'nches.

From political li'fe/ he had been lo'ng withdra'wn. His re. tire'ment was un'willing, and he had not in it the comforts/ that should ac'company-retirement. We fear that he had not even per'sonal-security; and that gri'ef/ may have had no small share/ in withdrawing from our sph'ere so sple'ndid a lu'minary, the last of that constellation of gre’at-men, who rendered the se'nate of Gr'eat-Britain moʻre-illustrious/ than the se'nates/ either of A'thens, or of Ro'me.

CELA'S DESCRIPTION OF A COMET.

Hogy,—(The Ettrick Shepherd.)+
I can remember well
When yon was such a world as that

you А nursery

of intellect for those

left;

* Mr. Burke, who has been designated “the saviour 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 bowl, 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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