And yet it was in this state of seemingly utter exhaustion of mind and body, that he wrote one of the most powerful and masterly productions of his pen; the "Thoughts on a Regicide Peace,"—a work which produced an immediate and decisive effect upon the public mind, and astonished both friends and opponents. Among the numerous replies which it drew forth, one published in the Monthly Review by Sir James Mackintosh, affords a most eloquent and worthy tribute of praise, which cannot with propriety be omitted. "Such is an outline of this publication, of which if it be considered merely as a work of literature, it might be sufficient to say, that it is scarcely surpassed in excellence by any of the happiest productions of the best days of its author. The same vast reach and comprehension of view-the same unbounded variety of allusion, illustration and ornament, drawn from every province of nature and of science-the same unrivalled mastery over language the same versatility of imagination, which at will transforms itself from sublime and terrific genius into gay and playful fancythe same happy power of relieving the harshness of political dispute by beautiful effusions of sentiment, and of dignifying composition by grave and lofty maxims of moral and civil wisdom—the same inexhaustible ingenuity of presenting even common ideas under new and fascinating shapes-the same unlimited sway over the human passions, which fills us at his pleasure with indignation, with horror or with pity; and which equally commands our laughter or our tears; in a word, the same wit, humour, pathos, invention, force, dignity, copiousness and magnificence, are conspicuous in this production which will immortalize the other writings of Mr Burke. There is nothing ordinary in his view of a subject. He is, perhaps, of all writers the one of whom it may be said with the most strict truth, that no idea appears backneyed in his hands; no topic seems commonplace when he treats it. When the subject must (from the very narrowness of human conception which bounds even the very genius of Mr Burke,) be borrowed, the turn of thought, and the manner of presenting it, are his own. The attitude and drapery are peculiar to the master."

To the

This work has attached to it the melancholy interest of having been his last; interrupted by the hand of death. It is a sufficient indication of a fact, which is confirmed by numerous interesting anecdotes, that his intellect burnt bright and clear to the last. very latest moment his breast was glowing with the noblest, as well as the most endearing sentiments of humanity; communicating a delight, sadly tempered with sorrow, to all who approached him. And none approached without being instructed, softened, and impressed. He was engaged in the printing of his third letter, when he was interrupted by the summons from a life of labour; realizing the presentiment under which he seems to have begun; "What I say I must say at once. Whatever I write is in its nature testamentary; it may have the weakness, but it has the sincerity of a dying declaration." Such it turned out to be. In this last bequest of wisdom, he emphatically pronounced an opinion yet at the time unanticipated, that the war would be of long duration. "I speak emphatically, and I desire that it should be marked, in a long war." Of this he indeed offers no vague proofs drawn from political theory, but at some length states

the grounds of his opinion, derived from a careful and comprehensive study of the history of Europe; from the precedent of former wars with a sagacious analysis and comparison of their causes. Such was the real source of that wonderful forecast, which seemed to hold up the remote succession of the future to his glance.

During the interval in which these letters were composed, Mr Burke's health was rapidly sinking. But though it is from many incidental circumstances rendered apparent that he was aware of the probable result, he manifested no weak attachment to life and no unmanly fear. Resting with the fullest confidence in the hopes of the gospel-which was his daily study and consolation-he dismissed all unworthy apprehensions of the approaching change, and stood firm and unflinching to the last day of his life, in the strenuous discharge of the great duty for which Providence had endowed him with its abundant and overflowing gifts. Among his domestic circle he was the same kind, indulgent, and affectionate friend as ever; forgetful of himself and his infirmities, when he could administer to the wants, or contribute to the happiness of others. Happily for himself and the affectionate friends who attended his last illness, these bright and beautiful indications of the christian spirit in a mind of the highest order, were unimpaired by bodily pain; his chief uneasiness arose from his reluctance to give trouble even to his servants, so thoroughly was he free from selfishness, and consistent in benevolence to the last. His servants who were devotedly attached to their master— friends, by whom deathbed scenes are not often sought-vied with each other for the post of trouble and anxiety, and pressed their service as his nightly attendants.

On Friday, July 7th, being conscious of his approaching end, he set himself to review the conduct of his past life, of which during the early part of the day, he entered upon an outline stating his principal public acts, with their motives and attendant circumstances; vindicated his intentions, and regretted the pain he might have on some occasions given by any unguarded petulance of manner or severity of rebuke-leaving it as an earnest assurance that he never designed to give offence. After this he gave his mind to the consolations of religion. He strongly and frequently repeated his full reliance on the sacrifice and advocacy of the Redeemer. Among other statements on the subject, he expressed his veneration for all sincere and zealous followers of Christ, to whatever church or sect they might belong, but that he himself considered the Articles of the Church of England to be the purest, and most in accordance with the standard of Scripture. The following morning was given to those devotional exercises suited to the awful and solemn change which was at hand; after which he conversed with composure and the most serene and unaffected cheerfulness with a young friend. Feeling weariness, he expressed a desire to be carried into another room. As Mr Nagle, with some of his servants, were bearing him in their arms, he faintly exclaimed “ God bless you," and his high and noble spirit was released from its worn-out frame, on Saturday, July 8th, 1797.

On the 15th, his remains were interred in Beaconsfield church, near those of his beloved son. Mr Fox had in the interval proposed

a public funeral in Westminster Abbey. The Abbey never indeed had been, or will be honoured with a nobler memory, or the records of England with a more venerable name, to the last syllable of recorded time.

But the deep affections of his life decided and consecrated the tomb of this truly illustrious man, of whom the following extract from his will is no unworthy memorial. "First, according to ancient, good, and laudable custom, of which my heart and understanding recognise the propriety, I bequeath my soul to God, hoping for his mercy through the only merits of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. My body I desire, if I should die in any place very convenient for its transport thither (but not otherwise,) to be buried in the church at Beaconsfield, near to the bodies of my dearest brother, and my dearest son, in all humility praying that, as we have lived in perfect unity together, we may together have a part in the resurrection of the just."

He further desired in the same solemn and affecting strain of language to have no needless expense or pomp.

His funeral was nevertheless attended by the great, the powerful, and the good. One so justly respected by all, and venerated by the best, could not be allowed to disappear like a passing cloud from the scene. The pall was borne by the lord chancellor; dukes of Devonshire and Portland; earl Fitzwilliam; the Speaker of the house of commons; earl of Inchiquin; right hon. Mr Windham, and Sir Gilbert Elliot; his remains were followed by a numerous train of the noblest of every party; and by the members of the several charitable institutions, which had been mainly upheld through his care and liberality. The principal of these was the emigrant school at Pen. Instituted by his desire, and mainly superintended by himself, he recommended it in his will to the protection of the government.

The anecdotes which remain of Mr Burke would of themselves fill an interesting volume; for no man of his day was so much the object of curious interest among persons of talent and learning. But this abundance has itself been the reason for their general omission in this memoir. Having been compelled, from a consideration of that main part of our duty which consists in justice to the fame of public men, to devote our care to a few main questions, on which the record of Edmund Burke must stand in history, we trust that no apology can be thought needful for omitting much that must have at least extended this memoir to double its present length. Should any reader judge that even so far we have too much exceeded bounds, we shall only say that it is the last trespass of the same kind we shall commit.

In

person, Mr Burke was about five feet ten-his figure was athletic and symmetrical; he was in his younger days fond of exercise and expert at the sledge, stone, leaping, and other such trials of strength and agility. Many speak of his appearance as graceful and dignified; and some of his female describers, who must be allowed the best judges, describe his countenance as handsome, noble, and prepossessing.

Henry Grattan.

BORN A.D. 1746-DIED A.D. 1820.

THE name of Grattan begins early to occur in the annals of Irish biography. It will be remembered by those who are familiar with the personal history of Swift. Patrick Grattan was a senior fellow in the Dublin University. He left several children; one of whom, Henry, the eldest, succeeded to the family property. He had a son, James, who married a Miss Marley, daughter to chief-justice Marley. This person was recorder of the city of Dublin for many years, and had the reputation of being a good lawyer and an honest man. From these parents was born Henry, the truly illustrious subject of the present memoir.

Henry Grattan was born on the 3d July, 1746. He was early sent to school at Mr Ball's in Great Ship street. At the same school was also educated Mr Fitzgibbon, afterwards lord chancellor of Ireland. How long he continued at this school we have no authority to say; but he was removed from it to a school in Abbey street in consequence of a most brutal and unwarrantable insult from the master. At this new school his conduct was such as to win the general respect of his schoolfellows.

In 1763, when he had attained his seventeenth year, he was attacked by a severe illness, which harassed him for a long time. In the same year he entered the university of Dublin. Here he obtained the highest honours of the collegiate course. He also, during the same interval, contracted intimacies with several eminent men, who were then his fellow-students. Among these were some with whom his subsequent intercourse was that of the most close and attached friendship—a sentiment deeply infused in his nature. The most agreeable and authentic materials for the description of his early life, and the formation of his character, are to be found in his epistolary correspondence with these friends. Much of this correspondence is happily extant, and will be found to occupy a considerable portion of the ample and detailed history of his life by his son, of which four volumes are in the hands of the public.

From these letters, we are enabled to trace with singular distinctness the primary constitution and the progress of Mr Grattan's character, both moral and intellectual. They indicate a mind, of which the earlier features seem rather to belong to literary retreat than to public life. Deep sensibility both to the ties of the heart and the attractions of external nature seems to govern his conduct; retiring, fastidious, refined, and imaginative, he offers all the moral traits from which a devoted worship of some favourite muse might have been anticipated. But the choice of a profession then eminently connected with public life, and an evidently eager taste for the discussion of public questions, his constant attendance upon, and sometimes admirable reports of, the debates of the English house of commons, marked more truly the direction of his future course.

A morbid tone had perhaps been imparted to his feelings by the circumstances in which it was his misfortune to be early placed.

Mr Grattan's life was early clouded by unhappiness arising from the unkindness of his father. This gentleman's discontent with his son seems attributable to a difference of political opinion. The tendencies of their politics were in fact diametrically opposite, and this at that period, and especially in Ireland, was a species of dissent hardly consistent with goodwill. To what extent the demonstrations of such a fatal interruption to the harmony which ought to subsist in so near a relation were carried, we have no means of judging. The father was a hard and austere man, and perhaps rendered habitually acrimonious by the long influence of place and political intercourse. By nature keenly alive to impressions of sentiment, and overflowing with those impassioned instincts, yearnings, and affections, which always belong to men of his high wrought mould of genius and enthusiasm, and to a temperament eminently poetic, the son felt deeply the alienation of his father's affections. He loved his father's person, and respected his talents, and had not yet learned the lesson of Irish party, to look at men through the sole medium of political opinion.

Having completed his academic terms, Mr Grattan next turned his mind to the choice of a profession. The consciousness of talent of a high order-the ambition of a young and ardent mind-the strong political aspirations already beginning to possess his faculties, and, perhaps, above all, the taste essentially rhetorical-all must have combined to point the way to the bar, then the high road to political and even social importance in Ireland. Accordingly, his letters indicate such a determination in 1767.

We ascertain, from his early letters to Mr Broome, that his father must have died in the summer of 1766, when Grattan was in his twentieth year. In a letter, dated June in this year, and written from Bellcamp, which we presume to be the paternal mansion, he writes as follows::"The death of my father I suppose you have heard of. In the greatest agony of body, in the greatest distraction of mind, unexpectedly and impatiently, he expired. I am determined, on the first occasion, to retire with you to some country lodging," &c. Further on, he proceeds, "I write this letter from Bellcamp, where I have been these three days without any of the family, and where I intend to continue some days longer in the same solitude. I employ myself writing, reading, and courting the muse, and taking leave of that place where I am a guest, not an owner, and of which I shall now cease to be a spectator. I tell myself, by way of consolation, that happiness is not the gift of any one spot, however ancient and native ―est ulubris, animus si te non deficit æquus;' and that wherever I go the muse and your friendship shall accompany me. Perhaps the time may come when fortune 'patre valentior,' may smile upon me, and shall enable my old age to resign my breath where first I received it. Farewell!-'tis too late to continue this epistle; I am invited to the wood by the wood-quest, the thrush, and every circumstance that attends the evening. I shall walk there for an hour, borrow aid from imagination, and return preferring the solitude of my situation to the sport, the bustle, or even the opulence of that of my acquaintYours ever, H. GRATTAN."

ance.

It appears from one of his letters, dated 1767, that at this period