course of his political career, and, to the best of my poor abilities, supported him in every one of those measures, and in the maintenance of every one of those principles, which originally recommended him to, and so long continued him in, your confidence and esteem. And to that I may fairly add, that he never for a moment was left unattended by my most fond and faithful friendship. It is true, there have been occasions upon which I have differed with him-painful recollection of the most painful moments of my political life!-Nor were there wanting those who endeavoured to represent those differences as a departure from the homage which his superior mind, though unclaimed by him, was entitled to, and the allegiance of friendship which our hearts all swore to him but never was the genuine and confiding texture of his soul more manifest than on such occasions-he knew that nothing on earth conld detach me from him-and he resented insinuations against the sincerity and integrity of a friend, which he would not have noticed, had they been pointed against himself. He scorned the suspicion that I could for one moment desert a friend whose exite from power I felt it more glorious to share, than all the honours and emoluments that government and kings are able to bestow. With such a man, to have battled in the cause of genuine liberty-with such a man, to have struggled against the inroads of oppression and corruption-with such an example before me, to have to boast that I never in my life gave one vote in parliament that was not on the side of freedom, is the congratulation that attends the retrospect of my public life. friendship was the pride and honour of my days.' never, for one moment, regretted to share with him the difficulties, the calumnies, and sometimes even the dan gers, that attended an honourable course. And now, reviewing my past political life, were the option possible that I should retread the path, I solemnly and deliberately declare, that I would prefer to pursue the same course to bear up under the same pressure-to abide by the same principles-and remain by his side, an exile from power, distinction, and emolument, rather than be at this moment a splendid example of successful servility, or prosperous apostacy-though clothed with power, onour, and titles, gorged with sinecures, and lord of

His

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hoards, obtained from the plunder of the people! If I have missed the opportunity of obtaining all the support I might perhaps have had, on the present occasion, from a very scrupulous delicacy, which I think became, and was incumbent upon me-but which, I by no means conceive to have been a fit rule for others-I cannot repent it. In so doing, I acted on the feelings upon which I am sensible that all those would have acted who loved Mr. Fox as I did. I felt within myself that while the slightest aspiration might still quiver on those lips, that were the copious channels of eloquence, wisdom, and benevolence that while one drop of life's blood might still warm that heart, which throbbed only for the good of mankind-I could not, I ought not to have acted otherwise than I did.

There is in true friendship this` advantage, that the inferior mind looks to the presiding intellect, as its guide and landmark while living, and to the engraven memory of his principles, as a rule of conduct after his death, Yet further still, unmixed with idle superstition, there may be gained a salutary lesson from contemplating what would be grateful to the mind of the departed, were he conscious of what is passing here. I do solemnly believe, that could such a consideration have entered into Mr. Fox's last moments-there is nothing his wasted spirits would so have deprecated, as a contest of the nature which I now deprecate and relinquish.—-Above all, he would be most sorely afflicted, should that concord and harmony which he was so anxious should prevail among the present administration, be disturbed by a friend of his, and that by a contest to succeed to his situation.

The hour is not far distant, when an awful knell shall tell you, that the unburied remains of your revered patriot are passing through your streets to that sepulchral home where your kings-your heroes-your sages-and your poets, will be honoured by an association with his mortal remains. At that hour, when the sad solemnity shall take place—in a private way, as more suited to the simple dignity of his character, than the splendid gaudiness of public pageantry ;-when you, all of you, will be self-marshalled in reverential sorrow-mute, and reflecting on your mighty loss-at that moment, shall the dis gusting contest of an election-wrangle break the solem

nity of such a scene? Is it fitting that any man should overlook the crisis, and risk the monstrous and disgusting contest? Is it fitting that I should be that man?

XXV. Monody to the memory of Mr. Garrick.

Ir dying excellence deserves a tear,
If fond remembrance still is cherish'd here;
Can we persist to bid your sorrows flow

For fabled suff'rers and delusive woe?.

Or with quaint smiles dismiss the plaintive strain,
Point the quick jest, indulge the comic vein,
Ere yet to buried Roscius we assign
One kind regret, one tributary line?
His fame requires we act a tend'rer part ;
His mem'ry claims the tear you gave his art!

The gen❜ral voice, the meed of mournful verse,
The splendid sorrows that adorn'd his hearse,
The throng that mourn'd as their dead fav'rite past,
The grac'd respect that claim'd him to the last;
While Shakespeare's image, from its hallow'd base,
Seem'd to prescribe the grave, and point the place,
Nor these, nor all the sad regrets that flow
From fond fidelity's domestic woe,

So much are Garrick's praise-so much his due,
As on this spot one tear bestow'd by you.

Amid the arts, which seek ingenuous fame,
Our toil attempts the most precarious claim!
To him, whose magic pencil wins the prize,
Obedient fame immortal wreaths supplies:
Whate'er of wonder Reynolds now may raise,
Raphael still boasts contemporary praise!
Each dazzling light and gaudier bloom subdu'd,
With undiminish'd awe his works are view'd:
Ev'n beauty's portrait wears a softer prime,
Touch'd by the tender hand of mellowing time

The patient sculptor owns an humbler part,
A ruder toil and more mechanic art;

Content with slow and tim'rous stroke to trace
The ling'ring line, and mould the tardy grace:
But once achiev'd, the barb'rous wrecks o'erthrow
The sacred fane, and lay its glories low,
Yet shall the sculptur'd ruin rise to-day,
Grac'd by defect and worshipp'd in decay;
Th' enduring record bears the artist's name,
Demands his honours, and assists his fame.

Superior hopes the poets' bosom fire,
O proud distinction of the sacred lyre!
Wide as aspiring Phœbus darts his ray,
Diffusive splendor gilds his vot'ry's lay

Whether the song heroic woes rehearse,
With epic grandeur, and the pomp of verse,
Or, fondly gay, with unambitious guile,
Attempt no prize but fav'ring beauty's smile;
Or bear dejected to the lonely grove
The soft despair of unprevailing love;
Whate'er the theme, through ev'ry age and clime
Congenial passions meet th' according rhyme;
The pride of glory, pity's sigh sincere,
Youth's earliest blush, and beauty's virgin tear.

Such is their meed; their honours thus secure,
Whose hearts yield objects, and whose works endure;
The actor only shrinks from time's award;
Feeble tradition is his mem'ry's guard;

By whose faint breath his merits must abide;
Unvouch'd by proof, to substance unallied!
Ev'n matchless Garrick's art, to heav'n resign'd,
No fix'd effect, no model leaves behind.

The grace of action, the adapted mien,
Faithful as nature to the varied scene;

The expressive glance, whose subtle comment draws
Entranc'd attention, and a mute applause;
Gesture that marks, with force and feeling fraught,
A sense in silence, and a will in thought;
Harmonious speech, whose pure and liquid tone
Gives verse a music, scarce confess'd its own ;

As light from gems assumes a brighter ray,
And, deck'd with orient hues, transcends the day!
Passion's wild break, and frown that awes the sense
And ev'ry charm of gentler eloquence.

All perishable!-like the electric fire,

But strike the frame, and as they strike expire;
Incense too pure a bodied flame to bear;

It's fragrance charms the sense, and blends with air.

Where then, while sunk in cold decay he lies,
And pale eclipse for ever veils those eyes!
Where is the best memorial that ensures

Our Garrick's fame?- -whose is the trust?—'tis yours.

And oh! by ev'ry charm his art essay'd,
To sooth your cares! by ev'ry grief allay'd!
By the hush'd wonder, which his accents drew,
By his last parting tear, repaid by you!

By all those thoughts, which many a distant night
Shall mark his memory with sad delight!
Still in your heart's dear record bear his name,
Cherish the keen regret that lifts his fame:
To you it is bequeath'd; assert the trust,
And to his worth-'tis all you can-be just.

What more is due from sanctifying time,
To cheerful wit, and many a favor'd rhyme,
O'er his grac'd tomb shall bloom a deathless wreath,
Whose blossom'd sweets shall deck the mask beneath,
For these, when sculpture's votive toil shall rear
The due memorial of a loss so dear!

O loveliest mourner, gentle muse! be thine
The pleasing woe to guard the laurell'd shrine.
As fancy oft by superstition led

To roam the mansions of the sainted dead,
Has view'd, by shadowy eve's unfaithful gloom,
A weeping cherub on a martyr's tomb,

So thou sweet muse, hang o'er his sculptur'd bier,
With patient woe, that loves the ling'ring tear;
With thoughts that mourn, nor yet desire relief,
With meek regret, and fond enduring grief;