enemy: We are giving you no trouble in your schemes of dominion. If you slap us on one cheek, we are willing to turn to you the other, and you see what a belly-full of insult and indignity we are ready to stomach. You have done just as you pleased dictated to our press, overrun Switzerland, violated the treaty you signed at Luneville, and robbed the King of Sardinia of his territory. It is not our fault then that you are displeased. It is Mr.Windham : there he stands let loose your displeasure upon his head." He was not usually severe in his animadversions on individuals, and this was evidently a departure from the kind and forgiving dispositions of his nature. Sometime afterwards, a lady in his company was observing that Lord Sidmouth was a perfect gentleman, so very civil and obliging; adding, "don't you think so, Mr. Windham ?" It was an embarrassing question, but the answer he made was a severe one.→→→ "If he is to be considered as a gentleman, because he is civil and obliging, the landlord or the waiter at an inn, or your ladyship's footman, has an equal right to the title." Of Lord Hastings (then Lord Moira) he observed, that vanity prompted him to do munificent things, which afterwards brought on the necessity of stooping to mean ones. He admitted his talents, but observed that he was too intent on praise, and sate like Cato in his little senate listening to his own applause, from a tribe of mercenary dependants, that lived upon his bounty.

He was by no means a party-man. He was born for mankind. It is true he associated himself with a party, but he was an intractable member of it, for he would not be any man's instrument. He was, therefore, considered by his colleagues, who were anxious to secure the co-operation of his splendid talents, an unsafe depositary of any of those schemes of doubtful morality, to which statesmen are sometimes obliged to have recourse; for they were fearful of his "letting the cat out of the bag." On the other hand, if an unsuccessful stroke of policy was hazarded, which he himself had strongly urged and supported, he would not permit the responsibility to lie upon those who dissuaded the measure, but asserted his own individual and undivided share in it. Of this heroic feeling, the unfortunate expedition to Quiberon is a remarkable instance. He was stopped by Pitt, who thought (and justly thought) that by assuming a personal responsibility, he was betraying the secrets of the Cabinet. And whilst I was writing this, the character drawn by Clarendon of the Lord Falkland, who fell at the battle of Newbury, came across my memory, and I opened the volume (Erasmus on a similar occasion said "accidit divinitus") at the passage where the noble historian sums up the qualities of his unfortunate friend. No man could have known Windham, who will not acknowledge the closeness of the parallel. "He was so exact and strict an observer of truth and justice," says Clarendon, "that he believed those necessary condescensions and applications to the weakness of other men, and those arts and insinuations, which are necessary for discoveries and prevention of ill, would in him be a declension from his own rules of life, though he acknowledged them fit and absolutely necessary to be practised in those employments. He was in truth so precise to the practick principles

he prescribed himself (to all others he was as indulgent), as if he had lived in republicâ Platonis, non in fæce Romuli."*

It is highly honourable to Windham, that such a man as Johnson should have cultivated his acquaintance, and formed the highest estimate of his character and his talents long before he entered political life. When, in 1773, he accepted the appointment of Chief Secretary to Lord Northington, then going out Lord-Lieutenant to Ireland, he expressed to his venerable friend some of those noble-minded scruples we have adverted to, with respect to the practice of certain arts which might be found requisite in such a situation, and was answered by Johnson, who was in the best of humours (the anecdote is told by Boswell), "Don't be afraid, Sir, you will soon make a very pretty rascal." Windham's own misgiving, however, as to his want of sufficient pliability of disposition to fit him for the office, turned out not to be erroneous;-for in a few months afterwards he resigned it in disgust. It required a supple, scheming courtier, and Windham, moreover, had no taste for the convivial habits and hours of the Castle; for in the selection of an Irish Viceroy of that time, the first question asked as to his eligibility was, whether he could bear a good deal of wine, and Windham used to say "he preferred Felbrigg Park to the Phoenix Park, and was glad to get away." It was whilst he held this appointment, that he was enabled to cultivate the friendship of Lord Charlemont, the duration of which through the vicissitudes of his after life showed how sincerely he was esteemed by that amiable nobleman. It is hinted, and with some plausibility, by Hardy, Lord Charlemont's biographer, that Windham was displeased with the unjust distribution of patronage in Lord Northington, who having been sent out by the Whigs, conferred every thing in his power on the old court party;-and it is a Whig fatality, symptoms of which may be discerned even now, that when they have come into office, they have permitted their adversaries to play their cards. But Ireland lost much by losing Windham, and the place of a virtuous and uncorrupt statesman in an office of so much influence as that of Chief Secretary, was not easily supplied. A contemporary letter from Ireland relates a circumstance which is much to his honour. few days ago," says the writer," a gentleman from England waited on him, with a strong letter from Mr. Burke, requesting him to bestow on the bearer of it whatever little preferment might be in his gift." Windham assured the party, that " he would readily present a person thus powerfully recommended a much greater piece of preferment than that asked for; but that it was his fixed determination, should he remain Secretary, of which he doubted, to give every place in his power to Irishmen, as he had long been persuaded that the natives had the best right to the bread of their own land." A memorable saying, and testifying volumes to his downright unfitness for any share in the administration of that unhappy country, at all times misgoverned, but at that period blighted by the ravenous locusts, that came over in new swarms with each succeeding Lieutenant. Could high official and private honour, and a mind inflexible to corruption, have been more egregiously misplaced?

"A

We insert this story, (for which we have to thank an anonymous contributor,) in place of a sketch of greater literary merit, in the hope that any little impression it may create, will serve to swell the general desire for immediate reform in a system which most urgently and fearfully demands it.

SOME years ago, myself and a fellow-student went to Dawlish for the summer months. An accident, which I need not narrate, and which was followed by a severe attack of pleurisy, chained me a prisoner to my room for several weeks. My companion, whose name was St. Clare, was a young man of high spirits and lively temper; and though naturally kind and affectionate, escaped, as often as he could, from the restraint of a sick room. In one of his walks, he chanced to encounter a young lady, whom he fell in love with, as the phrase is, at first sight, and whose beauty he dwelt upon with a warmth of enthusiasm not a little tantalizing to one, like myself, who could not even behold it. The lady, however, quitted Dawlish very suddenly, and left my friend in ignorance of every other particular concerning her than that her name was Smith, and her residence in London. So vague a direction he, however, resolved to follow up. We returned to town sooner than we otherwise should have done, in order that the lover might commence his inquiries. My friend was worthy of the romantic name that he bore, Melville St. Clare—a name that was the delight of all his boardingschool cousins, and the jest of all his acquaintance in the schools.

He was the sole son of Thomas St. Clare, of Clare Hall, in the county ofNo. in Hanover-square, and Banker, No., Lombard-street. An eccentric man did the world account him. "Very odd," remarked the heads of houses for wholesale brides, "that the old man should insist upon his son studying medicine and surgery, when every one knows he will inherit at least ten thousand a-year."-"Nothing to do with it," was the argument of the father; "who can tell what is to happen to funded, or even landed property, in England? The empire of disease takes in the world; and in all its quarters, medical knowledge may be made the key to competency and wealth."

While quietly discussing in my own mind the various relative merits between two modes of operation for poplitical aneurism, at my lodgings in town, some three weeks after our return from the country of hills and rain, (some ungallantly add, of thick ancles also,) my studies were broken in upon by a messenger, who demanded my immediate compliance with the terms of a note he held in his hand. It ran thus

"Let me pray you to set off instantly with the bearer in my carriage to your distressed friend

"M. ST. CLARE."

On reaching the house, the blinds were down and the shutters closed; while the knocker muffled, bespoke a note of ominous preparation. "How are you?" I inquired, somewhat relieved by seeing my friend up; and though looking wan, bearing no marks of severe illness. "I hope nothing has happened?"

"Yes, the deadliest arrow in Fortune's quiver has been shot and found its mark. At three, this morning, my father's valet called me up, to say his master was in convulsions. Suspecting it to be a return of apoplexy, I despatched him off for Abercrombie,* and on reaching his room, I found my fears verified. Abercrombie arrived; he opened the temporal artery, and sense returned, when my unfortunate parent insisted on informing me what arrangements he had made in my favour respecting the property; and on my suggesting that his books might previously require to be looked over, he interrupted me by saying it was useless. You are the son of a ruined man.' I started. Yes, such have I been for the last twenty years! I have secured to you a thousand pounds, to finish your education-and that is all that calamity has left it in my power to bestow.' For some moments I was led to doubt his sanity.

* Abercrombie is the chief surgical writer on diseases of the brain.

"What, then, can be contained within those two massive chests, so carefully secured?'-Old parchment copies of my mortgages. Your fortune has only changed in aspect; before you were in existence, the author of your being was a beggar! My credit alone has supported me. I have with difficulty been able to invest in the funds for your wants the paltry sum I mentioned. May you prosper better than your father, and the brightness of your day make up for the darkness of his closing scene. God's blessing His head sank on the pillow, and falling into a comatose state he slept for four or five hours, when his transition from time to eternity was as gentle as it was unnoticed.

"For my part, I merely remain here till the last offices are performed. All his affairs will be committed to his solicitors, when the fortune and residence: which I looked forward to enjoying as my own must be left to others."

"Courage, my dear fellow," said I, "there is no space too great to allow of the sun's rays enlivening it—neither is that heart in existence which hope may not inhabit."

The funeral was over, the mansions of his father relinquished, and St. Clare himself duly forgotten by his friends. The profession, which he before looked on as optional in its pursuit, was now to become his means of existence; and in order to pursue it with greater comfort to ourselves, we took spacious rooms, which enabled us to live together, in street, Borough, in the neighbourhood of our hospital. One morning, it so happened that I had something to detain me at home, and St. Clare proceeded by himself to his studies. From the brilliant complexion and handsome countenance of a former day, his appearance had degenerated into the pale and consumptive look of one about to follow the friend for whom his "sable livery of woe was worn."

"Give me joy, Dudley! Joy, I say, for life is bright once more!" exclaimed St. Clare, returning late in the evening, while his face was beaming with glad

ness.

"I rejoice to hear it," said I. "What has happened?" I inquired.

St. Clare explained. He had met his unforgotten mistress of Dawlish; she had introduced him to her father, with whom she was walking, and whom he recognized as a Mr. Smith, an eccentric and wealthy acquaintance of his deceased. parents. Mr. Smith invited him to dinner the next day. To cut short my story, St. Clare soon received permission to pay his addresses to the lady he had so long secretly loved; and Mr. Smith, who had originally been in trade, and was at once saving and generous, promised 16,000l. to the young couple, on the condition that St. Clare should follow up his profession. The marriage was to be concluded immediately after St. Clare had passed the College of Surgeons, which he expected to do in six months.

"Dudley, I have an engagement to-day, and shall not be at home till the evening," said St. Clare, returning from the Hospital one morning; "but as we must dissect the arteries of the neck somewhat more minutely before we go up for examination, I wish you would get a subject. I am told you can have one within two days, by applying to this man," giving me the card of an exhumator in the Borough.

"Very well," I returned, setting off.

"Which will you have, Sir?" asked the trafficker in human clay, whose lineaments bespoke the total absence of every human feeling from his heart:"a lady or a jemman?"

"Whichever you can procure with least trouble," I replied. "When can you bring it to my lodgings?"

"The day after to-morrow, Sir."

"Good! What is your price?"

Why, Sir, the market's very high just now, as there's a terrible rout about those things; so I must have twelve guineas."

"Well, then, at eleven, the evening after to-morrow, I shall expect you." The night passed, no St. Clare appeared;-the next, still he came not-and eleven on the following evening found him yet absent. Surrounded with books, bones, skulls, and other requisites for surgical study, midnight surprised me, when a gentle tap at the door put my reveries to flight.

"Two men in the street, Sir, wish to see you there."

"Very well," said I" and recollecting the appointment, I descended, and found the exhumator and another.

"We called you down, Sir, to get the woman out of the way; because, you know, these things don't do to gossip about. Shall we take it up-stairs?"

Yes, and I will follow behind. Make as little noise as possible." “No, no, Sir, trust us for that—we're pretty well used to this sort of work. Jem, give the signal:" when the party addressed, stepping into the street, gave a low whistle on his fingers, and something advanced with a dull, rustling noise, which proved to be a wheelbarrow containing a sack. They had filled the gutter with straw, and over this driven the barrow. In an instant two of them seized the sack, and without making any more disturbance than if they had been simply walking up-stairs, they carried it into my apartment, and the vehicle it was brought in was rapidly wheeled off.

It is usual for students to carry on their dissections solely in the theatre to which they belong, but as there are many annoyances from the low and coarse set too often mixed up in these places, St. Clare and myself had determined to choose a lodging where we could pursue this necessary, but revolting, part of the profession in private. Within my bedroom was a dressing-closet, which, as it was well lighted, we devoted to this purpose. Having carried in their burden and laid it down, they returned to the sitting-room, through which was the only communication with the other.

"Couldn't get ye a jemman, Sir; so we brought ye a lady this time," said the man.

"Very well. I hope the subject is a recent one, because I may not be able to make use of the body for a day or two."

"As to the time she has been buried, Sir, that's none to speak of;" while a grin of dark expression gathered round his mouth; and though ignorant of its meaning it made me recoil, from the air of additional horror it flung over features already so revolting in expression. I went into the closet to take a glance at the subject, fearing they might attempt to deceive me. They had lain it on the table, and a linen cloth swathed round was the only covering. I drew aside the corner which concealed the face, and started, for never till that instant had I seen aught that came so near to my most ideal picture of female loveliness; even though the last touches had been painted by the hand of Death. As the light of the candle fell on the shrouded figure before me, it composed the very scene that Rembrandt would have loved to paint, and you, my reader, to have looked on. Her hair was loose and motionless, while its whole length, which had strayed over her neck and shoulders, nestled in a bosom white as snow, whose pure, warm tides were now at rest for ever! One thing struck me as singular-her rich, dark tresses still held within them a thin, slight comb. An oath of impatience from the men I had left in the next room drew me from my survey.

"Where did you get the subject, my men?" I inquired, as I put the money into the man's hand.

"Oh, we hadn't it from a town churchyard, Sir. It came up from the country, didn't it, Jem?"

"Yes," replied the man addressed, and both moved quickly to depart; while I returned to gaze on the beauteous object I had left, and which afforded me a pleasure, so mixed up with all that was horrid, that I sincerely hope it will never fall to my lot to have a second experience of the same feeling.

To me she was as nothing, less than nothing; and though, from long habit, I had almost brought myself to meet with indifference the objects which are found on the dissecting-table, I could not gaze on one so young, so very fair, without feeling the springs of pity dissolve within me; and tears, fast and many, fell on those lips; I refrained not from kissing, notwithstanding Mortality had set its seal upon them; as yet

"Before Decay's effacing fingers

Had swept the lines where beauty lingers."

Her eyes were closed beneath the long lashes. I lifted one lid; the orb beneath was large and blue-but "soul was wanting there." So great was the impres