tuated Morland, once the companion of his youth, than to condemn, even upon the principles of rigid justice. If the bias of the mind, still keeping equity in view, runs thus parallel with our best affections and social habits, we shall not be under any. apprehensions of censure from the liberal minded, in acquitting our unfortunate friend from doing an intentional, or premeditate injury to any. How much he suffered from those, who have done him mischief enough, from both these wicked motives, in order to promote their own avaricious ends, may one day be manifested in the total dissipation of that mammon, and the eternal confusion of all those who, like them, acquire riches by such cruel means.:

When the mind is somewhat relieved from the oppression of a temporary sorrow, there is a pleasing melancholy which generally succeeds, and glides imperceptibly into the place of grief. This disposition of the mental faculty is peculiarly adapted to call forth the tenderness of friendly recollection, and to dwell upon with delight the

source,

several excellencies which distinguished our departed friends, or relatives, whilst amongst us; and impels us, to the utmost of our talents, to endeavour to transmit the memory of such endowments to the latest posterity. To this laudable we might trace the origin of these simple strains of mournful regret for the loss of friends, which distinguish those melancholy numbers peculiar to such compositions as are called the elegy, the dirge, and the epitaph. Under impressions similar to these we have attempted to describe; the epitaph which will conclude this chapter was certainly written; in a bed of pain and sorrow, the second of November, 1804, and it appeared the next morning in that paper which first announced the unfortunate termination of his mortal existence, who is the subject of it.

We come now to the most trying and difficult part of our duty; namely, that of recording the mode and manner in which our poor friend made his exit upon the stage of this variegated and transitory life.

About the 19th day of. October, 1804, as our inimitable painter was turning the corner of Gerrard Street, he was taken in execution for a paltry debt of a public house score of three pounds ten shillings, at the suit of a publican who had prevailed upon him to sign a cognovet some time before. He was immediately carried to an officer's house, at Air Place, Air Street Hill, Hatton Garden, which was upon a Friday; the next day, in attempting to make, or as his brother says, while he was finishing a drawing, he tumbled out of his chair, and never spoke intelligibly to any of those few friends that knew of his situation. This drawing is now in the possession of our much-regretted painter's mother, from whose lips the author had one part of this melancholy narrative.

Whether there were any detainers of much consequence lodged against him, we are not able to ascertain; but whatever there might be against him, to the credit of those who visited him in his last confinement, be it recorded, that each of thein

pressed him to let them discharge the debt and costs, whatever they might be. This generous offer, however, he positively rejected, and betook himself to the exertion of those talents which had hitherto never failed to procure him whatever he desired. But alas! he was arrived now at the crisis which paralized every effort; from the moment he fell out of his chair, he remained nearly insensible, and upon the 29th of October expired without a groan!!

In consequence of his dying in a Spunging House, the coroner's inquest was held pro forma, and the apothecary who attended that ceremony, charged a guinea for his trouble of holding himself in readiness for a few hours, to answer professional questions, which are never asked but in cases of violent death. From the Spunging House, the body of this great painter was removed to the house of his brother-in-law, Mr. W. Ward, Buckingham Place, Fitzroy Square, and from thence was conveyed in a hearse to the new burying ground at St. James's Chapel. Where, previous to the interment,

the usual prayers were read over him, which are so edifying upon such solemn occasions. The mortal remains of our unrivalled genius. was then committed to that universal parent, to whose bosom we must all return, without the least of these worldly distinc. tions, which the pride and vanity of erring mortals would fain establish even in the grave. Upon the latter serious and melancholy observation, our readers will not. be displeased with those beautiful lines of our immortal bard, which follow:

"Within the hollow crown,

That rounds the mortal temples of a king,

Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits,
Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene,

To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks;
Infusing him with self and vain conceit;

As if this flesh, which walls about our life,
Were brass impregnable; and humour'd thus,
Comes at the last, and with a little pin,

Bores through his castle walls, and farewell king!
Shakespeare's Rich. II. Act 3. Sc. 2.

At this awful ceremony it was the author's firm purpose so have been present; and this intention he would most certainly