terrible dreams that he awoke unrefreshed and profoundly shaken. At times he believed his faculties to be injured, and began to entertain fears of mental derangement, whilst still discharging with anxious regularity the duties he owed to his God, his country, his family. Struggling against the agony that threatened to overwhelm him, he devoted to his children and friends the time that remained to him from his attendance in the sick chamber of his wife. With Mr. Dumont he held the most intimate and unrestrained conversations, discussing his projects for the future, and his plans for the education and establishment of his children. There is something sadly significant in the last few entries in his diary.* He was evidently unable to sit down and record the day's events with his usual calm ness : " 14th. Sailed with Mr. Fazakerley to Southampton. 16th. Consulted with Mr. Bloxam [a local medical practitioner]. 19th. [Dr.] Royet and William arrived, and Mr. Nash. Oct. 9th. Slept for the first time after many sleepless nights. 10th. Relapse of Anne." Relapse of Anne !" These are the last few but most significant words. Having written them, he laid down his pen, as if he felt that his life's record was closed. About the middle of October his sister, to whom he * Memoirs, iii. 368. was deeply attached, came to the Isle of Wight, with her daughter, at his own express desire. She was followed by his wife's two sisters; but he met them "without a tear or any visible emotion." On the night of the 29th Lady Romilly's gentle spirit passed away. The worst was made known to her husband on the following morning; he heard it with apparent resignation and in silent sorrow. But there was enough in his condition to impel his friends to remove him on the same day from the scene of his irreparable loss, and they journeyed by easy stages to London, arriving there on the 1st of November. During the journey he had frequently been much agitated, and the violence of his feelings increased as he approached the home that to him could be home no more. "On one of these occasions," says his biographer, "as he was shutting his eyes and wringing his hands, Mr. Dumont, who had accompanied him from the Isle of Wight, took the hand of his daughter, and placed it in his, upon which, opening his eyes, and casting on his friend a look expressive of gratitude and affection, he tenderly embraced his daughter." Having reached his house in Russell Square, he made repeated but ineffectual efforts to control his feelings. Throwing himself on a sofa, he joined his hands together for some moments, as if seeking the Divine mercy and assistance. He then became calm; but with a calmness that alarmed his friends more than his previous agitation; it was that of a man bleeding inly from some mortal wound. Dr. Royet, his nephew, was unremitting in his attentions, and he was joined with friendly solicitude by Drs. Marcet and Babington; but who can minister to a mind diseased? The spring of his mind snapped beneath the presence of a protracted agony; his heart broke and in a moment of frenzy, he put an end to his existence. At the time of his death, Sir Samuel Romilly was sixty-one years of age; and he had attained the highest position, both in the Courts of Law and in Parliament, which character and intellect without office could confer. No man was more generally admired, respected, and beloved. His triumphant return for Westminster, without having solicited a single vote or spent a shilling, or even made an appearance on the hustings, was a signal testimony to his popularity, and also, it may be added, to the purity of conduct and the rectitude of purpose by which he had acquired it. Miss Martineau has justly observed that "the charm of his beautiful nature won its way even where wide difference of political principles and sentiment might have been expected to create a strong hostility. No two men could be more unlike than he and Lord Eldon, yet it is known that the latter was deeply affected by Sir Samuel's death. As he took his seat next morning in the Court where Romilly had practised for so many years, he was struck by the sight of the vacant place. His eyes filled with tears. "I cannot stay here," he exclaimed, and, rising in great agitation, sat no more that day. According to his biographer, Sir Samuel, in person, was tall and well-proportioned, with a regular and pleasing countenance, which was "sicklied o'er," however, "with the pale cast of thought," and readily reflected the strongest or tenderest emotions. His manners were perfect in their graceful simplicity, unaffected modesty, and kind and courteous consideration for the wishes and feelings of others. His habits were strictly temperate and studious, and he was never so happy as when engaged in domestic intercourse and family pleasures. He rose regularly at six o'clock, and during the greater part of the day, and frequently to a late hour at night, applied himself to the conscientious discharge of his professional and Parliamentary duties or to his literary studies. For he was much more than a lawyer; he was a cultivated man of letters. On this point, Lord Campbell quotes the evidence of a bishop, who said to him: "I remember travelling, many years ago, with Sir Samuel Romilly, one stage in his carriage, which was filled with the best books of the general literature of the day. To a remark from me that I rejoiced to see that he found time for such reading, he answered, As soon as I found that I was to be a busy lawyer for life, I strenuously resolved to keep up my habit of non-professional reading, for I had witnessed so much misery in the last years of many great lawyers whom I had known, from their loss of all taste for books, that I regarded their fate as my warning.' His household was liberally but not extravagantly maintained. He had a willing hand and a generous heart, and to a true tale of distress or sorrow never closed his ears. It was with a noble enthusiasm that he stood forward in defence of the oppressed, the destitute, the friendless, and exerted on their behalf all his professional knowledge and intellectual vigour. Every movement in favour of freedom and progress, every humane and philanthropic measure, found in him an earnest supporter. Nor was his disinterestedness less marked than his philanthropy; he never thought of himself or his reward, and was absolutely indifferent to the possession of place and power, unless they promised to be the means towards the attainment of some object designed for the benefit of others. His religion was simple, sincere, and practi cal; a religion of everyday life, which showed itself in deeds rather than in words-in devout gratitude to God and charity to all mankind. The mainspring of his conduct is very clearly shown in the following passage from one of his speeches: * "It was not from light motives, it was from no fanciful notions of benevolence, that I have ventured to suggest any alteration in the criminal law of England. It has originated in many years' reflection, and in the long-established belief that a mitigation of the severe penalties of our law will be one of the most effectual modes to preserve and advance the humanity and justice for which this country is so universally distinguished. Since the last session of Parliament, I have repeatedly reconsidered the subject. I am more and more firmly convinced of the strength of the foundation upon which I stand; and even if I had doubted my own conclusions, I cannot forget the ability with which I was supported within these walls; nor can I be insensible to the humane and enlightened philosophy by which, in contemplative life, this advancement of kindness has been recommended. I cannot, therefore, hastily abandon a duty which, from my success in life, I owe to my profession; which, as a member of this house, I owe to you and to my country; and which, as a man blessed with more than common prosperity, I owe to the misguided and unfortunate. "Actuated by these motives," he continued, "it is not to be imagined that I shall be easily discouraged by any of the various obstacles so commonly, and perhaps with propriety, opposed to every attempt to alter an established law; upon such a resistance I calculated, but [by it] am not to be deterred. I knew that my motives must occasionally be misunderstood by many, and might possibly be misrepresented by others. I was not blind to the road where prudence pointed to preferment; but I am not to be misled from comforts which no external honours "Speeches of Sir S. Romilly," i. 317-319. Ꮓ |