the richness of the country and the spirit of its inhabitants. He anxiously wishes that other nations might so awaken to a sense of their real interests, as to combine in the most vigorous opposition to a system carried on on the avowed maxims of robbery; but his chief object was to rouse his own country. His last advice is, succumb not under difficulties: unite vigilance and courage; guard against your ambitious and insolent foe, who will, if he can, enslave you, his most detested, as most dreaded enemies, as he has done others; but he cannot enslave you, if you are stedfastly determined to defend yourselves.' His health, from the beginning of June, rapidly declined; but his body only, not his mind, was affected. His understanding operated with undiminished force and uncontracted range: his dispo

sitions retained their sweetness and amiableness. He continued regularly and strenuously to perform the duties of religion and benevolence: his concern for the happiness of his friends and the welfare of mankind

was equally vivid. His goodness even ex

tended to uneasiness on account of the fatigue and trouble of attending his sick-bed, occasioned to the inmates of his house. When his favourite domestics, confidential friends, and nearest connections, were eager to bestow the nightly attendance of nurses, he solicitously importuned them not to deprive themselves of rest. Although his body was in a state of constant and perceptible decay, yet was it without pain. The lamp of life was consuming fast, but was not violently extinguished. The week in which he died he conversed with literary and political friends, on various subjects of knowledge, and especially on the awful posture of affairs. He repeatedly requested their forgiveness, if ever he had offended them, and conjured them to make the same request in his name to those of his friends that were absent. Friday, July the 7th, he spent the morning in a recapitulation of the most important acts of his life, the circumstances in which he acted, and the motives by which he was prompted; shewed that his comprehensive mind retained the whole

series of public affairs, and discussed his own conduct in the arduous situations he had had to encounter. Dwelling particu-' larly on the French revolution, and on the separation from admired friends, which it had occasioned, he spoke with pleasure of the conscious rectitude of his intentions; and intreated that, if any unguarded asperity of his had offended them, to believe that no offence was meant. He expressed his forgiveness of all who had, either on that subject or for any other cause, endeavoured to injure him. The evening he spent in less agitating conversation, and in listening to the Essays of Addison, his favourite author. The next morning, after some time spent in devotion, and after bearing a most pathetic and impressive testimony to the excellent conduct of his wife in situations of difficulty and distress, as well as through the whole course of their relation, he fell into a slumber; and when he awoke, being very placid and composed, again desired to hear some of the elegant essays of the Christian moralist. The last subjects of his literary at

tention were the INCULCATIONS OF FRAC

TICAL WISDOM,

GUIDING

ΤΟ TEMPORAL

AND ETERNAL HAPPINESS. He frequently had, during his last illness, declared, what his intimates knew well before, his thorough belief of the Christian religion, his veneration for true Christians of all persuasions; but his own preference of the articles of the church of England. In that mode of faith he was educated, and that he preserved through life. His end was suited to the simple greatness of mind which he displayed through life, every way unaffected, without levity, without ostentation, full of natural grace and dignity. He appeared neither to wish nor to dread, but patiently and placidly to await, the appointed hour of his dissolution. He had conversed for some time, with his usual force of thought and expression, on the gloomy state of his country, for the welfare of which his heart was interested to the last beat. His young friend, Mr. Nagle, coming to his bed side, after much interesting and tender conversation, he expressed a desire to be carried to

another apartment. Mr. Nagle, with the assistance of servants, was complying with his request, when Mr. Burke, faintly uttering, 'God bless you!' fell back, and breathed his last, Saturday, July 8th, 1797, m tlie sixty-eighth year of his age.

On Saturday the 15th he was interred. His funeral was attended by the Duke of Portland, Lord Fitzwilliam, Mr. Windham, Dr. Lawrence, and many others of the nobility and gentry. The pall-bearers were :

Not the least affecting part of this solemn scene were the members of those benevolent institutions which the deceased had patro-nized, in deep, though plain mourning, performing the last duties to their revered benefactor. He was buried in Beaconsfield church, and, by his own desire, close to his