responsibility, Mr. Fox was advised to go înstantly to town. An early dinner was provided, the chaise ordered, and, accompanied by Mrs. Fox, he very shortly set out for London. Mr. Porter told me that he manifested no impatience or apprehension, though the anguish he suffered must have been excessive; all the anxiety he testified was lest Mrs. Fox should be agitated and alarmed. On his way to town he composed the following verses, which display a tenderness of disposition, and an exquisiteness of feeling, rarely met with (unhappily for the world) in those statesmen who rule mankind.

"How can I at aught repine,
While my dearest Liz is mine?
Can I feel or pain or woe,
While my Lizzy loves me so?
Where's the sorrow, that thy smile
Knows not sweetly to beguile?

Sense of pain, and danger flies
From the looks of those dear eyes:
Looks of kindness, looks of love,
That lift my mortal thoughts above.
While I view that heavenly face,
While I feel that dear embrace,

While I hear that soothing voice,

Tho' maimed or crippled, life's my choice :)
Without them, all the fates can give

Has nought would make me wish to live.
No, could they foil the power of time,
And restore youth's boasted prime,
Add to boot, fame, power, and wealth,
Undisturb'd and certain health;
Without thee, 'twou'd nought avail,
The source of every joy would fail ;
But lov'd by thee, by thee caress'd,
In pain and sickness I am blest."

Though many estimable, and subsequently very elevated characters, visited at St. Anne's Hill, I never liked it so well, as when we were quite alone. There was a perfect originality of character in Mr. Fox, that made his society always new, and always preferable to that of most other men. Professional cant, and party ideas in general, give a monotony to the minds of distinguished members of society. Accustomed to view things constantly in one way, and not seeking for new ideas, but rather occupied in advancing or defending their old ones, their conversation does not create new sensations, and frequently wearies rather than delights. Mr.

Fox himself was so little obtrusive in this respect, that I recollect feeling a good deal of embarrassment at first, on observing how frequently he was inclined to silence, waiting for others to begin a conversation. I soon discovered, however, that he was pleased at its originating with another; and, so great was his benevolence, as well as unbounded his capacity, that whatever was started, in the smallest degree interesting, useful, or natural, received illustration and indulgent investigation from him. How well do I recollect the mornings when he came down to breakfast-how benignant and cheerful-how pleased with every thing -how free from worldly passions, and worldly views he was! Nor were Mrs. Fox's captivating manners conducive in a faint manner to the harmonizing of every thing around the watchful and refined attention she paid to her guests anticipated every thing they could desire, and charmed away every feeling of embarrassment, which diffidence, in the presence of so exalted a character, might be apt to occasion.

At breakfast, the newspaper was read, commonly by Mr. Fox, as well as the letters which had arrived; for such was the noble confidence of his mind, that he concealed nothing from his domestic circle, unless it were the faults, or the secrets of his friends. At such times, when the political topics of the day were naturally introduced by the paper, I never could observe the least acrimony or anger against that party which so sedulously, and indeed successfully, had laboured to exclude him from the management of affairs, by misrepresentations of his motives, rather than by refutations of his arguments.

In private conversation, I think, he was rather averse to political discussion, generally preferring subjects connected with natural history, in any of its branches; but, above all, dwelling with delight on classical and poetical subjects. It is not to be supposed, however, that, where the interests and happiness of millions millions were concerned, he preserved a cold silence. He rather abstained from hopeless and useless complaining, than

withheld his mite of compassion and sympathy for those who suffered under a pernicious system. As my acquaintance commenced with Mr. Fox towards the evening of his days, and at the period when a rebellion in Ireland was followed, by what has been fallaciously styled a Union, I had the opportunity of observing his great humanity, and his freedom from prejudice, in regard to that country. In this respect he ever seemed to me to stand alone, among English politicians, many of whom are liberal enough in their own way, but all of whom agree in a love of dominion, and in a certain degree of contempt respecting the Irish, which, one day or other, will, I fear, generate events fatal to the repose of both islands. There is no nation in Europe, perhaps, more contracted in their way of thinking, or less fit to establish a conciliating government, than the English. Had the benevolent and enlarged mind of Mr. Fox directed their councils, during the twenty years preceding his death, this narrow system would not have prevailed, but Ireland might have been really united, by the firm bonds of gratitude and