jects of knowledge, and especially on the aw ful 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 particularly 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 attention were the INCULCATIONS

OF PRACTICAL WISDOM, GUIDING TO 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, in the 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 in stitutions which the deceased had patronized, 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 son.

A sermon was preached in the church the following Sunday, which characterized the deceased sage and philanthropist with such pa thos as deeply to affect all the hearers.

On hearing of the death of a man whom kindred mind taught him to prize higher than most men could rate, Mr. Fox, proposed that his remains should be deposited in the na. tional Mausoleum of Genius; but was soon in. formed that a clause in the departed sage's will had requested the forbearance of posthumous honours.

THE LAST WILL OF EDMUND BURKE.

"If my dear son and friend had survived me, any will would have been unnecessary; but since it has pleased God to call him to himself before his father, my duty calls upon me to make such a disposition of my worldly effects as seems to my best judgment most equitable and reasonable; therefore I, Edmund Burke, late of the parish of St. James, Westminster, though suffering under sore and inexpressible affliction, being of sound and disposing mind, do make my last will and testament in manner following:

First, according to the ancient, good, and laudable custom, of which my heart and understanding recognize the propriety, I bequeath my soul to God, hoping for his mercy through the only merits of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. My body I desire, if I should die in any place very convenient for its transport thither (but not otherwise) to be buried in the church, at Beaconsfield, near to the bodies of my dearest brother and my dearest son, in all humility praying that, as we have lived in perfect unity together, we may together have a part in the resurrection of the just.

"I wish my funeral to be (without any punctiliousness in that respect) the same as that of my brother, and to exceed it as little as possible in point of charge, whether on account of

my family or of any others who would go to a greater expence; and I desire, in the same 'manner and with the same qualifications, that no monument beyond a middle-sized tablet, with a small and simple inscription on the church wall, or on the flag stone, be erected. I say this, because I know the partial kindness to me of some of my friends. But I have had, in my life-time, but too much of noise and compliment.

"As to the rest, it is uncertain what I shall have after the discharge of my debts, which, when I write this, are very great. Be that as it may, my will concerning my worldly substance is short. As my entirely beloved, faithful, and affectionate wife did, during the whole time in. which I lived most happily with her, take on her the charge and management of my affairs, assisted by her son, whilst God was pleased to lend him to us, and did conduct them often in a state of much derangement and embarrassment, with a patience and prudence which probably have no example, and thereby left my mind free to prosecute my public duty or my studies, or to indulge in my relaxations, or to cultivate my friends, at my pleasure; so, on my death, I wish things to continue as substantially as they have always done. I therefore, by this my last and only will, devise, leave, and bequeath to my entirely beloved and incomparable wife, Jane Mary Burke, the whole