would have sought some other opportunity of expressing those sentiments of gratitude and affection which must ever be due from me to the memory of the excellent person whose loss gives occasion to the sort of motion of course which I am about to make to the house. It is because I consider the death of the Duke of Bedford as a great public calamity; because the public itself seems so to consider it; because not in this town only, but in every part of the kingdom, the impression made by it seems to be the strongest and most universal that ever appeared upon the loss of a subject: it is for these reasons that I presume to hope for the indulgence of the house, if I deviate, in some degree, from the common course; and introduce my motion in a manner which I must confess to be unusual on similar occasions. At the same time I trust, sir, that I shall not be suspected of any intention to abuse the indulgence which I ask, by dwelling with the fondness of friendship upon the various excellencies of the character to which I have alluded, much less by entering into a history of the several events of his life, which might serve to illustrate it. There was something in that character so peculiar and striking, and the just admiration which his virtues commanded was such, that to expatiate upon them in any detail is as unnecessary as upon this occasion it would be improper. That he has been much lamented, and generally, cannot be wondered at, for surely there never was a more just occasion of public sorrow. To lose such a man!-at such a time!-so unexpectedly! The particular stage of his life, too,

in which we lost him, must add to every feeling of regret, and make the disappointment more severe and poignant to all thinking minds. Had he fallen at an earlier period, the public, to whom he could then (comparatively speaking at least) be but little known, would rather have compassionated and condoled with the feelings of his friends and relations, than have been themselves very severely afflicted by the loss. It would have been suggested, and even we who were the most partial must have admitted, that the expectations raised by the dawn are not always realized in the meridian of life. If the fatal event had been postponed, the calamity might have been alleviated by the consideration that mankind could not have looked forward for any length of time to the exercise of his virtues and talents. But he was snatched away at a moment when society might have been expected to be long benefited by his benevolence, his energy, and his wisdom; when he had obtained a full certainty that the progress of his life would be more than answerable to the brightest hopes conceived from its outset, and when it might have been reasonably hoped, that after having accomplished all the good of which it was capable, he would have descended, not immaturely, into the tomb. He had, on the one hand, lived long enough to have his character fully confirmed and established, while, on the other, what remained of life seemed, according to all human expectations, to afford ample space and scope for the exercise of the virtues of which his character was com

posed. The tree was old enough to enable us to ascertain the quality of the fruit which it would bear, and, at the same time, young enough to promise many years of produce. The high rank and splendid fortune of the great man of whom I am speaking, though not circumstances which in themselves either can or ought to conciliate the regard and esteem of rational minds, are yet in so far considerable, as an elevated situation, by making him who is placed in it more powerful and conspicuous, causes his virtues or vices to be more useful or injurious to society. In this case, the rank and wealth of the person are to be attended to in another and a very different point of view. To appreciate his merits justly, we must consider not only the advantages but the disadvantages connected with such circumstances. The dangers attending prosperity in general, and high situations in particular; the corrupting influence of flattery, to which men in such situations are more peculiarly exposed, have been the theme of moralists in all ages and in all nations; but how are these dangers increased with respect to him who succeeds in his childhood to the first rank and fortune in a kingdom such as this, and who, having lost his parents, is never approached by any being who is not represented to him as in some degree his inferior? Unless blessed with a heart uncommonly susceptible and disposed to virtue, how should he, who has scarcely ever seen an equal, have a common feeling and a just sympathy for the rest of mankind, who seemed to have been formed rather for him, and as instru

ments of his gratification, than together with him for the general purposes of nature. Justly has the Roman satirist remarked :

Rarus enim fermè sensus communis in illâ
Fortunâ.

This was precisely the case of the Duke of Bedford; nor do I know that his education was perfectly exempt from the defects usually belonging to such situations: but virtue found her own way, and on the very side where the danger was the greatest was her triumph most complete. From the blame of selfishness no man was ever so eminently free. No man put his own gratification so low, that of others so high, in his estimation. To contribute to the welfare of his fellow citizens was the constant, unremitted pursuit of his life, by his example and his beneficence to render them better, wiser, and happier. He truly loved the public, but not only the public, according to the usual acceptation of the word; not merely the body corporate (if I may so express myself) which bears that name, but man in his individual capacity; all who came within his notice and deserved his protection were objects of his general concern. From his station the

To

sphere of his acquaintance was larger than that of most other men; yet in this extended circle few, very few, could be counted to whom he had not found some occasion to be serviceable. be useful, whether to the public at large, whether to his relations and nearer friends, or even to any individual of his species, was the ruling passion of his life.

He died, it is true, in a state of celibacy; but if they may be called a man's children whose concerns are dear to him as his own-to protect whom from evil is the daily object of his care, to promote whose welfare he exerts every faculty of which he is possessed; if such, I say, are to be esteemed our children, no man had ever a more numerous family than the Duke of Bedford.

Private friendships are not, I own, a fit topic for this house, or any public assembly; but it is difficult for any one who had the honour and happiness to be his friend not to advert (when speaking of such a man) to his conduct and behaviour in that interesting character. In his friendship not only was he disinterested and sincere, but in him were to be united all the characteristic excellencies which have ever distinguished the men most renowned for that most amiable of all virtues. Some are warm, but volatile and inconstant; he was warm too, but steady and unchangeable. Never once was he known to violate any of the duties of that sacred relation. Where his attachment was placed, there it remained, or, rather, there it grew; for it may be more truly said of this man than of any other that ever existed, that if he loved you at the beginning of the year, and you did nothing to forfeit his esteem, he would love you still more at the end of it. Such was the uniformly progressive state of his affections, no less than of his virtues and his wisdom.

It has happened to many, and he was certainly one of the number, to grow wiser as they advanced in years. Some have even improved in virtue,