serves to be immortal. Alluding to the professors of the French revolutionary system, Burke exclaims, "Such are their ideas, such their religion, and such their law. But as to our country and our race, as long as the well-compacted structure of our Church and State, the sanctuary, the holy of holies of that ancient law, defended by reverence, defended by power, a fortress at once and a temple, shall stand inviolate on the brow of the British Sion; as long as the British monarchy, not more limited than fenced by the orders of the state, shall, like the proud Keep of Windsor, rising in the majesty of proportion, and girt with the double belt of its kindred and coeval towers, -as long as this awful structure shall oversee and guard the subjected land, so long the mounds and dykes of the low, flat Bedford Level will have nothing to fear from all the pickaxes of all the levellers of France. As long as our sovereign lord the King, and his faithful subjects, the Lords. and Commons of this realm-the triple cord which no man can break; the solemn, sworn, constitutional frank-pledge of this nation; the firm guarantees of each other's being and each other's rights; the joint and several securities, each in its place and order, for every kind and every quality, of property and of dignity;-as long as these endure, so long the Duke of Bedford is safe; and we are all safe together-the high from blights of envy and the spoliations of rapacity; the low from the iron hand of oppression and the insolent spurn of contempt. Amen! and so be it: and so it will be,

Dum domus Æneæ Capitoli immobile saxum
Accolet, imperiumque pater Romanus habebit."

Among Burke's ultimate publications were his "Letters on a Regicide Peace," already referred to in the previous chapter: his very last was another "Letter on the Affairs of Ireland," written in 1797, shortly before his death. He had been for a long time in earnest correspondence or personal communication, on the state of his native country, with many eminent Irish politicians of the time, among whom were the Right Rev. Dr. Hussey, the Right

Rev. Dr. Coppinger, Catholic prelates; John Keogh, of Mount Jerome; and Henry Grattan. Burke's letters to Dr. Hussey, to be found in the Fitzwilliam and Bourke collection, are very valuable essays on the then condition and conduct of the Irish. Edmund Burke was the first who, when others hardly gave the subject a thought, boldly and loudly addressed the Parliament of England on the misrule and misery in Ireland, calling upon the Commons to redress the grievances, and to relieve the suffering people there. His exertions in this cause never relaxed. Ireland he brought forward at every opportunity; and, in his expiring thoughts and language, Ireland was present with him to the last.

Burke, after his son's death, spent his time almost entirely in the country. In writing his splendid pamphlets, in political conversation, in the soothing company of his wife and friends, in the pleasing prospect of being able to satisfy every just demand, and to leave a competent provision for the faithful and fondly loved partner of his cares, in the exercise of active benevolence, and in the consciousness of having done his duty, he received all the consolation for the irreparable loss he had sustained of which he was susceptible. While he had employed every effort which a philanthropic heart could prompt, and the wisest head could direct, for stimulating civilised governments to combat irreligion and anarchy, he in a narrower sphere relieved, to the utmost of his power, those who had suffered exile and proscription from the direful system abroad. His heart, his house, his purse, were open to the distressed emigrants. Through his beneficent contribution and influence, a school was established in his neighbourhood, at Penn, for the education of those foreign children to whom the parents, impoverished or destitute from adherence to loyal principles, were unable to afford necessary tuition. This school was formed on a plan suggested by Burke himself, and was opened in April 1796. "Burke," says a note to the correspondence published by Lord Fitzwilliam and Sir R. Bourke, "paid the greatest attention to the school during the remainder of his life; visiting it

daily, when his health permitted, the distance from Beaconsfield to Penn being about three miles; giving advice and assistance to both masters and scholars, and supplying their table with various articles from his farm and garden, and the institution with other useful matters which the strict economy of the foundation denied from its own funds." The school continued to flourish, and to answer the wise and humane purposes of its institution, until a change in French affairs rendered the establishment no longer requisite. While thus promoting the advantage of alien sufferers, Burke did not relax in his attention to the humble and industrious of his own countrymen. He continued to encourage and superintend benefit-clubs among the labourers and mechanics of Beaconsfield, and was himself a subscriber, for their advantage. His object was to encourage industry, to cherish affection, and to establish a fund of provision for the sick and aged. This institution also flourished long after its founder was no more.

At this sad period of his decline, Burke would often seek relaxation in amusing himself with children. "I saw him," said an eye-witness," while he was under infirmity, not far from death ; and yet he displayed, with the child of a friend, the most pleasing playfulness."

A very interesting anecdote, indicative of the all-absorbing grief and sensibility of Burke's mind at this time, has been often told. It is one of exquisite pathos:

An old horse, the favourite and companion of Richard Burke in former years, when both man and steed were healthy and strong, was permitted, in regard to its age and in honour of its deceased master, to range unmolested and unemployed in the grounds at Butler's Court. One day, while walking alone and sorrowful, Edmund Burke observed the poor worn-out horse approach close to him, and stand to gaze, as it were, on his face and person; and then, after a moment's pause, with seeming knowledge and remembrance, it placed its head upon his bosom. The strangeness of the act affected Burke deeply. The faithful creature's

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attachment, its apparent sympathy, and, more than all, the memory the incident awakened of its dead master--the ever-dearly cherished son- crowded in the heart of the sorrow-stricken father,

and his firmness was gone. Throwing his arms round the horse's neck, he wept and sobbed convulsively.

Burke's bodily health still giving way, he, early in 1797, went to Bath to try the benefit of the waters. The spring of that year brought much general gloom with it. It was the most disastrous period of the war. Great Britain had to contend singly against France; the Bank of England stopped payment; a disgraceful mutiny broke out at Spithead. Meanwhile, Napoleon was continuing the glorious course of his first Italian campaign, and apparently annihilating the power of Austria. Even the victory of Cape St. Vincent did little to cheer the drooping spirits of the public. In this extremity government would frequently seek counsel from Edmund Burke. One of these conferences is thus referred to in the recent able biography of Wilberforce: "During the awful crisis of the mutiny, he (Wilberforce) saw the last gleams of (take him for all in all) the greatest luminary of the eighteenth century." Wilberforce in the diary says:

Monday, April 17.-Heard of Portsmouth mutiny; consultation with Burke. The whole scene is now before me. Burke was lying on a sofa much emaciated, and Windham, Laurence, and some other friends were around him. The attention shown to Burke by all that party was just like the treatment of Ahithopel of old: it was as if one went to inquire of the oracle of the Lord."

The oracle they sought spoke plainly, without doubt or hesitation. "Never," said Burke to those about him," never succumb to these difficulties. It is a struggle for your existence as a nation; and if you must die, die with the sword in your hand. But I have no fears whatever for the result. There is a salient, living principle of energy in the public mind of England, which only requires proper direction to enable her to withstand this or

any other impending danger. Persevere, therefore, till this ty ranny be overpast. This ambitious and insolent foe 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 steadfastly determined to defend yourselves."

Among those who now crowded with anxious affection around

the couch of the dying statesman, one, whose kindred spirit was as noble and as patriotic as his own, watched Burke with all the attention, care, and reverence of a son. This was the then Secretary-at-War, William Windham, who, more than any man, was keenly alive to the loss England was about to sustain, at such a moment, in Burke's death. Mr. Windham was constantly with