He grew worse and worse, and at length acknowleged that "he was very unwell." He complained of burning thirst, and a throbbing pulse: it was, indeed, too evident that fever was gaining rapidly upon him. He went to bed as soon as his apartment was ready.

It was nearly one o'clock, and an hour after I had sent for him, before Dr. Henniker arrived. He had returned to his own home only a few minutes before, and as soon as he had perused my note, containing the alarming intelligence that Anstruther was in danger, he had driven to Great George-street with all possible speed. I related to him briefly the proximate cause of Anstruther's present illness, at which Henniker uttered an exclamation of mingled astonishment and dismay.

"Good God!" cried he, “what madness! It was virtually an attempt at suicide !"

He hurried up to his patient, and Palmer and I waited without the door in nervous expectation of his report.

After remaining about ten minutes he came out. The countenances of medical practitioners are not wont to betray their opinions, nor was Dr. Henniker's an exception; but on the present occasion his features were characterized by a more than ordinary expression of seriousness. Palmer eagerly inquired what he thought.

"He is indeed in considerable danger," answered the physician; "so much so, that I am unwilling to take upon myself alone the responsibility of so great a life. You had better have a second head."

"Certainly-whom shall we send for?"

"If you give me the choice," answered Henniker, "I should prefer consulting with Sir Richard Norris; call him in the first thing to-morrow morning. I shall remain here all night;Mr. Anstruther is already in a raging fever, and slightly delirious. Ask me no more questions," he continued, seeing Palmer about to speak, "for I must lose no time in sending my prescription."

We accompanied him to the library for this purpose, and while he was writing, there came a double knock at the streetdoor, and presently Mr. R- was announced.

The gentleman who entered the room under this designation, informed me that he was a police magistrate, and begged to know if Mr. Anstruther was at present my inmate?

I asked him what was the purpose of making that inquiry. "Information has been laid before me that Mr. Anstruther has it in contemplation to commit a breach of the peace. It has become, therefore, my duty to wait upon, and bind him over to keep the peace toward the Right Honourable George Broughton and all his Majesty's subjects."

"Pray, sir, may I inquire who or what directed you here for Mr. Anstruther ?"

"That, Sir Mattew, is nothing to the purpose:-Have the goodness to inform me whether the Right Honourable Gentleman is at present in your house?"

I could of course no longer refuse compliance; at the same time I told him that Mr. Anstruther was so much indisposed that he could not safely be spoken with. This was corroborated by Henniker, who offered to give a certificate to that effect; Palmer and I likewise professed ourselves willing to become sureties to any amount. The magistrate declared himself satisfied, accepted the certificate, drew from his pocket two bonds, to which he obtained the signatures of Palmer and myself, and having expressed his regret at Mr. Anstruther's indisposition, bowed and withdrew.

A considerate friend who had witnessed the scene in the House of Commons, had kindly caused Broughton to be arrested and detained at his own house while the magistrate was sent for to take his recognizance. Mr. R had proceeded from Downing-street to my residence.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

LET me be brief with this part of my memoirs. I delight not to witness or describe the extinction of one of the lights of the world, however glorious or dignified the circumstances attending the calamity; but when brought about by causes unworthy of such an event, the contemplation of it is especially painful. For this reason, in the present instance, I shall avoid the particularity with which I have been wont to record other incidents in these memoirs, contenting myself with such details only as cannot be omitted without abruptness or obscurity.

The following day the patient's delirium had increased to such a degree that he was unable to recognize either of us. In his ravings he frequently divulged the secret aspirations of his high ambition, and exclaimed against the treachery and jealousy by which it had been baffled. In the course of the morning Sir Richard Norris called, in pursuance of a note which I had written to him, requesting his assistance. When this eminent physician had seen the patient, he perfectly coincided in opinion with Dr. Henniker, that Anstruther's life was pronounced to depend on the hazard of the crisis.

The serious illness of my illustrious guest of course soon transpired, and several inquiries were made. But when the dangerous nature of his malady was reported, and it became an understood thing that Anstruther was DYING, innumerable were

the earnest inquiries at my door, and the porter's book was filled with names. Although bulletins were hung out three or four times a day, the tender solicitude of the illustrious sufferer's friends could not be satisfied with these notifications, but required more particular and emphatic information from myself or some other equally authentic source. I could not suppress my disgust at some of these impudent and heartless hypocrites, who, with dolorous faces and accents, expressed their hollow hopes and fears about that great man, who, within arm's-length of them, lay stretched upon the death-bed to which they had each contributed their little aid to bring him. Mr. Broughton was not the last of these generous individuals, who, forgetting past animosities, came to pay their compliments to the departing statesman. That magnanimous person no sooner learned that his rival's career was approaching its conclusion, than he called or sent twice a day to know how he was.

Anstruther's fever was not contagious, and his delirium was relieved by long intervals, during which Palmer and I had frequently conversations with him. He expressed sanguine hopes of his recovery, and anticipations of a future career of success and glory. It cut us to the soul to hear him talk thus, for we knew how extremely improbable it was that he would ever again rise from that bed. Let it not, however, be supposed, that Anstruther's reluctance to meet death arose from a base desire of prolonging animal existence. No! it proceeded from a motive proper to the greatest minds, namely, the desire of executing the schemes of their genius, and of perfecting and establishing their fame. Anstruther had, from his earliest political life, looked forward to the Premiership, as the situation which alone afforded room for the action and developement of his master-spirit; and in the contemplation of this summit of his ambition, he had designed a grand series of measures, which, if propounded, would certainly have ranked him with the most original and profound; and, if carried into effect, would, in all likelihood, have entitled him to the highest order of practical statesmen. These interesting facts he had either divulged or intimated during his delirium.

The disease of the illustrious patient now came to its crisis, and the reader may conceive the impatient suspense with which his two devoted friends awaited the report of the physicians. Their decision was speedily pronounced, and our last glimmer of hope was extinguished;—the fever had taken the fatal turn. The illustrious sufferer continued in a delirium, which was only relieved by death; in the critical moment, the mighty mind had taken its last leave of its earthly habitation. His mortal agonies terminated in a few hours.

Splendid were the obsequies of the deceased. His remains were followed to the national cemetery by hundreds of noble

and honourable friends, in the sincerity of whose feelings upon the occasion I entirely believe, doubting only the correctness of the external demonstrations, which, in their relation to the sentiments they professed to indicate, forcibly reminded me of a book with a wrong title-page.

Thus perished Vincent Anstruther, who, if I could panegyrize as well as I satirize, would furnish me as fertile a subject for praise and admiration, as other characters in these volumes have afforded me scope for reprobation and ridicule.

CHAPTER XL.

ALTHOUGH I have not mentioned him lately, my intercourse with Auriol was not suspended during the events which have monopolized so many continuous sheets of my narrative; but it is time that I should pay off the arrears which are due to the reader upon this subject; or rather, I must make a composition with him, for I find that I cannot afford space for anything more than an abridgment of the observations which I subsequently made upon this interesting individual.

Partly from the natural enthusiasm and romance of his character-partly from the exquisite delicacy of his moral organization, which rendered him intolerant of the rubs and shocks which such fine feelings must have been exposed to in general society and partly from the disgust at mankind, with which his first brief experience had inspired him, had arisen that determination to sequester himself from the world in rural seclusion, which he had adopted and persevered in beyond that period when the vagaries of youth are usually succeeded by the settled purpose of manhood. The tendency of such dispositions in such a situation to the character which I have endeavoured to illustrate and describe as belonging to Auriol, will not be questioned by any one well acquainted with human na

ture.

I have described the condition in which I found him last summer. The failure of his earliest essay had at first checked his enthusiasm, but it soon recovered its influence over his mind; and his ardour for fame, as it drew near fruition, had then arrived at a concentrated intensity, the exhibition of which was very remarkable, because, though many men have experienced the passion in an equal degree, they have usually had the art to conceal its internal workings. During my stay with him in the country, I do not recollect a single instance of the conversation taking a turn wholly unconnected with himself, his views, or feelings. Such egotism would have been disgusting in a man of the world; but in the solitary votary of

the Muse it was extremely interesting, as showing the effect of seclusion, ignorance of the world, and, of consequence, that want of opportunity of comparison, without which no adequate judgment can be formed upon any subject, in producing an extravagant sense of his own merits, and an inordinate ambition, which nothing, short of the very highest success, could satiate. He had come up to London elate with the hope of finding, in poetical renown, a compensation for all other worldly enjoyments which he had foregone, or of which he was not susceptible. With the irretrievable state of his health at this time, he was not only unacquainted, but, notwithstanding the' fortitude which he deemed it becoming to assume, was deeply shocked when I communicated to him the mournful fact. Still, however, I believe his romance would have been sufficient to reconcile him to death, had he been sure that his name would live; but, if I am not mistaken in my observations, this hope, so far from being confirmed or encouraged, had begun to retrograde soon after his arrival in the metropolis.

When he first entered the capital, wrapped up in his confidence and enthusiasm, he was impervious to doubt or apprehension, and he regarded it only as the principal stage upon which he was shortly to become the most prominent actor; but after a few days, the sensation with which the contemplation of that vast city inspired him, was the mortifying one of his own comparative insignificance. Hence the knowledge of the world gathered on him with such suddenness and rapidity, that his mind, wholly unprepared, was unable to sustain it, and sunk into despondency. He beheld the multitude of different interests which absorbed mankind, and how large a portion of every individual's time and attention was consumed by his own particular concerns. For the refuse and remnant of their consideration he must become an applicant amid innumerable candidates, of whom the highest order only could hope for success; since such had been the multiplication of superior claimants, that the public regard, unequal to the maintenance of all, had been obliged to discontinue its support to many a fair fame, which had therefore languished and dropped into oblivion. Even if he could dare to believe that his merits were of transcendant excellence, how inadequate to the cravings of his mighty passion would be the precarious pittance which would fall to his share! He had fancied that the bulk of mankind had nothing else to do but to admire genius, and brood over its works. Upon what a grievous delusion had he founded his happiness!

It must not be supposed that Auriol ever expressed himself in the above style. The language is my interpretation of his conduct and manner after he came to London. That the reader may be enabled to judge whether I was correct in the construc