ly. All this I could look upon with indifference, and contempt, in the generality of our mere visiting neighbours; but the altered behaviour, and distant reserve of one gentleman affected and hurt me extremely. It was one of the earliest and most justly esteemed friends my father had; one who, before this event, had treated me with particular attention and kindness. I was the more vexed and chagrined, because I knew and valued his excellencies; and we always prize the esteem and regard of a man in proportion to his virtue and respectability. I need not add more to convince any one of the truth of what I have asserted, when. I mention the name of Dr. Richard Pulteney of Blandford, the great naturalist, so well known to the world by his literary publications. But I must indulge myself in dwelling for a few moments on the excellencies of this gentleman. As a writer, his merits are known to the world; but in the much higher capacity of a good man, and a Christian, his deservings must be confined to the circle of his acquaintance, unless the voice of attachment, of respect, and of gratitude, be

able to blazen it abroad, as a beneficial exemplar for those who aspire after the meed of excellence. That he is a most skilful, and attentive, and humane practitioner in medicine, forty years successful practice among a numerous people, very many of whom daily and hourly breathe their most fervent ejaculations to Heaven for the welfare of him, to whose attention they owe the preservation of a father, a daughter, a mother, a son, a husband, a sister, a wife, a lover, or a friend, can amply testify; that he hath a tear for pity, and a hand open as day for melting charity,' thousands of poor, whose bodily wants and distresses his purse and his advice have relieved, will bear me joyful witness; that he is a most valuable acquaintance and firm friend, those who know him most intimately can best assert. With an understanding strengthened and enlarged by unremitting study and observation; a temper mild, gentle, and benevolent; a heart chastened, purified, and exalted by the influence of religion, he may be held up as a pattern for other mortals

to admire and to imitate. He might safely say,

"There's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience, * Deserves a corner. I care not, so much I'm happy

• Above a number, if my actions were tried

By every tongue, every eye saw them,

Envy and base opinion set against them;
I know my life so even.'

I can say no more, but

That he's learned, and may he continue

Long on this earthly globe, and do justice

For truth's sake, and his conscience; that his bones,

When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings,

• May have a tomb of orphan's tears wept on 'em.'

I must beg leave to mention, that since the above was written, and indeed since the decease of my young friend, I understand that the excellent Dr. Pulteney has paid the debt of nature. I had not the honour of being myself personally known to the doctor; wherefore it cannot be expected that I should be able to do justice to his merits, but from the account given of his virtues

by my young friend, who outstripped his venerable medical patron in the race of death but a few weeks, and whom I had fondly hoped I should have left behind to have closed my aged eyes in death, and performed the last sad offices of attachment to my remains; I had often said to myself,

"He too, perchance, for well I knew "His heart, would melt with friendly woe; "He too, perchance, when these poor limbs are laid, "Will heave one tuneful sigh and soothe my hovering shade."

I cannot but lament, as an insignificant individual of a numerous public, the general loss accruing to mankind from the departure of a person so valuable, so eminent, so distinguished. Had it pleased God to spare my young friend's life, he would have reared a monument of tears and of gratitude to the memory of this gentleman's departed excellence: but he is gone, they are both gone:

"Their tears, their little triumphs o'er,
"Their human passions now no more,
Save charity that glows beyond the tomb."

And I will still mingle my tears for the deprivation of my soul's darling, with sorrow for the loss which the world has sustained in the death of this eminent practitioner of the healing art; private and public gratitude demand this tribute from me; private gratitude to the youth, by whose liveliness, and spirited, and acute, and sensible conversation my understanding has been so often improved, my sorrows chased away, and my heart exhilarated; public gratitude to the physician, whose skill and humanity have put away the terrors of death from, and imparted the blessings of health to, thousands and ten thousands of my fellow

creatures.

"What is grandeur, what is pow'r? "Heavier toil, superior pain: "What the bright reward we gain? "The grateful memory of the good.

"Sweet is the breath of vernal show'r,

"The bees collected treasure sweet,

"Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet

"The still small voice of gratitude."

"The righteous die in the Lord, and their

works do follow them.'