Irish mare, and accompanied by his Lordship and Mr. Wingfield. Having been out for several hours without finding any thing, they were actually on the point of returning home, when unfortunately a bare sprang up, and the chase commenced. The hare made for the inclosures on Killiney Hill. They had gone but a short distance, when the Duke, who was an excellent and forward horseman, rode at a wall, which was in fact a more dangerous obstacle than it appeared to be. The wall stands on the slope, and from the lower ground what is immediately on the other side cannot be discerned. The wall itself is perhaps no more than three feet and a half in height, and two in breadth; but on the other side there lay a range of large and ponderous stones, which had been rolled there from off the surface of the adjacent barley-field, that they might not impede the growth of the corn. It would have been safer to scramble over such a fence, than to take it in the stroke. The Duke's mare, however, attempted to cover all at one spring, and cleared the wall; but, lighting among the stones on the other side, threw herself headlong, and turning in the air, came with great violence upon her rider, who had not lost his seat; he undermost, with his back on one of the large stones, and she crushing him with all her weight on his chest, and struggling with all her power to recover her legs. Let the Reader but contemplate this situation, and he will not wonder that the accident was fatal, or that the Duke survived it only an hour and half. The mare disentangled herself, and galloped away. The Duke sprang upon his feet, and attempted to follow her, but soon found himself unable to stand, and fell into the arms of Mr. Farrel, who had run to his succour, and to whose house he was conveyed. He was laid on a mattress supported by chairs. Lord Powerscourt, in the utmost anxiety and alarm, rode full speed for medical assistance, leaving his brother Mr. Wingfield to pay every attention possible, as he most kindly did, to the Duke. Medical aid, even if it could have been applied immediately, would have been of no use. The injury was too severe to be counteracted by human skill. Life was extinct before any surgeon arrived.

It has been said, that the Duke in his dying moments made use of the expression "I am off:”—he did so; but not, as has been very erroneously supposed, by way of heroic bravado, or in a temper of unseasonable levity; but simply to signify to his attendants, who, in pulling off his boots, had drawn him too forward on the mattress, and jogged one of the chairs out of its place, that he was slipping off, and wanted their aid to help him up into his former position. He was the last person in the world to be guilty of any thing like levity upon any solemn occasion, much less in his dying moments. The fact was, when he used the expression "I am off," he had become very faint and weak, and was glad to save himself the trouble of further utterance. Those words were not the last which he pronounced, but he said nothing at all that could be thought allusive to death. One of his young friends, his most constant companion, has often said of him, that he was the most intrepid man he ever knew, and there is no doubt that he met his fate with firmness; but Mr. Wingfield, who was present and vigilant during the whole melancholy scene, never heard him say a syllable from which it could be inferred that he was conscious of his approaching end. His principal wish was to be left quiet. He died so easy, that the precise moment when he breathed his last could not be ascertained.

Such was the melancholy catastrophe that deprived the world of a most valuable member of society, in the untimely end of the fourth Duke of Dorset. Now suppose a stranger to the real character of this excellent youth to have heard no more of him than what he would be most likely to hear of one whose constitutional modesty concealed his virtues, namely, that he was very fond of cricket, that he hurt his eye with a tennisball, that he lost his life hunting, that his last words were "I am off;"would not a person possessed of this information, and no more, naturally conclude that the Duke was a young man of a triv al mind, add cted to idle games and field sports, and apt to make light of serious things? How false a notion would such a person form of the late Duke of Dorset! As to the four circumstances above alluded to, if he was fond of cricket,

all the lessons which he had to get during the eight years and a half he stayed at Harrow, there was not a single one which he got by rote, or in which he was not perfect. He

went on extremely well at school, making great proficiency in learning, endearing himself to his schoolfellows, and obtaining the highest commendation from each of the masters as he passed successively under their respective tuition, and particularly from the present distinguished head master, who has been known to say several times, that the Duke of Dorset was one of the best-grounded, if not the very best-grounded scholar in his whole school-and these encomiums were passed immediately after certain strict examinations, which are termed Trials, and the lessons for which are set five or six weeks before the day of examination. The last of these in which the Duke was concerned, was from Sophocles and Persius, two authors that would put scholarship to the test at a later period of life than sixteen. So well had he prepared himself for this examination, that no question deducible from the lessons, as to language, grammar, or history, however ingeniously framed or devised, would have puzzled him, or gone without a ready answer. And, to shew his uncommon diligence and zeal, an anecdote of him respecting the preparation for this trial may here be mentioned. The night before the examination, his tutor, thinking him quite perfect in the lessons, had gone out to supper, and when he returned home at twelve o'clock, to his great surprise, he found the Duke up and at his books, and desirous to go over the Greek once more. His tutor of course indulged him, and heard him construe the Sophocles for two whole hours at midnight, without making a fault, or missing a word, even in the hardest chorus.

In games and athletic exercises he excelled no less than in all literary competitions; but he was so regular in his habits, that he never neglected business for amusement, nor ever got himself into scrapes by being too late for school, or muster; and all the punishment he incurred during the course of eight years and a half, were some half dozen impositions, most of them set upon occasions.

where the whole class shared the same punishment. In the Rebellion which happened when he was high in school, he was rather a seceder than a rebel, and more disposed to submit to authority than to foment disturbance; and no boy ever left school more popular with his companions, or more thoroughly esteemed by the

masters.

Such was his career at Harrow. Oct. 1810, he entered at Christ Church, Oxford; and here all the good qualities which had given so fair a promise at school were more fully developing themselves, and he was persevering in the same regular habits of study, when an unfortunate accident obliged him to suspend, if not give up, his classical pursuits, and to remit his application to books. He was playing at tennis, when a ball that he was attempting to volly, glanced rapidly from the wooden part of his racket upon his right eye, and caused so much injury to that tender organ, that he was forbidden to read, and was compelled to content himself, however reluctantly, with hearing his tutor read aloud. This deplorable accident changed entirely the whole plan of his education; and it became a duty to give up his favourite study, that of the Greek language, when he could no longer use his own sight for any intense purpose, or for any length of time together. The rudiments of literature, which he had acquired in an eminent degree, were necessarily suffered henceforth to lie dormant, and he was obliged also to be very moderate in all exercises that heat or agitate the frame. The pupil of the eye was so injured by the blow, that its power of contraction was considerably impaired, and either the internal heat of the body, or a strong light, was sure to produce pain enough to be a perpetual memento of some unpleasant ailing. No wonder if a young man under such circumstances, being debarred the enjoyment of his favourite pursuits, being constantly reminded of his misfortune by liability to pain, and being obliged to be continually applying leeches, and blisters, and ointments, and other disagreeable remedies, should find his spirits somewhat depressed by so great a calamity, the full extent of which can

not

not be thoroughly understood, unless the disappointment arising from the necessity of relinquishing all idea of taking a regular degree at Oxford, operating upon such a mind as his, be taken into the consideration but, if it be allowed that his spirits were in some measure affected by the misfortune, it can never be forgotten with what wisdom and patience he submitted to every remedy that was prescribed, and with what self-denial he encountered every irksome privation that the oculists and physicians enjoined.

He passed three academical years in the University, saving the two terms which the accident to his eye compelled him to miss; and he was very diligent and industrious in picking up such information as circumstances would admit, attending lectures that did not require an intense application of sight, and never omitting to devote some portion of the day to his private tutor, who was in the habit of reading English to him, either History or Belles Lettres. He took an honorary degree, to which Mr. Gaisford, his college-tutor, now Professor of Greek in the University of Oxford, presented him. Mr. Gaisford, of whose profound erudition it would be superfluous to speak, had examined and commended the Duke for his knowledge of the Greek language when first he entered at Christ Church; and when he presented him to his degree, he took occasion pathetically to lament the misfortune which alone could have disappointed the hopes he had formed of seeing the Duke of Dorset distinguished no less for classical than for moral attainments; and he elegantly stated, that but for the unfortunate accident which happened to his sight, he might have claimed public honours, not merely upon the plea of having passed a certain number of terms in the University, or upon the score of rank, but by dint of merit displayed at the public examinations. When the Duke was about to leave College, the Dean of Christ Church lamented his departure, as the loss of an example of all that was amiable and proper to the young men of that society; and he has often said that he never had under his government a more thoroughly well-disposed and right-minded young man. Such were

the testimonies, independent of the praises and esteem of his contemporaries, that were borne to his good conduct at the University. Soon after quitting Oxford he accompanied his mother, and Lord Whitworth, his father-in-law, to Ireland, Lord Whitworth having been appointed Lord Lieutenant of that part of the United Kingdom. Being on terms of the greatest confidence, and in habits of the tenderest friendship with Lord W. he enjoyed the great advantage of studying the nature of government under his auspices; and would shortly, from his experience and instructions, have gathered a sufficient store of political information to qualify himself for the important office of Lord Lieutenant, in case his Sovereign should ever have required his services in that station.

He was in a remarkable degree possessed of good sense, discretion, and integrity, and worthy of trust beyond his years. He used to say of himself, he had no objection to have secrets committed to him, for he had no fear either of being surprised, or ensnared, into a discovery. His time when in Ireland was employed, in confidential conversations with his Excellency, in studying the French language under an excellent master, in which he took great pains, entering into all the critical niceties of Chambaud's Grammar and Dictionary in attaining an accurate knowledge of Fractions and Algebra, as far as quadratic equations; and in reading a little for himself, his eye being now so far recovered as to enable him to use it at intervals, either in reading or writing. The sight was still dim, but he could bear light and heat with much less annoyance, and the pupil had certainly become more capable of contracting itself. The injury had caused no apparent blemish.

He had resided in Ireland about a year and a half, when he met with the fatal catastrophe that put an end to his existence. On the 13th of Feb. 1815, he went to pay a visit to his friend and schoolfellow, Lord Powerscourt, meaning to stay from the Monday till the Thursday, on which day he was to return to the Castle for a drawing-room. On the 14th he went out with Lord Powerscourt's barriers, mounted on a well-trained active

Irish mare, and accompanied by his Lordship and Mr. Wingfield. Having been out for several hours without finding any thing, they were actually on the point of returning home, when unfortunately a bare sprang up, and the chase commenced. The hare made for the inclosures on Killiney Hill. They had gone but a short distance, when the Duke, who was an excellent and forward horseman, rode at a wall, which was in fact a more dangerous obstacle than it appeared to be. The wall stands on the slope, and from the lower ground what is immediately on the other side cannot be discerned. The wall itself is perhaps no more than three feet and a half in height, and two in breadth; but on the other side there lay a range of large and ponderous stones, which had been rolled there from off the surface of the adjacent barley-field, that they might not impede the growth of the corn. It would have been safer to scramble over such a fence, than to take it in the stroke. The Duke's mare, however, attempted to cover all at one spring, and cleared the wall; but, lighting among the stones on the other side, threw herself headlong, and turning in the air, came with great violence upon her rider, who had not lost his seat; he undermost, with his back on one of the large stones, and she crushing him with all her weight on his chest, and struggling with all her power to recover her legs. Let the Reader but contemplate this situation, and he will not wonder that the accident was fatal, or that the Duke survived it only an hour and half. The mare disentangled herself, and galloped away. The Duke sprang upon his feet, and attempted to follow her, but soon found himself unable to stand, and fell into the arms of Mr. Farrel, who had run to his succour, and to whose house he was conveyed. He was laid on a mattress supported by chairs. Lord Powerscourt, in the utmost anxiety and alarm, rode full speed for medical assistance, leaving his brother Mr. Wingfield to pay every attention possible, as he most kindly did, to the Duke. Medical aid, even if it could have been applied immediately, would have been of no use. The injury was too severe to be counteracted by human skill. Life was extinct before any surgeon arrived.

It has been said, that the Duke in his dying moments made use of the expression "I am off:"-he did so; but not, as has been very erroneously supposed, by way of heroic bravado, or in a temper of unseasonable levity; but simply to signify to his attendants, who, in pulling off his boots, had drawn him too forward on the mattress, and jogged one of the chairs out of its place, that he was slipping off, and wanted their aid to help him up into his former position. He was the last person in the world to be guilty of any thing like levity upon any solemn occasion, much less in his dying moments. The fact was, when he used the expression "I am off," he had become very faint and weak, and was glad to save himself the trouble of further utterance. Those words were not the last which he pronounced, but he said nothing at all that could be thought allusive to death. One of his young friends, his most constant companion, has often said of him, that he was the most intrepid man he ever knew, and there is no doubt that he met his fate with firmness; but Mr. Wingfield, who was present and vigilant during the whole melancholy scene, never heard him say a syllable from which it could be inferred that he was conscious of his approaching end. His principal wish was to be left quiet. He died so easy, that the precise moment when he breathed his last could not be ascertained.

Such was the melancholy calastrophe that deprived the world of a most valuable member of society, in the untimely end of the fourth Duke of Dorset. Now suppose a stranger to the real character of this excellent youth to have heard no more of him than what he would be most likely to hear of one whose constitutional modesty concealed his virtues, namely, that he was very fond of cricket, that he hurt his eye with a tennisball, that he lost his life hunting, that his last words were "I am off;”— would not a person possessed of this information, and no more, naturally conclude that the Duke was a young man of a triv al mind, add cted to idle games and field ports, and apt to make light of serious things? How false a notion would such a person form of the late Duke of Dorset! As to the four circumstances above alluded to, if he was fond of cricket,