Dr. Robertson sat down to write his last, possibly his most philanthropic, certainly his most beautiful work, in behalf of several millions of the mild and harmless inhabitants of the East, subject to our dominion, and, as he conceived, not sufficiently regarded. Influenced by the purést morality, he has brought before the eye, not merely of Europe, but of the world, the monuments of India's ancient grandeur; accounts of her early civilization; her progress in the arts, and the warlike resistance made by that amiable people to the invasion of Alexander. All this, with the exalted view of inspiring a generous respect for realms never visited by him. This noble purpose he proposed to effect, by shewing that their character deserved the best feelings of humanity, and a more considerate treatment than they have hitherto experienced. Had they possessed no history, his mighty pen could have had no employment; he could not have left them

the legacy he has bequeathed. Unlike to Alexander, he has left his ring-not to a Perdiccas, but to humanity.

What records have we of those who flourished for the last fifty years, the most memorable period of our history? Where then, in what archives, are deposited the monuments of our illustrious dead? Where, but in Lodge's Peerage, are to be found any traces of Anthony Malone, of Lord Perry, or of our late Demosthenes, Lord Avonmore? Where are their works, their words, and actions, preserved? In the fugitive pieces of the day, or in the perishable and perishing journal of a blue paper report: they are nearly gone. A Flood, with all his Pindaric fire; a Burgh, whose tongue was persuasion; and the long roll of great names, are nearly now no more. Omnes hi ignotis periere mortibus.

Have Mr. Grattan, Mr. Plunket, Mr. Saurin, Mr. Bushe, no concern in their im

mortality? Is there one eminent man in Scotland, whose history is not blazoned forth, from a Hume to a Burns? What a rich harvest have they not reaped from the toil of that affecting ploughman! In Scotland they have hoarded every thing, whilst our abundant materials are neglected, like the fruits which blossom, ripen, and decay on the bosom of that generous soil which produces them in such exuberance and profusion.

Our works are like to poppies strewn,
You seize the flow'r, the bloom is gone:
Or, like the snow, falls in the river,

A moment white, then melts for ever;
Or, like the Borealis' race,

Which flits ere you can point the place;
Or, like the rainbow's lovely form,

Evanishing amidst the storm!

BURNS.

MEMOIRS

OF THE LATE THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

JOHN PHILPOT CURRAN.

IN
IN the village of Newmarket, in the county of
Cork, at the distance of eight miles from that
dismantled castle, where Spenser is said to have
composed his "Faery Queen," the Right Honour-
able JOHN PHILPOT CURRAN, the subject of the
present Memoir, was born.

He was the son of John Curran, who was of an English stock, transplanted from one of the northern counties, (I suppose Cumberland,) and encouraged to settle in that part of Ireland, under the protection of the highly respectable family of the Allworths; who retain considerable landed estates there, to the present time, acquired after the fall of the Desmonds, whether by the sword, by grant, or by purchase, I am not apprized.!

B

The original name of Mr. Curran's ancestors was Curwen, but since altered into Curran. His mother's name was Philpot; of an ancient, and still respectable Irish family. He has been heard to say, that whatever were his intellectual pretensions, he was indebted to her for them. He said she spoke even the Irish language with such purity, with such fluency, and such a smack, as he expressed it, that the West Country people used to flock round her from distant parts, and listen to her with admiration and delight. So much was he impressed with the obligations conferred on him by the transmission of her genius; (and his country rejoices in the preference,) that he, in addition to the affections of nature, had manifested to her, through life, strong marks of kindness and of love; and imposed some restraints on his own vivacity and enjoyment of social intercourse, by domesticating her in his own family : and when she wished to return to the repose of a more private life, and more congenial habits, he assigned a fund perfectly adequate to her comforts and desires.

His father's means were so humble, that he drew the chief support of a numerous family from the office of Seneschal of the manor of Newmar: ket. Thus circumstanced, he was unable to do more than to support Mr. Curran at a grammar school in the village of his birth; where he got