more fully, and more amiably, when his benevolence was applied to: the display of this virtue was what he thought the highest privilege emanating from his large fortune, whilst it was obviously among the pleasures in which he most delighted. Mr. Cavendish not only gave most liberally, but in a manner which shewed that he had much enjoyment in doing so; no objections about the agency, or the mode, none of those subterfuges which disinclination or avarice resort to, under the pretence of discriminating accurately, and of reserving their portion from the present want, to effect greater good, were thought of by him; there was distress, and he had the means of alleviating it, this was enough; he left others to object, but he preferred to give: not that this was done to any great extent without consideration; the passing beggar, it is true, had, without much inquiry, his shilling or his half-crown; but when applications for any local distresses were made to him, though he would in almost every instance give largely, he would give more or less so, according to the merits of the case, or the recommendations by which it was sanctioned. Indeed much of Mr. Cavendish's money was given away, not on his own judgment; he relied on the representations made to him by those surrounding friends in whom he had confidence, particularly by the neighbouring parochial clergy; who, however, it is believed, never applied to him, except in urgent cases. Be it likewise mentioned, in honour of his benevolence, that, when people whom he did not like, or who had even offended him, became distressed, his antipathies were lost in his commiseration; he is known materially to have assisted such, and have done it in the kindest manner. His liberality, perhaps, may be best exhibited by an anecdote or two. Not long since, he was persuaded by an old and faithful servant, his postilion, to have a driving-box put to his chariot; and soon after, the writer of this memoir met with a poor neighbour, whose business was connected with that part of the high-road along which Mr. Cavendish usually took his airing: "Sir," says the man," don't you think I could bring an action against Mr. Cavendish's Coachman ?"-" Why, what is the matter, neighbour ?" "The matter he has persuaded his master to have a driving-box, and he can't see me now on the road, before he comes up to me, and call to his coachman to stop, as he used, upon which occasions he always gave me something handsome, so that I have lost a very comfortable anuuity, shall certainly bring my action." Some time after this, not more indeed than a few months since, a distressing circumstance occurred in the neighbourhood, which a friend of Mr. Cavendish called on him to

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represent. The infirmities, and debility, which have since proved fatal, were then obviously making their inroads; but, on the calamity being stated, he expressed great regret, and instantly said, "I will give you twenty pounds for the poor fellow." This was done in about half an bour afterwards, Mr. Cavendish kindly said, My friend, I was very low and poorly when you came in: but you have done me much good; and the opportunity which you have afforded me of bestowing twenty pounds so well has cheered my spirits exceedingly." Nor was it only under circumstances of local distress, that Mr. Cavendish was applied to; his benevolence became so well known, that many persons living at a distance sought relief from it, and it is believed that few even of these petitioners failed. In regard to public charities, living on the borders of two counties, he considered himself as belonging in some measure to both; nay, not being far from the Peculiar of St. Alban's, he belonged to that also: in short, whilst in political matters Mr. Cavendish was a true-born Englishman, perhaps not wholly without national prejudice, and certainly not without some Antigallican feeling, when distress applied to him, he became at once a citizen of the world. Though a person were a Jew, though he were a stranger, or alien; yet if he were " robbed, or wounded," nothing more was necessary to secure his aid.-Peace to the memory of such a man! the tears of the neighbouring poor, and the sincere regret of those who lived with him much and knew him best, speak his worth most forcibly. it allowed, that he had some eccentricities, and firstly that he valued himself on his high descent; he did so, but it never seemed to be so much because his ancestors abounded in all titles, and dignities, which could be bestowed on them, as that they had been statesmen, warriors, and patriots. The man who would not willingly have sprung from such a stock, and he who cannot readily forgive a little vanity, on this account, in others who have that happiness, must want laudable ambition, or must allow his, candour to be readily chilled by the coldness of his imagined philosophy. That Mr. Cavendish liked his friends to direct to him by the title of "Honourable;" that he was pleased, when, in social parties where he was present, "the noble house of Cavendish, root and branch," was given as a toast; nay, that he was not very angry, when walking in his own neighbourhood, the poor whom he met, and who were enriched by his bounty, called him, as they generally did. "my Lord," must be granted; but all. these things were so venial, especially when his good qualities are considered, they interfered so little with the rights or en

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joyments

joyments of others; they were, under his peculiar circumstances, so almost allowable, that the writer of this Memoir, whilst he says, against the charge of such eccentricity, "'tis true," can scarcely bring himself to add, "pity 'tis, 'tis true."

There is some difficulty in fixing the precise age of Mr. Cavendish. His mother was married in 1727, and died in 1733, "leaving (says Collins) two sons, Frederick and Henry." Hence some have supposed, that Frederick was the elder brother. But this, it is apprehended, is a mistake. Lady Anne Cavendish was in bad health on her marriage, and went shortly after to Nice, for the benefit of the waters there, attended by her husband. Henry was born at Nice; but his mother returning to England, Frederick drew his first breath in the country of his ancestors. It is believed that his mother did not die till he was about two years old; and if so, he lived to be somewhat more than eighty.-At this very advanced period, his mind, though it had lost some of its animation, had not lost a certain natural shrewdness, which enabled him to penetrate deeply into the human character; but this he always exercised in candour, whilst he never allowed it to interfere with his benevolence. For his brother Henry, he had ever a truly fraternal affection, which seems to have been fully repaid, though they met but seldom. Exactly two years before his own death, this brother was taken away, and a considerable real estate devolved to him. This, on his own death, became the property of the Duke of Devonshire, whose opening virtues he had much pleasure in contemplating: whilst his personal estate, which he had, neither added to, or diminished from, descended to his maternal first cousins, the Earls of Ashburnham and Bridgewater, and the Hon. F. Egerton :→ no will was found, or at least only one, which was made many years ago, and all the legacies in which, it is imagined, had lapsed. This, under common circumstances, might have beeu regretted; for there was a numerous family, "his people," as he called them, descended from the two confidential domesticks who at first came with him to Market-street, all of whom he educated, and supported most comfortably, and most of whom would now be entirely destitute, were it not for the probability, that the opinion under which Mr. Cavendish acted, will be

MEMOIR OF BARONESS

On the 6th of March, died of a deep decline, in the forty-fifth year of her age, at the village of Flax Bourton, Somersetshire, the Baroness Angelique D'Escury, a native of Holland, which country herself and husband had quitted with the Court of the

realized. He thought so highly of his own family, as not to doubt, that those who would succeed to his large property, would inherit his benevolence likewise. That sacred mantle he left to his successors, saying, when spoken to on this subject, that every thing would be right, "since his family were all gentlemen, and all liberal:" and it is believed, that the promising young Nobleman, to whom his chief property descends, has already with characteristic benevolence, and with a promptitude which does him honour, given an assurance, tending to prove that his deceased relative did not augur of him falsely.-Mr. Cavendish died a bachelor: he was in person athletic and manly; his countenance was handsome; and he had, to a late period of life, the appearance and manners, some very few peculiarities excepted, of a highly-bred gentleman, though certainly of the old school;-deep ruffles, a bag wig, and cocked hat, were things which he thought the age somewhat degenerate in not retaining; and resolved, that his example at least should, in these respects, afford a specimen of better times. The mortal remains of this benevolent man were deposited, on Monday, March 9th, in the family vault, in All-Saints Church, Derby; the corpse being met, as when a Cavendish is buried has been ́ customary, at the entrance of the town, by the Mayor and 30 Burgesses in mourning, and all other usual sepulchral honours being paid. Thus his body rests, among the relicks of those who have been most highly distinguished in our land, by patriotism, by valour, by true nobility of spirit; and it had more than a mere family claim to such honourable location.-This tribute is paid to his memory by no venal hand; it proceeds from one who lived with him much, in the reciprocations of neighbourly kindness, always without expectation, but never without regard. Those who best knew Mr. Cavendish, most esteemed him; and if those who knew him but little, and only knew him when infirmity and age had somewhat impaired his faculties, and made his eccentricities more remarkable, should think that too favour able a portrait has been drawn, he who has sketched it, whilst he questions their competency to form on this point an accurate opinion, must take leave, whatever be their sentiments, to retain his own.

perfectly well in health till Sunday evening, when she was seized with an acute pain in her head; and the next morning, her physicians, considering her in danger, dispatched an express for the Marquis, who was on his road from Stowe, and had reached Uxbridge, when he was met with the heart-rending tidings of her death.

It will be easier to imagine than to describe the depth of affliction in which his Lordship and all the family are involved. The loss of such a lady must be long and deeply felt by the relations and friends who survive her; and by the poor, in the

REV. DR. GEORGE HALL, THE On the 17th of November, the Rev. George Hall, Provost of Trinity college, Dublin, was consecrated Bishop of Dromore; and on the morning of the following Saturday he died (see our last volume, p. 493), leaving to the world an affecting proof of the frailty of that tenure by which earthly happiness and earthly honours are held.

This amiable and universally lamented Prelate was a native of Northumberland; but at an early age went over to Ireland, his friends being induced to hope, that talents and diligence such as he possessed, would obtain for him the honourable situation of a Fellow of Dublin College. Nor were their hopes disappointed. After having established, whilst an under-graduate, his superiority over his contemporaries, both as a scientific and a classical scholar, he was unanimously elected a Fellow in 1777, when for the first time he appeared as a candidate. From that period, during the three and twenty years he continued in College, bis correct knowledge, and his exact fulfilment of every academic duty, were eminently conspicuous. As a Tutor he was not more remarkable for the talents and learning displayed in his lectures, than for the kindness and parental solicitude with which he watched over the interests of his pupils, and the zeal he manifested for their improvement in literature, in morals, and in religion. Nor was he less distinguished when, as a senior fellow, he came to have a share in the government of the College, whether official duty called his attention to minute detail, or the general interests required the counsels of prudence, or the exertions of prompt activity. In the year 1800 he accepted a benefice in a remote part of the county of Tyrone, whence he was called to the Provostship of the College in 1806; but such, during that short period, had been his conduct towards his parishioners, that neither time nor absence has been able to diminish their esteem. The intelligence of his death was received with general lamentation; and his virtues have been commemorated in a monument erected by

districts where her personal attentions and charitable assistance extended comfort and relief to so many who stood in need of it. A large portion of the Nobility will be put in mourning by this event, as related either to her own or her husband's families. She has left issue three children: 1. Richard Earl Temple, married to Lady Anne Eliza, daughter of the late Duke of Chandos. 2. Lady Mary Anne, married to the Hon. Everard Arundel. 3. Lord George Grenville, who by his mother's decease becomes Baron Nugent of Carlanstown, and is heir to the Nugent estates.

LATE BISHOP OF DROMORE. universal consént in their church. When Provost, his attention to every academic duty was yet more exemplary than when he had acted in a subordinate station, Frequent in his attendance on the early prayers and lectures*, he shewed an example admirably calculated to excite a general spirit of piety and diligence; and while no duty was too minute to escape his attention, enlarged plans of improvement were formed and carried into effect under his superintendance. Ranking among the most eminent scholars both in polite literature and science, and deeply skilled in every branch of theological learning, therewas no department in the extensive range of academic instruction which he was not qualified to direct; whilst the mildness of his temper, and the gentleness of his manners, softened the admonitions of authority with the feelings of parental affection. Though thus active in the performance of academic duty, Dr. Hall lived in habits of familiar intercourse with all who were distinguished for their station or their rank. Acquainted with the principal languages of modern Europe, and conversant with the writings of their most celebrated authors; possessing a correct and delicate taste for the fine arts, and an unaffected vivacity of manners, he exhibited a rare instance of the union of severe science with elegant attainments, and commanded, in turn, the respect, the esteem, and the affection, of those with whom he associated.

It was natural to expect that such a man would attract the attention of the Duke of Richmond, ever ready to afford unsolicited patronage to merit; and the advancement of Dr. Hall to the see of Dromore, whilst it was the subject of general approbation and applause, excited no sentiment of surprize. That neither the individual nor the nation derived, from this generous and judicious act, the good which was intended, must be the subject of deep and lasting regret.

*Beginning at six o'clock, both in summer and winter,

ME.

The late Mr. Cherry was the eldest son of Mr. John Cherry, printer and bookseller at Limerick, in Ireland, and was born in that city Jan. 11, 1762; and, having received a respetable education at a grammar-school there, was intended by his father to be qualified for holy orders by matriculation in a university; but, by disap. pointments in life, his parent was obliged to abandon this intention, and, at eleven years of age, Andrew was placed under the protection of Mr. James Potts, printer and bookseller, in Dame-street, Dublin, and by him initiated in his art and mystery. From an antient friendship, which had subsisted between Mr. Potts and Mr. Cherry, Andrew was particularly favoured by his master, and made his constant companion in all recreations, &c. Among other amusements, Mr. Potts was extremely attached to theatrical exhibitions; and, perceiving that his pupil's inclination bent strongly to that point, he seldom visited the theatre without taking young Cherry with him. Thus encouraged, he imbibed an early predilection for the stage;-a general taste of this nature pervades the youth of the Irish metropolis; and many ornaments of the sock and buskin in both kingdoms, at the present day, were, in their juvenile pursuits, the dramatic companions, in private acting, &c. of young Cherry, who had, at the age of fourteen, made his first appearance as Lucia, in the tragedy of Cato, in a large room at the Blackamoor's Head, Towers'sstreet, Dublin. At the age of seventeen, he spurned typography, and boldly entered the dramatic lists, making his debut as a professional actor, in a little town called Naas, fourteen miles from Dublin, in a small strolling group, principally composed of runaway boys and girls, and then under the management of a Mr. Martin. His first character was Colonel Feignwell (Bold Stroke for a Wife), an arduous task for a boy of seventeen, the character requiring a discrimination so various, and a flexibility of talent that is rarely met with even in the veterans of the stage. The applause was great; and the manager of this sharing company, after passing many encomiums on his exertions, presented him with 10. as his dividend of the profits of that night's performance. Young Cherry afterwards launched into a most extensive range of characters; for, being blest with a peculiar facility of study, in the space of ten months with this manager, he acted almost all the principal characters in tragedy, comedy, and farce; and, during the same periods, suffered all the vicissitude and distress concomitant to such a precarious mode of existence. His friends have heard him declare, that though con

His

stantly employed in such laborious study as is implied in what we have just said of his range of characters, he never was in possession of a guinea during the whole ten months; he was frequently without the means of common sustenance, and sometimes even unable to buy the very candles by which he should study the characters that were so numerously allotted to him. In the town of Athlone, we are told, a circumstance of particular distress attended our hero; but which he bore with all the magnanimity that dramatic ardour could inspire. The business of the theatre was suspended for a short time, in consequence of the benefits having turned out bad: the manager was resolved not to waste any more bills, but wait for the races, which were to commence in a few days. Our hero being of a timid and bashful turn, and assisted by a portion of youthful pride, was incapable of making those advances, and playing off that train of theatrical tricking, by which means benefits are frequently obtained in the country, and therefore he had been less successful than many of his brethren. landlady, perceiving there was no prospect of payment, satisfied herself for the trifle already due, by seizing on the remnant of our hero's wardrobe; and knowing she could dispose of her lodgings to more advantage during the races, turned him out to the mercy of the winter's wind, which he endured with all his former philosophy. He rambled carelessly about the streets, sometimes quoting passages to himself, both comic and serious, that were analogous to his situation, but without forming one determined idea of where he was to rest his houseless head. Towards the close of the evening he strolled by accident into the lower part of the theatre, which had formerly been an int, and was then occupied by a person whose husband had been a serjeant of dragoons, for the purpose of retailing refreshments, &c. to those who visited the theatre. After chatting until it grew late, the woman hinted to our hero that she wished to go to bed, and begged he might retire; upon which he replied, in the words of Don John, “I was just thinking of going home, but that I have no lodging." The good woman, taking the words literally, inquired into the cause, with which he acquainted her without disguise. Being the mother of a family, she felt severely for his distressed situation at that time he did not possess a single halfpenny in the world, nor the means of obtaining one. The poor creature shed tears of regret that she could not effectually alleviate his misfortune. endeavoured to assume a careless gaiety; but the woman's unaffected sorrow brought

He

the