e tribute to his
memory was paid, in Westminster Abbey, on the following Sunday, by
our Honorary Member, Dean Stanley. Such a tribute, from such lips,
and with such surroundings, leaves nothing to be desired in the way
of eulogy. He was buried in Kensal Green Cemetery, by the side of
his beloved wife.

"One might well say of Motley precisely what he said of Prescott, in
a letter from Rome to our associate, Mr. William Amory, immediately
on hearing of Prescott's death: 'I feel inexpressibly disappointed
--speaking now for an instant purely from a literary point of view
--that the noble and crowning monument of his life, for which he had
laid such massive foundations, and the structure of which had been
carried forward in such a grand and masterly manner, must remain
uncompleted, like the unfinished peristyle of some stately and
beautiful temple on which the night of time has suddenly descended.
But, still, the works which his great and untiring hand had already
thoroughly finished will remain to attest his learning and genius,
--a precious and perpetual possession for his country."

.................................

The President now called on Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, who said:--

"The thoughts which suggest themselves upon this occasion are such
as belong to the personal memories of the dear friends whom we have
lost, rather than to their literary labors, the just tribute to
which must wait for a calmer hour than the present, following so
closely as it does on our bereavement."

.................................

"His first literary venture of any note was the story called
'Morton's Hope; or, The Memoirs of a Provincial.' This first effort
failed to satisfy the critics, the public, or himself. His
personality pervaded the characters and times which he portrayed,
so that there was a discord between the actor and his costume.
Brilliant passages could not save it; and it was plain enough that
he must ripen into something better before the world would give him
the reception which surely awaited him if he should find his true
destination.

"The early failures of a great writer are like the first sketches
of a great artist, and well reward patient study. More than this,
the first efforts of poets and story-tellers are very commonly
palimpsests: beneath the rhymes or the fiction one can almost alw