still be the owner of a conscious
superiority in life, and immortality after it.--I am, my dear
sir, with the highest respect and regard,

"Yours most truly,
"H. Grattan."

We must hastily conclude.

The threatened ruin of Europe awakened Burke from this reverie at the
tomb of his son. He required strong stimulants, and in the French
Revolution, and the shock of nations, he found them. He now put the
trumpet to his lips, and

"Blew a blast so loud and dread,
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe."

His appeal pierced to the heart of the nation. England had never
_succumbed_, but an indefatigable faction had played every art of
quackery to set her faculties asleep, with the appearance of having
her eyes more open than ever. Whiggism, by its tricks, was
_mesmerising_ the common sense of the country. From this adventitious
torpor Burke recalled her to her natural temperament, restored sight
to her eyes, taught her to resume the sword, and sent her forth to
commence that career of victory which was consummated in the
Tuilleries.

His advocacy of the Popish question was one of his romances. Popery
was his "Jane Shore," fainting and feeble, wandering through the
highways with those delicate limbs which had once been arrayed in silk
and velvet, and soliciting the "charity of all good Christians" to her
fallen condition. His nature was chivalric, and he at once unsheathed
his sword for so affecting a specimen of penitence and pauperism; but
he soon recovered from this hazardous compassion, and left the pilgrim
to fitter protectors. But if he had lived till our day, what would
Burke have thought of his delusion now? with what self-ridicule must
he not have looked upon the burlesque grievances and the profitable
privations? what an instructive lesson must not his powerful scorn of
charlatanry have given to us, on the display of the whole system of
sleight-of-hand, the popular cups and balls, the low dexterity and the
rabble plunder? or, to sum all in one word, the reduction of all the
claims, the rights, and the efforts of a party pronouncing itself
national, to the collection of an annual tribute; the whole huge and
rattling machinery of popular agitation, grinding simply for the
"rint." How would this lion of the desert, shaking the forest with his
roar, have looked on Jackoo, going round, shaking the penny box! Woe
be to Jackoo if