onspicuous or beneficial
act of local or general utility, which have distinguished him, and
excited a desire that he should be remembered, then, of course, ought
the attention to be directed chiefly to those actions or that act; and
such sentiments dwelt upon as naturally arise out of them or it.
Having made this necessary distinction, I proceed.--The mighty
benefactors of mankind, as they are not only known by the immediate
Survivors, but will continue to be known familiarly to latest
Posterity, do not stand in need of biographic sketches, in such a
place; nor of delineations of character to individualize them. This is
already done by their Works, in the Memories of Men. Their naked names
and a grand comprehensive sentiment of civic Gratitude, patriotic
Love, or human Admiration; or the utterance of some elementary
Principle most essential in the constitution of true Virtue; or an
intuition, communicated in adequate words, of the sublimity of
intellectual Power,--these are the only tribute which can here be
paid--the only offering that upon such an Altar would not be unworthy!

What needs my Shakspeare for his honoured bones,
The labour of an age in piled stones,
Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid
Under a starry-pointing pyramid?
Dear Son of Memory, great Heir of Fame,
What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name?
Thou in our wonder and astonishment
Hast built thyself a live-long Monument,
And so sepulchred, in such pomp dost lie,
That Kings for such a Tomb would wish to die.

_Wordsworth._

JEEMS THE DOORKEEPER

When my father was in Broughton Place Church, we had a doorkeeper
called _Jeems_, and a formidable little man and doorkeeper he was; of
unknown age and name, for he existed to us, and indeed still exists to
me--though he has been in his grave these sixteen years--as _Jeems_,
absolute and _per se_, no more needing a surname than did or do
Abraham or Isaac, Samson or Nebuchadnezzar. We young people of the
congregation believed that he was out in the '45, and had his drum
shot through and quenched at Culloden; and as for any indication on
his huge and grey visage, of his ever having been young, he might
safely have been _Bottom_ the Weaver in _A Midsummer Night's Dream_,
or that excellent, ingenious, and "wise-hearted" Bezaleel, the son of
Uri, whom _Jeems_ regarded as one of the greatest of men and of
weavers, and whose "ten curtains of fine