of beings. Bred in the luxury and elegance of a Court, she was, through the vain speculations of her husband, reduced, the last eight years of her life, to a pittance insufficient to support herself and only daughter, without augmenting it by the labours of her own hands, which she employed, till sickness and languor overpowered her, in works of the most tasteful ingenuity. Never did she, in the days of health and prosperity, display so bright a portrait of female excellence as in her laborious retirement. The skill and attention of the physician, gratuitously given with a zeal and a consideration interest could not have excited, and esteem for her virtues could alone inspire; the constant presence and assiduity of a friend whose experience and piety rendered her at such a crisis no less invaluable as a counsel and support than a comfort; neighbours of all ranks, striving in emulation to supply every want, and anticipate every wish: Thus, by every art that skill and kindness could suggest, was her "bed made in all her sickness," whose own benevolence had never failed; and the lamp of life kept burning, till the strength of the gentle sufferer was gradually and completely exhausted: her most painful symptoms subsided; and the last days of her life were passed, not merely in resignation and tranquillity, but in joyful readiness to depart. With the strong eye of faith she was enabled to look beyond the present scene, and to rise above the strongest of human feelings, a mother's anxiety. Purified and exalted, she was enabled to behold the mercies of the Almighty protecting and encircling her only child. Every social affection glowing to the last, with her last faltering breath she uttered the softest aspirations of love and gratitude to the Author of her being, and Disposer of her fate; and then, without a struggle, pang, or sigh, she ceased to breathe. The closing scenes of the Baroness's life are not calculated to produce a dramatic effect, like many others that have been related; but they offer an unexaggerated picture of the calm and enviable exit of a soul, which eminently knew "how to love and to forgive;" and it must be acknowledged, she appeared to have found out a safe and easy path through the gloomy vale and shadow of Death, and to have passed gently and imperceptibly over the appaling gulph which is the last of its terrors. This she was enabled to do, by fixing her firm reliance on God, as if he were to do all," not with presumption, but humility; "labouring herself," with the utmost energy, as " if he were to do nothing." Thus animated by a principle higher than human pride, and guided by a hand stronger than human wisdom, she retained her characteristic artlessness and warmth, firmly and securely trod her rugged and narrow path of life, and in death possessed her soul with a dignity and peace, which has left a lesson of magnanimity and true wisdom, that speaks more forcibly to the heart, than the pompous processions and laboured eulogiums, which attend the obsequies of titled grandeur or worldly wealth. MEMOIRS OF THE MARCHIONESS OF BUCKINGHAM. Died, on Monday evening the 16th of March, at a few minutes before ten o'clock, at Buckingham House in Pall Mall, the Most Noble Mary Elizabeth Nugent, Marchioness of Buckingham, Lady of the Marquis of Buckingham, and Baroness Nugent of Carlanstown in Ireland in her own right. Her Ladyship was the daughter and heiress of the late Robert Craggs Nugent, Earl Nugent in Ireland; was married to the Marquis on the 16th of April 1775, and created Baroness Nugent 29th of December 1800. It would be difficult, within the limits which we prescribe to ourselves, to do justice to the amiable qualities and superior virtues and merits of this lady. To all that dignity of deportment which was suited to her rank, she added the most charming affability and frankness of manners, so as to diffuse delight and happiness everywhere around her, and to give life and animation to the circle of relations and friends who enjoyed the benefit of her society. In all the duties of life her conduct was equally praiseworthy and exem plary; as a wife, a mother, the mistress of a family, and as a friend to her neighbours of every rank. Her ladyship possessed considerable taste and skill in works of genius, manifested in her drawings and paintings, many of which decorate the superb mansion at Stowe, where the Marquis and she principally resided. But the chief trait in her character was her charity and benevolence, of which the instances are without number, as well in the Metropolis, as in those parts of Buckinghamshire and Essex where she had the means of discerning the wants of ber fellow-creatures. So that, independent of the impressions of admiration excited by her exalted worth and accomplishments, there would be enough in her acts of beneficence alone to endear her memory to every feeling heart. She had complained of an increasing dimness of sight, unattended by any other symptom of illness; and had come to town the week preceding, to consult the best oculists, as well as her own physicians, on the state of her eyes. She had been out every forenoon, and appeared perfectly 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, his 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 à 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. S. 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 consent 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 asso ciated. 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. MEMOIRS OF THE LATE MR. ANDREW CHERRY. The late Mr. Cherry was the eldest son of Mr. John Cherry, printer and booksel-. ler 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, 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. His 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, he spurned typography, and boldly enter-both comic and serious, that were analo ed 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 d. as his dividend of the profits of that nigh's performance. Young Cherry afterwards launched into a most extensive range of characters; for, heing 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 seard him declare, that though con gous 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 inn, 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. He endeavoured to assume a careless gaiety; but the woman's unaffected sorrow brought the ! i the reflection of his own disobedience to his mind, and he dropped tears in plenteous libation: in his grief he saw the sorrow of his parents, whom he had deserted, to follow what he began to perceive a mad career, in despite of the many unanswered remonstrances he had received, with a fair promise of forgiveness and affection, should he return to his business. This philanthropic female lamented that she could not furnish him with a bed, but offered to lend hin her husband's cloak, and to procure a bundle of dry hay, that he might sleep in an empty room in her house. His heart was too full to pay his gratitude in words; his eyes thanked her; he wept bitterly, accepted her kind offer, and retired to rest. The intruding any further on her kindness was painful to him, as she was struggling to maintain a numerous offspring. He therefore carefully avoided the house at meal-times, and wandered through the fields or streets, until he supposed their repasts were finished: at last, so overcome by fasting and fatigue, that he could not rest, he rose from his trooper's cloak in the dead of the night, and explored the kitchen, searching the dresser and all its shelves and drawers, in hopes of finding something that might satisfy the cravings of his appetite, but in vain. On his return to his hay-truss, he accidentally struck against the kitchen table, the noise of which he feared might alarm the family; and, uncertain of the real cause of his leaving his apartment at that hour, they might naturally suppose that his purpose was to rob the house, as a reward for their hospitality: the idea added to the misery he then suffered; he trembled, he listened, but all was quiet; and then renewed his search (for his hunger overcame his fears), and to his gratification be found a large crust of stale bread, which he was afterwards informed had been used for rubbing out some spots of white paint from the very cloak that composed his bedding; he, however, ate it with avidity, as he was entering on the fourth day without the least refreshment, and returned heartfelt thanks to Providence, whose omnipotent hand was stretched in the very critical moment, to save him from the most direful of all possible deaths, starving! At length, after enduring more than the usual hardships attendant on a strolling life, he left the stage, once more "returned to reason and the shop," and remained at home upwards of three years. Anon the theatrical drum beat in his ears; he forgot the misery of his former campaigning; the glory of it only remaining in his recollection; and, after making some excursions of little moment, he joined a re. spectable corps under the command of Mr. Richard William Knipe, a well-known dramatic veteran, a scholar, and a gentleman, whose facetious and eccentric character will be ever remembered with pleasure by all who knew him. In his company Cherry enjoyed much comfort and satisfaction, and remained attached to it till Mr. Knipe's death; he then joined the principal provincial company of Ireland under the management of Mr. Atkins, where he filled a most extensive round of characters, and for many years was the popular favourite of the North of Ireland. Here he married the daughter of his old friend and manager Mr. Knipe, by whom he has had a large family. Mr. Ryder having, in 1787, been engaged for Covent Garden, Mr. Cherry, whose provincial reputation had reached the capital, was called up from Belfast to supply his place at the Theatre Koyal, Smock Alley, Dublin. Here, for six years, little Cherry (as he was familiarly called) stood at the top of his profession in the comic line. Having long entertained a desire of visiting England, he engaged himself and Mrs. Cherry to Tate Wilkinson, at the time when Mr. Fawcett was called to Covent Garden, whose situation he filled at the Theatres Royal of York, Hull, &c. for three years; when he again returned to his native country. He continued two seasons in Ireland; after which the manager's irregular payments, and other disgusting circumstances, induced him to return to England. He accepted an engagement with Messrs. Ward and Banks, managers of the Theatre Royal, Manchester, where, with his wife, he successfully performed two years. From thence he went to Bath, and for four seasons enjoyed an ample share of public favour. On the abdication of the late Mr. King, Mr. Cherry was engaged at Drury Lane, where he made his appearance on the 25th of September 1802, in the characters of Sir Benjamin Dove and Lazarillo, and was received with great applause. Mr. Cherry was the author of the following dramatic pieces: 1. "Harlequin on the Stocks," a pantomimic romance, 1793; 2. "The Outcasts," an opera, 1796, not printed; 3. "Soldier's Daughter," a comedy, 1804; 4. "All for Fame," a comic sketch, 1805; 5. "The Village," a comedy, 1805; 6. "The Travellers," a dramatic opera, 1806; 7. "Thalia's Tears," a poetical effusion, 1806, not printed; 8. "Spanish Dollars," a musical entertain. ment, 1806; 9. Peter the Great," a dramatic opera, 1807; 10. " A Day in London," a comedy, 1807, not printed. * Jones's new edition of "Biographia Dramatica," 1812, DEATHS. DEATHS. untimely fate is recorded in our vol. LXXXI. part ii. page 392. Thomas Hay was born in London, and while re 1811. OF his wounds, at Port Louis, in June 12. the Isle of France, aged 32, Christopher Wilson, esq.sen.capt.in the 22dceiving the rudiments of education under. foot. This gallant officer had been in the army 16 years, and had seen a great deal of service. He was with the ever-to-be-lamented Abercrombie in Holland, and in the West Indies, and for several years past had accompanied his regiment on active service in the East Indies. At the attack aud capture of the Isle of France by the Hon. Major-gen. Abercrombie (son of the above-named Hero), he led the grenadiers of his regiment. From thence he was sent to take possession of Fort Tamatave in Matavia, on the Isle of Madagascar. There he remained as commandant or governor, till he had only seven men fit for duty, himself and all the rest of the garrison that survived being sick of the pestilential fever. While in this defenceless state, a French squadron of frigates attacked the fort, and consequently took it without resistance. Captain Wilson, with his garrison, were made prisoners, and conveyed on board the Renommée. In a short time, however, a British squadron of frigates turned the tide of affairs: they attacked and captured two of the Enemy. During the action, Capt. Wilson, still unable to quit his cot, was carried be. low; but, being soon overpowered by the heat, he requested to be taken up again, and in this helpless situation he received eight severe wounds from the fire of his own countrymen; from the effects of which, and the fever that still oppressed him, he lived only to reach the Isle of France, where his unhappy wife was anxiously expecting his arrival. He died in four hours after he was landed.Captain Wilson was the youngest son of the late William Wilson, esq. recorder of Berwick-upon-Tweed, by Mary, daughter of Christopher Scott of Sculcoates, in the county of York, esq. by whom he had four sons, all in the army, three of whom have died in the service of their country. The lamented subject of this article married, in 1801, Rebecca Anne, third daughter of James Wyborn of Hull Place in Kent, esq. maternally descended from the antient families of Dinely and Goodere of Worcestershire. By her he has left a son and daughter, too young as yet to be sensible of the loss they have sustained. But the estimable qualities of this brave and amiable officer, together with his professional merits, cause his premature death to be sincerely deplored by all who best knew him, and felt as an irreparable loss by his disconsolate widow. Aug. 21. On board his Majesty's frigate Galatea, in his 17th year, Thomas Hay, midshipman, youngest son of William Hay, esq. of Russel-square, and only brother of Ensign Alexander Hay, whose Dr. Croombie, his parents acceded to the ardent and unconquerable desire he expressed for the sea service, and obtained for him an introduction to the late gallant Capt. Bettesworth, under whose command he entered as a midshipman in the Tartar frigate. Previously to going aboard, he spent two months with the Rev. R. Yates in Chelsea College, for the purpose of forwarding his education; and his docility of temper, engaging manners, and sedulous attention, while so employed, gave the surest pledge of the excellent character he subsequently maintained. He sailed with the Tartar from the Thames, in February 1808, and distinguished himself by his intrepid attention to duty, in the engagement that proved fatal to Capt. Bettesworth. After two years service, with the most gratifying marks of approbation, and indeed friendly regard, from the officers of the Tartar, he removed to the Menelaus, Capt. Parker; but, this vessel suddenly putting to sea while he was on shore at Portsmouth, he was placed, by Sir R. Curtis, on the books of the Royal William, to wait the return of the Menelaus, and by the Admiral's advice passed six months most usefully and creditably, in Dr. Burney's excellent naval academy at Gosport. He was then ordered aboard the Galatea, to proceed to the East Indies to join his ship. The Menelaus having left those seas before his arrival, he continued on board the Galatea, and bore his share in the tremendous and unequal conflict this vessel supported, for two hours, against two of the Enemy's frigates, between the Mauritius and Madagascar. In the letter he wrote to his parents immediately after the action, after stating that he had been sent with a boat to a neighbouring island, a portion of the devoted ardour that has exalted the British Naval Character to the Supremacy of the Ocean, broke forth in the glowing expression of professional enthusiasm, "I should have died with a broken heart, if I had not returned in time to be present at the action." The Galatea was afterwards ordered to proceed to Calcutta, and on reaching the Hoogley river, this amiable, gallant, and most promising young officer fell a victim to fever, and was interred at Kidgeree, about 90 miles below Calcutta, with military honours, and with every mark of respect, by which the officers and whole ship's company could evince their admiration of the undaunted valour they had so recently witnessed, and their regard for the excellent qualities that had endeared him to all his companions, and called forth the sincerest sorrow for the loss his country and his friends had so prematurely sustained, These testimonies of |