, that you will not be tempted to steal
from me."

He died on the 22d of November, 1775, aged sixty-eight.

FOOTNOTES:

[Q] This was the celebrated society called the _Academie de ces
Messieurs_: it numbered among its members all the more celebrated wits
of the day.

IRELAND IN THE LAST AGE.

Recollections of Curran.

From the London Times

If the work of Mr. Charles Phillips were a description of the Roman bar
in the time of Hadrian, it would scarcely be more completely than at
present the picture of a time and system entirely passed away; yet he
professes to give us--and performs his promise--a somewhat gossipping
and very amusing description of the Irish bar, and the great men
belonging to it, very little more than half a century since. But we
travel and change quickly in these days of steam and railroads; even
Time himself appears now to have attached his travelling carriage to a
locomotive, and in the space of one man's life performs a journey that
in staid and ancient days would have occupied the years of many
generations, and, as if in illustration of the fleeting nature of men
and things and systems at this time, here we find a contemporary (at
this moment hardly past the prime of life) giving us portraits, and
relating anecdotes of men with whom he, in his youth, lived in intimate
and professional relations, but who seem now as absolutely to belong to
a bygone order of things, as if they had wrangled before the Dikasts of
Athens, or pleaded before the Praetor at Rome. Mr. Phillips seems to feel
this, and, as the gay days of his sanguine youth flit by his memory, the
retrospect brings, as it will ever bring, melancholy, and even sadness,
with it. Yielding himself up to the dominion of feeling, in place of
keeping his reason predominant, he mourns over the past, as if, in
comparison with the present, it were greatly more worthy. Forgetting
that there is a change also in himself; that the capacity for enjoyment
is largely diminished; that hope has been fulfilled, or is for ever
frustrate; he tests the present by his own emotions, instead of weighing
with philosophic _indifference_ the relative merits of the system that
he describes, and of that in which he lives. We are told--

"'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view;"

but, when age comes upon us, we must turn and look back, if we desire to
enjoy this pleasing hallucination.

But in what is the present of Ireland so different from th