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But his disappointment at the insatiable appetite of the Ultra-Reformers, at the total incompleteness of the measure itself to effect its objects, and at the discontent of the Roman Catholics, whose chains he had struck off, was so great, that he withdrew from the Whig party, abandoned his favourite representation of Westminster, and, entering Parliament as one of the members for North Wilts, took his place, for the residue of his parliamentary career, amongst those who had declared that "no further reform was necessary."

The private life and character of Sir Francis Burdett were irreproachable—his public conduct consistent. Unambitious of office, impregnable to corruption, undismayed by the power of his antagonists, and indifferent to persecution, he was eminently calculated to obtain the reputation of a disinterested patriot-the name he has left behind him.

Unconnected with politics he was universally esteemed, and, the many soubriquets under which he was characterized by party-writers, are free from everything of envy or ill-nature. Cobbett, an able political writer, but a feeble orator, playfully commemorated Burdett's high sentiments in the epithet of "Old Glory," and alluded to his wealth as "the Man of many Acres ;" his most indisputable title, however, was "the Man of the People;" and, from the elegance of his manners, hospitality of his mansion, attachment to ancient customs, and habits, and sports, he was chosen by the lyrist as the original of a ballad called "The Old English Gentleman."

Sir Francis Burdett died at his residence in London, on the 23rd of January, 1844, having survived his lady only a few days, and was interred in the quondam cathedral church of Ramsbury, in the county of Wilts.

THE ARRIVAL.

BY THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON.

They come ! they come! O joyful sight!
Now laugh'st thou at my dream last night?
Look where yon cloud mounts up in air
Sister! their rapid steeds are there!

Believ'st thou now? They speed, they fly!
Hence, ye quick tears! nor dim mine eye!
See, in the sun their hands they wave!
Welcome, my faithful and my brave!

He sees, he sees me, Clare! and now!

('Tis godlike still) he bares his brow:-
Up, cold one! canst thou stand and wait?
Let's greet the heroes at the gate!

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