"Is this the end of genius, virtue, and excellence?
Is the luminary of the world thus for ever gone?
Oh, yesterday! yesterday! Clare, why could not I have died in your stead?
Dreadful moment! Irreparable loss! Lost in the very maturity and vigour of his mind! Cut off from a usefulness ten thousand times greater than any he had already exhibited! Oh, his was a mind to have instructed sages, and guided the moral world! This is all we have left of him! The eloquence of those lips is gone! The incessant activity of that heart is still! The best and wisest of men is gone, and the world is insensible of its loss!" Mr.Tyrrel heard the intelligence of Mr.Clare's death with emotion, but of a different kind.

He avowed that he had not forgiven him his partial attachment to Mr.Falkland, and therefore could not recall his remembrance with kindness.

But if he could have overlooked his past injustice, sufficient care, it seems, was taken to keep alive his resentment.

"Falkland, forsooth, attended him on his death-bed, as if nobody else were worthy of his confidential communications." But what was worst of all was this executorship.

"In every thing this pragmatical rascal throws me behind.