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lishing offices. His health did not allow of his being present, but he sent to Mr. John Francis the following kindly words of parting :—

"I entrust to my friend, and your chairman, Mr. Francis, a few words of welcome, expressing my feelings in regard to this meeting. I wish my guests, and fellow workers in the Athenceum, to recollect that during the thirty-five years of my service not a single angry word or doubtful transaction has passed on either side, and that I feel myself largely indebted to their prompt and courteous punctuality, which has made not the easiest of tasks a comparatively light one. Better supported I could not have been. I thank you with all my heart most cordially, and wish you and yours health and prosperity for many a long year to come. I would have said this in person, but do not feel equal

l°'t- "Henry F. Chorley."

Death. Mr. Chorley died suddenly on Friday morning, the 16th of February, 1872. Mr. Francis had called upon him the day previous, and was with him for some time, when he spoke with much cheerfulness of his plans for the year, although he dwelt on the uncertain hold he had of life. He was buried beside his brother John in Brompton Cemetery, being followed to the grave by many musicians, literary and scientific celebrities, and a deputation from the Athenccum printing office.

The Athetueum, in its obituary notice of the 24th of February, says: "Critics ought to reverence his memory, for he fought a stout and Services as

Sl critic1

determined battle in vindication of their independence. In the conflict which took place at a period of our operatic history, when an impudent attempt was made to silence all expression of opinion except that which suited the views of Impresarios, Mr. Chorley stood almost alone in opposition to obsequiousness and corruption. And in the unequal combat truth ultimately prevailed over numbers—over those who weakly gave way to intimidation or to more disgraceful influences. The true nature of a critic's functions, so difficult to exercise and so often misunderstood and misrepresented, was thoroughly comprehended and acted upon by Mr. Chorley. Of the confraternity of journalists he was a distinguished ornament, one whose conduct and career can be cited as thoroughly honourable and consistent. He was the steady advocate of the cause of good music, and he was the firm supporter of rising talent, whenever and wherever it could be found. Always fearless in the exposure of ignorance and incompetency, he was ever kind-hearted and generously extended the helping hand to novices striving for name and fame Mr.'Chorley had

an extensive acquaintance among men of letters: to mention only Lord Macaulay and Mr. Charles forOiarles Dickens, will suffice to show that his friends Dickens. were or the highest intellectual order. His intimacy with the latter lasted until death separated them, and Mr. Chorley has proved in his will how strong was this attachment to the young reporter in the Parliamentary gallery, who commenced his career much about the same time as he did, for he has bequeathed to Miss Dickens an annuity of 200/. for life." * Toems The following is a list of the poems contriCOtorithee<1 buted by Mr. Chorley to the Athenceum :— Athaucum. l832 < Sir Walter Scott's Return to England/ June 30th.

1833. 'Song,' January 26th. 'Dirge,' June 1st. "Lyrics of Home": I. 'Una's Wedding Day,' August 31st; II. 'The Birth of the First-born/

* In a letter addressed to Mr. Hewlett Miss Dickens writes: "After my father's death, and before we left the dear old house, Mr. Chorley wrote and asked me if I would send him a branch off- each of our large cedar trees, as a remembrance of the place. My friend, and his dear friend, Mrs. Lehmann, saw him lying calm and peaceful in his coffin, with a large green branch on each

side of him He had given orders that these branches

should be laid with him in his coffin. So a piece of the place he loved so much, for its dear master's sake, went down to the grave with him."

September 14th; III. 'The Fallen One's Return/ September 28th; IV. 'The Old Man's Relics,' October 19th; V. 'Marian's Sorrow,' October 26th ; VI. * My Father's Rest,' November 30th.

1835. 'Song': "Give me old Music," January 3rd. 'Paganini,' September 12th.

1836. 'Hymn of the Old Discoverers,' January 30th. 'A Midsummer Song,' July 9th.

1837. 'New Year's Song,' December 30th.

1839. 'The Statue of Joan of Arc at Versailles,' January 19th.

1840. 'The Poor Poet to the New Year,' January 4th.

1841. 'Mademoiselle Rachel as Camillc,' May 15 th.

1847. 'The Song of the Besieged,' August 21 st. 'The Avalanche,' November 6th. 'To Pasta,' November 13th. 'Isola Bella,' December nth.

1848. 'The First Bright Day,' February 12th. 'The Ides of March,' March 4th. 'Thoughts for the Time,' March 18th. 'The Cell on Johannisberg,' March 25th. 'A Thought in the Sunshine,' October 7th. 'Thoughts for the Time,' December 16th.

1851. 'Care's Holiday,' October 18th.

1852. 'On the Tamino,' July 31st.

1854. 'Under the Olive Trees,' August 19th. 1857. 'Manin,' October 10th.

1858. 1 Havelock,' January 16th. 'From the Sea,' September 25th.

The following are two of the above-mentioned poems:—

HYMN OF THE OLD DISCOVERERS.

'Hymn of Weep not, ye loved ones, though ye say farewell iiscovcrers' kindred pilgrims, bound for climes unknown,

We shall return their wondrous things to tell;

Speak not of peril when your friends are gone— But drink their health with words of pleasant cheer: Our hands are strong—our hearts they know not fear.

God is our hope and refuge!

We will not fear, tossed on the ancient sea,

When mighty winds, unchained, do scourge the waves
To foaming madness—and the guilty flee

To prayer too late—and dread of ocean graves
Smites the bold crew—and mocking visions come
Of quiet shaded churchyards far at home!

God is our hope and refuge!
We will not fear, though, shuddering at our feet,

Earth yawn in boundless chasms—though rocks be rent
By pent-up thunders, and with blasting heat

Wide sudden lightnings swathe the firmament—
Though the volcano's flame the stars assail,
And ghastly meteors make the midnight pale.

God is our hope and refuge!
We will not fear, albeit our way we thread

Through some wood-wilderness, where all the night
Cry loud the ravening beasts; and where we tread,

Marsh vapours, and the strange malicious light
Of serpent eyes gleam round us to betray
Our feet, that bleed upon the thorny way—

God is our hope and refuge

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