“I forbear from all application of the lines.  It is enough for me, certainly, to say here, to-day, that our country was proud to be represented at the courts of Vienna and London successively by a gentleman of so much culture and accomplishment as Mr. Motley, and that the circumstances of his recall were deeply regretted by us all.

“His fame, however, was quite beyond the reach of any such accidents, and could neither be enhanced nor impaired by appointments or removals.  As a powerful and brilliant historian we pay him our unanimous tribute of admiration and regret, and give him a place in our memories by the side of Prescott and Irving.  I do not forget how many of us lament him, also, as a cherished friend.

“He died on the 29th ultimo, at the house of his daughter, Mrs. Sheridan, in Dorsetshire, England, and an impressive tribute to his memory was paid, in Westminster Abbey, on the following Sunday, by our Honorary Member, Dean Stanley.  Such a tribute, from such lips, and with such surroundings, leaves nothing to be desired in the way of eulogy.  He was buried in Kensal Green Cemetery, by the side of his beloved wife.

“One might well say of Motley precisely what he said of Prescott, in a letter from Rome to our associate, Mr. William Amory, immediately on hearing of Prescott’s death:  ’I feel inexpressibly disappointed —­speaking now for an instant purely from a literary point of view —­that the noble and crowning monument of his life, for which he had laid such massive foundations, and the structure of which had been carried forward in such a grand and masterly manner, must remain uncompleted, like the unfinished peristyle of some stately and beautiful temple on which the night of time has suddenly descended.  But, still, the works which his great and untiring hand had already thoroughly finished will remain to attest his learning and genius, —­a precious and perpetual possession for his country.”

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The President now called on Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, who said:—­

“The thoughts which suggest themselves upon this occasion are such as belong to the personal memories of the dear friends whom we have lost, rather than to their literary labors, the just tribute to which must wait for a calmer hour than the present, following so closely as it does on our bereavement.”

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“His first literary venture of any note was the story called ‘Morton’s Hope; or, The Memoirs of a Provincial.’  This first effort failed to satisfy the critics, the public, or himself.  His personality pervaded the characters and times which he portrayed, so that there was a discord between the actor and his costume.  Brilliant passages could not save it; and it was plain enough that he must ripen into something better before the world would give him