of Mr. Brock, and having braved his hostility when living, our tribute to his memory cannot be looked on as other than the genuine offspring of our feeling and our judgment.

“Mr. Brock was not an ordinary man.  He was constituted of materials which would have led their owner to distinction in whatever sphere he might have been placed.  Indebted but little to early education, he possessed within himself a faculty of extracting knowledge from every thing that came within his observation; and, gifted with a powerful memory, a reflecting mind, and the art of methodizing and arranging the ideas and information which he acquired, he was enabled at all times to bring a mass of well digested and pertinent knowledge to bear upon and illustrate any subject which he was required to discuss.  He had a singular talent for comprehending principles and for seizing information, and arranging and applying it; so that there were few subjects upon which he entered on which he could not lay down sound principles, and illustrate and maintain them by sound arguments.  Too confident of his strength, and perhaps over-elated with his many victories, he would sometimes venture on untenable ground, and expose himself to the inroads of an able enemy; but these indiscretions were of rare occurrence, and the memory of his temporary checks was generally cancelled by the skilfulness of his retreats.

“If Mr. Brock was thus distinguished for his mental powers, he was no less so by the strength and felicity of his style of writing.  He had the rare talent of putting proper words in their proper places.  He wrote English with English plainness and English force.  There was nothing affected or modish in his manner.  He gave his readers an impression that he was clear in the conception of his own meaning, and he made it equally so to them.  He aimed at no ornament:  the beauty of his writings consisted in their perspicuity and strength.  A verbal critic might discover inaccuracies in his compositions, but the man of sense would find in them nothing unmeaning—–­ nothing useless—­nothing vapid.  He was not a turner of fine periods—­he was not a fine writer—­but he wrote with strength, precision, and lucidity; and his compositions, even where they failed to produce conviction, could never be read without creating respect for the masculine talents of their author......

“But the main ground on which the memory of Daniel De Lisle Brock must rest its claims on the affection, the respect, and the gratitude of his fellow countrymen, is the devoted—­the engrossing love which, during his whole life, he bore to his native land.  Every thought, every wish, every feeling of pride or ambition, centered in his beloved Guernsey.  She was the idol of his affections—­the object of all his solicitude—­the glory of his inmost heart.  His endeavours for her welfare may occasionally have been misdirected—­his objections to