In 1821, the degree of LL.D. was conferred on him by the University of Oxford; and other marks of distinction were within his grasp, if he had chosen to accept them. He was unambitious of public celebrity, and cared little for going into the world. In fact, he is pronounced to have mixed too little with his fellow men, and was therefore wanting in that particular kind of intelligence and information which can only be obtained by a free and familiar intercourse with the world. That “the proper study of mankind is man,” is a doctrine with which he appears to have had little or no sympathy, so long as he had it in his power to say with truth: “Around me I behold, Where’er these casual eyes are cast, The mighty minds of old; My never-failing friends are they, With whom I converse night and day.” One of Southey’s latest prose compositions consisted of his “Colloquies on the Progress and Prospects of Society,” in which Montesinos is made to converse with the ghost of Sir Thomas More. On the death of Mr. Pye, the poet-laureate, the vacant dignity had been offered to Sir Walter Scott; but the great Border Minstrel declining to accept of it, used his influence in favor of Southey, who was accordingly appointed. In this capacity he composed his “Carmen Triumphale” and “The Vision of Judgment,” which, like the productions of other laureates, encountered much ridicule. His latest poetical emanations were, “All for Love,” and “The Pilgrim of Compostella.” Southey’s repute as an author and political writer rose so high, that he was offered a baronetcy, and election to the representation in Parliament of a ministerial borough. However, his knowledge was rather of books than human affairs; he was by no means qualified to “make himself formidable” as a senator; he was ever in extremes, and had no experience of that middle path which can alone be permanently maintained in dealing with public affairs, and which is ever chosen by those not incapacitated by nature to learn from the past, and meet the shadowy future with prescience. Under these circumstances he acted with wisdom and prudence: he considered that his fame and prosperity could only be preserved by a resolute adherence to his studious occupations; and he declined both distinctions, continuing his habits of ceaseless reading and composition. It seems that, in his entranced devotion to his literary projects, he had neglected that exercise which he had declared so essential to health, and during his three last years he became the victim of disease. The early partner of his joys and sorrows had already sunk into the grave; and Southey had contracted a second union with a lady known for her poetic accomplishments. He is said to have left a considerable fortune――the result of his industry――at his death, which took place on the 21st of March, 1843. He was buried in the church-yard at Crosthwaite, in the neighborhood of his residence by