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thai hath lost a tubject by the business."—" He (old me also how loose the Court is, nobody looking liter business, hut every man his lust and gain; and how the King is now become so besotted upon Mrs Stewart, that he gels into corners, and »ill be with her half an hour together kissing her to ihe observation of alt the world; and she now «aysbjr herself and expects it as my Lady Castlemame did use to do; to whom the King, he says, is still kind." ate.

"Coming to St. James, I hear that the Queene did slop five hours pretty well to-nigh'. The King they til «ay, is most fondly disconsolate for her, and we«ps by her, which makes her weep; which one ibis day told me he reckons a good sign, for trii; i'. carries away some rheum from the head! .^tw tells us that the Queene'e sickness is the spotted Icier; that she was as full of the spots ae a leopard: which is very strange that it should be no more known; but perhaps it is not so. And that the King do seem to lake it much to heart, for that he h»:h »ept before her; but for all that, he hat H not XMief one night, since she was sick, of supping with шу Lady Castlemaine! which I believe is ¡tjr, tor she says that her husband hath dressed the tappers every night; and I confess I saw him myself coming through the street dressing up a great rapper to-night, which Sarah says is also for the Kinir and her; which is every strange thing."

"Tierce do tell me, among other news, the late ftoliek and debauchery of Sir Charles Sedley and Boekhursi running up and down all the night, almost naked, through the streets; and at last fightИ г. and being heat by the watch and clappea up ail night ; ani how the King takes their parts ; and mr bird Chief Justice Keeling hath laid the conеиЧе by the heel» to answer it next sessions; which is a horrid shame. Also how the King and these gentlemen did make the fiddlers of Thetford, thi« last progress, to sine them all the obscene song! they could think of! That the King was drank ai Saxam with Sedley, Buckhursf, &c. the night that my Lord Arlington came thither, and would not give him audience, or could not: which is ''•in. fur it was the night that I woe there, and saw lii- King go up to his chamber, and was told that :r,e Kng hsd been drinking."—" He tells me that 'Ье King and my Lady Casllemaine are quite broke off. aid she is gone away, and is with child, and iwrarsthe King shall own it; and she will have it ckristened in me chapel at White Hall so, and owned for the King's as other kings have done ; or nt will bring it into White Hall gallery, and dash tiu brains »/ ¿i oui before Ihe Kinfsface! He tells me that the King and court were never in the world n bad is thev are now, for gaming, swearing, women, and drinking, and the most abominable vices that ever were in the world; so that all must come to nought.'*

They came to Sir G. Carteret's house at Cranbourne, and there were entertained, and all made ifmb; and. being all drunk, Ärmerer did come to the King, and swore to him by God, 'Sir,' says h-. 'you are not eo kind to the Duke of York of l»le a you used to be.'—' Not I !' says the King. 'Wh»«oi'—'Why,' says he, 'if you are, let us drink his health.'—' Why let us,' says the King. Then he fell on hie knees and drank it ; and having done, the King began to drink it. 'Nay, sir,' says Anrwrrr. 'by Gnd you must do it on your knees!' Sebe did. end then all the company: and having fa'* it. я!1 fell a crying for joy. being all maudlin «i ii.<ii*c one another.' the King ihe Duke of York, and the Duke of York ihe King! and in Tb » maudlin pickle as never people were: and «ra-wd the day!"

It affords us no pleasure, ho wever, to expose the«« degrading traits—even in departed roy*lty; but it is of more consequence to mark '•he political vices to which they so naturally W The following entry, on me King's ad

journing the Parliament in 1667, gives such a picture of the court policy, as makes one wonder how the Revolution could have been no long deferred.

"Thus they arc dismissed again, to their general great distaste, I believe the greatest [hat ever Parliament was, 10 see themselves so fooled, and the nation in certain condition of ruin, while the King, they see, is only governed by his lust, and women, and rogues about him. They do all give up the kingdom lor lost, that I speak to; and do hearuAcX the King tayi, how he and the Duke of York do


May Need No More pAiu.iAMENTS: and how my Lady Castlemaine hath, before the late breach between her and the King, said to the King, that he must rule by att army, or "// would be lost! I an told that many petitions were provided for ihe Parliament, complaining of the wrongs they have received from the court and courliers, in oily and country, if the Parliament had but sat: nna I do perceive they all do resolve to have a good account of the money spent, before ever they give a larthing more; and the whole kingdom is every where sensible ol their being abused," &c.

The following confirmation of these speculations is still more characteristic, both of the parties and their chronicler.

"And so she (Lady Castlemaine) is come to-day, when one would ihmk his mind should be full of some other cares, having but this morning broken up such a Parliament wnh so much discontent and so many wants upon him, and but yesterday heard such a germon apainst adultery.' But it seems she hath told the King, that whoever did get it, he should own it. And the bottom of the quarrel is this :—She is fallen in love with young Jermin. who hath of late been wiih her oftener than the King, and is now going to marry my Lady f'almouth; the King is maa at her entertaining Jermin, and she is mad at Jermin's going to marry from her: so they are all mud!—ana thus the kingdom is troverned! But he tells me for certain that nothing is more sure lhan that the King, and Duke of York, and the Chancellor, are desirous and labouring all they cnn to get an army, whatever the King says to the Parliament; and he believes that they are at last resolved to stand and fall all three together."

A little after we find traces of another project of the same truly legitimate school.

"The great discourse now is, that the Parliament shall be dissolved and another called, which shall give the King the dean and chapter lands; and will put him out of debt. And it is said ihat Buckingham do knowingly meet daily with Wildman and other Commonwealth-men ; and that when he is with them he makes the King believe that he is with his wenches."

The next notice of this is in the form of a confidential conversation with a person of great intelligence.

"And he told me. upon my several inquirieeto that purpose, that he did believe it was not yet resolved whether the Parliament should ever meet more or no, the three great rulers of things now standing thus: —The Duke of Buckingham is absolutely against their meeting, as moved thereto by his people that he advises with, the people of the late times, who do never expect to have any thing done by this Parliament lor their religion, and who do propose that, by the sale of the church lands, they shall be able to put the King out of debt, &c. He tells me that he is really persuaded that the design of the Duke of Buckingham is to bring the state into such a condition as, if the King do die without issue, it shall, upon his death, break into pieces again; and so put by the Duke of York,—whom they have disobliged, they know, to that degree as to despair of his pardon. He tells me that there is no way to rule the king but by brisknesse, which the Duke of Buckingham hath above all men; and that the Duke of York having it not, his best way is what he practises, that is to say, a good temper, which will support him till the Duke of Buckingham and Lord Arlington fall out, which cannot be long first; the former knowing that the latter did, in §: time of the Chancellor, endeavour with the Chancellor to hang him at that time, when he was proclaimed against.”

And again—

“The talk which these people about our King have, is to tell him how neither privilege of parliament nor city is any thing; but that his will is all, and ought to be so; and their discourse, it seems, when they are alone, is so base and sordid, that it makes the eares of the very gentlemen of the back stairs (I think he called them) to tingle to hear it spoke in the King's hearing; and that must be very bad indeed.”

The following is not so material as to doctrine—though we think it very curious.

“After the bills passed, the King, sitting on his throne, with his speech writ in a paper w ich he held in his lap, and scarce looked off of it all the time he o: his speech to them, giving them thanks for their subsidys, of which, had he not need, he would not have asked or received them; and that need, not from any ertravagancys of his, he was sure, in any thing!—but the disorders of the times. His speech was very plain; nothing at all of spirit in it, nor spoke with any ; but rather on the contrary imperfectly, repeating many time his words, though he read all; which I am sorry to see, it having not been hard for him to have got all the speech without booke.”–And upon another occasion, “I crowded in and heard the King's speech to them; but he speaks the worst that ever 1 heard a man in my life: worse than if he read it all, and he had it in writing in his hand.”

It is observed soon after—viz. in 1664—as a singular thing, that there should be but two seamen in Parliament—and not above twenty or thirty merchants: And yet from various intimations we gather that the deportment of this aristocratical assembly was by no means very decorous. We have already had the incidental notice of many members coming in from dinner half drunk, on the day of the author's great oration—and some of them appear now and then to have gone a little farther, early as the hours of business then were.

“He did tell me, and so did Sir W. Batten, how Sir Allen Brodericke and Sir Allen Apsley did come drunk the other day into the House; and did both speak for half an hour, together, and could not be either laughed, or pulled, or bid to sit down and hold their peace,—to the great contempt of King's servants and cause; which I am grieved at with all my heart.”

The mingled extravagance and penury of this disorderly court is strikingly illustrated by two entries, not far from each other, in the year 1667—in one of which is recorded the royal wardrobeman's pathetic lamentation over the King's necessities—representing that his Majesty i. “actually no andkerchiefs, and but three bands to his neck”—and that he does not know where to take up a yard of linen for his service —and the other settin forth, that his said Majesty had lost 25,000l.

in one night at play with Lady Castlemaine-and staked 1000l. and 1500l. on a cast. It is a far worse trait, however, in his character, that he was by no means scrupulous as to the pretexts upon which he obtained money from his people—these memoirs, containing repeated notices of accounts deliberately falsified for this purpose—and not a few in particular, in which the expenses of the navy are exaggerated—we are afraid, not without our author's co-operation—to cover the misapplication of the money voted for that most popular branch of the service, to very different purposes. In another royal imposture, our author now appears to have been also implicated, though in a manner far less derogatory to his personal honour, we mean in procuring for the Duke of York, the credit which he has obtained with almost all our historians, for his great skill in maritime affairs; and the extraordinary labour which he bestowed in improving the condition of the navy. On this subject we need do little more than transcribe the decisive statement of the noble Editor, to whose care we are indebted for the publication before us; and who, in the summary of Mr. Pepys' life which he has prefixed to it, observes—

“Mr. Stanier Clarke, in particular, actuall

dwells upon the essential and lasting benefit whic that monarch conferred on his country, by building up and regenerating the naval power; and asserts as a proof of the King's great ability, that the regulations still enforced under the orders of the admiralty are nearly the same as those originally drawn up by him. It becomes due therefore to Mr. Pepys to explain, that for these improvements, the value of which no person can doubt, we are indebted to him, and not to his royal master. To establish this fact, it is only necessary to refer to the MSS. connected with the subject in the Bodleian and Pepysian libraries, by which the extent of Mr. Pepys' official labours can alone be appreciated; lo, even find in the Diary, as early as 1668, that a long letter of regulation, produced before the commissioners of the navy by the Duke of York, as his own composition, was entirely written by our clerk of the acts.”-(I. xxx.)

We do not know whether the citations we have now made from these curious and most miscellaneous volumes, will enable our readers to form a just estimate of their value. But we fear that, at all events, we cannot now indulge them in any considerable addition to their number. There is a long account of the great fire, and the great sickness in 1666, and a still longer one of the insulting advance of the Dutch fleet to Chatham in 1667, as well as of our absurd settlement at Tangier and of various naval actions during the period to which the Diary extends. But, though all these contain much curious matter, we are not tempted to make any extracts: Both because the accounts, being given in the broken and minute way which belongs to the form of a Diary, do not afford many striking or summary passages, and because what is new in them, is not for the most part of any great importance. The public besides has been lately pretty much satiated with details on most of those subjects, in the contemporary work of Evelyn, of which we shaft j say, that though its author was indisputably more of' a -rent lemán, a scholar, and a man of taste than our actuarV; it is far inferior both in intiTfft. curiosity, and substantial instruction, to which we are now considering. The two authors, however, we are happy to find, wfn4 great friends; and no name is mentioned in the latter part of the Diary with more uniform respect and affection than that of Evelyn — though it is very edifying to see how the shrewd, practical sagacity of the man of busii)>'»v revenges itself on the assumed superiority of the philosopher and man of letters. In this respect we think there is a fine keeping of character in the sincerity of the folio wing passage —

"By waler to Deptford, and there made a visit :o .Mr. Kvelyn. who, rmiong other things, showed me most excellent painting m little; in distemper, Indira incke, water colours: graveing; and above all, the whole mezzo-tinto, and the manner of it, which is very pretty, and good things done with it. He read to me very much also of his discourse, he hath been many years and now is about, about Gardenase; which is a most noble and pleasant piece. He read me part of a play or two of his own making — very good, but not at he conceit» Лол, I think, ro be. He showed me his Horma Пуста!»; leaves laid up in a book of several plants V'.p; dry, which preserve colour, however, and look тегу finely, better than an herball. In fine a most excellent person he is, — ana mutt be allowed я little for a little conceitedness; but he may well ut so. being a man so much above others. He read in«1 though iri'iA too much gusto, some little poems M tv.s own that ¡rere not transcendant; yet one or •mo very pretty epigrams; among others, of a lady I'j'ikinz in at a grate, and being pecked at by an ei'te that was there."

And a little after he chuckles not a little •v-?r his learned friend's failure, in a speculation about making bricks — -concluding very safely, "eo that I see the most ingenious !;••:! may sometimes be mistaken!"

We meet with the names of many distinguished men in these pages, and some characteristic anecdotes, — but few bold characters. He has a remarkable interview with Clarendon — in which the cautious and artful demeanoor of that veteran politician is finely displayed, though on a very trivial occasion. Hi" Navy Board had marked some trees for cutting in Clarendon Park without his leave — i! which he had expressed great indignation; •>:.•! our author went, in a prodigious fright, to pacify him. He found him busy hearing ":r.i*>s in his chambers, and was obliged to wait.

1 Alter all done, he himself called, ' Come, Mr. fw« У0" and I w°i" 'ake a tprn i" 'he garden.' So he was led ilown stairs, having the goute, and ili?re walked wiih me, I think above an hour, talkt"i mast friendly. bat cunningly! — H« told me he '•"uld not direct me in any thing, that it might not "»aid thnl the Lord Chancellor did labour to abuse 'fif King; or (as I offered) direct the suspending the "port of the purveyors: but I tee what he means, °">H »nil make it my work to do him service in it. Bot Lord" to see how we poor wretches dare not 6" tli* King good service, for fear of the greatness

There is no literary intelligence of any value l!>be cained from this work. Play collectors W¡11 probably find the names of many lost — but of our classical authors there are

no notices worth naming—a bare intimation of the deaths of Waller, Cowley, and Davenant, and a few words of Dryden—Milton, we think, not once mentioned. There is more of the natural philosophers of Gresham College, but not much mat is valuable—some curious calculations and speculations about money and coinages—and this odd but authentic notice of Sir W. Potty's intended will.

"Sir William Petty did tell me that in good earnest he hath in his will left some parts of hi8 estate to him that could invent such and such things. As among others, that could discover truly the way of milk coming into the breasts of a woman ! and he that could invent proper characters to express to another the mixture of relishes and tastes. And says, that to him that invents gold, he gives nothing for the philosopher's stone; tor (save he) they that find out that, will be able to pay themselves. But, says he, by this means it is better than to go to a lecture ; for here my executors, that must part with this, will be sure to be well convinced of the invention before they do part with their money."

The Appendix, which seems very judiciously selected, contains some valuable tragments of historical information: but we have not now left ourselves room for any account of them; and are tempted to give all we can yet spare to a few extracts from a very curious correspondence between Mr. Pepys and Lord Reay and Lord Tarbut in 1699, on the subject of the Second Sight among our Highlanders. Lord Reay seems to have been a firm believer in this gift or faculty—but Lord Tarbut had been a decided sceptic, and was only converted by the proofs of its reality, which occurred to himself while in the Highlands, in the year 1652 and afterwards. Some of the stories he tells are not a little remarkable. For example, he says, that one night when one of his Celtic attendants was entering a house where they had proposed to sleep, he suddenly started back with a scream, and fell down in an agony.

"I asked what the matter was, for he seemed to me to he very much frighted: he told me very seriously that I should not lodge in thai house, because shortly a dead coffin would be carried out of it, for many were carrying it when he was heard cry! I neglecting his words and staying there, he said to others of the servants he was very sorry for it, and that what he saw would surely come to pass: and though no sick person was then there, yet the landlord, a healthy Highlander, dud of an apoplectic jit before I left the home."

Another occurred in 1653, when, in a very rugged part of the country, he fell in with a man who was staring into the air with marks of great agitation. Upon asking what it was that disturbed him, he answered,

"I see a troop of Englishmen leading their horses down that hill—and some of them are already in the plain, eating the barley which is growing in tho field near to the hill.' This was on the 4th of May (for I noted the day), and it was four or five dayi before any barley wag sown in the field he spoke oi. Alexander Monro asked him how he knew they were Englishmen: he answered, because they were leading horses, and had on hats and boots, which he knew no Scotchmen would have on there We took little notice of the whole story as other than a foolish vision, but wished lhat an English party were there, we being then at war with them, and the place almost inaccessible for horsemen. But the beginning nf Augttfl thereafter, the Earl of Middle ton, then lieutenant for the King in the Highlands having occasion to march a party of his towards the South Islands, sent his foot through a place callee Inverlacwell, and the forepart, which was first down the hill, did fall to eating the barley which was on the linle plain under it.

Another of his lordship's experiences was as follows. In January 1682, he was sitting with two friends in a house in Ross-shire. when a man from the islands

"Desired me to rise from that chair, for it wai an unlucky one. I asked ' Why?' Не answered. 'Because there was a dead man in the chair nexl to it.'—' Well,' said I, 'if it be but in the next, 1 may safely sit here: but what is the likeness of the man f' tie said he was a tall man with a long grey coat, booted, and one of his legs hanging over the chair, and his head hanging down to the other side and his arm backward, as it were broken. Then were then some English troops quartered near the place, and there being at that time a great frosi »fier a thaw, the country was wholly covered over with ice. Four or five Englishmen riding by this house, not two hours after the vision, where we were sitting by the fire, we heard a great noise, which proved to be these troopers, with the help of other servants, carrying in one of their number who had got a very mischievous fall and had his arm broke; and Tailing frequently into swooning fits, (hey brought him to the hall, and set him in the very chair and in the very pautare which the seer had proposed: but the nan did not die, though he revived with great difficulty."

These instances are chiefly remarkable as being given upon the personal knowledge of an individual of great judgment, acuteness, and firmness of character. The following is from a still higher quarter; since the reporter was not even a Scotchman, and indeed no lese a person than Lord Clarendon. In a letter to Mr. Pepys in 1701, he informs him, that, in 1661, upon a Scottish gentleman being in his presence introduced to Lady Cornbury, he was observed to gaze upon her with a singular expression of melancholy; and upon one of the company asking the reason, he replied, "I see her in blood!" She was at that time in perfect health, and remained so for near a month, when she fell ill of small-pox: And

"Upon the ninth day after the small-pox appeared, in the morning, she bled at the nose, which quickly stopt ; but in the afternoon the blood burst out again with great violence at her nose and mouth, and about eleven of the clock that night she dyed, almott weltering in her blood.'"

There is a great number of similar stories, reported on the most imposing testimony— though, in some instances, the seer, we must say, is somewhat put to it to support his credit, and make out the accomplishment of his vision. One chieftain, for instance, had long been seen by the gifted, with an arrow »ticking in his thigh; from which they all inferred, that he-was either to die or to suffer greatly, from a wound in that place. To their •nrprise, however, he died of some other infliction, and the seers were getting out of reputation; when luckily a fray arose at the funeral, and an arrow was shot fairly through the thigh of the dead man, in the very spot where thfi vision had shown it! On another occasion, Lord Beay'e grandfather was told that

he had been seen with a dagger run into hi« breast—and though nothing ever happened to him, one of his servants, to whom he had given the doublet which he wore at the time of this intimation, was stabbed through it, in the very place where the dagger had been seen. Lord Reay adds the loLowing add.tional instance, of this glancing, as it were, o: the prophecy on the outer garment.

"John Macky, of Dilril, having put on» ne» suit of clothes, was told by a seer that he did »e the gallows upon his coat, which he never noticed. but some time alter gave hi* coat to his pervanr, William Forbess, to whose honesty there could Ыnothing said at that lime ; but he was shortly arsr hanged for theft, with the time coat about him: miinformer being an eye-witness of his execution, «nd one who had heard what the seer said before."

His lordship also mentions, that these visions were seen by blind people, as well as those who had sight,—and adds, that there was a blind woman in his time who had the faculty in great perfection ; and foretold many things that afterwards happened, as hunJreJ« of living witnesses could attest. We have no time now to speculate on these singular legends—but, as curious mementos of the Jubricity of human testimony, we think it right they should be once more brought into notice

And now we have done with Mr. Pepys. There is trash enough no doubt in his journal, —trifling facts, and silly observations in abundance. But we can scarcely say iba; we wish it a page shorter; and are of opinion, that there is very little of it which doe» not help us to understand the character of hii times, and his contemporaries, belter than we should ever have done without it; and make us feel more assured that we comprehend the great historical events of the age, and the people who bore a part in thon. Independent of instruction altogether luo. there is no denyine. that it is very entertaining thus to be transported into the very heart of a time so long gone by; and to be aJmitt' ii into the domestic intimacy, as well n* Hi* public councils, of a man of great activity and circulation ia the reign of Charlee П. Reading this book, in short, seems to us to be quit-as good as living with Mr. Samuel PcujÍ:'tlis proper person,—and though the court scandal may be detailed with more grace ana vivacity in the Mémoires de Grammont, wt lave no doubt but even this part of his mulu"arious subject is treated with far greater idelity and fairness in the work before u»while it gives us more clear and nndistortfJ glimpses into the true English life of it times—for the court was substantially foreign —than all the other memorials of them pu' :ogether, that have come down to our own.

The book is rather too dear and magnificent. But the editor's task we think pi«1'ently performed. The ample text is n< ncumbered with ostentatious commentantBut very brief and useful notices are eupp'iTM of almost all the individuals who are met. ioned; and an admirable and very minut1" ndex is subjoined, which methodises the unmenee miscellany—and places the vast chao« at our disposal.

a, 1808.)

A HtsiMj of the early Part of the Reign of James the Second; with an Introductory Chapter, By the Right Honourable Charles James Fox. To which is added an Appendix. 4to pp. Î40. Miller, London: 1808.

Ir it be true that high expectation is almost always followed by disappointment, it is scarcely possible that the readers of Mr. Fox's h;5torv should not be disappointed. So great a statesman certainly has not appeared as an author since the time of Lord Clarendon; and, independent of the great space which he fills in the recent history of this country, and the admitted splendour of his general talents, —his known zeal for liberty, me fame of his eloquence, and his habitual study of every thing relating to the constitution, concurred to direct an extraordinary degree of attention to the work upon which he was known to be engaged, and to fix a standard of unattainable excellence for the trial of his first acknowledged production. The very circumstance of his not having published any considerable work during his life, and of his having died rx-lore bringing this to a conclusion, served to increase the general curiosity; and to accumulate upon this single fragment the interest of hie whole literary existence.

No human production, we suppose, could bear to be tried by such a test ; and those who fit down to the perusal of the work before us, under the influence of such impressions, are тегу likely to rise disappointed. With those, however, who are at all on their guard against the delusive effect of these natural emotions, the result, we venture to predict, will be different; and for ourselves, we are happy to eav, that we have not been disappointed at all: but, on the contrary, very greatly moved and delighted with the greater part of this siusnlar volume.

We do not think it has any great value as a history; nor is it very admirable as a piece of composition. It comprehends too short a period, and includes too few events, to add rMich to our knowledge of facts; and abounds '>fi Ktde with splendid passages to lay much hold on the imagination. The reflections which it contains, too, are generally more remarkable for their truth and simplicity, than for any great fineness or apparent profundity of thinking: and many opportunities are ne- ••'•ted, or rather purposely declined, of eni-riî'2 into large and general speculations. Notwithstanding all this, the work, we think, is mvalnable; not only as a memorial of the ru-h principles and gentle dispositions of its iDnrtrione author, but as a record of those sentiments of true English constitutional inilependeiice, which seem to have been nearly forgotten in the bitterness and hazards of our more recent contentions. It is delightful as the pictnre of a character; and most instructive and opportune as a remembrancer of public duties: And we must be permitted to say a word or two upon each of these subjects.

To those who know Mr. Fox only by tr.e great outlines of his public history,—who know merely that he passed from the dissipations of too gay a youth into the tumult» and cabals of a political life,—and that his days were spent m contending about public measures, and in guiding or averting the tempests of faction,—the spirit of indulgent and tender feeling which pervades this book must appear very unaccountable. Those who live much in the world, even in a private station, commonly have their hearts a little hardened, and their moral sensibility a little impaired. But statesmen and practical politicians are, with justice, suspected of a still greater forgetfulness of mild impressions and honourable scruples. Coming necessarily into contact with great vices and great sufferings, they must gradually lose some of their horror for the first, and much of their compassion for the last. Constantly engaged in contention, they cease pretty generally to regard any human beings as objects of sympathy or disinterested attachment; and, mixing much with the most corrupt part of mankind, naturally come to regard the species itself with indifference, if not with contempt. All the softer feelings are apt to be worn off in the rough conflicts of factious hostility; and all the finer moralities to be effaced, by the constant contemplation of expediency, and the necessities of occasional compliance.

Such is the common conception which we form of men who have lived the life of Mr. Fox^ and such, in spite of the testimony of partial friends, is the impression which most private persons would have retained of him, if this volume had not come to convey a truer and a more engaging picture to the world at large, and to posterity.

By far the most remarkable thing, then, in this book, is the tone of indulgence and unfeigned philanthropy which prevails in every part of it ;—a most amiable sensibility to all the kind and domestic affections, and a sort of softheartedness towards the sufferings of individuals, which seems hitherto to have been thought incompatible with the stern dignity of history. It cannot but strike us with ¡ something still more pleasing than surprise, to meet with traits of almost feminine tenderness in the sentiments of this veteran statesman; and a general character of charily towards all men, not only remole from the rancour of vulgar hostilily, but purified in a great degree from the asperities of party contention. He expresses indeed, throughout, a high-minded contempt for what is base, and a thorough detestation for what is cruel: But yet is constantly led, by a sort of generous prejudice in favour of human nature, to admit

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