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mber, 1811.)

Memoirs of the Political and Private Life of James Caulficld, Earl of Charlemont, Knight of St. Patrick, Ire. fyc. By Francis Hardy, Esq., Member of the House of Commons in the three last Parliaments of Ireland. 4to. pp.426. London: 1810.*

This is the life of a Gentleman, written by a Gentleman,—and, considering the tenor of many of our late biographies, this of itself is no slight recommendation. But it is, moreover, the life of one who stood foremost in the political history of Ireland for fifty years preceding her Union,—that is, for the whole period during which Ireland had a history or politics of her own—written by one who was a witness and a sharer in the scene,—a man of fair talents and liberal views,—and distinguished, beyond all writers on recent politics that we have yet met with, for the handsome and indulgent terms in which he speaks of his political opponents. The work is enlivened, too, with various anecdotes and fragments of the correspondence of persons eminent for talents, learning, and political services in both countries; and with a great number of characters, sketched with a very powerful, though somewhat too favourable hand, of almost all who distinguished themselves, during this momentous period, on the scene of Irish affairs.

From what we have now said, the reader will conclude that we think very favourably of this book: And we do think it both entertaining and instructive. But (for there is always a but in a Reviewer's praises) it has also its faults and imperfections; and these, alas! so great and so many, that it requires all the good nature we can catch by sympathy from the author, not to treat him now and then with a terrible and exemplary severity. He seems, in the first place, to have begun and ended his book, without ever forming an idea of the distinction between private and public history ; and sometimes tells us stories abont Lord Charlemont, and about people who -were merely among his accidental acquaintance, far too long to find a place even in a biographical memoir;—and sometimes enlarges u pon matters of general history, with which Lord Charlemont has no other connection, than that they happened during his life, with a minuteness which would not be tolerated in a professed annalist. The biography »sain is broken, not only by large patches of historical matter, but by miscellaneous reflections, and anecdotes of all manner of persons; while, in the historical part, he successively fnakes the most unreasonable presumptions on the reader's knowledge, his ignorance, and tis curiosity,—overlaying him, at one time,

* I reprint only those parts of this paper which relate to the personal history of Lord Charlomont, and some of hi« contemporaries :—with the exception of one brief reference to the revolution of 1782, which I retain chipfly to introduce a remarkable letter of Mr. Fox's on the formation and principles of the new government, of that Tear.

with anxious and uninteresting details, and, at another, omitting even such general and summary notices of the progress of events ae are necessary to connect his occasional narratives and reflections.

The most conspicuous and extraordinary of his irregularities, however, is that of his style ;—which touches upon all the extremes of composition, almost in every page, or every paragraph ;—or rather, is entirely made up of those extremes, without ever resting for an instant in a medium, or affording any pause for softening the effects of its contrasts and transitions. Sometimes, and indeed most frequently, it is familiar, loose, and colloquial, beyond the common pitch of serious conversation; at other times by far too figurative, rhetorical, and ambitious, for the sober tone of history. The whole work indeed bears more resemblance to the animated and versatile talk of a man of generous feelings and excitable imagination, than the mature production of an author who had diligently corrected his manuscript for the press, with the fear of the public before his eyes. There is a spirit about the work, however,—independent of the spirit of candour and indulgence of which we have already spoken,—which redeems many of its faults; and, looking upon it in the light of a memoir by an intelligent contemporary, rather than a regular history or profound dissertation, we think that its value will not be injured by a comparison with any

¡ work of this description that has been recently

! offered to the public.

The part of the work which relates to Lord Charlemont individually, — though by no means the least interesting, at least in its adjuncts and digressions,—may be digested into a short summary. He was born in Ireland in 1728; and received a private education, un

; der a succession of preceptors, of various

j merit and assiduity. In 1746 he went abroad.

! without having been either at a public school or an university; and yet appears to have been earlier distinguished, both for scholarship and polite manners, than most of the ingenuous youths that are turned out by these celebrated seminaries. He remained on the Continent no less than nine years; in the course of which, he extended his travels to Greece, Turkey, and Egypt; and formed an intimate and friendly acquaintance with the celebrated David Hume, whom he met both at Turin and Paris—the President Montesquieu—the Márchese Maffei—Card inal Albani —Lord Rockingham—the Duc de Nivernois— and various other eminent persons. He had rather a dislike to the French national character; though he admired their literature, and the general politeness of their manners.

In 1755 he returned to hie native country, at the age of twenty-eight; an object of interest and respect to all parties, and to all individuals of consequence in the kingdom. His intimacy with Lord John Cavendish naturally disposed him to be on a good footing with his brother, who was then Lord Lieutenant; and "the outset of his politics," as he has himself observed, "gave reason to suppose that his life would be much more courtly than it proved to be." The first scene of profligacy and court intrigue, however, which he witnessed, determined him to act a more manly part— i: to be a Freeman/' as Mr. Hardy says, l:in the purest sense of the word, opposing the court or the people indiscriminately, whenever he saw them adopting erroneous or mischievous opinions." To this resolution, his biographer adds, that he had the virtue and firmness to adhere ; and the consequence was. that he was uniformly in opposition to the court for the long remainder ol his life!

Thouirh very regular in his attendance on the Irish Parliament, he always had a house in London, where he passed a good part of the winter, till 1773; when feelings of patriotism and duty induced him to transfer his residence almost entirely to Ireland. The polish of his manners, however, and the kindness of his disposition,—his taste for literature and the arts, and the unsuspected purity and firmness of his political principles, had before this time secured him the friendship of almost all the distinguished men who adorned England at this period. With Mr. Fox, Mrs. Burke, and Mr. Beauclerk — Sir Joshua Reynolds, Dr. Johnson, Sir William Chalmers—anil many others of a similar character—he was always particularly intimate. During the Lieutenancy of the Earl of Northumberland, in 1772, he was, without any solicitation, advanced to the dignity of an Earl; and was very much distinguished and consulted during the short period of the Rockingham administration;— though neither at that time, nor at any other, invested with any official situation. In 1768, he married; and in 1780, he was chosen General of the Irish Volunteers, and conducted himself in that delicate and most important command, with a desree of temper and judgment, liberality and firmness, which we have no doubt contributed, more than any thing else, both to the efficacy and the safety of that most perilous but necessary experiment. The rest of his history is soon told. He xvas the early patron and the constant friend of Mr. Grattan; and was the means of introducing the Single-Speech Hamilton to the acquaintance of Mr. Burke. Though very early disposed to relieve the Catholics from a part of their dieabilities, he certainly was doubtful of the prudence, or propriety, of their more recent pretensions. He wae from first to last a zealous, active, and temperate advocate for parliamentary reform. He was averse to the Legislative Union with Great Britain. He was uniformly steady to his principles, and faithful lo his friends: and seems to have divided the latter part of his life pretty equally between those elegant studies of literature and art by

which his youth had been delighted, геА those patriotic duties to which he had devoted his middle age. The sittings of the Inu Academy, over which he presided from its first foundation, were frequently held at Charlemont House ;—and he always extended Uk most munificent patronage lo the profe&eorsof art, and the kindest indulgence to joutbia! talents of every description. His health had declined gradually from about the year 1790; and he died in August 1799,—esteemed and ! regretted by all who had had any opportunity of knowing him, in public or in private, ai a friend oras an opponent.—Such is the sure reward of honourable sentiments, and mud and steady principles!

To this branch of the history belongs a Colsiderable part of the anecdotes and characters wilh which the book is enlivened; and, in t particular manner, those which Mr. Hardy has given, in Lord Charlemont's own word! from the private papers and memoirs «LA have been put into his hands. His Ltr.:-i. p appears to have kept a sort of journal of every thing interesting that befel him through Ule, and especially during his long residence 00 the Continent. From this document Mr.Hardy has made copious extracts, in the earlier part of his narrative ; and the general style of them is undoubtedly very creditable lo the noble author,—a little tedious, perhaps, Dot and then,—and generally a little too studiousl/ and maturely composed, for the private memoranda of a young man of talent? :—fcü always in the style and tone of a genllemanand with a character of rationality, and calm indulgent benevolence, that is infinitely mat pleasing than sallies of sarcastic wit, orpvr.w.i of cold-blooded speculation.

One of the first characters that appear» on the scene, is our excellent countryman, the celebrated David Hume, whom Lori] Char.•"• mont first met with at Turin, in the year 1750: —and of whom he has given an account га:ьг' more entertaining, we believe, than accun:-: We have no doubt, however, that it rtfor? with perfect fidelity the impression \\},xi I-.then received from the appearance ai:J ur versation of that distinguished philuroj-':-.. But. with all our respect for Lord Charlen.^ i we cannot allow a young Iris-h Lord, on hj first visit at a foreign court, to have bren ;•:cisely the persun most capable of appnc.a:.;. the value of such a man as David Ниш»- .— and though there is a great fund of troth it the following observations, we think thej illustrate the character and condition of lh* person who makes them, fully as much и that of him to w horn they are applied.

"Nature, I believe, never formet] злу nitn ГГ'"* unlike his real cliaracier limn David Hum». 1'• powers of physiognomy were baffled bv his «vu-'fnance: nor rould ihe most ski'tul in that я-*г--*. pretend to discover the smallest iraceol ih« iv'u ties of Ыя mind, in ihe unmeaning tea'urri ol nJ visage. His face was broad and Id'. hi» muu 2 wide, and without any oilier expression irían of imbecility. His eyes, vacant and .«piriflef*: a"ä the corpulence, of his whole person was tar Ь*гт fitted to communicate ihe idea oi a turtle-«" - 4'derman, than of a refined philosopher. He iftea. in English, was rendered ridiculous by the broadest Scotch accent; and his French was, it possible, still mor* laughable; so lhal wisdom, most certainly, never disguised herself before in so uncuuih a trarb. Though now near fifty years old he was healthy and strong; but his health and strength. lar from being advantageous to his figure, instead v>f manly comeliness, had only the appearance of rusticity, ilis wearing an uniform added greatly to his natural awkwardness; lor he wore it like a grocer of the trained bands. Sinclair was a lirutenÄiit-general, and was sent to the courts of Vienna and Turin as a military envoy, to seo that their ijuota of troops was furnished by the Austrians and Piedmontese. It was therefore thought necessary that his secretary should appear to be an officer; and Hume was accordingly disguised in scarlet. "Having thus given an account of his exterior, it

0 but fair that I should stale my good opinion of his characicr. Of all the philosophers of his sect, none,

1 believe, ever joined more real benevolence to its mischievous principles than my friend Hume. His love to mankind was universal, and vehement ; and there was no service he would not cheerfully have done to his fellow-creatures, excepting only that of suffering them to save their own souls in their own way. He was lender-hearted, friendly, and charitable in the extreme."—pp. Й, 9.

His Lordship then tells a story in illustration of the philosopher's benevolence, which we have no other reason for leaving out—but that we know it not to be true; and concludes a little dissertation on the pernicious effects of his doctrines, with the following little anecdote; of the authenticity of which also, we should entertain some doubts, did it not seem to have fallen within, his own personal knowledge.

"He once professed himself the admirer of a young, most he:iuiiful, and accomplished lady, at Turin, who only laughed at his passion. One day he addressed her in the usual common-place strain, that he was ubimé, anéanti.—' Oh .' pour anéanti,1 replied the lady, 'ce n'est eu rffr.l qu une opération trtt-nalurrUt de votre sytltme.' "— p. 10.

The following passages are from a later part uf thé journal: but indicate the same turn of mind in the observer :—

"Hume's/asííoK at Paris, when he was there as Secretary to Lord Hertford, was truly ridiculous; and nothing ever marked in a more striking manner, the whimsical genius of the French. No man, from his manners, was surely less formed for their society, or less likely to meet with their approbation; hut that flimsy philosophy which pervades and deadens even their most licentious novels, was then the folly of the day. Freelhmking and English frocks were the fashion, and the Anglomanie was the lau dit pais. From what has been already said of him, it is apparent that his conversation to strangers, and particularly to Frenchmen, could be little "delightful; and still more particularly, one would suppose to Frenchwomen. And yet, no lady'e toilette wns complete without Hume's attendance! At the opera, his broad, unmeaning frire wa-i usually seen entre deux jolis minois. The ladies in France give the ton. and the ton, at this time, was deism; a species of philosophy ill suited to the softer sex. in whose delicate frame weakness in intereeting, and timidity a charm. But the women in France were Heists, as with us they were charioteers. How my friend Hume was able to endure the encounter of those French female Titans, I know not. In England, either his philosophic pride, or his conviction that infidelity was ill suited to women, made him always averse from the initiation of ladies into the mysteries of his doctrine." —pp 121. 122.

•' Nothing," adds hie Lordship, in anotner place,

"ever showed a mind more truly benefice-., than Flume's whole conduct with regard to Rousseau. That siory is loo well known to be repealed; and exhibits a striking picture of Hume's heart, whilst it displays ihe strange and unaccountable vanity and madness of the French, or rather Swiss moralist. When first they arrived together from France, happening to meet with Hume in the Park, I wished him joy of his pleasing connection ; and particularly hinted, that I was convinced he must be perfectly happy in his new Iriend. as their religious opinions were, I believed, nearly similar. 'Why no, man,' said he, 'in that you are mistaken. Rousseau is not what you ihink him. He has a hankering after the Bible; and, indeed, is little better than a Christian, in a way of his own !' "—p. 120.

"In London, where he often did me the honour to communicate the manuscripts of his additional Essays, before their publication, I have sometimes, in the course of our intimacy, asked him, whether he thought that, if his opinions were universally (0 take place, mankind would not be rendered more unhappy than they now were; and whether he did not suppose, that the curb of religion was necessary to human nature? * The objections,' answered hef 'are not without weight; but error never can produce good ; and truth ought to lake place of all considerations.' He never failed, indeed, in the midst of any controversy, /o give its due praise to every thing tolerable that was either said or written against him. His sceptical turn made him doubt, and consequently dispute, every thing; yet was he a fair and pleasant disputant. Uk heard wilh patience, and answered wiihout acrimony. Neither was his conversation at any time offensive, even to his more scrupulous companions. His good sense, and good nature, prevented his saying any thing that was likely to shock; and it was not till he was provoked to argument, that, in mixed companies, lie entered into his favourite topics."—p. 123.

Another of the eminent person? of whom Lord Charlemont has recorded his impressions in his own hand, was the celebrated Montesquieu; of whose acquaintance he says, and with some reason, he was more vain, than of having seen the pyramids of Egypt. He and another Knglish gentleman paid their first visit to him at hie seat near Bourdeaux; and the following is the account of their introduction :—

"The first appointment with a favourite mistress could nol have rendered our night more restless than this flattering invitation ; and ihe next morning we set out so early, that we arrived at his villa before he was ri«en. The servant showed us inio hia library; where the first object of curiosiiy that presented itself was a table, at which he had apparently been reading the night before, a book lying upon it open, turned down, and a lamp extinguished. Eager to know the nocturnal studies of this great philosopher, we immediately flew to the book. It was a volume of Ovid's Works, containing hi« Elegies ; and open at one of the most gallant poems of l hat master of love! Before we could overcome our surprise, it was greatly increased by the entrance of the president, whose appearance and manner was totally opposite to the idea which we had formed to ourselves of him. Instead of a grave, austere philosopher, whose presence might strike with awe such boys as we were, the person who now addressed us, was a gay, polite, sprightly Frenchman ; who, after a thousand genteel compliments, and a thousand thanks for the honour we had done him, desired to know whether we would not breakfast; and, upon our declining ihe offer, having already eaten at an inn not far from the house. 'Come, then,' says he, 'let us walk; the day is fine, and I long to show you my villa, as I have endeavoured to form it according to ihe English taste, and to cultivate and dress it in the English manner.* Following him into the farm, we aeon arrived at the skirts of a beautiful wood, cut into walks, and paled round, the entrance lu which was barricadoed with a moveable bar, aliout three feet high, fastened with a padlock. 'Comr,' said he, searching in his pocket, 'it ia not worth our while to wait for the key ; you. I am sure, can leap as well as I can, and this bar shall not slop me.1 So saying, be ran at the bar, and fuirly jumped over it, while we followed him with amazement, though not without delight, to see the philosopher likely to become our play-fellow."—pp. 32. 33.

"In Paris. 1 have frequently met him in company with ladies, and have been as often astonished at the poliieness, the gallantry, and sprighilineéis of nie behaviour. In a word, the most accomplished, the most refined pelit-mailrc of Paris, could not have been more amusing, from the liveliness of his chat, nor could have been more inexhaustible in that sort of discourse which is best suited to women, than this venerable philosopher of seventy years old. But at this we shall not be surprised, when we reflect, that the profound author of L'Esprit des Loix was also author of the Persian Leliers, and of the truly gallant Temple de Gnide."—p. 36.

The following opinion, from such a quarter, might have been expected to have produced inore effect than it seems to have done, on eo jrarm an admirer as Lord Charlemont :—

"In the course of our conversations, Ireland, and ts interests, have often been the topic; and, upon .hese occasions, I have always found him an advo»te for an incorporating Union between that country and England. 'Were I an Irishman,1 said he. *I should certainly wish for it; and, as a general lover of liberty, I sincerely desire it; and lor this plain reason, that an inferior country, connected with one much her superior in force, can never be cenain of the permanent enjoyment of constitutional freedom, unless she hns. by her representatives, a proportional share in the legislature of the superior kingdom.' "—Ibid.

Of Lord Charlemont's English friends and associates, none is represented, perhaps, in more lively and pleasing colours than Topham Beauclerk: to the graces of whose conversation even the fastidious Dr. Johnson has borne such powerful testimony. Lord Charlemont. and, indeed, all who have occasion to speak of him, represent him as more accomplished and agreeable in society, than any man of his age—of exquisite taste, perfect good-breeding, and unblemished integrity and honour. Undisturbed, too, by ambition, or political animosities, and at his ease with regard to fortune, he mi<rht appear to be placed at the very summit of human felicity, and to exemplify that fortunate lot to which common destinies afford such various exceptions.

But there is no such lot. This happy man, so universally acceptable, and with such resources in himself, was devoured by спит! and probably envied, with cood reason, the condition of one half of those laborious and discontented beings who looked up to him with envy and admiration. He was querulous, Lord Charlemont assures us—indifferent, and internally contemptuous to the greater part of the world ;—and, like so many other accomplished persons, upon whom the want of employment has imposed the heavy task of selfoccupation, he passed his life in a languid and unsatisfactory manner; absorbed somelime i in play, and sometimes in study; and

seeking, in vain, the wholesome exercise of a strong mind, in desultory reading or contemptible dissipation. His Letter*, however, are delightful; and we are extremely oblnrni to Mr. Hardy, for having favoured us with * many of them. It is so seldom that the ¡ c-» animated, and unrestrained language of ¿< ! 'e conversation, can be found in a printed book that we cannot resist the temptation of tri..scribing a considerable part of the ípec.n.ci,before us; which, while they exemplify, hi the happiest manner, the perfect st\le t.: з gentleman, serve to illustrate, for more reflecting readers, the various sacrifice? that an* generally required for the formation tinenvied character to which that style beici^-. A very interesting essay might be wnlten > i, the unhappiness of those from whom r:j:u;e and fortune seem to have removed all the causes of unhappiness :—and we are м;ге that no better assortment of proofs and illustrations could be annexed to such an енат. than some of the following passages.

"I have been bul once at the club since tos V;i England; where we were entertained, as Umji!. ; т Dr. Goldsmi'h's absurdity. Mr. V. can gire то» an account of it. Sir Joshua intends paintirg io¿' picture over again; so you may set your twin U rest tor some time: it is true, it will last so mum the longer; but then you may wait these tea yean for it. Elmsly gave me a commission from too about Mr. Walpole's frames for prints, which a perfectly unintelligible: I wish yon would txpbin it. and H shall be punctually executed. The Duke of Northumberland has promised me i pair of hn new pheasants for you; but you must wait till til the crowned heads in Europe have been served fir*'. I have been at the review at Portsmouth. If joe had seen it, you would have owned, that it * > pleasant thing to be a King. It is true. mad«

a job of the claret to , who furnished The tir?'.

tables with vinegar, under that denomináis Charles Fox said, that Lord S—wich should Ьч» been impeached! What an abominable world do we live in! that there should not be above lull i dozen honest men m the world, and (hat entoi those should live in Ireland. You «ill, perhajr he shocked at the small portion of honesty iba I allot to your country: but a sixih pert iff at math as conies to its share; and, tor any thing Iknovio the contrary, the other five may be in Irrland too; for I am sure I do not know «'here else to tir.d :fctm

"I am rejoiced to find by your letter than La>:y C. is ns you wish. I have yet remaining W moca benevolence towards mankind, as to wi»h ihn iBfit may be a son of your's. educated by you. as a fpt< menol what mankind ought tobe. Goldsmith.'he other day. pul a paragraph into the newe[iaptn». ¡n praise of Lord Mayor I'ownahend. The samt t ^¡j: we happened to sit next to Lord Shelbume, u Drury Lnne. I mentioned the circumstance i he paragraph to him. He said to Goldsmith, the he hoped that he had mentioned nothing «dni: Malagrid.i in it. 'Do you know.' answered GuMsmith, 'that I never could conceive the reason why they coll you Malagrida ; for Mabgiida was a im good sort of man.' You sec plainly whsi r.c пмг.' lo say; but that happv turn of expression » pn'uliar to himself. Mr. \Volpole say«, that this »tor» is a picture of Guldsmiih's who!» life. Johiuor. has been confined for some weekf in the Ы« el Skyr. We hear thai he was obliged to i*im ¿>тег to the main land, taking hold of a cow'i laiL Be that as it may, Lady Di. has promi.-ed to Ditkea drawing of it. Our poor club is in a misrablf decay; unless von come and relieve it, it »'ill «f tainly expire. Would you imagine, that Sir Joibm Reynolds is extremely anxious to be a member of Almack's? You see what noble ambition will make a man attempt. That den is not yet opened, consequently I have not been there; so, for the present, I am clear upon that score. I suppose your confounded Irish politics take up your whole attention at present; but we cnnnnt dp without you. If you do not come here, I will bring all ihe club over to Ireland, to live with you, and that will drive you here in your own defence. Johnson shall fpoil your books, Goldsmith pull your flowers, and Boswell lalk to you. Slay then if you can. Adieu, tny dear Lord."—pp. 176, 177, 178.

"I saw a letter from Fooie, the other day, with •n account of an Irish tragedy. The subject is Manlius; and the last speech? which he makes, when he is pushed off from the Tarpeian Rock, is, 'Sweet Jesus, where am I going?' Pray send me word if this is true. We have a new comedy here, which is good for nothing. Bad as it is, however, it succeeds very well, and has almost killed Gold. smith with envy. I have no news, either literary or political, to send you. Every body, except myself, and about a million of vulgäre, are in the country. I am closely confined, ав Lady Di. expects to be во every hour."—p. 178.

"Why should you be vexed (o find that mankind are fools and knaves? I have known it so long, that every fresh instance of it amuses me, provided it does not immediately affect my friends or myself. Politicians do not seem to me to be much greater rogues than other people; and as their actions affect, in general, private persons less than other kinds of vil (any do, I cannot find that I am so nngry with them. It is true, that the leading men in both countries at present, are, I believe, the most corrupt, abandonee] people in the nation. But now that I am upon this worthy subject of human nature, I will inform you of a few particulars relating to ihe discovery of Otaheiie."—p. 180.

"There is another curiosity here,—Mr. Bruce. His drawings are the most beautiful things you ever Siiw. and his adventures more wonderful than those of Stnbad the sailor.—and, perhaps, nearly as true. I am much more nfflicted и ill) the account you fend rne of your health, than I am at the corruption of your ministers. I always hated politics; and I now bate them ten times worse; as I have reason to think ihai they contribute towards your ill health. You do me great justice in thinking, that whatever concerns you, must interest me; but as I wish you mosr sincerely to be perfectly happy, I cannot bear to think that the viilanous proceedings of others thnuld make you miserable: for, in thai case, undoubtedly you will never be happy. Charles Fox is 3 member at (he Turk's Head; but not till he was a patriot ; and you know, if one repents, &c. There is nothing new, but Goldsmith'* Retaliation, which you certainly have seen. Pray lell Lady Charlemont. from me. that I desire she may keep you trotn politics, as they do children from sweet' mente, thai make them sick."—pp. 181, 182.

We look upon these extracts as very interesting and valuable; but they have turned out to be so long, that we must cut short this branch of the history. We must add, however, a part of Lord Charlemont's account of Mr Burke, with whom he lived in habits of the closest intimacy, and continual correspondence, till his extraordinary breach with nis former political associates in 1792. Mr. Hardy does not exactly know at what period ths following paper, which was found in Lord Charlemont's handwriting, was written.

'* This most amiable and ingenious man was prívale secretary to bord Rockingham. It may not be superfluous to relate the following anecdote, the 'mili of which I can assert, and which does honour to him and his truly noble patron. Soon after Lord

Rockingham, upon the warm recommendation of many friends, had appointed Burke his secretary, the Duke of Newcastle informed him, that he had unwarily taken into his service a man of dangerous principles, and one who was by birth and education • papist and a Jacobite; a calumny founded upon Burke's Irish conneciions, which were niosi of them of that persuasion, and upon some juvenile follies arising from ihose connections. The Marquis, whose genuine Whiegism was easily alarmed, immediately sent for Burke, and told him what he liad heard. It was easy for Burke, who had been educated at the university at Dublin, to bring testimonies to his protestantism ; and with regara to the second accusation, which was wholly founded on the former, it was soon done away; and Lord Rockingham, readily and willingly disabused, declared that he was perfectly satisfied of the falsehood of the information he had received, and that he no longer harboured the smallest doubt of the integrity of his principles; when Burke, with an honest and disinterested boldness, told his Lordship that it was now no longer possible for him to be his secretary; that ihe reports he had heard would probably, even unknown to himself, create in his mind such suspicions, a« might prevenl his thoroughly confiding in him; and that no earthly consideration should induce him to stand in that relation with a man и ho did not place entire confidence in him. The Mnrquis, struck with this manliness ot sentiment, which so exactly corresponded with ihe feelings of his own hem, frankly and positively assured htm, lhat what had passed, far from Irnvinff any bad impression on his mind, had only served to fortify his good opinion; and that, if from no other reason, he might rest assured, that Irom hie conduct upon that occasion alone, he thould ever esteem, and place in him the most unreserved confidential trust—a promise which he faithfully performed. It must, however, be confessed, that his early habits and connections, though they could never make him swerve from his duty, had given his mind an almost constitutional bent towards the popish party. Prudence is, indeed, the only virtue he does not possess; from a total want of which, ahd from the amiable weaknesses of an excellent heart, his estimaiion in England, though still great, is certainly diminished."—pp. 343, 344.

We have hitherto kept Mr. Hardy himself so much in the back ground, that we think it is but fair to lay before the reader the soquel which he has furnished to the preceding notice of Lord Charlemont. The passage is perfectly characteristic of the ordinary colloquial style of the book, and of the temper of the author.

"Thus far Lord Charlemont. Something, though slighi, may be here added. Burke's disunion, and final rupture with Mr. Fox, were attended with circumstances so distressing, so far surpassing the ordinary limits of political hostility, that the mind really aches at the recollection of them. But let us view him, for an instant, in better scenes, and belter hours. He was social, hospitable, of pleasing access, and most agreeably communicative. One of the most satisfactory days, perhaps, lhat 1 ever passed in my life, was );oing with him, tête-à-tête, from London to Beconsfield. He stopped at Oxbridge, whilst his horses were feeding; and, happening to meet some gentlemen, of I know not what militia, who appeared to be perfect strangers lo him, he entered into discourse with them at the gateway of the inn. His conversation, at that moment, completely exemplified what Johnson said of him—' That you could not meet Burke for half an hour under a shed, without saying that he was an extraordinary man.' He was, on thai day, almcether, uncommonly instructive and agreeable. Every object of the slightest notoriety, as we passed along, whether of natural or local history, furnished him with abundant ma

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