I a en LETTERS OF THE LATE LORD LYTTLETON, ONLY SON OF THE VENERABLE GEORGE, LORD LYT- TLETON, AND CHIEF JUSTICE IN EYRE, &c. COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. Cfte 3f it#t American ambition. TO WHICH IS NOW ADDED, A MEMOIR CONCERNING THE AUTHOR, INCLUDING AN ACCOUNT OF SOME EXTRAORDINARY CIR- CUMSTANCES ATTENDING" HIS DEATH. TROY, N. Y. PRINTED AND SOLD BY WRIGHT, GOODENOW, & STOCKWELL, AT THE RENSSELAER BOOK-STORE. 1807. Black nex PREFACE ' TO THE FIRST AMERICAN EDITION. IN presenting to the publick an edition of these elegant letters, the publishers enter- tain hopes of gratifying the admirers of fine writing with an American copy more correct than most of those hitherto imported, and in a dress and form at least as suitable for a gen- tleman's library. As the introduction to the English edition is inserted in this, they will not descant on the masterly style of these let- ters, the motives and manner of their publi- cation, &:c. further than to remark, that this is a work which every scholar, ambitious of acquiring the best language for writing and conversation, and every lover of belles lettres, should purchase and peruse. But as some fastidious sectarian may deem the work too gay for Christian readers, or too profuse in free and open exposures of meretri- cious character for the present laxity of morals, the publishers cannot refrain from the declara- tion of an opposite opinion. For, when a man, surrounded with the trappings of nobility, the patronage of courts, and the dignity of office and C iv 3 hereditary titles idolized by a powerful and most respectable family flattered and caress- ed by the political and literary world placed at the head of gallantry and etiquette by the fashionable circles of his country endowed with strong and capacious natural powers of mind, improved by a good education graced with the manners of high life and the fasci- nating suavity of a courtier sporting the equipage of a nobleman, and loaded with the treasures of a prince and blooming in youth and vigour : when such a man starts on the career of libertine pleasures and dissipation : and when, with all these advantages and re- commendations, and with all these means of compassing his ends without fear of earthly punishment, or hindrance in his progress ; he fails ; he loathes the pleasures he ravished and enjoyed ; he finds no lasting repose or satis- faction ; he laments his irregular and licentious conduct ; he declares it at all times and in all circumstances dishonourable and distressing ; he envies the chaste pleasures of the virtuous and discreet ; he deprecates, in pathetick terms, his own folly and wickedness ; and declares, that no felicity or rewards can reach any but pure, chaste, and upright minds when such is discovered to be the inward situation of this C v] man, who will dream of happiness in pur- suits like these ? Or who will imbibe a bad sentiment, or adopt an errour in principle, from so odious an example ? Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, As to be hated needs but to be setn. And thou, vain man, who sayest to thyself, " I will riot on the bounty of creation, and revel in the luxuriance of feeling and affection; I will enjoy the pleasures of youth, beauty, and sensibility, unrestrained by the shackles of civil or religious rites and institutes, unawed by the frowns of virtue, and undisturbed by the anathemas of conscience, reason, and reli- gion" pause for a moment, and reflect ! Are thy prospects of satisfaction and delight in licen- tious life so bright as were young Lyttleton's ? And dost thou longer think of inward peace here, or of justification hereafter ? Read, then, and learn thy folly and weakness from the confidential language of thy pampered and ruined prototype. If thy mind be yet left nn- corrupt enough to perceive one rhetorical beau- ty in his style, thy heart cannot be too dull and insensible to feel the point of the reproof and warning his confessions speak. TROY, N. Y. JUNE, 1807. THE INTRODUCTION THERE is no species of publication which seems to be more agreeably received than that which illustrates the characters of men, distinguish- ed for their abilities, venerable for their erudition, and admired for their virtues. The political his- tory of great men is useful and necessary to many ; but the domestick history of all men is useful and necessary to all. Among the materials from whence the biogra- pher forms the volume of domestick characters, private letters are considered as the most valuable, becaufe they are the most unequivocal authorities of real sentiment and opinion. Conversation is too fugitive to be remembered ; publick declara- rations may be oftentimes suspected ; but the epis- tolary communications of friendship may be de- pended upon as faithful to the mind from whence they arise. The following letters, therefore, as pro- ceeding from a nobleman whose great talents prom- r vii ] ised no small utility to his country, and whose character has been the subject of such general spec- ulation, will, without doubt, meet with a favour- able reception. That they were not written with the most dis- tant idea of being offered to the world, will be evident to every reader ; and, surely, no inconsid- erable share of merit will be allowed them from such a circumstance. They may want, perhaps, the correctness and accuracy of prepared composi- tions ; but they possess that easy sincerity, and that open unbosoming of sentiments, which form the charm of epistolary correspondence. Some liberties have been taken with the letters at large, by omitting such as alluded to transac- tions which the world already too well knows, or which it would be shameful to betray. But no alteration has been made in any individual letrer, except an occasional retrenchment of expressions, which, however common in fashionable life, or unobserved in fashionable conversation, would not justify their being condensed into print, and might give cause of offence to the scrupulous reader. There may be also some irregularity in the dis- position of the letters : the thirteenth^ and the last^ should have an earlier place ; but they were alrea- dy numerically arranged and, as a precise order does not seem to be material, no alteration of ihis kind has been attempted, which, after all, mu^t have been made upon conjecture. C viii ] As these letters were, in general, without any dates, and not one of them marked with that of the year, it was thought proper to omit them throughout. The thirtieth letter, which appears to have been written the last of the collection, bears, in the manuscript copy, a conjectural date of the summer of 1775. As it was a matter of particular request, it was thought prudent to sup- press the names of those persons to whom these letters were addressed : though it is rather natural to suppose, that every reader, who has lived in the world, will form very probable conjecture? of them, without any great exercise of thought or power of divination. Hettets OF THE LATE LORD LYTTLETON. LETTER I. MY DEAR FRIEND, YOU do me great injustice : I receive your letters with the greatest pleasure; and I gave your last the usual welcome, though every line was big with reproaches to me. I feel myself .greatly mortified that you should have a sus- picion of any neglect on my part. When I cease to answer your addresses, you will be justified in supposing me careless about them : till then, you will, I hope, do me the justice, .as far at least as relates to yourself, to think well of me. I very sensibly feel the advantage of your good opinion, and the loss of it would greatly affect me. You may be assured that my insensibility to reputation is not such as some part of my conduct may have given you reason to believe : for, after all his blustering and looking big, the heart of the worst man B 10 cannot be at ease, when he forces a look of contempt towards th ill opinion of mankind. In spite of all his bravadoes, he is an hypocrite twelve hours out of the four-and-twenty ; and hypocrisy, as it is well said, is the homage which Vice pays to Virtueunwillingly, I confess ; but still she is forced to pay it. I will most frankly acknowledge to you, that I have been as well disposed to turn my back upon the good opinion of the world as any one in it ; and that I have sometimes accomplished this important business without confusion of face, but never without confusion of heart. On a late very mortifying occasion, it was not in my'pbwer to possess myself either with one or the other. At a publick and very .nume- toits meeting in .the County where my father liv.s, where great part of his property lies, Xvhere his influence is considerable and his name respectable, I was not only deserted but avoided : and the women could not have dis- covered more horrour on my approaching them, if I had been Tarqnin himself. I found myself alone in the crowd, and, which is as bad, ak>ne out -of the crowd. I passed the evening without company ; and two or three such evenings would either have driven me to despair, or have reformed me. -I was then 11 convinced, as I always am when I write to you, that there is some particle of good still remain- ing in me : but I flew from that solitary scene which gave such a conviction, to renew that dissolute intemperance which would destroy it. It is a great misfortune, that vice, be it what it may, will find some one or other to flatter it; and that there should be assemblies of people, where, when publick and honourable society has hissed you from the stage, you may find, not only reception, but applause little earth- ly pandamoniumS) where you meet with every means to hush the pains of reflection, and to guard against the intrusions of conscience. It requires a most gigantick resolution to suffer pain, when passion quickens every sense, and every enticing object beckons to enjoyment. I was not born a Stoick, nor am I made to be a martyr ! So much do I hate and detest pain, that I think all good must be dear that is to be purchased with it. Penitence is a rack, where offences have been grievous. To sit alone and court Reflection, which will come, perhaps, every moment, with a swinging sin at her back, and to be humble and patient beneath the stripes of such a scourge by heavens, it is not in human nature to bear it ! I am sure, at least, it is not in mine. If I could go to con- 12 fession, like a good papist, and have the score wiped off at once, a la bonne heure ! But to repent like a sobbing, paralytick Presbyterian, will not do for me : I am not fat enough to re- pent that way. George Bodens may be quali- fied for such a system of contrition ; but my skinny shape will not bear mortification : and, if I were to attempt the subdual of my carnal lust by fasting and prayer, I should be soon fasted and prayed into the family vault, and disappoint the worms of their meals. I have had, as you well know, some serious conversations with my father upon the subject ; and one evening he concluded a Christian lec- ture of a most unchristian length, by recom- mending me to address Heaven to have mercy upon me, and to join my prayers to his con- stant and paternal ones for my reformation. These expressions, with his preceding coun- sels, and his affecting delivery of them, had such an effect upon me, that, like the King in Hamlet, I had bent the stubborn sinews of my knees, when it occurred to me that my devo- tions might be seen through the key-hole. This drew me from my pious attitude ; and, having secured this aperture, so unfriendly to secret deeds, I thought would not be an use- less precaution to let down the window-cur- 13 tains also ; and during the performance of that ceremony, some lively mu sick, which struck up in the street, caught my attention, and gave a sudden flirt to all my devout ideas : so I girded on my sword, and went to the Little Theatre in the Hay-market, where Mrs. Cole and the Reverend Dr. Squintum soon put me out of humour with praying, and into humour with myself. I really began this letter in very sober seri- ousness ; and, though I have strayed from my grave airs into something that wears a ludi- crous appearance, I beg of you not to give up all hopes of my amendment. If there were but half a dozen people in the world, who would afford me the kind encouragement I receive from you, it would, I verily believe, work a reformation in the prodigal : but the world has marked me down for so much dissoluteness, as to doubt, at all times, of the sincerity of my repentance. has already told me, more than once, that I am got so deep into the mud as to make it highly improbable that I should ever get out ; that I am too bad ever to be good ; and that my future lot is either to be an open villain or an undeceiving hypocrite. Pretty encouragemenl^uly ! Lady Hunting- don would tell me another story : but, howev- 14 er that may be, I shall never give myself up for lost, while I retain a sense of your merit and a value for your friendship. With these sentiments I take my leave, and beg of you to be assured that I am most sincerely yours, - 15 LETTER II. SO turns up his eyes, and sig- nificantly shrugs his shoulders when my name is mentioned ; and, to continue the farce, pre- tends to lament me as a disgrace to his fami* ly ! I am almost ashamed to acknowledge it, but this idle history has given me more sting- ing mortification than I almost ever felt. How insignificant must he become, who is openly despised by insignificance ; and how loud must the hiss of the world be, when such a puny whipster insults me ! If honourable men were to speak of me with contempt, I should sub-- mit without resentment ; for I have deserved it. If they should bestow their pity upon me r I should thank them for giving me more than I deserve. If mankind despise, I have only to resist or fly from the contempt. But to be an object of supercilious airs, from one who, two years ago, would have wiped the dust from off my shoes, and who, perhaps, two years hence, will be proud of the same office a puny prattler who does not possess a snffi* ciem degree of talent or importance to 16 dignity either to virtue or crime : I say, to be the butt of such a one, severely mortifies me. Were I on the other side of the water, his back-biting looks and shrugs should be chang- ed in a moment to well-made bows and sup- pliant postures. If I live, the scurvy knave shall dp me homage ! It really frets me, that I cannot, in four-and-twenty hours, meet him face to face, and make his subservient atten- tions give the lie to his humbling compassion, in the presence of those before whom he has traduced me. The day of my revenge will come, when he shall open his mouth for me to spit in it, as he was wont to do, and perform, every dirty trick for which parasites were form- ed. His genius is to fetch and carry a very spaniel, made to fawn and eat your leavings ; whose whole courage rises no higher than to ape a snarl. If I live to outlive this snuffling pedagogue, I shall see him make a foolish end of it. Mark my words I am a very Shylock I will have Revenge ! The last word I have written puts me in mind of telling you, that has been with me for some time. The rascal, who is a priest into the bargain, carried aquafortis in a syringe for three months together, to squirt the fiery liquor into the eyes of a fortunate rival. 17 In this diabolical design he succeeded, and the object of his malice was for ever deprived of half his sight. I have conversed with him on the horrours of this transaction ; but the Ital- ian finds a consolation in his own infernal feel- ings, and a justification in the dying command of his father, whose last words composed this emphatick sentence "Remember, my son, that Revenge is sweet." This man is capable of any villany, if 'mo- ney is to be got by it ; and I doubt not but he might be bribed to undertake/' without hesita- tion, robbery, seduction, rape, and murder. However, my superiour virtue for once over- awed his villany: for he most certainly had it in his power to have robbed me of a large sum of money, without the possibility of a discovery; and, if he thought it necessary, he might have dispatched me with as little danger. I have since asked him what strange fit of virtue, or fear of the devil, came across him, when he had such an opportunity to make his fortune. The impudent rascal replied, at once, that he had very powerful suggestions to send me to the other world ; and that, if, fortunately for him, I had possessed one single virtue, he should, without ceremony, have dispatched me to my reward. This event, I think, will make c 18 a complete Mandivillean of me. You see, for your encouragement, that a bad life is good for something ; and for the good example which the world will receive from me in times to come, it will be indebted to the very bad one I have already given it. After this signal and providential preservation, I cannot but think that Heaven has something particularly great in store for me. As I tell it you, this history has the air of a badinage ; but you may be assured that it is a real fact, and T am sorry that the circumstan- ces of it are too long and various to be insert- ed in a letter. I believe you know something of the man ; but, if you repeat what I have written to any one who is acquainted with him, you will soon find that I have had a very nar- row escape. I have bribed him to leave me, and he is gone for England. The story of Lewis the Fourteenth and his Barber is well known ; and you may, if you please, apply it to Your affectionate, &c. 19 LETTER IIL MY DEAR FRIEND, YOUR letter, which I received no longer ago than yesterday, would do honour to the most celebrated name among the moral writers of any period. It is the most sensible, easy, and concise history of the Passions I have ever read. Indeed, it has not been my lot to have given any great portion of my time to such studies. These powers have kept me too much in the sphere of their own tumultuous whirlwinds, to leave me the leisure of exam- ining them. I have been, am, and I fear shall be, their sport and their slave ; and when I shall acquire that serenity of character which will enable me to examine them with a philo- sophical scrutiny, I cannot tell. My expecta- tions are at such a distance upon this point, that I am almost ashamed to mention my ap- prehensions to you. It is, however, treating you with that confidence you deserve, to tell you, that from my soul I think the very source of them must be dried up before they will lose 20 their empire over me. In the lively expres- sion of the poet, " they are the elements of life," without which man would be a mass of insensible and unintelligent matter. Now, it is that happy compound of these elementary particles of intellectual life, that you so well describe, so thoroughly understand, and so happily possess, which I despair of attaining. I have the resolution to make resolutions, but it extends no farther ; I cannot keep them : and to escape from the misery brought on by one passion, I have so habituated myself to bathe in a branch of the same flood, that I cannot look for any other relief. You very naturally ask me where all this must end? I know not ! and to similar interrogatories I have sometimes madly replied, I care not ! But I shall not offend you with such a decla- tion ; and when I am writing to you, I do not feel myself disposed to do it. In answering you, therefore, I shall adopt the language of the ruined gamester, who addressed his shad- ow in the glass : " Je vous ai (lit et redit, Mal- bcureux! quc, si vous continuiez afaire de par- eils tour, vous iriez a Vhopital." You lay great stress upon the powers of Reason, and, in truly philosophical language, heightened by the most proper and affecting imagery, present this sage directress of weak mortals to my attention. I receive her at your hand, respect her as your friend, and venerate her as the cause of your superiority over me : but whether she perceives that my respect is insincere, or remembers how shamefully I have neglected her ; so it is, that she slides in- sensibly from me, and I see her no more. My bark rides steady for a moment, but it is not long ere it again becomes the sport of winds and billows. But, after all, and without any blasphemous arraignment of the order of Prov- idence, permit me to ask you Why is this principle, implanted in our natures for the wise and happy regulation of them, so weak in itself, so slow in its progress, and so late in its maturity? If it is designed to controul our Passions, why does it not keep pace with them ? wherefore does it not grow with their growth^ and strengthen with their strength ? and what cause can be assigned that the one are ripe for gratification before the other has scarce bursted into blossom ? Let us, howev- er, take a long stride from the imbecility of youth to the firmness of mature age, and we shall see that the Passions have only changed their form ; that Reason still totters, is fre- quently driven from her throne, and even de- 22 serts those, who have most cultivated her friend- ship, and acknowledged her power. The con- test frequently continues through life, and the superiority as often ends, where it always be- gins, on the side of Passion. We may be said even sometimes to outlive Reason ; while Pas- sion of some kind, and, many times, of the worst kind, will preserve its influence to the last. To conclude the matter, how often does the lamp of human reason become extinct, yielding corporal nature a prey to Passion in the extreme, whose tortures are rendered more fierce by the iron restraints of necessary policy and medical interposition ! If it were possible to trace the course of Rea- son in the mind of the best man that ever liv- ed, from its first budding to a fulness of ma- turity, what a mortifying scene would be un- veiled ! What checks and delays, what tran- quillity and tumult, what frequent extinction and renovation, what rapid flights and sudden downfals, what contest and submission, would compose the operations of this rightful mistress of human actions ! Men of cold tempers, and habituated to reflection, may cry up this dis- tinctive faculty of man ; they may chaunt its apotheosis, and build temples to its honour : such were Lord Shaftesbury and Mr. Addi- 23 son ; and they may be joined by those, whose fortunate education and early connections have given to their warmer dispositions the best ob- jects. In that confined but happy society I must place my friend, whose kind star preserved his youth from temptation, and blest his bloom of manhood with the ample and all-satisfying plea- sures of virtuous love. You will not suspect me of wishing to diminish the reality of that merit which I so much admire, or of a desire to damp the glow of that virtue -whose lustre cannot be diminished by my envy, or height- ened by my praise ; but, in the course of hu- man affairs, time and chance have so much to do, that I cannot suppose even your worth to be without some obligations to them. To conclude this very, very long letter, I must beg leave to observe, that I do not un- derstand why Reason, that divinity of philoso- phers, should be cooped up in the confined re- gion of the brain, while the Passions are per- mitted to range at large, and without restraint, through every other part of the body. I see you smile but be assured that these two jar- ring powers are, for a moment, both united in me, to assure you that I am, with a real sin- cerity, Your's, <kc. 24 I AVAIL myself, Madam, of the very obliging offer you made me of suffering a small parcel to occupy an useless pocket in your coach. It is of some little importance ; but if the Custom-house officers at Dover should suspect you of being a smuggler of lace, as you certainly are of other and better things, and in- sist upon examining its contents, I beg you'will indulge their curiosity without ceremony. On your arrival in London , when any of your ser- vants should be unemployed, I must desire the additional favour of its being sent to the place where it is addressed. I feel myself extremely mortified, that a cold, which forbids me to utter any thing more than a whisper, should have prevented me from of- fering you my personal wishes for your health and happiness, an agreeable journey, and a safe arrival in England, where your friends will feel a delight in seeing you, which can be only equalled by their regret whom you have left behind. Among the number of them I am 25 not the least sincere ; and, tho' I found your gates but very seldom open for me, I am truly grateful to you for the pleasure I received whenever you indulged me with the honour of an admittance. Perhaps your caution, in this particular, pro- ceeded from an ill opinion of me : you might consider me as a person too dangerous to break with openly, or too intruding to trust with fa- miliarity. If so, you have done me wrong, and, what is more, you have done injustice to yourself. There is a dignity in .virtue like your's, which commands respect from all ; and the worst of men would be overawed in his approaches to it. Perhaps, Madam, there was also a little compassion mingled with your reserve. You must be conscious of your charms ; but, possessed of an heart which would find no glory in coquettish triumphs, you did not suffer me to approach you, lest I should be scorched by the beams of that beau- ty, which is sufficient to inflame all, and which you preserve for one. If such humane con- siderations governed the orders which were given to your Swiss, it becomes me to express my grateful sense of your kindness : but, if you acted from motives not so favourable to D 26 ine, I must lament, as a tenfold misfortune, that you should add another thong to the scourge of Injustice. I believe in my heart, that your society, and such as I should have met with you, would have been of great use and benefit to me ; and that, in being so sparing of your welcomes, you omitted doing a great good. The very business of this letter has made a gloomy mind less gloomy; and, if I had half a dozen letters to write to half a dozen persons like yourself, (if so many could be found in the world,) it would make this day, in spite of every unpleas- ant indisposition, one of the happiest and best of my life. During the future part of it, what of good or honour is destined for me, I can- not tell ; but I shall ever consider it as a very great and most flattering privilege, whenever you will permit me, in any manner, to assure you with what real respect I am, &c. &c. 27 LETTER V. OF all the birds in the air, who should have been here but ! I met her in the , where she could not well avoid me, though I saw in her looks a wish to do 'it. She received me, therefore, with great polite- ness ; conversed with much ease and vivacity during the walk ; and, when I requested per- mission to wait on her, she granted it, in that sort of manner, which told me, in as strong terms as looks could give, " You are very im- " prudent to risk such a request : but as an " absolute refusal might raise conjectures in " those about us unfavourable to you, I will " not answer you with a denial ; and my gates " shall not always be shut against you. But " you will do well to proportion your visits to " what you may naturally conceive to be my " desire." And she has kept her word. Dur- ing six weeks that she was here, I called ten times, and was admitted only thrice, when there was a great deal of company. This is a very superiour woman ; for, while she coi> 28 ducts herself in such a manner to me, as to tell me plainly that the respect she has for my family is the only inducement to give me the reception she does ; there is not a single look suffered to escape her, from which any person might form the most distant suspicion of her sentiments concerning me. It is my blab of a conscience that does the business for me it is that keen-sighted lynx, which sees things impervious to every other eye : and thus I ex- pose myself to myself, when I appear without spot or blemish to the circle about me. is a very fine woman, a very sen- sible woman, and, what is more rare, a very rational woman. The three qualities of beau- ty, talents, and wisdom, which are generally supposed to be incompatible in the same fe- male character, are, however, united in her. There is another circumstance which, though a rake, I cannot but admire, and which the most dissolute respect in others, though they are strangers to it themselves I mean con- stancy. From the united principles of duty and affection, she is faithful to her husband, who, to say the truth, highly deserves it. Such a woman is capable of making the bad good, the inconstant stable, and the giddy wise ; and he, who would wish to see what is 29 most perfect and respectable in the female character, would do well to make a pilgrimage to see and converse with her. I was so very much afflicted with a cold, as not to be able to go and hand her to the coach on her departure ; which was a circumstance still more afflicting than the cold : so I consoled myself by writing her a letter, which was half serious, more than half gallant, and almost sincere. If you could, by any means, discover and I should think it would be in your power to do it without much trouble whether she has at any time mentioned it, and, if so, in what man- ner she expressed herself, you would very sen- sibly gratify the curiosity of, Your affectionate, Sec. 50 LETTER VI. IT is so long since I received your letter, that I am almost ashamed to answer it ; and be assured, that, in writing my apology, and asking your pardon, I act with a degree of res- olution that I have seldom experienced. I hardly expect that you will receive the one or grant the other : I do not deserve either, or in- deed any kindness from you of any sort ; for I have been very ungrateful. I am myself very sensible of it, and very much apprehend that you will be of the same opinion. I was never more conscious of my follies than at this mo- ment : and, if you should have withdrawn your- self from the very few friends which are left me, I shall not dare to complain ; for I deserve the loss, and can only lament that another and a deeper shade \vill be added to my life. The very idea of such a misfortune is most griev- ous ; and nothing can be more painful than the reflection of suffering it from a fatal, ill-starred, and abortive infatuation, which will prove my bane. I have written letters, since I received 31 your's, to many who have never done me any kindness ; to some who have betrayed me ; and to others whose correspondence administered no one comfort to my heart, or honour to my character ; and for them, at least engaged with them, I have neglected you, to whose disinter- ested friendship I am so much indebted, and which is now become the only point whereon to fix my anchor of hope. But this is not all : if it were, I have some- thing within me which would whisper your forgiveness ; for you know of w r hat frail mate- rials I am made, and have ventured, in the face of the world's malice, to prognosticate fa- vourably of my riper life. But I fear that you will think meanness added to ingratitude, when I tell you, that I am called back to acknowl- edge your past goodness to me, and to ask a repetition of it, not from any renewed senti- ments of honour or gratitude, but by immedi- ate and wringing distress. In such a situa- tion your idea presented itself to me an idea which was not encouraged in seasons of en- joyment : it never wished to share my pleas- ure, but, like the first-born of friendship, it hastened to partake my pain. Though it came in so lovely a form, I dared not bid it wel- come ; and I started, as at the sight of one 32 whom I had severely injured, whose neglect, contempt, and revenge, I might justly dread, while I did not possess the least means of re- sistance, nor had a covert left where I might fly for refuge ! This is a- very painful confession, and will, I hope, plead my cause in your bosom, and win you to grant my request. I have written to for some time past, and have never been favoured with one line of reply. Indeed, it has been hinted, that he refuses to read my letters. However that may be, he most cer- tainly does not answer them. In order, there- fore, that I may know my fate and be certain of my doom, I most earnestly and submissive- ly intreat you to deliver the inclosed letter into his hands. If I should be deserted by you both, the consequences may be of such a na- ture, as, in the most angry paroxysm, you would neither of you wish to Your most obliged, tc. 33 LETTER VII. MY DEAR , I RETURN you all my thanks for the endeavours you have made to satisfy the wish- es of my last letter. I am very grateful to you, though they have proved fruitless. I suppose she destroyed the paper the moment she had perused the contents of it. Perhaps she did not even deign to read it, but deliver- ed it immediately to the flames, as tainted and infectious in coming from so unholy a person as I am. The idea mortifies me. To be treat- ed with contempt is always painful, and more so to those who deserve it, as they have no shelter in themselves to which they can fly for protection: in their own hearts they will find the echo of those sounds against which they shut their ears ; while the good man possesses a shield in his virtue, and returns compassion for injustice. Contempt becomes still more poignant, when it is conducted with a delicacy which does not give you the most momentary opportunity of returning it ; when it is so blend- 34 ed with good-humour and external decorum as to let no one see it but the conscious victim. In this manner did the fair Lady manage the matter with me : she honoured me with every mark of exteriour respect ; she suffered no po- lite attention or civility to escape her ; at the same time, her conduct towards me was so general and equally tempered, that she won me, as it were by enchantment, into the same mode, and precluded familiarity. I had indeed brought myself to the resolution of making my approaches more nearly, when she immediate- ly discovered my design, and, by asking some questions about my father, which were wholly unexpected on my part, and connected with some very stinging ideas, she threw me at once to my former distance, dissipated in a moment the impudence I had collected for the occasion, and I have never seen her since. You have some sportable fancies upon the subject, and you are welcome to them: but for once you are beside the mark ; and, though your incredulity may oppose itself to my asser- tion, believe me that I have an honest respect for this woman, and it is on that account that I am so severely wounded by her treatment of me. The contempt of half mankind is not Worth the smile it occasions : thev act from ca- 35 price, folly, weakness, envy, or some base motive ; they join the vulgar clamour they know not why ; and their hiss, though loud, gives not the pain of a moment : but the scorn of good and honourable men is the fruit of con- viction ; it springs from an aversion to what is contrary to their own excellence, and cannot be retorted. There is no other way of being re- venged of them, but in giving the lie to their unfavourable prognostications, by an immedi- ate and complete reformation ; and this is a difficulty, rny friend, of whose arduous nature you are equally sensible with myself!- Facilis descensus Avernised revocare gmdum, &c. Sec. &c. . The road by contrition to amend- ment is humiliating, painful, and difficult ; and the greater part of guilty, mortals adopt the sentiments of Macbeth :' -" 1 am in blood Slept in so far, that, should I wade no more, . Returning were as bad as to go o'er." But to the purpose : I have another commis- sion for you, in which I flatter myself you will be more successful than in your last. You must know, then, I am in a bad plight, and there is no good ground of expectation that matters will go better with me : on the contra- ry, the prospect is a dark one, and the gloom increases every step I take. To extricate my- 36 self, if possible, I wrote to , who has not answered my letters, and, I am disposed to think, never opens them. I was, therefore, under the necessity of addressing a very piti- ful, penitential epistle to . I have used him scurvily, and made such an ill return to all his zeal to serve me, that I have too much rea- son to apprehend his resentment. He passed through about six weeks ago, without inquiring after me. However, without ap- pearing to know any thing of that circumstance, I ventured to tell a miserable tale to him, and to beseech his kindness would once more in- terest itself in my behalf, by delivering a let- ter into 's own hands. It would be an easy matter, I should imagine, to discover if he has complied with my request. T will inform you if he has been lately, and when, in street. Perhaps he may have scented out something more ; and whatever you discover, I should be glad to knov/ with all possible dispatch. They will, probably, be slow in their operations, whatever they may be ; and your information will direct my hopes, or confirm my fears will either give a sun- shine to the present shade, or prepare me for the worst. Adieu, and believe me Ever your's, 8cc. 37 LETTER VIII. YOU accuse me of neglect in not informing you that I was in London. Believe me, I had every disposition in the world to do it, but was opposed by circumstances, which, among other mortifications, prevented me from seeing you. I came to England in so private a manner, that I imagined no one would, or, indeed, could know of my arrival ; but, by a combination of unlucky circumstances, the secret was discov- ered, and by those who were the most likely to make a very unpleasant use of their know- ledge. I was therefore obliged to shift my plan, and to beg H to give me an asylum in his house, where he very kindly re- ceived and entertained me. My abode was not suspected by any one ; and I remained there till certain people were persuaded that I had never left the Continent, or was again return- ed to it ; and till the hell-hounds, who were in pursuit of me, had relaxed their search. You must, certainly, have heard me men- tion something of my Host and Hostess : 38 are the most original couple that ever were paired together ; and their singularity effected what, I believe, no other amusement could have attained it made me forget the disagreeableness of my situation. He pos- sesses a strange, wild, rhapsodick genius, which, however, is not uncultivated ; and, amid a thousand odd, whimsical ideas, he produces original bursts of poetry and under- standing that are charming. She is a for- eigner, assumes the title of Countess, and, without knowing how to write or read, pos- sesses, in the circumstance of dress, behavi- our, &c. all her husband's dispositions. She is fantastick, grotesque, outree, and wild ; never- theless, at times, there are very pleasing gleams of propriety in her manners and ap- pearance. I cannot describe so well as you may con- ceive the striking and odd contrast of these two characters : and what strange sparks are produced by the collision of them. When she imagines that Cytherea acknowledges her divinity, and he grasps in his hand the lyre of Apollo ; when the goddess unfolds herself to view with imaginary millions at her feet, and when the god chides the chairs and tables for not being awakened into a cotillion by his 39 strains ; in short, when the sublime fit of mad- ness is on, it is an august scene : but if the divinities should rival each other, heaven changes instantly to hell, Venus becomes a trull, and Phoebus a blind fiddler. It is im- possible to describe the riot; not only re- turns, but things of a more solid nature are thrown at each other. Homer's genius is ab- solutely necessary to paint celestial combats. But it ends not here : the superb opera, which was acted, at least, during my stay, three times a week, and rehearsed generally every day, for the most part, has an happy conclu- sion. The contest requires the support of nectar, which softens the edge of resentment, puts the parties in good humour, and they are soon disposed to acknowledge each other's merit and station, with a zeal and fondness superiour, if possible, to their late rage and opposition. A number of collateral circum- stances serve as interludes to the grand piece, and, though less sublime, are not less enter- taining. You will now, probably be no longer dis- pleased with me for making my hiding-place a secret. One hour's attendance upon our orgies would have done for you ; on the con- trary, they suited me. I wanted something 40 to hurry my spirits, to dissipate my thoughts, and amuse my mind ; and I found it in this retreat. You know enough of the parties to enter into my description. I hope it will make you laugh ; but, if my pen should fail, I will promise to make your sides ach when we meet again a pleasure which I look to with a most sensible impatience. I remain, Your's most truly, 41 LETTER IX. SINCE the little snatch of pleasure I en- joyed with you, I have been again obliged to make my retreat : I had made good my ground, in my own opinion, but the devil that is in me would not suffer me to maintain it. There is a proverb of Zoroaster to the following effect " That there are an hundred opportunities of " doing ill every day, but that of doing well " comes only once a year." There is some wit and much truth in the observation. The wise man was led to make it, I suppose, from the circumstances of the times wherein he liv- ed ; and, if it had been his lot to breathe in these latter days, he would be equally justi- fied in forming and applying such an opinion ; and, perhaps, in every intervening period. In- deed, if I may judge from my own experience, matters are still growing worse ; for I never fail to find the daily opportunities, but the an- nual one has ever escaped me. There is nothing so miserable, and, I may add, so unfortunate, as to have nothing to do ! 42 The peripatetick principle, that Nature abhors a vacuum, may be applied, with great proprie- ty, to the human intellect, which will embrace any thing, however criminal, rather than be without an object. It is a matter of indubita- ble certainty with me, that, if I had kept my seat in Parliament, most of .the unpleasant predicaments in which I have been involved since that time would have been avoided. I was disposed to application in the political line, and was possessed of that ready faculty of speech which would have enabled me to make some little figure in the senate. I should have had employment ; my passions would have been influenced by a proper, an- imating object, and my vanity would have been sufficiently satisfied. During the short time I sat in Parliament, I found myself in the situation I have described : I was pleased with the character ; I availed myself of its privileges while I possessed them ; I mingled in publick debate, and received the most flat- tering testimonies of applause. If this scene had continued, it would have been very for- tunate for myself, and have saved my friends great anxiety and many alarms : you, among the rest, would have been spared the pain of much unavailing counsel and disregarded admonition. 43 You know me well enough to; be certain that I must have a particular and not a coirw mon objecf to employ my attention : it must be an object which inspires clesire, calls forth activity, keeps hope upon the stretch, and has some sort of high colouring about it. Power and popular reputation are of this kind, and would greatly have engrossed my thoughts and wishes ; they would have kept under the baser passions : 1 should have governed them at least, and my slavery, if I was destined to be a slave, would have been more honourable. But, losing a situation so suitable to me, I fell back a prey to that influence which had al- ready proved so fatal, and yielded myself a victim to an habitual dissoluteness which formed my only pleasure. I do not mean to write a disrespectable thought of my father ; I would not offend you by doing it ; but, surely, his ignorance of man- kind is beyond all conception. It is hardly credible that a man of his under standing and knowledge, whose life has been ever in the world and the most polished societies of it, who writes well and ably on its manners, should be so childish in its concerns as to de- serve the coral that amused and the go-cart that sustained him sixty years ago. I write in 44 confidence ; and you know what I assert to be true. Indeed, I might go further, and trace the errours of my own life from the want of that kind of paternal discernment which sees into the character of his child, watches over its growing dispositions, gently moulds them to his will, and completes the whole by placing him in a situation suitable to him. I have been the victim of vanity ; and the sacrifice of me was begun before I could form a judgment of the passion. You will, proba- bly, understand me ; but, if there should be the least gloom in my allusions, I will, with your leave, explain the matter more clearly in some future letter. There is a great deal of difference between a good man and a good fa- ther : I have known bad men who excelled my father as much in parental care as he was su- periour to them in real virtue. But more of this hereafter. In the mean time, and at all times, I am, &c. 45 LETTER X. YOU have, certainly, given yourself ve- ry unjustifiable airs upon my subject : neither your talents, knowledge, figure, courage, or virtue afford you the shadow of that superi- ority over me, which, I understand, you affect to maintain. However imprudent or bad my conduct may have been, whatever vices I may unfortunately possess, be assured I do not en- vy you your sniveling virtues, which are worse than the worst of vices, and give an example of meanness and hypocrisy in the extreme. Your letter is a farrago of them both ; and since the receipt of it I despise you more than ever. What, Sir ! has my father got a cough, or does he look thinner than usual and read his Bible ? There must be some certain symptom of his decay and dissolution that could induce you to address yourself so kindly to one, who, to use your own expression, is, as he ought to be, abandoned by his family. You have dream- ed of an hatchment upon house, and 46 seen a visionary coronet suspended over my brow. You are a simpleton and a parasite to let such weak reasons guide you to wag your tail and play the spaniel, and renew your of- fers to fetch and carry. Be assured, for your comfort, that, if ever you and I have any fu- ture intercourse together, it will be upon such terms, or worse. I have heard it said, and I believe it to be true, that you pretend to lament your poor 's fate, and, with a more than rueful vis- age, prognosticate the breaking of his heart from the wicked life of his graceless son. Now, I will tell you a secret, that, supposing such a canting prophecy should take place to-mor- row, you would be the first to flatter the par- ricide. I consider you with a mixture of scorn and pity, when I see you so continually ham- pered in difficulties from your regard to the present and future Lord : though you order your matters tolerably well ; for there is not one of our family to whom your hypocritical canting will not answer in some measure, but to myself. I know you, and I declare you to be incapable of any love or affection to any one, even to a mother or a sister. You know what I mean : but, to quit an idea abhorrent to human nature, let me intrcat you, if it is in 47 your power, to act with candour ; and, if you must speak of me, tell your sentiments open- ly, and not with those covert looks and affect- ed shrugs, which convey so much more than meets the ear and be so good, I pray you, as to raise your merit upon your own mighty stock of virtues, and not upon my vices. The world will one day judge between us, and I must desire you to Le content with the ac- knowledged superiority you will receive from the arbitration in your favour. Oh, stnlfum oimis est, cum tu pravissima lenfes, Alterius censor ut viiiosa notes! I have not yet sung a requiem to my own honour ; and, though you and some others of my good friends may have chaunted a dirge over the grave you have yourselves dug fcr it, it does not rest without the hopes of a joyful and speedy resurrection. To have done with you for the present, I have only to desire you to be an open enemy to me, or a real friend, if you are capable of either : the halting be- tween two opinions on the matter is both dis- graceful and contemptible. Be assured that I give you these counsels more for your own ^ than for that of Your humble servant, kc. LETTER XL MY DEAR SIR, YOU wish that I should explain myself at large with respect to that vanity, which I accuse of having been the cause of every in- convenience and misdoing of my past life, to which I owe the disagreeable circumstances of my present situation and shall be indebt- ed, probably, for some future events which, I fear, are in store for me. You will, I believe, agree with me, that vanity is the foible of my family : every indi- vidual has a share of it for himself and for the rest ; they are all equally vain of them- selves, and of one another. It is not, how- ever, an unamiable vanity: it makes them happy, though it may sometimes render them ridiculous ; and it never did an injury to any one but to me. I have every reason to load it with execration, and to curse the hour when this passion was concentrated to myself. Being the only boy and hopes of the fami- ly, and having such an hereditary and collat- eral right to genius, talents, and virtue, (for this was the language held by certain persons at that time,) my earliest prattle was the sub- ject of continual admiration. As I encreased in years, I was encouraged in boldness, which partial fancy called manly confidence ; while sallies of impertinence, for which I should have been scourged, were fondly considered as marks of an astonishing prematurity of abil- ities. As it happened, Nature had not been a niggard to me ; it is true she has given me talents, but accompanied them with disposi- tions which demanded no common repressure and restraint, instead of liberty and encour- agement : but this vanity had blinded the eyes not only of my relations, but also of their in- timate connections ; and, I suppose, such an hot-bed of flattery was never before used to spoil a mind, and to choak it with bad quali- ties, as was applied to mine. The late Lord Bath, Mrs. , and many others have been guilty of administering fuel to the flame, and joined in the family incense to such an idol as myself. Thus was I nursed into a very early state of audacity ; and being able, almost at all times, to get the laugh against a father, or an uncle, <kc. I was not backward in giving G 50 such impertinent specimens of my ability. This is the history of that impudence which has been my bane, gave to my excesses such peculiar accompaniments, and caused those, who would not have hesitated to commit the offence, loudly to condemn the mode of its commission in me. When I drew towards manhood, it will be sufficient to say, that I began to have some glimmering of the family weakness : howev- er, I was still young ; dependence was a con- siderable restraint ; and I had not acquired that subsequent knowledge of the world which changed my notions of paternal author- ity. I was, therefore, without much difficul- ty, brought to consent to the design of giving solidity to my character, and preserving me from publick contagion, by marriage. A rich and amiable young lady was chosen to the hap- py and honourable task of securing so much virtue as mine, to correct the natural exuber- ance of youthful inexperience, and to shape me into that perfection of character which was to verify the dreams of my visionary relations. I must own that the lady was both amiable and handsome, but cold as an anchorite ; and, though formed to be the best wife in the world to a good husband, was by no means calcu- 51 lated to reclaim a bad one. But, to complete the sensible and well-digested plan in which so many wise heads were concerned, it was determined for me to make the tour of Europe, previous to my marriage, in order to perfec- tionate my matrimonial qualifications ; and the lovely idea of the fair maid I left behind, was presented to me, as possessing a talismanict power to preserve me from seduction. But this was not all : for the better enabling me to make a proper and becoming appearance, or, in other words, to give me every means of gratification, the family purse was lavishly held forth ; I was left almost without controul in point of expense, and every method pursu- ed to make me return the very reverse of what expectation had painted me. You know as well as myself what happened during my trav- els, as well as after my return ; and I trust that you will impute my misconduct, in part,, at least, to its primary cause. In this short sketch of the matter, which consists rather of hints than descriptions, you will see the drift of my reasoning, and know how to apply it to a thousand circumstances in your remembrance. You were present at my being received into the arms of my family with a degree of warmth, delight, and triumph, 52 which the brightest virtue could alone have deserved ; and you recollect the cause of all this rapturous forgiveness, which, I believe, penitence itself would not, at that time, have effected : it was my having made a speech in Parliament, flowery, indeed, and bold, but ve- ry little to the purpose ; and, at a time when, as I was certain that I should lose my seat, it would have been prudent in me to have remain- ed silent however, Mr. Ellis thought proper to compliment me upon the occasion, and to observe that I spoke with hereditary abilities ; and this circumstance instantly occasioned the short-lived family truce that succeeded. That my relations may have cause to com- plain of me, I do not deny ; but this confession is accompanied with an opinion, in which, I doubt not of your acquiescence, that I, on my side also, have no small cause of complaint : and, however black the colour of my future life may be, I shall ever consider that the dusky scenes of it are occasioned by the vanity of my family, and not by any obdurate or inflexible dispositions inherent in my own character. I am, with great regard, Your's, &CQ. 53 LETTER XII. IF you had been at all explicit with me about the Arabian Courser, he should, most certainly, have been at your service. Not- withstanding he was the gift of Hymen, to whom I have so few -obligations, the animal was a favourite, and I brought him to the con- tinent with me, where he was very trouble- some and very useless. But he troubles me no more ; and a little ridiculous event, which happened a few weeks ago, made me hate and detest him. If there had been any laughers, the laugh would have been very much against me on the occasion : as it was, I felt and look- ed so foolish, that I never afterwards could turn a favourable eye upon the beast that was the cause of my mortification. I shall not give you an account of this little history ; for, as I am the principal hero of it, I shall not tell it well : so I resign the task to p . When you see him, therefore, ques- 54 tion him upon the subject, and he will do it justice. He is a most lively, good-humoured, and pleasant man, who bears the ills of life as if they were blessings, and seems to take the rough and the smooth with an equal counten- ance. This sort of unbended philosophy is the best gift that Nature can bestow on her children ; it lightens the burden of care, and turns every sable and ghastly hue of melan- choly to bright and splendid colours. There is no one I envy so much as I do P : a cap and bells is a crown to him ; a tune upon a flageolet is a concert if the sun shines, he sports himself in its beams ; if the storm comes, he skips gayly along, and when he is wet to the skin, it only serves to make out a pleasant story while he is drying himself at the fire. If you are dull after dinner, he will get him up and rehearse half a dozen scenes out of a play, and do it well, and be as pleased with his per- formance as you can be. With all these com- panionable talents, he is neither forward, noisy, or impertinent ; but, on the contrary, very con- versable, and possesses as pleasant a kind of good-breeding as any one I ever knew. His company has been a great relief to me, and I recommend you to cultivate his acquaint- ance as an entertaining and agreeable compan- 55 ion. You and I, my dear friend, are differ- ently, and, I must add, less happily framed. We are hurried about by every gust and whirl- wind of passion ; and, though hope does throw a pale gilding upon our disappointments, fear never fails to interrupt our pleasures. I would give more than half of what I shall ever be worth, to be blessed with a moiety of P 's temper and disposition. I am, 56 LETTER XIII. MY DEAR FRIEND, I BEG your pardon, and plead guilty to the crime laid'to my charge ! The Dialogues, which you have seen, were written by me, on hints given me by an infidel Frenchman at Tu- rin.* That it was a folly, to say no worse, to amuse myself with such compositions, I read- ily acknowledge ; nor am I less disposed to own that it was the weakest of all vanities to disperse any copies of them. Your suspicion of their having been composed in an evil hour, as a ridicule upon those which have been published by my father, is a natural one ; but, believe me, it is not founded in fact. Bad as they may be, they were not writ for so bad a purpose ; and, if I had considered the possi- bility of such an ide"a becoming prevalent, they would never have been exposed to any inspec- * These Dialogues are too irreverent and profane to justify a publication. The personages of the first are the Saviour cf the World and Socratci ; and of the second) King DaviJ and deiar Bsrgitt, 57 tion. I wrote them originally in French, and never, to my recollection, gave them an Eng- lish dress, but when I read them accidentally to some one who did not understand the form- er language. I was flattered into the suffer- ing of some copies to be taken by the declara- tion of a respectable literary company, that they were superiour to Voltaire's Tragedy of Saul ; and these copies must have been greatly multiplied to have made it possible that one of them should have reached you. I am very sorry for it ; for you have already more than sufficient reason to fill your letters to me with reproaches ; and I curse the chance that has thrown another motive in your way to contin- ue a train so disagreeable to us both. It is true that my father is a Christian, and has given an ample testimony of his faith to the world by his writings : but it was long af- ter he attained to my age that he became a con- vert to that system which he has defended. It is painful in me, and hardly fair in you, to occasion our being brought together in the same period : it takes from me the means of justification where I could use them, and of palliation where a complete defence might not be practicable. As to my Right Reverend uncle, I shall consider him with less ceremony. H 53. He also may be a good Christian ; but I re- collect to have heard him make a better dis- course upon the outside ornaments of an old Gothick pulpit, I think it was at JVolverhamp- ton, than he ever delivered in one, through- out the whok course of his evangelical la- bours. He seems much more at home in a little harangue on some doubtful remnant of a Saxon tomb-stone, than in urging the per- formance of Christian duties, or guarding, with his lay-brother, the Christian fortress against infidel invasion. I well remember also to have heard his Right Reverence declare, that he would willingly give one of his fingers, (that was his expression,) to have a good natural history of Worcestershire. What holy ardour he may possess as an Antiquarian I cannot tell ; but, in my conscience, I think he would make a sorry figure as a Christian Martyr, and that a zeal for our holy religion would not en- flame him to risk the losing of a nail from his finger. I repeat to you, upon my honour, that I did not wish these jeux d'esprit should have gone beyond the limits I had prescribed for them. The very few persons to whom I gave them were bound, by a very solemn promise, not to circulate their contents, or to name their 59 author. If they have forfeited their word, I am sorry for it ; but the failure of their en- gagement cannot be imputed to me, and the severest judge would not think me guilty of more than chance-medley on the occasion. In your breast, I hope, there is a complete and full acquittal for Your most sincere and obliged, &c. 6Q LETTER MY DEAR I CANNOT bring it within the compass of my belief, that H has escaped your re- collection : however, I shall be able to restore it to its proper tone in a moment, by mention- ing an ode addressed by him to me on the sub- ject of gaming. You admired it too much to have forgot the author ; and it now occurs to me, that you, or some one in the company, rehearsed on the occasion a long string of laughable Eton and Oxford anecdotes concern- ing him : nay, the very last time we were to- gether, you sarcastically repeated to me some of his vaticinations on my impetuous attach- ment to play, and kindly foretold the comple- tion of them. After all, I believe you are either laughing at me, or pretending ignorance of my bard, in order to have an hash of the same dish, which you are pleased to say de- lighted you so much in my last letter. 61 Was it not you (or do I dream) who was so charmed with that part of his poem where he describes my being so reduced by gaming as to be abliged to sell H , and supposes the estate to be bought by the descendant of some felon who was reprieved from death to transportation by my ancestor the yudge, whose picture he tears down from the wall, as a sight disgusting to him ? I am not certain as to the correctness of my recollection, but the lines are, I believe, to the following effect : Shall some unfeeling stranger reign Within that blest domain ? Some convict's spawn, by thy forefathers breath, Perchance, reprieved from death ? Whilst thou, self-banished, self-enslaved, shall roam, Without a friend or home ! Still shall he tremble at the Judge's frown, And, fraught with spite, tear down, From the repining wall, his venerable shade, &c. It is a composition of great merit ; and, if he was so fortunate as to possess a sense of har- mony, he would almost put an end to the pre- sent vacation of poetry and poets. His thoughts are original, bold, and nervous ; his images apt, lively, and beautiful ; his language is nev- er puerile, but sometimes low, and sometimes inflated. If his taste was improved, and he had an ear for versification, which I think he has not, his compositions would be delightful. 62 and, as I have already observed, place him in the first rank of modern poets. P s, I believe, sometimes visits him, and will most willingly present you a Monsieur and Madame^ if you make known your wishes to him. A letter from me would shut his door against you: my former favour was never equal to my present disgrace ; and if you wish to be well in that quarter, you must not acknowl- edge the least regard for me. Indeed, you would do well never to mention the name of Your affectionate, &c. 63 AND I awoke, and behold I was a Lord ! It was no unpleasant transition, you will read- ily believe, from infernal dreams and an un- easy pillow, from insignificance and derelic- tion, to be a Peer of Great Britain, with all the privileges attendant upon that character, and some little estate into the bargain. My sensations are very different from any I have experienced for some time past. My conse- quence, both internal and external, is already greatly elevated ; and the empressment of the people about me is so suddenly encreased as to be ridiculous. By heavens ! my dear , we are a very contemptible set of beings ; and so on. Without meaning any thing so detestable as a pun, I shall certainly lord it over a few of those who have looked disdain at me. My coronet shall glitter scorn at them, and insult their low souls to the extreme of mortifica- 64 tion. I have received a letter from , that dirty parasite, full of condolence and congrat- ulation, with a my Lord in every line, and your Lordship in every period. I will make the rascal lick the dust ; and, when he has flatter- ed me till his tongue is parched with lies, I will upbraid him with his treason, and turn my back upon him for ever. There are a score of bugs, or more, of the same character, whom the beams of my prosperity will warm into servility, and whose names will be left at my door before I have been ten days in town ; but may eternal ignominy overtake me, if I do not make the tenderest vein in their hearts ach with my reproach ! Whether the world will be converted into respect towards me, I do not pretend to determine ; its anger will, at all events, be softened: but, be that as it may, I can look it in the face with less fear than I was wont to do, and make it smile upon my political career, though it may still hold a frowning aspect towards my moral character. Permit me, however, to assure you, that whatever change may appear in me towards others, I shall ever be the same to you. The acquisition of fortune, and an elevation to honours, will not vary a line in my regard to those whose friendship has been so faithful to 65 me as your's has been ; nor shall you ever have cause to repent of your assiduous kind- ness to me. There is a balance in the human passions, and the mind that is awake to a spir- it of revenge is equally inspired by the senti- ments of gratitude. There is a dirty crew who shall experience the former, while you may confide in my solemn assurance to you of a most ample exertion of the latter. A propos : I must beg of you to forward the enclosed letter to . With much dif- ficulty I persuaded her some time ago to re- turn to England ; and I am apprehensive she may be already in town, expecting my arrival. If it be possible, contrive some means to free me from her persecutions, both for her sake and my own. Should she be come to London, you will know where to find her : make any promises you may think necessary in my name, and use every reason your imagination can suggest, to persuade her to return into the country. You understand me. and arc gone from hence this morning, to indulge their fancies in the business of cold iron and powder and ball. I was very near being hampered in the affair ; but my sable suit and funeral duties excused me from the employment, and I suppose the 0(5 first news I shall hear of the event will be in England, where I hope shortly to see and em- brace you. In the mean time, believe me Most sincerely your's, &cc. 67 LETTER XVI. YOUR letter reached me with a large packet of others, which my father's death had occasioned. How altered is the language of them upon the occasion ! Your's, indeed, is exactly the same, or, if any thing, bears the tincture of more than usual severity. Flattery is a strain altogether new to me, and by the two last posts I have had enough to surfeit the most arrant coquette upon earth. It is true, I cannot compliment your letter with pos- sessing an atom of adulation ; nevertheless, it is the only one which has given me real pleas- ure, because it is the only one which bears the characters of real friendship. Though I have acted in such a direct opposition to your cautions and remonstrances, I am not the less sensible to that generous passion, which pro- duced them, and has now taken the first op- portunity to give me the essence, as it were, of all your former counsels, in thus calling 68 my attention to real and permanent honour. However I may offend you hereafter, you shall never again have cause to reproach me with a forfeiture of my word. I have, at pres- ent, lost that confidence in myself, which would justify me in offering assurances to you : the hopes of regaining it, however, are not entirely vanished, and when they are ful- filled, which, I trust, they will one day be, you shall receive the first fruits of my reno- vation. I understand the purpose of your observa- tion, that the generality of men employ the first part of life in making the remainder of it miserable. . I feel its force, and consider it as an indirect caution to me not to pursue a con- duct which must be attended with such a la- mentable consequence. But, alas ! credula turbit sitmus ; though I have paid dearly for my credulity, unless it should be immediately .-.the fruits of an wholesome expc- cc. We despise the world when we know it thoroughly ; but we give ourselves up to it before we know it, and the heart is frequent- ly lost befpre it is illuminated by the irradia- tions of reason. I have now succeeded to the possession of those privileges which arc a part, and perhaps 69 the best part of my inheritance. Clouds and darkness no longer rest upon me. My exteri- our of things is totally changed ; and, howev- er unmoved some men's minds may be by out- ward circumstances, mine is not composed of such cold materials as to be unaffected by them. Such an active spirit as animates my frame, must have objects important in their nature, inviting in their appearance, and ani- mating in their pursuit. No longer forced to drown the sensibility to publick disgrace and private inconvenience in Circean draughts, my character, I trust, will unfold qualities which it has not been thought to possess, and finally dissipate the kind apprehensions of friendship. My natural genius will now have a full scope for exertion in the line of political duty ; and I am disposed to natter myself, that the application necessary to make a respectable figure in that career, will leave me but little time for those miserable pursuits, which, of late, have been my only resource. But I must desire you not to expect an instant con- version : the sera of miracles is passed; and, besides, the world would suspect its sincerity. It is true, I am sinner sufficient to call down the interposition of Heaven, but the present age has no claim to such celestial notices. 70 My amendment must be slow and progressive, though, I trust, in the end, sincere and ef- fectual. But be assured, that, however the completion of your good wishes for me may be deferred, I am perfectly sensible that there is something necessary besides title, rank, and fortune, to constitute true honour. With this sentiment I take my leave of you, and am, with real truth, Your's, 71 LETTER XFIL MY DEAR I AM at an inn, and alone ; and, if you were to guess for ten years, and had one of Osborne's Catalogues to assist you, sure I am that you would not divine the book which has amused my evening, and given a subject to this letter : nay, I may venture to tell you it is poetical, and still bid defiance to your pen- etration. My two travelling volumes had been read twice in the course of my journey, and, as it would not be worth the trouble to unpack a trunk for more, I desired the waiter to ask his mistress to send me a book ; and in the inte- rim I amused myself with fancying what kind of publication would be brought me, resolv- ing, however, if it should be the Pilgrim's Progress, the Whole Duty of Man, or even the Holy Bible, to make it the subject of my evening's lucubrations. The waiter returned, and desired to know if I chose prose or verse. This I thought looked well ; and my prefer- ence being declared for the latter, I was, in a few minutes, presented with a small volume, which I found to be a Presbyterian hymn book, entitled Horcc Lyrics, by a Dr. Watts. My expectations were a little chagrined upon the occasion : however, I turned over a few pages, looking cursorily at the contents in my way, when I dropped upon a little odd composition, the subject of which w r as no less singular than applicable to myself. The title of it was, Few Happy Matches. From the character of the author, who was a dissenting minister, I had conceived that the reasons of matrimonial in- felicity would be trite, whining, and scriptural, and that I should find some bouncing. anathe- mas against such offenders as your humble servant : but it turned out quite otherwise ; the idea is a fanciful one; and I dare affirm, that, if Apollo and the Nine Muses had racked their brains for a twelvemonth, they could not have hit upon such a conceit. The poet supposes that human souls come forth in pairs of male and female from the hands of the Creator, who gives them to the winds of Heaven to bear them to our lower world, where, if they arrive safe and meet again, they instinctively impel the bodies they 73 animate towards each other, so as to produce an Hymeneal union, which, being originally designed by their author, must be necessarily happy ; but, as from the length of the way, and the many storms, &c. that check and come across it, they are generally separated before they reach their destination, their re-union is very rare ; and the forming an alliance with any other but the original counterpart, being, as it were, an extraneous connexion, must be necessarily miserable, and will produce those jarrings and contentions which so generally disturb matrimonial life. This ingenious fan- cy will make you smile ; nor would the ideas which occur to me on the subject re-brace your muscles, if I had paper or time to bear me out in them. They must serve for another oppor- tunity. Thus, according to my good Doctor Watts, matches are made in heaven, but mar- riages on earth. I should think some of them have been fabricated in * # * * * * * . * ******* ****#*.# * but no more of that. I really feel myself much indebted to this Pindarick Presbyterian for setting my con- science at rest, which, now and then, had a K 74 momentary qualm on a certain subject. The unlucky counterpart, which accompanied my soul from Heaven's gates, was tossed in some whirlwind, driven by some lightning, or de- tained by some aerial frost, and, at length, I I suppose, cast ashore among the antipodes. We are not destined, I believe, to meet again ; and I fear, poor soul ! if I may judge from myself, that her lot is a very lamentable one, wherever it may be. After all that sentimental talkers and senti- mental writers may produce upon the subject, marriage must be considered as a species of traffick, and as much a matter of commerce as any commodity that fills the ware-house of the merchant. We exchange passion for pas- sion, beauty, titles, &x. for money, youth for age, and so on. The business may some- times answer; but there are few examples, I fear, when the profit and loss come to be stat- ed, where the balance is considerable in fa- vour of the former. Who, says the Spanish proverb, has ever seen a marriage without fraud, if beauty be a part of the portion ? This idea will hold good in every other instance, and corroborates my principle of its being a matter of trade, which has its foundation in fraud and tricking. One marries for connex- 75 ions, another for wealth, a third from lust, a fourth to have an heir, to oblige his parents, and so on. Every one of your married friends will come under these or similar descriptions, except Lord C , who married his Lady, as he buys his buckles, because she was the Ton ; and I doubt not, but he was completely miserable, that he could not change her, as he does his buckles, for the fashion of the next spring, or, perhaps, the next month. Plato was at a loss under what class to rank women, whether among brutes or rational creatures : Doctor Watts's ideas are far more favourable to the sex, for he has not hesitat- ed to give them celestial natures. I must ac- knowledge that I have my doubts upon the subject. Mahometanism has, certainly, some fine points about it : give him wine, and a Turk's life is not a bad one. So good night to you ! 76 LETTER YOUR string of modern wits is not worth a beadsman's rosary. The sera of wit is pass- e'd. There are not half a score of men in the kingdom who deserve that title ; and the ris- ing world give no hopes of its restoration. The tree that bears such fruit is blasted. Do me the favour, I beseech you, to distinguish between a man of wit, and one who makes you laugh. The repetition of an old tale, a grimace, a blunder, the act of laughter in an- other, or even a serious look, may cause the muscular convulsion ; but wit is not levelled so much at the muscles as at the heart, and the latter will sometimes smile when there is not a single wrinkle upon the cheek. How it could ever enter into your head to think Chase Price a wit, puzzles and perplexes me. He has no more pretensions to it than he has to grace. He is a good-humoured, jolly buffoon, that writes a bawdy song, and sings it ; says things that nobody but himself would choose to say ; and does things that nobody beside^ 77 would choose to do. Believe me, that CJiase's forte is politicks ; not publick, but private pol- iticks ; the science of which he understands better, and practises with more success, than any man in Great-Britain. He is never with- out a point in view, or a game to play ; and he never sings a song, or tells a smutty tale, without some design. Mere amusement to himself or others is not Mr. Price's plan : his humour has been a good fortune to him ; and he will contrive, I doubt not, to make it last as long as himself. Do you think, when Bolingbroke, Swift, ArbntJmot, Pope, &c. &c. were assembled together, that the conversa- tion of such a bright constellation of men was like the ribaldry of Mr. Price ? Their wit did not consist in roaring a bawdy catch, &c. it was the feast of reason, and the flow of soul. The flashes of imagination adorned and gave brilliance to the high discourse : wisdom was enlivened, and not wounded, by their wit ; and, among them, the herd of laughter-loving fools would not haVe found a single grin to console them. If I were to sing one of Mr. Price's ballads, or to repeat one of his stories, you would receive, I fear, but little pleasure from the exhibition, because I could not give them the accompaniments of noise and grim- 78 ace, which form their principal merit: and, perhaps, besides my deficiency in acting my part, I might produce the entertainment an hour too soon. But wit may be repeated by any one at any time, and, I believe, in almost any language, with satisfaction and success : time may drown it in oblivion, but cannot al- ter its nature : as long as it is remembered it will please while the facetious exhibitions of a boon companion will scarce survive his fu- neral. But to proceed in your catalogue. Lord C e's wit, as well as that of his friend, lies in his heels, and is so powerfully exerted in producing entre-chats, as to be lan- guid to every other purpose. A few school- boy rhymes confer not the laurel of wit ; and it was a great proof of an opposite character in this Nobleman to give his compositions to the world. He may understand French and Italian, and, perhaps, speak both those lan- guages tolerably well; it is probable, also, that he may not have forgot every thing he learned at school : but indeed, indeed, my friend, he is no wit. Charles Fox is highly gifted ; his talents are of a very superiour nature : and, in my opin- ion, Fitzpatrick is scarcely behind him. In the article of colloquial merit, he is, at least. his equal : but they neither of them possess that Attick character, which, while it corrects, gives strength to imagination, and, while it governs, gives dignity to wit. The late Earl of Bath and Mr. Charles Towns/lend were blessed with no inconsiderable share of it ; and it is an intemperate vivacity of genius which confounds it in Mr. Edmund Burke. But the man who is in the most perfect pos- session of it, has figured in so high a line of publick life, as to prevent the attention of man- kind from leaving his greater qualities to con- sider his private and domestick character : I mean Lord Chatham^ whose familiar conver- sation is only to be excelled by his publick el- oquence. Perhaps Lord Mansfield was born, if I may use the expression, with every At- tick disposition ; but the shackles of a law- education and profession, and some other cir- cumstances which I need not mention, have formalized, and, in some degree, repressed the brilliance of his genius. With respect to this great man, I cannot but pathetically apos- trophize with Pope, " How sweet an Ovid -was in Murray lost !" George Seluyn is very superiour to Chase Price, but very inferiour to Charles Toivns- against whom, however, he used, as I am told, continually to get the laugh : but this proves nothing; for good-humoured George Bodens would have gained the prize from them both in the article of creating laughter. I may be wrong, perhaps, but it has ever appeared to me, that Mr. Selwyti's faculty of repartee is mechanical, and arises more from habit than from genius. It would be a miserable busi- ness indeed, if a man, who had been playing upon words for so many years, should not have attained the faculty of commanding them at his pleasure. B converses with elegance ; L n is an excellent critick ; and many others of the same class may be found, who are well qual- ified to be members of a literary club, but no farther. Garrick is himself upon the stage, and an actor every where else. Foote is a mimick every where ; excellent, delightful, on the theatre and in private society ; but still a mimick. No one can take more pains than Mrs. M to be surrounded with men of wit ; she bribes, she pensions, she flatters, gives excellent dinners, is herself a very sens- ible woman, and of very pleasing manners ; not young, indeed, but that is out of the ques- tion : and, in spite of all these encourage- ments, which, one would think, might make 81 wits spring out of the ground, the conversa- tions of her house are too often critical and pedaritick, something between the dulness and the pertness of learning. They are perfectly chaste, and generally instructive ; but a cool and quiet observer would sometimes laUgh to see how difficult a matter it is for la belle Pres- idente to give colour and life to her literary cir- cles. It surprises me that you should leave TFmdham out of your list, who (observe my prophecy) will become one of the ablest men and shining characters that the latter part of this age will produce. I hazard little in such a presentiment ; for his talents, judgment, and attainments will verify it. The gibes and jests, that are wont to set the table in a roar, promote the chearful purposes of convivial society, but they have nothing to do with that Attick conversation which is the highest enjoyment of the human intellect. Wit, believe me, is almost extinct ; and I will tell you, among other reasons, why I think so : because no one seems to have any idea of what wit is, or who deserves the title of it. To think little, talk of every thing, and doubt of nothing ; to use only the external parts of the soul, and cultivate the surface, as it were, of the judgment ; to be happy in expression, to 82 have an agreeable fancy, an easy and refined conversation, and to be able to please, without acquiring esteem ; to be born with the equiv- ocal talent of a ready apprehension, and, on that account, to think one's self above reflec- tion ; to fly from object to object, without gain- ing a perfect knowledge of any ; to gather hastily all the flowers, and never allow the fruit time to arrive at maturity : all these, col- lected together, form a faint picture of what the generality of people, in this age, are pleas- ed to honour with the name of wit. You must not be angry with me for this long letter, but rather be thankful that it is so short, considering the subject you threw be- fore me, and the desire I have to set you a thinking on a subject of which you seem to have formed very wrong notions. I again re- peat, that true wit is expiring, and great tal- ents also. My words are prophetick, and a few years will determine the matter. It would not be a difficulty to prove the why and the wherefore ; but of all subjects these half-met- aphysical ones are the most unpleasant to Your's, &c. 83 LETTER XIX. MY DEAR , WITHOUT any violent exertions of my natural vanity, I can easily imagine that the eye of mankind looks towards my political ca- reer; v and that, for want of a better subject, there may be some among them who amuse themselves with forming conjectures concern- Ing it. The ministry have attempted to feel my pulse upon the occasion, but without suc- cess ; though I will tell you in confidence, that they have nothing, at present, to fear from me. In the great subject of this day's poli- ticks, which seems to engulph every other, I am with them. I shall never cease to con- tend for the universality and unity of the Brit- ish Empire over all its territories and depend- encies, in every part of the globe. I have not a doubt of the legislative supremacy of Par- liament over every part of the British domin- ions in America, the East and JFest-Indies, in Africa, and over Ireland itself. 84 I cannot separate the ideas of legislation and taxation ; they seem to be more than twins ; they were not only born but must co- exist and die together. The question of right is heard of no more ; it is now become a ques- tion of power, and it appears to me that the sword will determine the contest. The Colo- nies pretend to be subject to the King alone ; they deny subordination to the state, and, upon this principle, have not only declared against the authority of Parliament, but erect- ed a government of their own, independent of British legislation. To support a disobedi- ence to rights which they once acknowledg- ed, they have already formed associations, armed and arrayed themselves, and are pre- paring to bring the question to the issue of battle. This being the case, it becomes high- ly necessary for us to arm also ; we must pre- pare to quench the evil in its infancy, and to extinguish a flame which the natural enemies, of England will not fail to feed with unremit- ting fuel, in order to consume our commerce and tarnish our glory. If wise measures are taken, this business will be soon completed, to the honour of the mother-country and the. welfare of the Colonies, who, in spite of all the assistance given them by the House of 85 must-, tmless our government acts like an idiot, be forced to submission. For my own part, I have not that high opin- ion of their Roman spirit, as to suppose that it will influence them contentedly to submit to all the horrours of war, or to resign every com- fort in which they have been bred, to relin- quish every hope with which they have been flattered, and retire to the howling wilderness for an habitation ; and all for a dream of lib- erty, which, were they to possess to-morrow, would not give them a privilege superiour to those which they lately enjoyed, and might, I fear, deprive them of many which they ex- perienced beneath the clement legislation of the British government. I do not mean to enter at large into the sub- ject ; but, if ministers know what they are a- bout, the matter may be soon decided : and in every measure which tends to promote such a desirable end, they shall receive all the poor helps I can give them I will neither sit silent, nor remain inactive. But if, by neglect, igno- rance, or an indecisive spirit (the latter of which I rather suspect from them) they should let the monster grow up into size and strength, my support shall be changed into opposition, and all my powers exerted to remove men 86 from a station, to which they are unequal. Remember this assertion preserve this letter and let it appear in judgment against me, if I err from my present declaration. I remain your's, &c. 87 LETTER XX. IT was very natural, in such a Strephon as you are, to imagine that I had hurried away to court the nymphs; I mean the wood-nymphs of H . Now, I have so little thought about, or regard for, these ladies, that I had, at one time, determined to despoil their shade, and make a profitable use of the oaks which shelter them. You will shriek at the idea, like any Hamadryad ; but in spite of shrieks or intreaties, I had it in contemplation to be patriotick, and give the groves of H to the service of my country. The system of modern gardening, in spite of fashion and Mr. Brown, is a very foolish one. The huddling together every species of building into a park or garden, is ridiculous. The environs of a magnificent house should partake, in some degree, of the necessary formality of the building they surround. This was Kent's opinion ; and, where his de- si gas have escaped the destruction of modern 88 refinement, there is an easy grandeur which is at once striking and delightful. Fine woods are beautiful objects, and their beauty ap- proaches nearer to magnificence, as the mass of foliage becomes more visible ; but to dot them with little white edifices, infringes upon their greatness, and, by such divisions and subdivisions^ destroys their due effect. The verdure of British swells was- not made for Grecian temples : a flock of sheep and a shep- herd's hut are better adapted to it. Our cli- mate is not suited to the deities of Italy and Greece, and in a hard winter I feel for the shuddering divinities. At H - there is a Temple of Theseus, commonly called by the gardener the Temple of Perseus, which stares you in the face wherever you go ; while the Temple of God, commonly called by the gar- dener the Parish Church, is so industriously hid by trees from without, that the pious mat- ron can hardly read her prayer-book within. This was an evident preference of strange gods, and, in my opinion, a very blasphem- ous improvement. Where Nature is grand, improve her grandeur, not by adding extrane- ous decorations, but by removing obstruc- tions. Where a scene is in itself lovely, very little is necessary to give it all due advantage, 89 especially if 'it be laid into park, which under- goes no variety of cultivation. Stow is, in my opinion, a most detestable place ; and has in every part of it the air of a Golgotha: a princely one -I must acknow- ledge ; but in no part of it could I ever lose that gloomy idea. My own park possesses many and very rare beauties ; but, from the design of making it classical, it has been charged with many false and unsuitable orna- ments. A classical park, or a classical gar- den, is as ridiculous an expression as a clas- sical plumb-pudding or a classical surloin of beef. It is an unworthy action to strip the classicks of their heroes, gods, and goddess- es, to grow green amid the fogs of our un- classical climate. But the affectation and non- sense of little minds is beyond description. How many are there, who, fearful that man- kind will not discover their knowledge, are continually hanging out the sign of hard words and pedantick expressions, like the late Lord Orrery, who, for some classical reason, had given his dog a classical name ; it was no less than Cfesar ! However, Ctesar, one day, giv- ing his Lordship a most unclassical bite, he seized a cane, and pursued him round the room with great solemnity and this truly clas- M 90 sical menace" C<ssar ! C<esar ! if I could " catch thee, Cxsar ! I would give thee as ma- " ny wounds as JBmtus gave thy name-sake in " the Capitol." This is the very froth of fol- ly and affectation. Adieu, &c. 91 ... LETTER XXL MY DEAR SIR, I OBEY your commands with some reluc- tance, in relating the story of which you have heard so much, and to which your curiosity appears to be so broad awake. I do it unwil- lingly, because such histories depend so much upon the manner in which they are related ; and this, which I have told with such success, and to the midnight terrours of so many sim- ple souls, will make but a sorry figure in a written narration. However, you shall have it. It was in the early part of 's life that he attended an hunting club at their sport, when a stranger, of a genteel appear- ance, and well mounted, joined the chace, and was observed to ride with a degree of courage and address that called forth the ut- most astonishment of every one present. The beast he rode was of amazing powers ; no- thing stopped them ; the hounds could never escape them ; and the huntsman, who was 92 left far behind, swore that the man and his horse were both devils from hell. When the sport was over, the company invited this extra- ordinary person to dinner : he accepted the in- vitation, and astonished the company as much by the powers of his conversation and the elegance of his manners, as by his equestrian prowess. He was an orator, a poet, a paint- er, a musician, a lawyer, a divine ; in short, he was every thing, and the magick of his discourse kept the drowsy sportsmen awake long after their usual hour. At length, how- ever, wearied nature could be charmed no more ; and the company began to steal away by degrees to their repose. On his observ- ing the society diminish, he discovered mani- fest signs of uneasiness : he therefore gave new force to his spirits, and new charms to his conversation, in order to detain the remain- ing few some time longer. This had some lit- tle effect ; but the period could not be long delayed when he w T as to be conducted to his chamber. The remains of the company re- tired also ; but they had scarce closed their eyes, when the house was alarmed by the most terrible shrieks that were ever heard : several persons were awakened by the noise ; but, its continuance being short, they concluded it to 93 proceed from a dog who might be accidentally confined in some part of the house : they very soon, therefore, composed themselves to sleep, and were very soon awakened by shrieks and cries of still greater terrour than the former. Alarmed at what they heard, several of them rung their bells, and, when the servants came, they declared that the horrid sounds proceed- ed from the stranger's chamber. Some of the gentlemen immediately arose, to enquire in- to this extraordinary disturbance ; and, while they were dressing themselves for that pur- pose, deeper groans of despair, and shriller shrieks of agony, again astonished and terri- fied them. After knocking some time at the stranger's chamber-door, he answered them as one awakened from sleep, declared he had heard no noise, and, rather in an angry tone, desired he might not be again disturbed. Up- on this they returned to one of their chambers, and had scarce begun to communicate their sentiments to each other, when their conver- sation was interrupted by a renewal of yells, screams, and shrieks, which, from the hor- rour of them, seemed to issue from the throats of damned and tortured spirits. They imme- diately followed the sounds, and traced them to the stranger's chamber, the door of which 94 they instantly burst open, and found him upon his knees in bed, in the act of scourging him- self with the most unrelenting severity, his body streaming with blood. On their seizing his hand to stop the strokes, he begged them, in the most wringing tone of voice, as an act of mercy, that they would retire, assuring them that the cause of their disturbance was over, and that in the morning he would ac- quaint them with the reasons of the terrible cries they had heard, and the melancholy sight they saw. After a repetition of his entreaties, they retired ; and in the morning some of them went to his chamber, but he was not there ; and, on examining the bed, they found it to be one gore of blood. Upon further inquiry, the groom said, that, as soon as it was light, the gentleman came to the stable booted and spurred, desired his horse might be immedi- ately saddled, and appeared to be extremely impatient till it was done ; when he vaulted in- stantly into his saddle, and rode out of the yard on full speed. Servants were immedi- ately dispatched into every part of the sur- rounding country, but not a single trace of him could be found : such a person had not been seen by any one, nor has he since been heard of. The circumstances of this strange story xvere immediately committed to writing, and signed by every one who were witnesses to them, that the future credibility of any one, who should think proper to relate them, might be duly supported. Among the subscribers to the truth of this history are some of the first names of this century. It would now, I be- lieve, be impertinent to add any thing more, than that I am, Your's, 96 LETTER XXIL I THANK you most sincerely, my very dear friend, for your obliging congratulations on my late promotion ; and I have no better way to answer the friendly counsels which ac- company them, but by opening my heart to you upon the occasion, and trusting its senti- ments with you. You knew my father, and I am sure you will applaud me in declaring that his charac- ter did real honour to his rank and his nature. A grateful fame will wait upon his memory, till, by some new change in human affairs, the great and good men of this country and period shall be lost to the knowledge of distant gene- rations. In the republick of letters he rose to a very considerable eminence ; his deep polit- ical erudition is universally acknowledged ; and, as a senator both of the lower and high- er order, his name is honoured with distin- guished veneration. In his private as well as publick life, he was connected and in friend- 97 ship with the first men of the time in which he lived ; and, as a character of strict virtue and true piety, he has been universally held forth as the most striking example of this age. The idea of uncommon merit accompanies all opinion of him ; and to mention his name is to awaken the most pleasing and amiable senti- ments. As you read this short and imperfect outline of his character, fill it up and do it justice. Now, it will, perhaps, surprise you, when you are informed, that the post in gov- ernment which this great and good man most desired, and could never obtain, was the Chief Justiceship in Eyre, &c. &c. The reverse of the picture is as follows : that your humble servant, and his gracious son, whose charac- ter you perfectly know, has been appointed to this very post, in the infancy of his peerage, without any previous service performed, hint given, or requisition made on his part, and without the proposition of, and conditions on the part of, the Minister. When I was sur- prised by the offer, I was surprised also by a sudden and unusual suffusion on my cheeks* at the contrast of mine and my father's char- acter of mine and my father's lot. Indeed so big was my heart on the occasion, tha , when the ministerial ambassadour had left rcf N the sentiments of it burst forth upon the first person I saw, who happened not to be a very proper receptacle for the reflections of virtue. There is a very great encouragement in this world to be wicked, and the Devil certainly goes about in more pleasing shapes than that of a roaring lion. In the name of fortune, my dear friend, how and why are these things ? Is it the increasing corruption of the times, or the weakness of government, that gives to dissolute men the meed of virtue ; or do min- isters think it expedient to give a sop to the mastiff whose growl might make them trem- ble ? You, who have made men and manners your study, who have looked so deeply into the volume of the heart, and have acquired such an happy art of reconciling the apparent inconsistencies of human affairs, must instruct me. I wish you could improve and convert me ! I am not insensible to what is good ; nay, there are moments when the full lustre of vir- tue beams upon me. I try to seize it ; but the gleam escapes me, and I am re -involved in darkness. The conflict of reason and passion is but the conflict of a moment ; and the latter never fails to bear me oft" in triumph. Video mciiora proboque, Detcriora sequor. I am your's most truly, &c. LETTER XXIIL I WISH the Morning Post, and every other Post that scatters such malignant, false, and detestable histories, in the bottomless pit, with its writers, printers, editors, publishers, collectors, and purchasers. To be the sub- ject of an occasional paragraph is not worth a frown. It is a tax which every one in high station must pay, be he good, or be he bad, to that demon of calumny, who now has a temple prepared for his service at every break- fast-table in the metropolis. But to be the sole theme of a scandalous chronicle, and to see it not only saved from oblivion, but raised into universal notice and reception, from its abu- sive histories of me, is a circumstance big with every pain and penalty of mortification. To add to my distress, no means of satisfaction or revenge are in my power; and, if resentment were to weave a scourge, and I could use it to my wishes, I should only give new materi- als to prolong the tale. The business of silent 100 contempt is above me ; and the mode of con- duct you recommend is like St. Austin s reason for belief, quid impossibile est. I cannot enter an house where the page of my dishonour does not lie upon the table. Every man who meets me in the street, tells me by his very looks that he has read it. I have overheard my own servants observing upon it, and the very chairmen can repeat its tales. I expect every day that my horse, like Balaam's ass, will neigh scandal at me ; not indeed from celes- tial, but hellish intervention. Some steps, however, must be taken, and some method adopted to silence the cry. To bribe the hounds, would produce a mortifica- tion almost equal to what I now suffer; but there is no divining how long the story may last, and the tota cantabltur urbe is terrible. Bear it I cannot, and revenge is not in my power. The rascal keeps within the circle of privilege ; and, if he should slip out of it, I am afraid that it would not answer my pur- pose to avail myself of his incaution. In short, I don't know what to do. You will oblige me more than ever, in forming some wise resolutions for me, and in persuading me to execute them. Adieu ! 101 LETTER MY DEAR FRIEND, YOUR sensibility towards me during my late persecution, is a flattering mark of that af- fectionate esteem which you have ever borne me. I most sincerely thank you for it ; and have only to wish that the world knew I still retain so warm a place in your heart. Such a circumstance would serve as an antidote a- gainst the poison which has been instilled in- to the minds of mankind on my subject. The batteries of scandal are at length turned from me; and some new object of their rage will, I hope, make their thundering attack upon me to be quickly forgotten. I love my country, its constitution, and its privileges, too well to say, write, or even think, any thing against that palladium of British freedom, the liberty of the press, though I have been such a sufferer by it. While it remains, (and may it ever remain !) the people of England will have a security for those privileges which give them a supe- 102 riority over every other nation. Perhaps the enormities of private scandal should be check- ed, at the same time that, I think, it would be dangerous to suffer even an excrescence of any staple privilege to be cut off. The track of innovation widens every moment; and on this example, if it was once opened, there is no saying where it would end. A priest, I think, is said to have invented gun-powder; and a soldier has the credit of first suggesting Tlie Art of Printing: and I have heard wonderfully curious and profound observations made upon the strange combina- tion of the inventors and their inventions. But, surely, it does not require a moment's reflection to discover, that this improvement in the business of war, as well as in the re- publick.of letters, could not have proceeded so naturally from any other -characters. It is, I believe, universally allowed, that, since the introduction of artillery and fire-arms, the trade of war is become comparatively inno- cent: slaughter no longer wades knee-deep in blood; and her sword is now no sooner drawn than it is satisfied. A discovery, there- fore, which has lessened the carnage and hor- rours of battle, was most naturally produced by a minister of the gospel of peace. On the 103 contrary, we have only to examine the history of letters since the invention of printing, and lo ! what an host of polemical writers appear, armed with the most bitter spirit of malice and resentment ! < What feuds, both national and domestick, have arisen from it! What rage has been inflamed ! How many wars have been engendered ! What disgraceful, inflammatory, and unchristian controversies maintained ! How many scandals of every kind have been propagated, and what pas- sions have been incited by it ! &c. &c. so that the most free governments have been obliged to enact laws to restrain and controul it. Such an invention, therefore, may be said to pro- ceed, in its natural course, from one whose profession is founded in the animosities, in- justice, and malevolence of mankind. I doubt not but you will now agree with me, that the world is, as it ought to be, more indebted to the priest than the soldier. You will tell me, perhaps, that this argument arises from the smarting of my wounds, which are not yet skinned over : I feel myself of a contrary opin- ion ; but I will quit the subject till not a scar remains, when I shall take the opportunity of some tranquil hour to bring the matter, by your leave, into debate with you. I remain, with great regard, Jkc. 104 LETTER MY DEAR , I MUST acknowledge, notwithstanding I am treated with some degree of civility in it, that the dedication you mention is a wretched business, and disgraces the volume to which it is prefixed. You wonder I did not write a better for him myself; and I would, most as- suredly, have done it, but, among many ex- cellent qualities which this dedicator possess- es, he is a blab of the first deliver)-, and I dared not venture to trust him. The testamentary arrangement which ap- pointed him to the honourable labours of an editor, took its rise from three motives : first, to mark a degree of parental resentment a- gainst an ungracious son ; secondly, from an opinion that a gracious nephew's well-timed flatteries had created of his own understand- ing; and, thirdly, from a design of bestow- ing upon this self-same gracious nephew a le- gacy of honour from the publication, and of profit from the sale of the volume. He is ai proud of the business as a new-made knight of his title, is never easy but when he is re- ceiving incense from book-sellers and their journeymen, and loves to be pointed at as a child of science. I wish he may be content- ed with his present celebrity; though, if I know him aright, this editorial business will awaken ideas of his having talents for a supe- riour character, and that he is qualified to publish his own works with as much eclat as he has done those of another. If he attempts io climb the ladder of ambition in any, but particularly in a literary way, he must fall. I have counselled him to be content ; and the booby gives it out that I am envious of his reputation. Poor, silly fool ! I only wish the daw may keep the one poor feather he has got ; for, if he attempts any addition to his plumage, the vanity will draw him into a scrape, in which he will be stripped as bare as nature made him. But, to change my subject to a coxcomb of another sex : Mrs. has done what she has no right to do, and has said what she is not authorised to say. It is not in the pow- er, even of so able and so respectable an ad- vocate as yourself, to work up any thing that o 106 has the- semblance of a satisfactory justifica- tion. Your arguments, which are so power- ful in the cause of truth, are the slightest of all cobwebs in support, or, I should rather say, in palliation of falsehood. This, among other things, is much to your honour, and I congratulate your disqualification to plead a bad cause. If you have been a volunteer on the occasion, I compliment your gallantry : if you have been influenced by the lady's re- quest, I admire your ready friendship. You have every merit with me ; and, to give you the satisfaction you so well deserve, I cannot but authorise you to set the dame at rest, and to hush her every fear. This is no small sac- rifice ; for I have the most ample means of vengeance in my hands : and, if it will ad- vance your interests at her court, you have full permission to declare that my wrath has been averted by your interposition. -Nullum memorabile nom*n FfiEmincl in pcen4 est, nee habet victoria laudem. I remain, very truly, &c. 107 LETTER XXVI. YOU have won both your wagers. In speaking of the inhabitants of China, I ds make use of the word Chineses ; and I borrow the term from Milton* As to your -first bet, that I used such an expression, your ears, 1 trust, will be grateful for the. confidence you had in them. But your second wager, that, if I did use it, I had a good authority, is very flattering to myself; and I thank you for the opinion you entertain of the accuracy^ of my language. My memory will not, at this mo- ment, direct you to the page ; but you will readily find the word in the Index of Newton's edition of Milton. Of all the poets that have graced ancient times, or delighted the latter ages, Milton is my favourite ; I think him superiour to every other, and the writer of all others best cal- culated to elevate the mind, to form a noble- ness of taste, and to teach a bold, command- ing, energetick language. I read him with 1OS delight as soon as I could read him at all ; and, I remember, in my father's words, I gave the first token of premature abilities in the perusal of the Paradise Lost. I was quite a boy, when, in reading that poem, I was so forcibly struck with a passage, that I laid down the book with some violence on the ta- ble, and took an hasty .turn to the other end of the room. Upon explaining the cause of this emotion to my father, he clasped me in (his arms, smothered me with embraces, and immediately wrote letters to all his family and friends, to inform them of the wonderful fore- boding I had given of future genius. Your curiosity may naturally expect .to be gratified with the passage in question ; I quote it, there- fore, for your reflection and amusement : He spate ; and, to confirm his word*, out flew Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs Of mighty Cherubim : the sudden bliza Far round illumin'd Hell ! The two principal orators of the present age (and one of them, perhaps, a greater than has been produced in any age) are the Earls of Mansfield and Chatham. The former is a great man; Ciceronian, but, I should think, inferiour to Cicero. The latter is a greater man ; Demosthenian, but superiour to Demos- thenes. The first formed himself on the mod- 109 el of the great Roman orator ; he studied, translated, rehearsed, and acted his orations : the second disdained imitation, and was him- self a model of eloquence, of which no idea can be formed but by those who have seen and heard him. His words have sometimes frozen my young blood into stagnation, and sometimes made it pace in such an hurry through my veins, that I could scarce sup- port it. He however, embellished his ideas by classical amusements, and occasionally read the sermons of Barrow^ wjiich he con- sidered as a mine of .nervous expressions : but, not content to correct and instruct his imagination by the works of mortal men, he borrowed his noblest images from the lanr guage of inspiration. Mr. Edmund Burke al- so gives an happy dignity to parts of his speeches (a want of which is, in .general, then- only defect) by the application of scriptural expressions. Though I have such bright and venerable examples before my eyes, I pursue a some- what different, but not an opposite track ; for Milton, from the excellence and form of his works, has every claim to the title of a das- sick : from the nature also of his principal subjects, which are 4raw,n from scripture, we 110 may be said, in some degree, to read the sac- red writings when his great poetical comment- ary of them (for so I shall call his Paradise Lost and Regained) is the object of our stvu dies. The orations of Cicero, notwithstand- ing their character in the world, please, but do not inflame me. We are at top great a dis- tance from the period, and have not a suffi- cient idea of the manner of their delivery, to be affected by them. They are very fine com- positions ; and it is the evidence of their be- ing compositions that is their chief fault : and if Lord Mansfield were to pronounce the best of them, in his best manner, I doubt much ( of their supposed effect. They chill the warmth of my feelings ; and I have often essayed, but in vain, to work up in me an elevation of mind and spirits from a repetition of the Ro- man orations. I must acknowledge that Lord Bolingbroke, a great and splendid authority, is against me, who, in language more animating than I could ever find in Tultys eloquence, declares that no man who has a soul can read his orations, after the revolutions of so many ages, after the extinction of the governments and of the people for whom they were com- posed, without feeling at this hour the pas- sions they were designed to move, and the Ill spirit they were designed to raise. If this be true, in his Lordship's sense of the expres- sion, I have no soul : but I suspect the truth of this assertion, as I well know that he would, at any time, sacrifice a just criticism to a brilliant passage. His character and gen- ius were both intemperate ; and, when his tongue or his pen were pleased with their sub- jects, he was borne rapidly on by the stream of eloquence, not considering or caring whith- er he went. When his imagination was once kindled, it was an equal chance whether he obscured virtue, or dignified vice. The source of his delusive writings was an head-strong, vivid fancy, which practised as great deceits upon himself, as he had ever done upon man- kind. But to return to my subject For the life of me, I cannot read sermons even with Lord Chatham ; and my hands are too tmhallowed to unfold the sacred volume : but I find in Milton's poems every thing that is sublime in thought, beautiful in imagery, and energetick in language and expression. To attain a reputation for eloquence is my aim and my ambition; and, if I should ac- quire the art of clothing my thoughts in happy language, adorning them with striking images, or enforcing them by commanding words, I shall be indebted for such advan- tages to the study of our great British clas* sick. I know you would not recommend my friends, the poets, to take a leading part in the study of eloquence. You may, probably, apprehend that poetical pursuits would be apt to give too poetical a turn to discourse as well as writing ; and to beget a greater attention to sound than to sense. Such an idea is certain- ly founded in truth ; and your objections are perfectly sensible, when an application to the poets is not conducted with judgment, and moderated by prosaick reading and exercises. A little circumstance in point, which just oc- curs to me, will make you smile : when my father completed the first copy of his history, the friends, to whom he sent it for their criti- cism and correction, universally agreed in its being written in a kind of irregular blank verse, from the beginning to the end. He was much surprised at the information ; but, on examining his work, he found it to be true, and gave to the whole the excellent dress it now wears. Sir Robert R was so unfair as to impress some of the passages upon his memory, and has since been so ill-natured as to repeat them. But, to put a period to thi? 113 long letter, I declare myself to be very angry, when you are but twenty miles from me, that you should not put your horses to your chaise, and be here in a shorter space of time than is necessary to fill up half a sheet of papers You will do well to come and amuse yourself here, leaving gouty uncles and croaking aunts to themselves. There is more vivacity con-i centrated in my little dell, than is to be found in all the ample sweets of your vale. As you are musical, I will prepare a syren to sing to you, and you shall accompany her in any man* ner you please. Adieu ! Your's most truly, &c. 11-4 LETTER XXVII. 1 CANNOT yet fancy the suspected pre- liminaries of alliance between Prance and A' inerica ; and I will tell you why : because I think it will not be the mutual interest of ei- ther of them to engage in such a treaty. The French finances are not in a state to jus- tify the risking a war with England, which an open alliance with America must immediately produce. Monsieur de Maupouz and Monsieur tie Necker, if I am rightly informed, are of the same opinion, and, I believe, from nobler mo- tives and better reasons, are in opposition to those proposals which the Americans are said to have offered to induce France to give an a- vowed support to their cause. My informa- tion goes somewhat farther, and assures me, that the opinions of the two statesmen already mentioned are supported by all the graver men and older officers in the kingdom. America, at present, makes a very powerful and extraor- dinary resistance, and there seems to be a spir- it awakened in her people, which will woefullr 115 prolong the period of her reduction. The con- test is, at present, between a child, forced into resistance by what it calls tyranny, and a pa- rent, enraged at filial ingratitude, who is resolv- ed to reclaim his offspring by force and chas- tisement. In such a state, though a mad spirit of rebellion may instigate revolted children to act against the parent, and the brethren of the house of their parent, the latter will go very reluctantly to the business of blood-shed ; and many a brave man will consider the duty of the soldier and the citizen as incompatible, and let the former sink into the latter. But the mo- ment that America flies for protection to the arms of France, the case will be changed : ev- ery tie of consanguinity will be then broken; it will be impossible to distinguish between them and their allies ; they will be all the ob- ject of one common resentment ; and the A- mericans must expect, as they will surely find, an equal exertion against them as will be em- ployed against their insidious supporters. But this is not the only reason why I think America will maintain the contest better with- out the open support of France ; I have an- other, in the natural aversion they bear to each other. No two civilized nations, in the same quarter. of the globe, can bear a more 116 different and clashing character than France and the revolted colonies. Fire and water would as soon blend their opposite elements, as the solemn, gloomy, unpolished American^ with the gay, sprightly, animated Frenchman. Besides, how will it be possible for the sim- ple, sullen leaven of Calvinism to be kneaded in the same lump with the motley genius and complicated ceremony of Popery ? While the hope for independence keeps alive the spirit of contention, such considerations, if suggest- ed at all, will, for a time, give way to their ambition ; but, should the object of it be at- tained, they would arise, on the first interval of repose, in all the bitterness of disunion, and bring on a scene of internal confusion big with greater horrours than they now experience. What will these deluded people think, and how will they act, who, after manifesting such a sol- emn and bold aversion to the power of a Prot- estant Bishop, after having held forth the act of parliament, which gave to the conquered in- habitants of Canada a toleration of their relig- ion, as one of their justifications to rebellion - I repeat again, what will be the conduct of these people, when they see the cross adored in their streets, and hear the benedictions and anathemas of Rome pronounced in their cities ! 117 For my own part, I cannot conceive such an event as American Independence ; and, in my poor opinion, if it were to be given them to-morrow, it would, in the end, prove a worse present than the Stamp- Act itself, with ah 1 its aggravated horrours. The guards are order- ed to r 'cross the Atlantic^, and along with them. I am glad you like him ; I thought my prophecy in that particular would be fulfilled; You knew Madame, I think, at Geneva. They both possess the same disposition to give a pleasant turn to every thing. They put their son to board chez un Bourgois de Dijon, and have never since troubled themselves about the boy, or the pension stipulated for his sup- port. Luckily for the child, the man to whose care he was entrusted has taken a fancy to him, and declares, if he should be deserted by his parents, that he will do his best to pro- vide for him ; and our friends think it the best joke in the world. I have been to see the jfustitia hulk, where, among many other miserables, I saw poor Dignam wear the habit of a slave. He seem- ed disposed to speak to me ; but I had previ- ously desired the superintendent to request him, since it was not in my power to do him service, to wave all appearance of his having 118 known me. This mode of punishment offers a very shocking spectacle, and, I think, must undergo some alleviation, if it be not entirely abolished. If it were to come again before parliament, I should give the subject a very serious consideration, and the measure a very serious opposition. Is it not extraordinary, that the first publick exhibition of slavery in this kingdom for so it is, however the situ- ation may be qualified by law should be suggested by a Scotchman, and that the first regulator of this miserable business should be from the same country ? I do not mean to throw out any unpleasant ideas concerning any one, whose lot it was to be born on the other side of the Tweed, but merely to state a fact for your observation. I have known many of my northern fellow-subjects, and es- teemed them. David Hume possesses my sin- cere admiration ; but though the object of his writings was to remove prejudices, he himself possessed the strongest in favour of his coun- try, and was, as is the great weakness of Scotchmen, so jealous of its honour, that I gave him great offence at Lord Hertford's at Ragley, by asking him at what time of the year the harvest was housed in Scotland. My question arose from an innocent desire of being satisfied in that particular : but he con- ceived it to convey a suspicion, that there was no harvest, or at least no barns, in his coun- try ; and his answer was slight and churlish. Fare you well ! If you hear any thing on the continent that at all concerns the present state of publick affairs, I beg you will not fail to favour me with the most early communication* I am, with great sincerity, ' 120 LETTER Mi DEAR ~^~* , I CANNOT assert it as a matter within my own knowledge ; but I have some reason to believe, that the late Earl of Bath, at the close of life, manifested a kind of preference of the French to the English government.' Upon what principles such an opinion was grounded, I cannot pretend to say : it is im- possible he could form it in the abstract ; it must arise, therefore, from pride of heart, de- grading sentiments of mankind, a natural love of power, or from some of those selfish mo- tives which grow more strong and prevalent as men approach the end of their days. In short, the French government might be more suitable to his character and disposition ; and, though this conjecture is not in his favour, I believe it to have a foundation in truth. It is a common case among mankind, where reason and judgment are perverted by the strength of habitual inclination. I will give you an exam- ple that shall please you. 121 No one of common understanding, and who has the least idea of human affairs or know- ledge of human nature, after a comparative examination of the Gospel and the Alcoran^ but will give to the former a most instant, / decided, and universal preference. He will ad* mire the rational and amiable doctrines of the one, and as readily acknowledge the absurdi- ties of the other. Nevertheless, there are men of sense I know some of them, and so do you, my friend who would so far yield to the warm desire of habitual gratification, as to give their immediate consent to exchange Christianity for the religion of Mahomet. Lord Bath must have been indebted for the opinions given to him, to the triumph of an irrational self-love over a rational love of man- kind : perhaps to the imbecility of his social affections may be added the strange caprices of disappointed dotage. I have either read or heard an assertion, that it is impossible to find upon earth a soci- ety of men, who govern themselves upon prin- ciples of humanity ; and I am forced to ac- knowledge, that the opinion will find a very powerful support in the customs of almost ev- ery country in the world. Whoever will con- sider with attention the histories of mankind, 122 and examine, with an impartial eye, the con- duct of different nations, will be seen con- vinced, that, except those duties which are absolutely necessary to the preservation of the human species, he cannot name any prin- ciple of morals, nor imagine any rule of virtue, which, in some part or other of the v, orld^ is not directly contradicted by the general prac- tice of entire societies. The most polisl <_d nations have supposed, that they had an equal right to expose their children, as to bring them into the world. There are countries now ex- isting, where the child feels it as an high act of filial duty to desert or murder their parents, when they can no longer contribute to their own support. Garcilasso cle la Fega relates, that certain people of Peru make concubines of their female prisoners of war, nourish and carefully feed the children they have by them, on whom they afterwards feast. But this is not all ; when the wretched mother can r.o longer furnish the delicacies of their horrid banquets from her womb, she shares the fate of her offspring, and be-cornes the meal of the barbarians, whose throats had been moistened with the blood of her children. It would be a matter of very little difficulty 10 fill a volume with the various inhumanities 123 -which mingle with the governments of the Asian, African, and savage American nations of this day. . The historians, .also; of ancient times, would greatly increase the sad history of human calamity ; nor is the quarter of the world which we inhabit exempted from fur- nishing its quota to the miserable account. The various customs, religions, and govern- ments which divide more enlightened Europe, might furnish a multitude of actions less bar- barous, indeed, in their appearance, but as reprehensible in reality, and as dangerous in their consequences, as those already recited. England, however, has this advantage over the rest of her neighbour kingdoms, that the examples of inhumanity which she has pro- duced have arisen from an audacious abuse of her laws ; while those of other nations seem to arise from the nature of their consti- tutions. A code of such wise, rational, and humane legislation never was known in the world, as that which prescribes the rule of conduct, as well to the governours as to the governed, in our kingdom. The principles of it are founded in the perfection of human reason, and, in a certain degree, on that hap. py union of justice and mercy which divines have given to the decrees of Omnipotence. 124 But my paper admonishes me to quit this in- teresting subject, or it will not leave me a space sufficient to assure you with what real regard I am Your's, &c, 125 LETTER XXIX. THE first article of your letter, which tells me of 's death, has very much affected me ; and, if it had arrived three hours sooner, I would have set off for London, to have dissipated the grave thoughts it occa- sions. I can hardly give credit to your ac- count of her last moments : she had much to regret; rank, fortune, friends, and beauty, which, St. Evremand says, a \voman. parts with more reluctantly than even life itself. By this time, I trust, she has reached the E- lysian Fields, and, with the blest inhabitants of that delightful abode, On flow'rs repoiM, and with fresh garlands crowii'J, Quaffs immortality and joy. However that may be, the event of her death is very sensibly felt by me. I shall miss her very much; not indeed as an acquaint- ance for she would admit me only to her publick assemblies but as an object of res- pect : and truly sorry am I that she is gone, for the sake of her sex, as she has not left one 126 behind who can supply her place in my good opinion. I had a sort of occasional respect for every woman, on her account,! which I fear will be buried in her grave. She had nothing of female inconsistency about her, and every thing of female delicacy. She conversed with the understanding of a man, but with the grace and elegance of her own sex. Her sentiments, language, and manners, were, like her own frame, in the image of man, but possessing every attraction of -female, nature. I will tell you a secret f she was the only woman who ever made me blush, and she once dyed;my cheeks with such a crimson shame, that I feel them glow at this distant moment. . * * * * * # * . # . . * * * * * * * * * * To maintain the qualities of goodness, "ten- derness, affection, and sincerity, in the seve- ral offices of life ; to disdain ambition, avarice, luxury, and wantonness ; and to avoid affec- tation, folly, childishness, and levity is the consummation of a female character, and was fully accomplished by the lovely woman who is no more. She little thought, I believe, that it would be an employment of mine to pen her eulogium ; and you smile, . I suppose, at my 127 pretensions to describe female perfection. To tell you the truth, 1 strained very hard to pro- duce the foregoing period. My brain had a severe labour of it, and suffered no small pains in the delivery. However, I now recommend the pious bantling to your care ; and, I think, the midwife and the nurse will not contest the business of superiour qualifications. I put an end to the pleasure of my acquaint- ance with at the Duke of Bolton's masquerade at Hackwood, some years ago, by what I thought a little simple love-making, but which she thought impudence ; and she has never suffered me to approach her since that time, but upon the most distant footing. You may know, perhaps, that I have got a terrible character for this self-same vice of effrontery, and, I am afraid, not without some little rea- son. It is, upon the whole, an imprudent mode of proceeding; and, though attended with more success than modest people may imagine, as you well know, never has a pros- perous conclusion. One failure tacks a mis- erable epithet to one's name for ever. In mil- itary operations, the attack by storm sometimes effects great matters ; but, on such a design, a repulse is sometimes fatal, and always at- tended with much loss and blood-shed. This 123 has been the case with me in fields less glo- rious, but far more delightful, than those of Mars. The arrival of news-papers has caused a short interruption to my writing ; and they ac- quaint me with a circumstance which you have omitted, that she died in child-bed. It was a custom, as I have read, among some of the ancient nations, to bury the infant alive with the mother whose death it had occasioned. I shudder at the idea ; nevertheless, in this par- ticular instance, I am disposed to vote all my malice to the brat which has deprived the world of so bright an ornament. Adieu ! Shall I pay a compliment to your penetration, in supposing that you will perceive how tardi- ly my pen has proceeded to the bottom of the page ? But this is literally the fact. The French proverb says, On ne parle janiais de bonne foi, quand on parle mal des femrnes. j apprehended you would be unlucky enough to reverse the sentiment, and apply it to Your's, &c. 129 LETTER XXX. WE all of us grew suddenly tired of our Wiltshire rustication ; and, without a dissen- tient voice, voted a party to Bristol, where I eat such excellent turtle, and drank such ex- ecrable wine, that, with the heat of the weath- er into the bargain, I was suddenly taken ill at the play-house, almost to fainting, and was obliged to hurry into the air for respiration. Believe me, I did not like the business. Cold sweats and shiverings, accompanied with in- ternal sinkings, gave me a better notion of dy- ing than I had before, and made me think so seriously of this mortal life, that, on my re- turn home, I shall take the opportunity of the first gloomy day to make my will, appoint ex- ecutors, and harangue my lawyer into low spirits on the doctrine of death and judgment. I exhibited myself for none of the party would accompany me at a publick breakfast at the Hot Wells, and sat down at a long table with a number of animated cadavers, who de- voured their meal as if they had not an hour R 130 to live ; and, indeed, many of them seemed to be in that doleful predicament. But this was not all. I saw three or four groups of hectick spectres engage in cotillions : it brought in- stantly to my mind Holbein's Dance of Death; and methought I saw the raw-boned scare- crow piping and labouring to his victims. So I proceeded to the fountain ; but, instead of rosy, blooming health, diseases of every col- our and complexion guarded the springs. As I approached to taste them, I was fanned by the foetid breath of gasping consumptions, stunned with expiring coughs, and suffocated with the effluvia of ulcerated lungs. Such a living Golgotha never entered into my concep- tions ; and I could not but look upon the stu- pendous rocks, that rise in rude magnificence around the place, as the wide-spreading jaws of an universal sepulchre. Lord JFalpole told me he was there in at- tendance upon a daughter. I was glad to turn my back upon the scene : but I had not yet come to the conclusion of it ; for as I was wait- ing for my chaise, two different persons put cards into my hand, which informed me where funerals were to be furnished with the great- est expedition, and that hearses and mourning "coaches were to let to any n;m of England. 131 I immediately leaped into my carriage, and or- dered the postilion to drive with all possible haste from a place, where I was in danger of being buried alive. After all, this tenancy of life is but a bad one, with its waste and ingress of torturing diseases ; which, not content with destroying the building, maliciously torture the possessor with such pains and penalties, as to make him oftentimes curse the possession. Man's feeble race what ills a\rait ? Labour and penury the racks of pain : Disease and sorrow's mournful train, And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate. If I continue this kind of letter any farther, you will tell me that I shall repent, found hos- pitals, and die a Methodist ; and that Roches- ter's funeral-sermon and mine will be bound up in the same volume, to the edification and comfort of all sinners of every enormity. A- dieu, therefore, and believe me, very truly, Your's, &c, 132 LETTER XXXL I NEITHER hunt nor shoot ; the form- er is a diversion which requires certain sacri- fices that I cannot grant, and shall not enume- rate ; the latter suits me better, but is as little pursued as the other. The business and form, not to say tyranny, of preserving game, which is necessary to establish a certainty of sport, is not to my way of thinking. The laws con- cerning game form a very unconstitutional mo- nopoly : but that is not all ; the peace and so- ciety of provincial vicinities are more or less disturbed, by jealousies and disputes arising from the game, in every part of the kingdom. My country employments are better than you imagine. I am reading, with great care and observation, the works of the Chancellor D'Agueseau of France. Many years ago, my father gave a volume of them to me, desiring me to study it with attention, and consider the contents as his own paternal counsels. At that time I did neither the one nor the other ; how- ever, I am now making ample amends for for- 133 mer neglect. The magistrate, the statesman, the lawyer, the man of the world, the orator, and the philosopher will find delight and in- struction in these volumes. I can say no more ; and what I have now said will add them to your library, if it does not already possess them. You must know that I am angry with you for writing to me ; or, rather, for not coming, instead of writing. Delay not to visit a place you so much admire, and to see a friend who loves and values you. We will study togeth- er in the morning, and court the Muses in the evening ; and you shall visit Pope's urn by moon-light, and I will promise not to laugh at you. I propose to remain here a fortnight longer ; but, if you will come to me, the time of my departure shall be prolonged to your pleasure. I am, with real regard, Your most faithful, &c. LETTER XXXII. MY LORD, IN obedience to your Lordship's com- mands, I have left no place unsearched, and have ordered every possible inquiry to be made after the manuscript -which my father read to you a short time before his death, but in vain. As he had determined upon a re- publication of his Miscellaneous Works, with the addition of some pieces which had never been printed, I imagine he was cautious about preserving any papers or compositions that were not in his opinion sufficiently prepared for the press, lest the partiality of his surviv- ing friends might give them to the world. I am apprehensive, my Lord, that the man- uscript in question shared the fate of many others which he had not an inclination to fin- ish, and did not choose to leave in an unfin- ished state. However, in my search, I found three or four large sheets of paper in a folio volume, which appear to contain extracts from the memoirs of the great men of the last and 135 present centuries, and were probably some of the rude materials that formed the biographical sketches which your Lordship so much admir- ed, and whose loss, on that account, gives me so much concern. These papers contain little more than scraps of characters. The princi- pal object of them seems to be the Duke de Vitri, ambassadour plenipotentiary from the French king, for the peace of Nimeguen ; but it is impossible to form out of them any satis- factory account of that able negociator. That my letter, however, may not be entirely with- out amusement, I shall add a couple of quo- tations, which I have found among the rest, from the characters of very figuring personag- es on the theatre of Europe. I call them quo- tations, as they are written in Italian, though I cannot name the author from w r hence they are taken, and are immediately followed . by the character of Petronius^ from the annals of Tacitus. The first of them relates to Cardinal Mazarin, and the second to Oliver Cromwell. I shall make no apology to your Lordship for their language, as I have been informed thai you understand it equally well with your own. I am, my Lord, With great respect And obligation, &c. 136 CARDINAL MAZARIN. MOL TO la natura, non poco Varte, tutto gli tontribui lafortuna, che suppli con la dignita a do che manco ne' natali. Egli haveva bella e grata presenza, faccia licta & amabile, occhi vavaci, gratia e decoro ugualmente se parlava, o taceva. Phi che Jino e capace in simular Vin- tentioni, e dissimulare gli qffetti. La for tuna lo sostenne ad ogni passo, e se pur alcuna volta les pose al timor & al pericolo, non fu che per animarlo, e per trarnelo con maggiore trionfo. CROMWELL. HUOMO grande ne i vitii^ e nelle virtu, che neV arbitrio di licentiosa fortuna visse con mi- rabile continenza, sobrio, casto, modesto, vigi- lante, indefesso, ma da estrema ambitione agi- tato, appena pote satiarsi col sangite del Re, e coll' oppressione del regno. 137 LETTER XXXIIL HAVE you ever by chance looked into a book on the science of cookery ? If so, have you not observed, that the culinary disciple is instructed, when certain quantities of gra- vy, or essence, or conserves, are prepared, to put them by for use ? Now, if we could manage our ideas in the same manner ; if we could lock up our acquired thoughts and knowledge in a kind of intellectual store-room, from whence they might be drawn forth for application ; we should no longer be the slaves of a capricious recollection, which at this hour offers its treasures with intuitive readiness, yields them on the morrow with sullen reluctance, and on the succeeding day may refuse them to our most arduous re- searches. The active events of life, howev- er, seldom die on the remembrance ; and you must certainly be mistaken in associating with me the circumstance you mention in your let- ter, which is at this instant before me. It is morally impossible that I should have forgot- 138 ten it. My memory, perhaps, is the only fac- ulty I possess, which has not at one time or other deceived me : nay, so firm is its texture, that the oblivious hours of courtship do not affect its wonted capacities though, to say the truth, mine is a very drowsy progress. Assiduity without love, tenderness without sincerity, and dalliance without desire, afford the miserable, the hopeless, but the faithful picture of my sluggish journey to the temple of Hymen, However, to give something of colour to the intervening hours between con- sent and fruition, his Lordship performs won- ders, and sighs and flatters for his heedless son : nay, he tunes his neglected lyre, and sings the power of those charms, which, by an Anti-Circean fascination, are destined, by his fancy, to recal my vagrant footsteps to the paths of virtue. But, alas ! I know not the resolution of the Greek; I cannot resist the song of the syrens ; and, partial as I may be to paternal musick, it will prove, in its in- fluence upon me, far inferiour to their's. But all is not torpor and inanimation, and what love could not produce, vanity has in- spired. Two of the brethren of the house of my Dulcinea made her a visit last week, with a design of turning her from the expectation of a coronet and from me. I need not tell you that they are honest, simple bourgeois, or they would not have meditated such a fruitless er- rand to their ambitious sister. I was well as- sured that they would not convert her, and the fancy came across me to aim at converting them. In this business I so exerted myself in every form of attention, flattery, and amuse- ment, that I verily believe they returned to their home at Chipping- Nor ton without enforc- ing that remonstrance which was the motive to their journey. That Clipping-Norton^ in whose neighbourhood I passed with my grand- mother many of my youthful days, and te-which I had never associated any idea but that of pigs playing upon organs ; that chilly Chipping-Nor- ton should yield one of its former toasts to be the Cara sposa of your friend ! What can your fertile fancy deduce from the union of Hagley's genius and the widowed protectress of the more than widowed Leasowes ? If offspring there should be, what a strange demi-Theocrite will owe its being to such an Hymen. Alas ! my friend, this is but a dream for your amuse- ment ; the reality will offer to your compas- sionate experience the marriage of infatuation and necessity, whose legitimate and certain is- 140 Sue will be a separate maintenance, and per- haps a titled dowry. I have many and various communications to make to you, but they must be reserved for personal intercourse. In the mean time, when you shall see me announced as being added to the Benedicks of the year, save me, I beseech you, save me your congratulations. Nothing is so absurd as the tide of felicitations which flow in upon a poor newly-married man, be- fore he himself can determine, and much less the complimenting world, upon the propriety of them. Marriage is the grand lottery of life ; and it is as great a folly to exult upon entering into it, as on the purchase of a ticket in the state-wheel of fortune. It is when the ticket is drawn a prize that we can answer to congratulation. Adieu I 141 LETTER MY DEAR , IF I am not very much mistaken, your library-table is always furnished with an in- terleaved Bruyere, on whose blank pages you amuse yourself with extending the ideas of that celebrated writer, or directing them to modern applications. I am, therefore, to of- fer my name as an addition to your collections, and to desire that in your scholia on that excel- lent work, I may furnish a trait to his admira- ble character of the absent man. On the day of my marriage, a day but no more of that ! After the nuptial bene- diction was over, and we were returning to our equipage, instead of being the gallant Benedick, and conducting the new-made Mrs. L to her coach, I slouched on before, and was actually getting into the carriage, as if I had been quite alone ; but, recollecting myself as my foot was upon the step, I turn- ed round to make my apology, which com- pleted the business, for I addressed the bride in her widowed name, with " My dear Mrs. " P , I beg ten thousand pardons," and so on. This fit of absence was as strange as it proved ridiculous an omen, perhaps, of all the ungracious business which is to follow. You may first laugh at this little foolish histo- ry, and then, if you please, apply it to a more serious purpose. But this species of absence is an hereditary virtue. A virtue ! say you. Yes, Sir, a virtue ; for it is a mark of genius, and my Right Honourable father possesses it in a most nattering degree. I will present you with a most remarkable example, which you may also add to the composition of your mod- ern Theophrastus. His Lordship was about to pay a morning sacrifice at the shrine of M , and a large bunch of early pinks lay upon his toilette, which were to compose the offering of the day. With those antique or professional beaux, who wear the tye or large flowing wig, it appears to be convenient, in the ceremony of their dress, that the head should bring up the rear, and be covered the last. The full-trimmed suit was put on, the sword was girded to his side, the chapeau bos was compressed by his left arm, the bunch of pinks graced his right-hand, and his night-cap 143 remained upon his pate. The servant having left the room, the venerable peer, forgetful of his perukean honours, would actually have sallied forth into the street in full array and en bonnet de nuit, if his valet de chambre had not arrived, at the critical moment, to prevent his singular exit. I was present, but my as- tonishment at his figure so totally suspended my faculties, that he would have made the length of Curzon-street before I should have recovered any power of reflection. I was ac- cused, as you may suspect, of a purposed in- attention, in order to render his Lordship ri- diculous ; and I was told upon the occasion, that, although this kind of occasional absence of mind might furnish folly with laughter, it generally arose from that habitual exertion of thought which produces wisdom. You may congratulate me, therefore, on the prospect of my advancement to the title of sage. I am already married, and what is to follow God alone knows. Strange things daily hap- pen dans ce bas monde, and things more strange may be behind. I have such a budget to open for you ! but that discovery must be reserv- ed till we meet. Suffice it to say at present, Qt'xdam parva cjuidem; sed non tolerar.da maritis. 144 LETTER XXX V. I CONGRATULATE you, with no com- mon sincerity, on having got most complete- ly into a scrape from whence all your finesse and prudent demeanour will not be able to ex- tricate you. I have seen you, more than once, venture upon a flight which left my effrontery far behind, while I could not but envy you the advantages which publick prepossession in your favour gave you over me. Frequently have I blasphemed my stars for not having given me the art of saving appearances, which you so eminently possess ; but I have now good reason to hope, that you have, at length, fallen from your height, and will be obliged in future to roll in the mire with myself, and a few others of our common nature. The dev- il, in the language of the proverb, having long owed you a grudge, has taken a very fair op- portunity to pay it. You may now exclaim, on your entrance into our Pandzemonium, Hail, horrours, hail ! and thou, profoundeit Hell, Receive thy new possessor. 145 For your consolation, however, I shall in- form you, that, before the period of my pres- ent incorrigible humour, I was once in a state of disadvantage, very similar, in its circum- stances and effects, to that which has now overtaken you. You must know, then, that some years ago I had formed an unlucky plan to mortify my Right Reverend uncle, who had taken some authoritative liberties with me, without giving him a fair opportunity to express his resentment. This was no less than an attack upon the temporal privilege of Episcopacy, in possessing a seat in the House of Lords. I had some thoughts of my own upon the subject, but I had fortunately added to their number and importance from the ac- cidental perusal of a re-published tract on the conduct of our Bishops through upwards of twenty reigns, which unanswerably proved, that, during so long a period, they had al- most uniformly manifested themselves to be foes to rational liberty. I took up the argu- ment in a very general view, urged it with modesty, and, what was better, with securi- ty, as, in case it had been returned with an- ger, I was armed with the opinion of my fa- ther, who was present, and, in his Persian Letters, has written to the same purpose. In 146 short, I enjoyed all the triumph that my ma- licious expectation could have framed. The prelate grinned with vexation, but was forced to acquiesce in silence, and I had my revenge. But, not many days after, when my resent- ment towards this Reverend Relation had been lost in its fruition, a trifling circum- stance happened, which his vigilant anger gladly seized, in order to heap upon me eve- ry indignity which his truly Christian spirit was capable of producing. As a family par- ty of us were crossing the road on the side of Hagley Park, a chaise passed along, followed by a couple of attendants with French horns. Who can that be ? said my father. Some itinerant mountebank, replied I, if one may judge from his musical followers. I really spoke with all the indifference of an innocent mind ; nor did it occur to me, that the Right Reverend Father in God, my uncle, had some- times been pleased to travel with servants ac- coutred with similar instruments. But evil on itself will soon recoil ; and my recollection was soon restored to me by a torrent of abuse, which was, in length, violence, and, I had almost said, in expres- sion, equal to any sacred anathema of Popish resentment. In short, I was cursed, damned, 147 and sent to the Devil, in all the chaste peri- phrasis of a priest's implacability. The whole of the business was of a very singular nature : he availed himself of an inoffensive occur- rence to let loose his resentment at a past of- fence ; while I, in a state of actual innocence, sunk beneath the consciousness of my past guilt. This last part of the story is, I pre- sume, in perfect unison with your present feelings. But, to conclude with a serious ob- servation, be assured, my friend, that, how- ever rich, great, or powerful a man may be, it is the height of folly to make, personal ene- mies from any, but particularly from person- al motives : for one unguarded moment and who could support the horrours of a never- ceasing, suspicious vigilance ? may yield you to the revenge of the most despicable of man- kind. From a very unpleasant experience of my own, I should most sincerely counsel ev- ery young man, who is entering on the thea- tre of the world, to merit the good opinion of mankind, by an easy, unaffected, and amiable deportment to all, which will do more to make his walk through life respectable and happy, than those more striking and splendid quali- ties, which are for ever in the extremes of honour or disgrace. Adieu. I shall be curi- 148 ous to hear of the progress you make in the thorny paths of contrition, and whether the fruits of it will be adequate to the humiliating penalties you must have undergone. I am, with great regard, Your's, &c. 149 LETTER XXXFI. MY DEAR SIR, I SINCERELY lament with you the death of Dr. Goldsmith, as a very considerable loss to the learned, the laughing, and the senti- mental world. His versatile genius was capa- ble of producing satisfaction to persons of all these varying denominations. But I shall, without hesitation, combat the opinion which you derive from the insolvent state in which he died, that genius and talents meet with an ungrateful return from mankind, and are gen- erally seen to struggle with continual and in- superable difficulties. Plautus is related to have turned a mill, Boethius died in a gaol, Tasso was in constant distress, Cervantes died of hunger, and our Otway from too ea- ger an indulgence of that appetite : Camoens ended his days in an hospital, and Vaugelas left his body to the surgeons to pay his debts as far as it would go. I could fill my paper with a melancholy detail of genius in misfor- tune ; but it would require a volume of no common size to examine into the causes of such an affecting branch of human distress : and if a work of that nature were to be com- posed, it would prove no more than what we already know, that genius is not exempt from human failings, and frequently possesses them in a degree superiour to ordinary talents and common dulness. An improvident spirit and disdain of reflection are no uncommon attri- butes of that character; and I need not in- form a child of ten years old, that the dullest Rosinante, who keeps on his way, will soon- er arrive at his destined end, than the fleetest courser of Newmarket, who has taken a dif- ferent direction. An unenlightened and barbarous age may deny bread to men of understanding ; but we have the happiness to live in the full blaze of reason and knowledge. At this period, the man of genius, as well as the less learned character, is equally the framer of his own fortune ; and it must arise from some inherent deficiency in both, when the means of com- fortable existence, to say no more, are remote from them. This age is the most favourable that has ever been known in the annals of time, for men of genius, talents, and skill, in 151 any and every branch of science and art. To come home, however, to your subject, tell me, I beg of you, in what respect Doctor Goldsmith was neglected. As soon as his talents were known, the publick discovered a ready disposition to reward them ; nor did he ever produce the fruits of them in vain. His mode of life is generally known ; the profits of his labours are no secret ; and the patron- age, beneath which he, some time, flourished, is a matter of publick notoriety : nor shall I swerve from truth in the declaration, that he was encouraged equal to his merits, whatever they may have been; and that the publick were ready to increase their favour in propor- tion to his exertions. Ask your book-seller what Doctor Goldsmith did acquire, and what he might have acquired, by his writings : con- tinue the question with respect to the manner in which many of them were produced, and what was the spring which generally set his talents in motion. The respective replies will be sufficient to convince you, that, if your favourite author died in poverty, it was be- cause he had not discretion enough to be rich. A rigid obedience to the scripture command of Take no thought for to-morrow, with an os- tentatious impatience of coin, and an unrc- 152 fleeting spirit of benevolence, occasioned the difficulties of his life, and the insolvency of its end. He might have blessed himself with art happy independence, enjoyed, without in- terruption, every wish of a wise man, secur- ed an ample provision for his advanced age, if he had attained it, and have made a respecta- ble last will and testament ; and all this, with- out rising up early or sitting up late, if com- mon sense had been added to his other attain- ments. Such a man is awakened into the ex- ertion of his faculties but by the impulse of some sense which demands enjoyment, or some passion which cries aloud for gratifica- tion ; by the repeated menace of a creditor, or the frequent dun at his gate : nay, should the necessity of to-day be relieved, the pro- crastinated labour will wait for the necessity of to-morrow ; and, if death should overtake him in the interval, it must find him a beg- gar, and the age is to be accused of obdura- cy in suffering genius to die for want! If Pope had been a debauchee, he would have lived in a garret, nor enjoyed the Attick ele- gance of his villa on the banks of the Thames. If Sir Joshua Reynolds had been idle and drunken, he might, at this hour, have been acquiring a scanty and precarious mainte- 153 nance by painting coach pannels and Birming- ham tea-boards. Had not David Hume pos- sessed the invariable temper of his country, he might have been the actual master of a school in the Hebrides ; and the inimitable Gar- rick, if he had possessed Shuter's character, would have acquired little more than Shuter's fame, and suffered Shuter's end. Name me a man of genius in our days, who, if he has been destitute of independence, had a right to complain of any one but himself. You may tell me that Lloyd died in a gaol ; and I believe, from every thing that I have heard of that very ingenious gentleman, that his fate would have been the same, if he had been born to the inheritance of an ample for- tune. You will add, perhaps, the name of your very learned friend Morell. He certain- ly deserves well of, and is esteemed by, the learned world ; but the acute critick and pro- found grammarian seems to be impelled rath- er by the love of science, than the desire of gain is generally in the habit of frugal con- tentment, and hides himself in that shade of retirement, where the learned few alone can find him. I am, however, entirely of your opinion, that he merits a less restrained situ- ation than he possesses ; and I agree with u 154 you in not forgiving Doctor B for a breach of justice in opposing his election to a fellowship at Eton. Such a promotion would have been a suitable reward for his labours, and have afforded him that ample independ- ence, and learned retreat, which would have left his closing life without a wish. B was the most able school-master that ever grasped the birch ; and I am sorry he should disgrace his succeeding and higher office, by opposing, as you tell me, more than once, the entrance of a man into his college, the circumstances of whose life and character gave him so fair a claim to the preferment which he solicited. But this ill treatment of your friend for I think it such is not ap- plicable to the age, but to the folly of a vain man, who finds a consolation for his disap- pointed ambition in the despotick sway of a college, wherein he will not suffer a man to enter, whose character announces the least gleam of an independent spirit. Learning and fine talents must be respect- ed and valued in all enrightened ages and na- tions ; nay, they have been known to awaken a most honourable veneration in the breasts of men accustomed to spoil, and wading through blood to glory. An Italian robber not only 155 refused the rich booty of a caravan, but con- ducted it under his safeguard, when he was in- formed that Tasso accompanied it. The great Duke of Marlborough, at the siege of Cam- bray, gave particular orders, that the lands, &c. of the admired Fenelon, Archbishop of the diocese, should not be profaned by the violence of war. Csesar, the ambitious Cae- sar, acknowledged Tultys superiour charac- ter ; for that the Roman orator had enlarged the limits of human knowledge, while he had only extended those of his country. But to proceed one step higher, The great Emathian Conquerour bid spare The House of Pindams, when Temple and Tcrw'r Went to the ground. Rest then assured, my friend, when a man of learning and talents does not, in this very remunerative age, find encouragement, pro- tection, and independence, that such an un- natural circumstance must arise from some concomitant failings which render his labours obnoxious, or, at least, of no real utility. Adieu, my dear Sir. A long letter may ad- mit of excuse -on a subject which would fill a large volume. I am, with truth, Your faithful, humble servant. 156 LETTER INDEED, my dear friend, you mistake the matter : Irony is not my talent, and B says I have too much impudence to make use of it. It is a fine rhetorical figure ; and if there were a chance of attaining the manner in which Junius has employed it, its cultivation would be worth my attention. But you add an harsh injustice to real errour, when you suppose that I have employed any powers of raillery. I may possess on the subject of Her Most Excellent Majesty. I recollect the con- versation which produced this report to my disadvantage, and, if it were true, to my dis- honour. I can easily despise the malice of those who understand and misrepresent me ; but that ignorance which both misunderstands and misrepresents is mortifying in the extreme. I should really think it little less than blasphemy to speak ill of a Princess who deserves so well. The Queen does honour to the British Throne ; she has a right to the place she possesses in the breast of every reflecting Englishman ; and it 157 has ever been my opinion, that her character unites the royal virtues of her station with the most amiable qualifications of her sex. Nor have I ever been disposed to speak unfavour- ably of the ladies who attend her person, or compose her suit. There are, I must own, half a dozen figures of her household who are objects of my pity ; and the strain of commis- eration which broke from me on their subjects, has been represented, I find, as a contemptu- ous raillery of their Royal Mistress. My mem- ory will serve me, I believe, to recollect the general tenour of niy discourse on the occa- sion, which I shall offer to your candid inter- pretation. The Dowager Lady Townshend, as you well know, divides the human species into men, women, and h ; and where is the crime, if I parody on her ladyship's logick, and apply it to the division of her Majesty's houshold into men, women, and maids of hon- our ? Nor will it be difficult to justify this new line of distinction, if we consider the pe- culiar offices which compose the duty, and the singular privileges which reward the service, of these courtly virgins. To make up, at least, two court suits in a year ; to dance vis many court minuets in the 158 same space ; to sidle, on days of duty, through the presence-chambers, at the tail of a royal procession ; to take her place in an established corner of the drawing-room ; to say yes, Sir, or no, Sir, and courtesy, when she is noticed by the King; to say yes, Madam, and no, Madam, and courtesy, when the Queen does her the same honour ; to make an occasional one of six large hoops in a royal coach, and to aid the languor of an easy party in a side- box at a royal play ; compose the principal la- bours of a maid of honour's life. But they are not without their rewards. A moderate salary, and a thousand pounds when Miss gets an husband ; an apartment in a palace, and I believe a dinner from a royal kitchen ; in the rotation of six weeks, a seven days' possession of a royal coach, a royal coachman, and a shabby pair of royal horses, for the purpose of shopping in the city, paying distant visits, airing in the King's road, and the being set down at the very gate of Kensington Gardens, while women of the first fashion are obliged to trip it o'er an hundred yards of greensward between their coaches and the place of admit- tance ; to take place of Baronets' daughters ; to go to plays, operas, and oratorios, gratis ; to have physicians without fees, and medi- 159 cines without an apothecary's bill ; to chat with Lords and grooms of the bed-chamber around the fire of an anti-chamber ; to stroke the beardless face of a new-made page ; and, perhaps, to receive an Heir-Apparent's first effort at flirtation ; constitute the various priv- ileges of a maid of honour. This brief history, my dear friend, you well know to be founded in fact, and will, therefore, be ready to applaud the tender pity I feel for these virgin automatons. I have never seen them bringing up the rear of a royal train, but each of them has appeared to bear, in legible characters, on her forehead, Who will marry me ? Nevertheless, upon the most favourable average, not one in three years, during the present reign, has been rewarded by Hymen ; which, in their particular situation, is as pit- iable a circumstance as can be found in the long catalogue of female mortifications. A la- dy of the bed-chamber is obliged only to a partial duty ; and, during the short period of her attendance, is, in some degree, the com- panion of her royal Mistress ; while the vir- gins of honour are not admitted, as I have been informed, to stick a pin in a royal hand- kerchief. Even the women of the same de- partment figure only in her Majesty's cast-off 160 gowns on royal birth-days ; but these poor persecuted damsels are the common hackneys of drawing-room parade : whether ill or wellj in humour or out of humour, by day-light or by candle-light, they are obliged, through three parts of the year, to be on the continual stretch of state -official exhibition. I remember, \vhen I was little more than a boy, to have seen a young lady in training for this important office ; and the whole of that serious business consisted in nothing more than a practical lecture upon entrances and exits, the language of courtisies, and the art of conducting a large hoop in all modes and forms of possible pliancy. I laughed then as boys laugh, and had some unlucky thoughts in my head which were not arrived at maturi- ty : at this period, I would willingly give an opera-subscription to be present at a similar exercise. After this manner did I treat the honoura- ble subject of her Majesty's honourable vir- gins ; and little did I think that it would beget a long admonitory epistle' from you, to warn me against speaking evil of dignities. My wit, such as it is, has never directed a single glance at the Throne ; and I have received the wel- come testimony of your applause, more than 161 once, for exerting the full force of my under- standing to support the wishes of it. You have my ready leave, my dear friend, to laugh with me, and at me to reprove and to admonish me ; but I must entreat you to relax your proneness to believe every idle tale which is fabricated to my dishonour. I am, &c. w 163 LETTER XXXFIIL YOUR usual accuracy has failed you in your suggestions concerning the rise and rap- id progress of Mr. D t's fortune. The history of that gentleman's advancement to his present affluence, if my immediate recollection does not fail me, is as follows. That he was appointed to his first employ- ment in the service of government by my fa- ther's interest is true ; and it may, perhaps, have been procured for him from the motives which current opinion has assigned : but of this I do not pretend to be better informed than the rest of the world. Thus placed in a situation of little or no leisure, he was left, I believe, by our family-patronage, to look for any future promotion from his own industry, the chance of succession, or the casual boon of fortune. The latter was disposed to smile upon him, or, it may be said with more pro- priety, to reward the prudent modesty with which he retreated from her first advances, to secure her greater favours. In the usual 163 course of promotion, he had ah acknowledged claim to succeed to a vacant place of no incon- siderable profit. Oh this occasion, Lord Hol- land, for some particular reason which I have forgotten, or perhaps never heard, wished to make an irregular appointment in favour of some other person ; and, to comply with his Lordship's wishes, Mr. D wisely waved his right of succession. That Nobleman, who never suffered a good office to be long unre- turned, soon after procured him to be named Commissary-General to the expedition then preparing to attack the French West-India Islands. The success which attended it, to- gether with the regular profits of his appoint- ment, placed him in a situation, with respect to fortune, with which, it may be imagined, he was more than satisfied ; and I have been told that he then looked no farther. But Lord Holland never thought he did enough for any one that had obliged him ; and I am greatly mistaken, if his influence did not name Mr. D to the same employment in the formidable armament which was sent against the Havannah, and succeeded. The fortunes acquired by that capture are well known, and Mr. D t's was among the largest of them. On his return to England, he soon began to 164 display a love of ostentation, which he indulg- ed, however, as I understand, without injur- ing his fortune ; for though George has no small share of vanity, it has seldom operated so far as to make him inattentive to the sum- mum bonum of life. He built a fine house in Portman-square, and purchased the very cap- ital estate of Tong-Castle, in Shropshire, of the Duke of Kingston. He immediately re- newed, or rather improved, the ancient form of the decayed edifice, adorned with the ven- erable decorations of Gothick architecture, beautified its surrounding lawns, and con- ducted through them a long extent of fine water, which flows on three sides of the state- ly edifice. The castle is a very large build- ing, contains many very capacious apartments, and is furnished with a profusion of pictures and splendid upholstery. Though it is not situated in a fine part of the country, yet, tak- en in all its circumstances, it may lay no small claim to the character of magnificence. The owner of it might have built a new and more commodious house for much less money than has been expended in the reparations of the old one : but the word castle is a sounding word ; it was in unison with Mr. D t's notions of grandeur; and, apprehensive that 165 this favourite title might, by degrees, be for- gotten with the lofty turrets and stately bat- tlements, he resolved to clothe them in more than pristine grandeur, and thus secure their ancient, honourable name, till time or chance should destroy them for ever. Some of my old neighbours positively assert, that they re- member to have heard George D de- clare, when he was a youth, that he hoped, one day or other, to be possessed of a larger house than Hagley ; and they insist upon it that he gives such great extent to the limits of Tang-Castle^ merely to fulfil his own predic- tion. But this by the way the world in general, who are not acquainted with the am- bition of his early days, have thought, that, by this creation of splendour, he hoped to allure some lady of noble birth and great con- nexions to become the mistress of it. The bait offered by so handsome a man as he cer- tainly is, would, in all probability, have been soon taken, but, in this particular, expecta- tion has been very much disappointed ; for he has actually made a kind of half-runaway match with a little Quaker of eighteen years of age, and educated in all the rigour of her sect. She has no pretensions to beauty I write merely from information but possesses a very agreeable person, with a most amiable simplicity, and loves her husband to idolatry. I have heard your friend, Counsellor Day* speak in high terms of her father, as a man of excellent understanding, polite manners, and generous dispositions. Since this mar- riage, the superb service of plate very sel- dom makes its appearance ; and the master of the noble castle, as I am told, now lives in a corner of it, with a small party of his re la* tions, and seems to be growing into a disre- gard of the intrigues and fashions of publick life. His brother is the parson of my parish, and is called Doctor John; but the Divine and the Squire do not hold a very friendly in- tercourse. I rather think that this little piece of biog- raphy is pretty well founded : if, however, it should possess any errours, which may be the case, I beg leave to assure you that they are hot of my invention. As to Mr. D t's unpopularity with the Lyttleton family, it does hot arise, perhaps, from what you and the world may, with some reason, suppose ; but from a subsequent circumstance, of which you, and the world, are, in general, igno- rant. When my - was Governour of J , he received positive orders to raise and 167 discipline a regiment of Negroes for the ser- vice of the Havannah expedition. As this supply did not join the grand armament at the time appointed, Mr. D 1 was dispatch- ed to Jamaica, by the Commander in Chief, to chide the tardy levies ; and, as report says, he found a very surprizing languor in obey- ing these very important orders of govern- ment. On such an occasion, he was, per- haps, instructed to threaten an accusation of delinquency against the Governour to the powers at home ; and it is equally prpbable, that he did not forget his instructions. Wheth- er this neglect was repaired by subsequent ex T ertions, or whether it was forgotten in the suc- cesses which followed, I do not know ; but I very well remember, that, at the time, my fa- ther was very uneasy about it and complain- ed, in angry terms, to the clergyman of Hag- ley, of his brother's forwardness to disgrace a branch of that family by which his own had been so warmly protected. Here- the matter rested ; but that George D . t should have been elevated to a situation, wherein he could repeat what was called an insolent menace to one of the Lyltlcton family, wiU never^be re- memberecfc without much mortification > and, therefore, can never be forgiven. Adieu. 168 LETTER XXXIX. MUCH of the disputes, and consequent- ly many of the inconveniencies, of this world, arise from the strange difficulty (for a strange one it is) that men find in understanding each other's meaning. Hence the never-ending game of cross-purposes, in which all of us, at times, are so much engaged. A leading cause of this disunion is a negligence in us- ing terms appropriate to their object. The philosopher, it is true, must generalize his ideas to compass the views of his enquiring mind. It is by such an application of his in- tellectual faculties, that he surmounts such a variety of obstacles ; that he passes from in- dividual man to an whole people ; from a people, to the human race ; from the time in which he lives, to the ages that are to come ; from what he sees to that which is invisible. But in conveying the fruits of his study and reflection to others, he must condescend to weigh words, compare terms, and preclude all possibility of errour in those he instructs. by using a simplicity of definition, a perspi- cuity of expression, and, where the barren- ness of language denies the immediate term, a neatness of periphrase which not only in- vites but creates conception. You are pleased, in your last letter, to charge the present age with the crime of skepticism ; and you have abandoned your- self to a more than common energy on the subject. To tell you the truth, J do not veiy clearly perceive the tendency of your accusa- tion. If it alludes to religion, you would, I think, find some difficulty to maintain your position : if it should glance at politicks, our national submission is certainly against you: or, leaving the higher concerns of the world, if you should apply your assertion to the or- dinary intercourse and common transactions between man and man, you are truly unfor- tunate, as an extreme Gullibility seems to be one of the leading features of the present times. The age in which we live does not possess so great a share, as former centuries, of that faith which is able to remove moun- tains : blind credulity, by the insults it so long offered to reason, has in a great meas- ure destroyed itself, or is rather become mod- ified into that sobriety of belief which is con* 170 sistent with a rational being. The gaudy, awful, and presuming phantom of Papal au- thority, has long begun to disappear: that blazing meteor, which for so many ages daz- zled the superstitious world, verges towards the horizon, and grows pale before the stea- dy, embodied light of liberal, unimpeded sci- ence. But I cannot believe, although luxury and dissipation with their concomitant de- pravities have made such enormous strides among the higher orders, that infidelity in re- ligious matters is a leading characteristick of our times. If we tum from the church to the state, the firm confidence of a very great ma- jority of the people in a government, which, I am forced to confess, does not possess all the wisdom that such a government ought to possess, is a circumstance, which, were I to enlarge upon it, you would be perplexed to answer. In the ordinary transactions of life, the wantonness of commercial credit is well prepared to give the lie direct to any charge of incredulity. Ask Foley, Charles Fox, and a thousand others, what they think of mod- ern infidelity ; and they will tell you, that the Jeius themselves, that unbelieving race, have deserted from the standard of skepticism, and, having borne the stigma of spiritual unbelief, 171 for upwards of seventeen hundred years, are at this moment groaning beneath the effects of temporal credulity. Credula turba sumus We are a credulous race of beings ; and the most steady profes- sors of skepticism are deceived by others, and deceive themselves, every hour of the day. Religion, which commands, among its evi- dent truths, the belief of matters which we cannot entirely comprehend, will sometimes so habituate the mind of its submissive disci- ple to acts of faith, that he does not know how to withhold his assent to the most im- probable fictions of human fancy ; and the Credo quia impossibile est of Tertullian is read- ily adopted by his yielding piety. I shall con- firm the truth of this observation by a story which I have heard related, and is not more extraordinary in its nature than the tone, look, and language of belief which accompa- nied the relation. A traveller, benighted in a wild and .mountainous country, (if my re- collection does not fail me, in the Highlands of Scotland,) at length beholds the welcome light of a neighbouring habitation. He urg- es his horse towards it ; when, instead of an house, he approached a kind of illuminated chapel, from whence issued the most alarming 172 sounds he had ever heard. Though greatly surprised and terrified, he ventured to look through a window of the building, when he was amazed to see a large assembly of cats, who, arranged in solemn order, were lament- ing over the corpse of one of their own spe- cies, which lay in state, and was surrounded with the various emblems of sovereignty. Alarmed and terrified at this extraordinary spectacle, he hastened from the place with greater eagerness than he approached it ; and arriving, some time after, at the house of a gentleman who never turned the wanderer from his gate, the impressions of what he had seen were so visible on his countenance, that his friendly host enquired into the cause of his anxiety. He accordingly told his sto- ry, and, having finished it, a large family cat, who had lain, during the narrative, before the nre, immediately started up, and very articu- lately exclaimed, " Then I am King of the Cats /" and, having thus announced its new dignity, the animal darted up the chimney and was seen no more. Now, the man, who seriously repeated this strange and singular history, was a peer of the realm, had been concerned in the active scenes of life, and was held in high esteem 173 and veneration among mankind for his talents, wisdom, and Christian piety. After this in- formation, which I give you as a serious fact, what have you to say ? It is impossible but you must immediately withdraw your charge of infidelity against a period which could pro- duce one such implicit believer. As for myself, I will readily confess to you that I am neither a skeptick nor a believer. I have enough of skepticism to prevent the throwing my share of faith away : at the same time I feel within me that there is something, which I cannot very well explain, the belief whereof I ought to cultivate, and from whence I should derive much satisfaction and content- merit, could I but frame my mind to the pur- pose. If, however, after all my reasoning, you should still continue to fix a skeptical character upon the present age, I trust that you will at least discard it from your own breast, while I assure you of the great re- gard with which I am Your most sincere, humble servant. 174 LETTER XL. MY DEAR SIR, YOUR letters to me arc those of friend- ship. Under the impression of this sentiment, I at all times receive them: nevertheless, they are attended with this disagreeable cir- cumstance, that, in my answers to them, I am so often obliged to make myself the hero of my own tale. Your last charge has a foundation in truth ; and the persons whom you name as being in the circle of my intimacy, are received at my house, and admitted to my table. You tell me it is not only a dishonour, but a crime, to herd with such men as familiar associates ; and that it is beneath a rational being to receive these outcasts from all other society into mine, merely to be flattered by their submission, to have base engines of my pleasures, or objects for that raillery which will not be returned. It is too true that I cannot altogether combat the force of these very severe observations ; 175 but let me persuade you to bestow a small por- tion of your leisure on the volume of human nature, to take a short review of human fail- ings, and then to cast your eye upon that page whereon my name is written. You will there discover that my character is divided between an ardent desire of applause, and a more than equal love of pleasure ; and, on this discovery, your considerate regard will look with less se- verity upon me. When you have done me this justice, proceed, I beseech you, one step farther ; examine the world upon my subject, and you will know what confirmed prejudices it possesses against me ; that I am the contin- ual victim of its injustice ; and that, not con- tented to blazon forth my defects and follies into a false, unnatural magnitude, it seems pleased with the malignant task of fabricating tales to my dishonour. Publick opinion aims at excluding me from a familiar intercourse with men of virtuous life, and women of chaste manners : so that, when I appear even in gen- eral societies, mothers seem to be alarmed for their daughters, husbands for their wives, and fathers for their sons : nay, the very impures of the town have refused my most generous offers, from an apprehension of my capacity for mischief. I will freely own that my life 176 has been marked with an extravagance of dis- sipation ; but neither the force of my passions, Sec. nor their success, though, viciously speak- ing, I might be vain of the latter, can justify these violent and continual fears of me. But let us suppose for a moment, that this most prodigal of all prodigals should meditate a reformation, and begin the salutary work with the favourable omen of shutting his doors against those vagabonds, to use your own ex- pression, whom you accuse him of suffering to enter them. If, in the arduous task of winning the forfeited esteem of mankind, I should begin with paying my court to the lights of the church, and beg their sanction to my in- fant repentance, those holy men would not on- ly suspect the sincerity of my declarations, but do my effrontery the credit to believe, that, under the semblance of contrition, I was med- itating some unholy impertinence to the sac- red Lawn. Permit me to continue the singu- lar idea, and suppose me commencing my round of episcopal visits with one of the FIRST CHARACTERS of this age and nation, the present Bishop of London. After some hesitation on the part of my coachman, you may imagine me at his Lordship's gate, where it cannot be supposed that I should find ad- 177 r mittance. ' But this is not all. Mrs. Lowth would probably throw my visiting card into the fire, and forbid the porter to enter my name in his book ; while the Right Reverend Prelate would determine to take the opportu- nity of some debate in the House of Lords, wherein I 'Alight be engaged, to satisfy his po- liteness as a gentleman, by leaving his name at my door, without any apprehension of be- ing admitted within it. What! would you have me wander a solitary being through the world, too bad for the good, and too good for the bad? My whole nature shudders at the idea, and I should perish in the attempt. I love superiority, flattery, and 1 ease; and the society which you condemn affords the three-* fold gratification. You will tell me that it con- sists of dishonourable men: in the common sense of the term you may be right; but did- cibus abundant vitiis ; and, as bad instruments, in the hands of agreeable performers, make a pleasant concert, so these characters compose an amusing society. With them I am under no restraint : they know the history of the day : some of them, also, are well accomplished j and, while they play upon one another, I can play upon them all. Besides, coffee may be ordered at whatever hour I please without an y 178 opposing look ; and while I confer honour, 1 enjoy convenience. You will, perhaps, be disposed to enquire if I think it worthy of me, in. the phrase of vul- gar tongues, to enjoy the character of king of the company. The love of rule, my clear sir, is, more -or less, the inmate of every breast : k is allied to all the pre-eminent virtues, and the greatest men have owed their greatness to it. Ctcsar declared that the first office of a vil- - lage was preferable to the second station in the Roman world. Whittjidd, I believe, would not have exxhanged his tabernacle for a metropol- itan, diocese ; Zinzcndorjf\ amid the submis- sion of his Moravian followers, looked down with pity on despotick empire ; nor, in the government of my. pandemonium, do I envy all the didactick honours of your lyceum. It may -be an opinion which proceeds from a dissolute refinement, but it is mine that pleasure is not pleasure, if difficulties are ne- cessary to its enjoyment. I wish, as it were, to have it brought home to me, without my stirring- across the threshhold. My taste for gratification is like their piety who erect chap- els in their houses : it makes a domestick priesthood necessary to me ; and, while the persons who compose it arc zealous in t 1 179 functions, I shall look no farther. The cir- cumstances of my past life have produced the colour of the present moment ; a future period may receive another hue. The events of ev- ery passing hour, in characters such as mine, as well as in others which are supposed to be much better, must furnish the tints. Experi- ence may do something in my favour; your friendly oracles may do more ; the calls of publick duty may have their effect. To con- clude, time and chance happen unto all men : and, through their influence, the hour may arrive when prelates will eat my soup without fear of contamination, and modest women ad- mit me to their society without apprehending a loss of reputation. Do not be angry with me, I beseech you ; it is impossible to treat the subject otherwise : and, ii' I might add an- other petition to the many you have already so kindly granted, let me entreat you to give our correspondence a more pleasing and prof- itable subject, than the failings of Your very sincei'e, and obliged, &c. 180 LETTER XLI. THE world at large is so disposed to generalise, that it is seldom right when it de- scends into the detail of opinion. It has so many eyes and objects, that, in the act of par- ticularising the sources of its favour or disap- probation, the rectitude or errour of its con- clusions are both the effect of hazard. I, as you too well know, have been the subject of its severest censure ; but, with all my faults, I have much reason to complain of its precip- itate injustice. Among other instances of its premature in- disposition towards me, the circumstance to which you have alluded with so much hu- mour, is in proof of my assertion ; and, to heighten my mortification at that time, my own family joined the popular cry : so that, in pronouncing all possibility of amendment, the devoted prodigal was driven to a situation which absolutely precluded him from it. My father, in a long detail of my unworthi- ness, which, with his usual tenderness, he 181 dealt forth to Harry de Sails, as a climax to the amiable history, concluded the list of my enormities with declaring that I actually in- trigued with three different women of fashion at one and the same time. Without making any comment on the very creditable account given of me, and the favourable picture which his pious Lordship displayed of our first-rate females, permit me to assure you, that neither my prowess with the ladies, nor any foolish, unworthy deed of mine occasioned the pater- nal displeasure of that moment. The subject of an occasional morning's reading was the true, but unacknowledged cause of my dis- grace. I shall do myself the justice of relat- ing the fact to you in all its circumstances. You must have heard of the celebrated skeptical writer Claude Anet. His works, and the prosecution which they brought upon him, have conspired to give his name no small share of publick notoriety. It will be also necessa- ry to inform you, that, after the sacred writ- ings, Lord L has directed his partial estimation to two popular theological produc- tions. The one details, explains, and observes upon the resurrection of Christ ; and the oth- er defends the character and conduct of the apostle Paul. The former was written by his 182 dearly beloved friend Mr. West the latter, by himself. The infidel Claude Anet, among other matters, thought proper to give these two publications a particular and separate con- sideration. He had the abominable impu- dence to declare, that they were not only de- ficient in their principles, but that they were logically defective in the means they took to support them : nay, he undertakes to give them arguments superiour to any they have used, and then to confute them. On this ground he opens his battery, and makes his attack ; nor is he without his partizans ainong men of learning and talents, as I have been informed, who do not hesitate to assign him the victory. Of this I do not pretend to de- termine 1 have, in truth, no genius for that line of criticism. The mode of proceeding, however, must be acknowledged to have been accompanied with an air of insolence and con- tempt, which might have been the cause of mortification to men of a less sensible fibre than one, at least, of those, against whom it was directed. It had this effect in the ex- treme : for the pity of the Christian gave way to the pride of the author ; and the damnable skeptick, instead of being, the object of fer- vent prayer that he might be converted from 183 the errour of his way, was wafted, in a mo- ment, by ' his pious 1 antagonist, to the howling portion of the devil and his angels: In an unlucky hour it was discovered, that ihis offensive volume was in my possession, and the subject of my occasional T mtjdhation \ and from hence arose that unexpjpcte^burst o displeasure that fell : with so mucl;r- weight up : on me, and which had instant recourse to my graceless life, as the pretended reason for its justification. I do not know a quality of the human mind that Is of such an, absorbent na- ture as vanity: in one disappointed .moment it will suck up the virtue of years. If Claude Anet had levelled his shafts in a different di- rection, or I had encreased my caution in tracing their course, I might have intrigued with an whole seraglio of women of fashion, without drawing down upon me an atom of that vengeance of which I was the victim. I could not tell the true cause, as it would have increased, if possible, the irritation a- gainst me, without doing any good ; and, be- sides, my authority would have been lighter than a feather, in the publick opinion, when put in competition with the power that perse- cuted me : for, religious opinions apart, the whole was an abominable persecution. 184 I never felt so sensibly the inconvenience of a bad character as at this period. Impu- dence could do but little ; hypocrisy, which is so thick a garb for half mankind, was not a veil of gauze to me ; and, as for repent- ance, that was not in the reach of ordinary credibility. I was really in the situatiorv-sf the Quaker's dog, who, being caught in the fact of robbing the pantry, was told, in all the complacency of revenge, by his amiable master, " I will not beat thee, nor kill thee, ' for thy thieving ; but I will do worse, for I " will give thee a bad name ;" and immediately, on driving him from the house, alarmed the neighbourhood with the calm assurance that he was a wad dog : so that the poor animal was pursued with the unreflecting brutality usual on such occasions, which soon put an end to his existence. You 'may truly apply this story to Your affectionate, LETTER XLIL YOU must confess, as I am sure you ve- ry well know, that one of the great arts, if not the principal one, in acquiring a reputation, as well as preserving it, is to know the extent of our genius, what objects are most suitable to it, in what track its propensities should be conducted, and at what point to place the limits beyond which it must venture with caution, as well as the neplus ultra, whose barriers it must not venture to pass. The man who possesses this knowledge, and acts according to the dic- tates of it, will not fail to make a respectable figure in any station, and with any talents; but in an high station, and great talents, he may be secure of familiarizing his name with future ages. Ambition, an ardent and specious child of self-love, continually urges men to pursue ob- jects beyond their reach. Avarice, an horrid, unnatural cub of the same origin, and a dis- grace to it, takes a track which reason dis- dains, and honour must condemn, to satisfy 186 its desires. Envy delights itself in obsf ing the prosperous career of others; and fo ly, dreaming of what it cannot possess, wi aim at the wreath of wisdom. In short, s in ignorance of ourselves, from whatever cau< >c it may proceed, whether from passion or want of reflection, is the origin of all our mistakes in private as well as publick life. In the former, the mischief may be of narrow ex- tent ; but, in the latter, the evil may affect, not only a people, but every quarter of the globe. The grand source of that glory which shone, and will continue to shine, with res- plendent lustre on Mr. Pitt's administration of this country, till the annals of it are no more, was a right application of means to ends, and, among others, of employing men according to the nature and tendency of their characters and talents. You must perceive the drift of my argument ; that it leads to the defence of my publick political conduct since I have suc- ceeded to my office in the constitution. Yon tell me of application to business, and of throw- ing aside a golden sinecure as disgraceful to a real patriot. You counsel me, in the most flat- tering manner, to claim an arduous post of gov- ernment, and, by a vigilant attention to its du- ties, to make a better return for the emolu- 187 ments of office, than half a dozen flowery ora- tions in parliament, during a winter's session, which are, in your opinion, sufficiently re- warded by the gratifications of my own vani- ty. This, I must acknowledge, is coming at once, and without ceremony, to the point; but think for a moment, and ask yourself, what kind of figure I should make at the desk. Can you imagine that it is in my nature, and, of course, in my capacity, to bear the oppres- sion of such multifarious and eternal business as must claim the attention of an eminent offi- cial statesman ? The admirable structure of the British constitution, its commerce, its in* terests, and its alliances, have been the ob- jects of my serious enquiry and attentive con- sideration. I take continual occasion to watch the changing scene of its political movements : I form, with much thought, my opinions upon them : I deliver those opinions, in my senato- rial capacity, to the world ; not from the sug- gestions of a giddy hour, or from the spur of momentary vanity, but from curious research, ardent reflection, and deliberate preparation. To this point, my talents, such as they are, must be directed ; and, by having given them in some degree their natural direction, I have acquired a political reputation, which would 188 be lost in contempt and derision, were they to be employed in the routine of official em- ployment, and the perplexities of ministerial duty. Besides, if there be any thing which requires a more than vestal's vigilance, it is the guidance of a principal wheel in the ma- chine of our government ; and such a contin- ual attention is foreign to my nature. I might, perhaps, possess it for a certain time, and ap- ply it with zeal ; may I not add, with reputa- tion ? But my existence would be insupporta- ble, if the intervals of relaxation did not fre- quently relieve me, when I might retire To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, Or with the tangle* of Necra'* bair. There is a certain degree of phlegm abso- lutely necessary to the well-being of society ; but I possess not an atom of it. There is al- so an ardour of mind that leads to national as well as personal greatness, nor am I without an active flame of it ; but it burns by flashes, and possesses me only in common with other contending passions, which, in their turn, com- mand my obedience, and are obeyed. Suffer the stream, I beseech you, to flow in those channels which nature has designed for it : let it pass on sometimes in foaming eddies, and sometimes with a tranquil wave : be content 189 to watch its progress ; and, though it may now force its angry passage through the divided mountain, your eye may soon behold its crys- tal surface reflect the golden harvests and flow- ery meadows. But, should its natural course be changed, it would be quickly lost in bog and morass ; nor ever grow into that extent and grandeur of waters which many rivulets attain before they reach the ocean. Is there not, in my own family, an imme- diate circumstance of ridicule which comes in aid of my argument ? My father, who made a respectable figure as a senator, in both Hous- es of Parliament, and possessed that theoret- ick political erudition which constituted him an able counsellor of the state, was incapable, as you very well know, of counting twenty pounds, if thrown in a promiscuous heap of the differ- ent British coins : nevertheless, he was ap- pointed to preside at the Exchequer, to con- trive ways and means, and to run through the combinations of finance, without the know- ledge of arithmetick which is necessary to an overseer of the poor. And what was the con- sequence ? The whole nation was upon the titter during his short-lived administration ; nor does any visitor of Hagley House pass through the room which is adorned with the 190 Exchequer strong-box, but beholds the emp* ty badge and sad memorial of his ministerial honours with a significant look of wonder, or shrug of disapprobation. The sage physician endeavours to melior- ate, but not to change, the constitution of his patient, and infuses, by degrees, those whole- some aids which may help to lessen its infirm- ities. The same wise conduct should be pur- sued in the care of mental health ; and to aim at turning the natural bent of genius is an ap- plication of moral quackery, which will de- stroy all fervour of ability, administer an opi- ate to the faculties of mind, bring on apathy and torpour, and destroy all intellectual nerve for ever. Adieu, &c. 191 LETTER XLIIL I TAKE the opportunity of a sober hour, while every one of the society here, except myself, is happy in the delirium of a fox- chase, to tell you where I am, what I am a- bout, and with whom engaged. The spleen of a gloomy day seized upon my spirits ; so I ordered my chaise, and sought the enlivening hospitality of this mansion. To increase our satisfaction, who should arrive an hour after me but your clerical friend, whose blunt sim- plicity and unpolished benevolence afforded their usual entertainment. Parson Adams for he has no other name within these walls came on Thursday to dinner, and continu- ed with us, in much joy of heart, till Satur- day afternoon ; when, suddenly awaking from a kind of snoring doze, he made a most vo- ciferous and unexpected demand if it was not the last day of the week ; and receiving, after some pause of astonishment and laughter, an answer in the affirmative, he arose in haste, examined his pockets with a most anxious vi? vacity, and then broke the cordage of the bell, in the violence of ringing it. Being re- quested to explain the meaning of all this agitation, he observed, in a tone of voice which betokened no small disappointment, that as, in truth, it was Saturday, the mor- row must, in the natural order of time, be Sunday ; and as Sunday was the Sabbath- day, it was fitting he should immediately re- turn home, to prepare himself for the duties of it. The night approached and threatened darkness ; it was, therefore, proposed to him to retake the possession of his arm-chair, nor to think of business till the next morning. " My " good friends," replied the Doctor, " it be " comes me to inform you, that my habita- " tion is fourteen miles distant, and that the " church, where I am to officiate to-morrow " morning, is exactly in the mid-way ; so that, " if I remain here till the time you propose, " I must ride fourteen miles to fetch a ser- " mon, return seven of the same miles to " preach it, and then go over these individual " seven miles for the third time to preach the " same sermon again, which I take, accord- " ing to common arithmetick, to be no less " than twenty-eight miles ; and all this riding, "with double duty, will be too much both 193 " for man and beast. I really thought," con- tinued our Divine, " that I had equipped my- " self with a sermon, in order to make the " first church an half-way house on my re- " turn to my own parish ; but I have either " forgot to clap my divinity in my pocket, or " I took it out accidentally with my tobacco- " box in my way, and have unfortunately "dropped it in the road." He then emptied all his pockets one by one, not forgetting the side-pocket of his breeches, turned them in- side out, covered the floor with a quanity of dry crumbs of bread and cheese, looked into his tobacco-box, took his. watch from his fob, poked down two of his flhgers, examined the lining of his coat, and, at length,, with a deep sigh, and an huge expectoration upon his handkerchief^ which he had thrown upon the ground, he gave it up for lost. u It was" saic| he, " the best discourse I had to my back, and " as pretty a piece of supernaculum as eves " was enclosed in black covers. It was divid- " ed," continued he, " into three parts ; the " first was taken from Clarke, the second from " Aberntfhy\ and the third was composed by " myself; and the two practical observations " were translated from a Latin sermon preach- " ed and printed at Oxford, in the year of our A a 194 " Lerd 1735." On my observing that his dis- course had as many heads as Cerbtrus, he grew warm, and told me it was much better to have three heads than none at all. " But," added the Doctor, " if you wish to know more " of the matter, it had four beginnings, and *' seven conclusions ; by the help whereof I " preached it, with equal success, on a Christ- " mas-day, for the benefit of a charity, at a " florist's feast, an assize, an arch-deacon's " visitation, and a funeral, besides common " occasions." On this account, F observ- ed that it put him in mind of the mention made, in Tristram Shandy, of a text which would suit any sermon, arfti a sermon which would suit any text. This the zealous preacher loud- ly declared was a false insinuation ; for that his text was steady to its post, nor had ever deserted it ; and that whoever took him for a man who would hold out a false flag, or change his colours, on any occasion, mistook his character, and did him a very sensible in- justice. At this period, the master of the house returned from a quiet but fruitless ex- amination of his book-case, for the purpose of finding, perchance, some old printed ser- mon which might have served the Doctor's purpose, prolonged the pleasure of his socie- 195 ty, and saved him his dark and dangerous journey. On this disappointment, I ventured to remark, that, as he had given us so many agreeable specimens of his ready eloquence, it was certainly in his power to treat his flock with an extempore discourse ; and I strongly recommended him to adopt my idea, when he struck me dumb, by hinting to me, in a loud significant whisper, that I was mistaken in supposing it to be as easy a business to preach a sensible discourse on a divine subject, ex- tempore, in a pulpit, as to talk a precipitate hour of flowery, frothy nonsense, on a polit- ical one, in the Parliament House. At this moment of superiority his horse was announc- ed, and we all attended to hear, rather than to see him depart, which he did with much horse language, and in a night of triple dark- ness. It was now seven o'clock ; our spirits were fled with the parson : we gambled a little, but not with sufficient spirit to keep us awake, till at length supper fortunately arrived to change the scene ; and I had scarce dissect- ed the wing of a capon, when we were all alarmed by a voice from the court, which re- peated the cry of " house ! house !" with un- common vehemence. We left the table and 196 hurried to the hall-door, when the same voice demanded, in the same tone, whether that was the road to Bridgenorth ? On a reply in the negative, it continued, " I suppose, then, " I am at Davenport House." On a second reply in the negative, " Then where the devil am I ?" returned the voice, for we could see nothing ; but the candles arriving, who should appear but our unfortunate Doctor, who, af- ter wandering about the commons for upwards of three hours, had, by mere chance, return- ed to us again. We received him in triumph, placed him at the head of the table, where, without grace or apology, or indeed uttering a single word, he seized on the best part of a fowl, with a proportionable quantity of ham, and left us to laugh and be merry, while he voraciously devoured his meat, and held his tongue. At length, observing that his clay wanted moistening, and that punch was a flu- id the best adapted of any other to his soil, he did not delay an instant to quench his thirsty frame from a large bowl of that re- freshing beverage. The cords of his tongue were now loosened, and he informed us, thai Providence, having, as he supposed, for wise and good purposes, intimated to him, by a va- riety of obstructions, that he should not dis* charge his usual functions on the morrow, it became him to shew a due resignation to the will of Heaven, and, therefore, he should send his flocks to grass on the approaching Sabbath. In a similar strain he continued to entertain us, till, wearied with laughter, we were glad to re- tire. The next morning it was hinted to him that the company did not wish to restrain him from attending upon the divine service of the parish : but he declared that it would be add- ing contempt to neglect, if, when he had ab- sented himself from his own churches, he should go to any other. This curious etiquette he strictly observed ; and we passed a Sabbath, contrary, I fear, both to law and gospel. In the fulness of his heart, our divine has given us an invitation to dine with him at his parsonage on Thursday next. I expect infi- nite entertainment from the party ; and you may depend, by the succeeding post, to re- ceive the best hash of it which the cookery of my pen can afford you. In the mean time, and at all times, I remain Your's most affectionately. 198 LETTER XL1P. THE visit is paid, and more than an- swered the warmest expectations which could be formed in its favour. Our Reverend Host had insisted, not a la mode de Scarron, that each of his guests should bring his dish, but that they should individually name it. This easy preliminary was readily complied with, and it was my lot to give birth to as excel- lent a plumb-pudding as ever smoked upon a table ; which, from my adoption, he is re- solved, in future, to call a Lyttleton. You see what honours wait upon me, and to what solid excellence my title is assimilated. F had named a goose, which he immediately christened after its godfather, who did not quite relish the joke, and could hardly force a laugh, when the rest of the company were bursting. The whole meal was a very com- fortable one ; and the Doctor produced us no small quantity of very tolerable wine : his punch was grateful to the nostrils ; but he had made it in a large pewter vessel, so like a two 199 handled chamber-pot, that my resolution was not equal to the applying of it to my palate. On its being observed that -he must have taken no small pains to procure all the good things before us, he declared that no trouble had attended any one article but the pudding, whiCH, he said, had almost destroyed a pair of black plush breeches, in riding round the country to learn how it should be made in per- fection. " You cannot be ignorant, my Lord," continued our Divine, addressing himself par- ticularly to me, "that .a plumb-pudding is no- " thing more than a pudding, however it may " be composed, with plumbs added to the oth- " er ingredients ; but, apprehensive that the " ordinary skill of our homely kitchens, in this " particular, might not be agreeable to such " refined palates as your's, I resolved to trav- " erse the whole neighbourhood in order to "obtain all ^necessary intelligence. Every " learned person, to whom I applied, agreed, " as your Lordship may suppose, in the es- " sential articles of flour and water, milk and " e gg s > suet an d plumbs, or raisins ; but the " variety of other articles, which were seve- tf rally recommended, filled two pages of my ; memorandum-book, and drove me almost to " despair. In the multitude of counsellors, I 200 " did not, according to the proverb, find wis- " dom, but confusion. I was successively, al- " ternately, and separately advised the addi- * 4 tion of rum, brandy, wine, strong beer, spices " of every sort, chopped liver, and Holland's " gin. With this load of multifarious intelli- " gence, I hastened to the market town, fur- " nished myself with every ingredient my own " little store-house did not possess, and return* " ed home jaded, fatigued, and my pockets lad- " en with the produce of all quarters of the " globe. Bufanother important labour," added the Doctor, " succeeded in the consultation a- " bout the choice and due mode of applying the " hoard of grocery and variety of liquors which " were displayed in form on the kitchen dres- " ser : it was a solemn business, for the Lord " had commanded it. Consultation, however, " begot difference of opinion, and difference of " opinion brought on dispute ; so that I was " at length obliged to interpose my authority ; " and, to shorten the business, I ordered all " the various articles, consisting of more than " a dozen in number, to be employed without " favour or affection. The motley mixture " was accordingly made, and, as every person " consulted seemed to agree, that the longer " it boiled the better it would prove, I ordered 201 <* it to be put into the pot at midnight, and " sent for a famous nurse in the neighbour* " hood to sit up with it, and, with a vestal's " vigilance, to keep in the fire till the family " arose. In this state of concoction the pud- " ding remained till after the arrival of this " good company, who, I hope, will be so pre- judiced in its favour, from the Herculean " labour which produced it, as to attack its " circumference with Herculean appetites." Here ended the culinary oration, and, as I before observed, the subject of it contained unrivalled excellence ; and, though we laugh- ed at it and over it, we did not fail to cause a very apparent diminution of its ample dimen- sions. Thus, my dear friend, we eat and laughed, and drank and laughed, till night stole imperceptibly upon us ; when our hos- pitable host informed us, that he had two beds and a cradle in his own house, and that he had prepared three others at two neigh- bouring farmers : so that we might be at rest, as to our lodging, nor like him encounter the perils of a darksome night. The squires, add- ed he, must adjourn to my neighbours' ; my two beds will serve the peer and the baronet, and I myself will take to the cradle. Now, this cradle, which caused us no little mirth, 202 and will, I presume, have a similar effect up- on you, who are acquainted with the huge figure which was to occupy it this cradle, I say, is a most excellent moveable for a small house. It is made of a sufficient size to hold an infant six feet in length, can be placed any where, and will enable an hospitable spirit to supply a friend with a lodging when his beds are engaged. If I had not been fearful of af- fronting our Divine, I should have indulged my curious fancy by going to roost in it ; but the best bed was prepared for me, and the fine Holland sheets, which, probably, had not been taken out of the sweet-scented press for many a month, were spread for my repose : nor would my slumbers have been suspended for a moment, if the linen had not produced so strong an effluvia of rosemary, that J al- most fancied myself in a coffin, and wrapped in a winding-sheet. But fatigue soon got the better of fancy ; and I awoke the next morn- ing to life and spirits, but not to immortality. Before I bid you adieu, permit me to add a singular example of complimentary repartee, which our friendly host, very unexpectedly, addressed to me, previous to our departure. As I was looking out of the parlour win- dow, from whence nothing is to be seen but a black, dreary heath, he asked me how 1 liked the prospect. I answered, that, from its wild appearance, if Nebuchadnezzar had been doomed to pasture in his environs, he must have died of hunger. And if that prince, replied the Doctor, had been sentenc- ed to have passed his savage years in your park at Hagley, he need not have regretted the loss of a throne, or wished a return to the . enjoyment of his human functions. At this period of self-importance, which, in the very description, returns upon me, you can- not be surprized if I take my leave. Adieu ! LETTER XLF. MY DEAR - , IT gives me no small satisfaction to be assured, that my two last letters have afforded you the satisfaction it was their office to com- municate. The rural Divine plays a most ad- mirable part in the jovial interludes of pro- vincial society. It is a pleasant circumstance to meet occasionally with a man, whose hu mour, sense, and foible are so blended, that, while he possesses the pleasant mixture of simplicity and vanity which bars him from distinguishing when you laugh with him or at him you may give a loose to the whole of your mirthful dispositions, without any re- straint from the fear of giving offence. Our Reverend friend told B , that he is in no small disgrace with his parishioners for enter- taining so great a sinner as I am ; and that one of them, who had seen me at Kiddermin- ' stcr, declares throughout the neighbourhood that I have a cloven-foot. I am not without 205 tny expectations that equal vouchers will be produced for my tail and horns, and then the devil will be complete. At length, the grave and anxious occupa- tions of worldly wisdom succeed to mirth and jollity. The interest of money, and the value of lives, together with trusts and securities, are the subjects of my present meditations. To explain myself, I am considering a plan for easing my estate of the jointures to the two dowager Lady Lyttletons for they are both so in fact by making a purchase of e- quivalent annuities for their valuable lives.- Fortune has been kind to me, and I will for once win your applause, by applying her gifts to sensible purposes. To use a news-paper species of portraiture, what think you of the picture of a young nobleman offering the fa- vours of fortune on the altar of wisdom, by the present Lord Lyttleton ? If this idea should be completed and, I assure you, the dead colouring is disappearing apace will you place the painting in the cabinet of your mind, in the room of the picture which you designed, and have so often retouched, of that self-same nobleman sacrificing the gifts of nature to folly, vice, and intemperance, I mist and believe, that a sordid thirst af- ter money will never be added to the cata- logue of my failings. It is true, that the love of play proceeds from the desire of gain ; and is, therefore, said to be founded on an avari- cious principle. If this be fact, avarice is the universal, passion; for I will venture to af- firm, that, more or less, we are all gamesters by nature. But the desire of winning money for the sake of spending it, and encreasing the joys of life, is one thing ; and the ardouf of acquiring it, in order to lock it up, and render it useless, is another. Mahimdn, the !eait erected spirit tffst felt From Heav'n : for e'en in Heav'n his loo' and thoughts \Vere always downwards bent, admiring rnore The riches of Heaven's pavement, trodden gold, Than ought divine or holy else erjoy'U la vision beatiUck. I remain, most truly, Sec. I cannot, at present, give a correct answer td your enquiry ; but, from the recollection of the moment, the only inscriptions written or corrected by my father, in the Temple f British worthies at Stow, are those be- neath the Bustos of Locke, Pope, and Sir yohn Barnard : but I .will take an opportu- nity of satisfying you with a more accurato information. 207 LETTER XLFL A >-, by no means, deserves your pity ; and the conduct which I have, of late, used, and*shall continue to use, towards him, arises from my perfect knowledge of his character, and the remembrance of his former treatment of myself. I told you long ago, when my bulrush hung its head, that, high as this gen- tleman then bore himself, the time would come when he would hang his head in his turn, and bend his back for me to tread upon. All this and more is now come to pass. You express your surprize that he does not discover some degree of resentment on the occasion of his journey to Haglcy. The fever of that business flushed him with no small hope, and the succeeding ague shook him with disappointment ; but he had the pru- dence to conceal his symptoms, and I left him to cure himself. He may bluster in a guard-room with new-commissioned ensigns, and, in the leisure of 'a tilt-yard duty, may ve fanciful wreaths of future farae : nay, 209 he may venture to give his name to the world in a news-paper, or the title-page of a miser- able poem ; but the prowess of our hero will go no farther. If I were to bid him go to the Pomona of Hocknel for a pippin, he would not hesitate a moment, and would burn his lingers willingly in roasting it ; and, when I had eaten the pulp, he would content himself with the core. All this my little Greek exactly knowi ; And bid iiiiu go to hell, to hell lie goes. If, however, your obstinate humanity should look towards such an object, have a little pa- tience, and he will give you an opportunity for the full exercise of it. I am in the secret ; but I shall not gratify his vanity by betraying it. After all, I find him convenient and to my purpose. He is ready, submissive, and not without amusement. If he were to die, I should say with Shakespeare, I could have better spared a better man. At this moment, he is sitting on the other side of my table, in the act of making some of his own bad poetry worse, in which agree- able business, I may, perhaps, be kind enough to give him some assistance. You would not, probably, have suspected him in so close a vicinity to me ; but it is the fact : and v, hen I 209 have folded up my letter, he shall enclose it in its envelope ', and set the seal to this certifi- cate of his own good qualities : nay, I will make him direct it into the bargain. Your pence, it is true, will suffer for this whim of mine, but the revenue will be a gainer ; a cir- cumstance which must satisfy you as a patri- ot, on the truly political idea of making follies productive to the state. You may observe, however, and with some reason, that every one should pay for his own. To such a re- mark I have nothing to answer, but that I am Your sincere and faithful, &c. GtO LETTER XLVIt I SHALL expect you with impatience, and am much flattered that you can leave the society of your friend C for the sake of yielding to my solicitations. Is it beyond the reach of your influence to persuade him to accompany you ? I am apprehensive, that he may have some scruples in being a guest of mine ; but, if he will accord me that honour, I will assume the virtue, though I have it not, and he shall find nothing chez moi which shall give the least offence to the tranquil pu- rity of his character. Perhaps you will be my guarantee upon the occasion. We were at Eton together, though not in any particu- lar intimacy ; and since that time I had once the pleasure of dining with him. I happened by chance to be present when he proposed to give an Etonian dinner : his politeness led him to invite me and the party was most pleasant and classical. A particular circum- stance of it I shall never forget. One of the company, who had done honour to his table by indulging a very voracious appetite, wheti the desert was served, thought proper to re- collect the deficiency of a dish of fish which had been promised him, and, in the true vein of gorged disappointment, reproached your friend for his forgetfulness. The reply was singular, affecting, and, to the best of my re- collection, as follows : " When I met you this *' morning," said Mr. C , " I was proceed- " ing to Temple-bar for the purpose of expend- " ing an allotted trifle on a Turbot ; but, a " few minutes after, I received an unwilling " application from a very distressed person, " to whom a guinea was far more necessary " than the addition of one particular dish to a " plentiful dinner would be to you, and you " very well know the strict regulations of my " Exchequer. It is true," continued he, " that 4i you have lost your fish ; but it is equally " true, that, from the same cause, a poor un- " fortunate fellow-creature has -lost his despair. " Besides, the relish of the Turbot must have " long been superceded on your palate, and I ' ; have added a pleasure to my heart which will u last for ever." He expressed himself with much more ease and simplicity than I have done ; and I was so affected, that, had I then enjoyed my present affluence, I should have 212 instantly subscribed to hospitals, and gone a- bout in search of doing good. But, alas ! these thoughts, morally speaking, of my better days, have been rendered fruitless in the succession of evil habits ; and I know not where I ^.lall find a restorative, unless the society of your friend should renew its former influence over me. Another circumstance of a very different nature occurs to me from the recollection of that day's pleasure. Poor John Darner was one of the company. He has made a strange exit in a strange manner. We were at Eton and in Italy together, and at subsequent peri- ods in the habits of friendly connection. Few of those who knew him have been more gloomily affected by the melancholy event than myself. I have been informed, that the King has exerted his royal influence to prevent the publication of David Hume's posthumous trea- tise in defence of self-murder. I am well con- vinced that his Majesty has acted with his ac- customed regard to the welfare of his people, in procuring the suppression of a work dan- gerous to society, and in direct opposition to evangelical precept: but, for my own part, I cannot conceive, that any man, in this period of the world, could ever be argued into putt- ing a willing end to his existence, unless some circumstances of ill-fortune, some malady of the mind, or some torturing disease of the bo- dy more than co-operated with the arguments of the reasoning fatalist. Montesquieu does not write like himself upon the subject; and Rousseau, who seems purposely not to answer his own arguments in favour of suicide, de- fends it with sentiment instead of reason. : Many examples are given, in the works of dif- ferent writers, of amazing coolness in the act of self-destruction, which represent the stroke as having been given in youth, health, and prosperity. I cannot trust to appearances in these or any similar examples ; nor can I be-, lieve, that the mens sana in corpore sano, with the comforts of life, ever could submit to an act of such dreadful uncertainty. I have, sometimes, taken up the argument in favour of self-murder, by way of supporting an opin- ion, exercising a talent, or convincing a fool ; but I will honestly acknowledge, that the weakest of my antagonists have ever got the better of me on this subject, though I might not perhaps publish my conviction. Virgil's picture of the after-misery of those whose hands have given a prematurity to their end. 214 would stagger the utmost sophistry of erring reason. -Quatn vellent sctherc in alto Paupcriem paii et duros perferre labores ! Despair, as it arises from very different and opposite causes, has various and distinct ap- pearances. It has its rage, its gloom, and its indifference ; and while, under the former, its operations acquire the name of madness, un- der the latter it bears the title of philosophy. Poor yohn Darner was no philosopher, and yet he seems to have taken his leap in the dark with the marks both of an Epicurean and a Stoick. He acted his part with coolness, and sought his preparation in the mirth of a brothel. This is an awful subject ; and, in casting my eye over what I have hastily written upon it, I observe some inaccuracies which I should be glad to correct. But it is not my office, nor is it in my pretensions, to instruct you. When you are here, I will amuse you with a pamphlet, which, without that particular view, is a complete physical, or rather anatomical, reply to those who defend the right of self- murder. It is a treatise on the Ganglions of the Nerves, by a Doctor Johnstone, a physi- cian in my neighbourhood. It is written with 215 the pen of a scholar, and possesses through- out a most perspicuous ingenuity. This gen- tleman attended my father in his last illness ; and was not only his physician, but his con- fessor. Your letter to me consists of four lines, and I have returned as many page". This kind of illegal interest is not after my usual fash- ion ; but your kindness deserves an hundred fold from Your affectionate, &c. LETTER XLFIII. YOU are not the only one of my many criticising friends, who have expressed their surprize at my taking so kindly to the Surry Dell, and becoming so dead to rural magnifi- cence as to neglect Hagley's gaudy scene and proud domain. C H , in one of her visits to this place, told me that I looked like a toad in a hole. Be that as it may, it is shady, elegant, convenient, luxuriant, and snug ; a term peculiar to English comfort, and not translated into any other language. Be- sides, a villa is a necessary appendage to that rank whose dignity you so often recommend me to maintain ; and in what spot could a Brit- ish peer find a more delightful retreat than mine, to solace himself in the interval of pub- lick duty ? Or where is the JEgerian grot, in whose auspicious solitude he could better hold his secret counsels with the guardian Genius of his country. But, badinage apart, its vi- cinity to the metropolis is one of its principal recommendations ; and, to a man of my ten- 217 dencies, a cottage at Pimlico is preferable to a palace in the distant counties. Here I .find no inconvenience in. a rainy day : the means of dissipating a gloomy temper are within my beckon. If I wish to be alone, I can shut my gates and exclude the world ; or, if I want society, my post-chaise will quickly bear me hence, or fetch it here. On the contrary Haglty, which is certainly an Elysian scene, uniting in itself grandeur, beauty, and conve- nience, does not possess any of these advan, tages ; and I might die there of ennui, before any thing like the necessary remedy could be found. In that spot, all delightful as it is, I cannot enjoy the advantage of the society which I prefer ; nor, when I am tired of com- pany, is it possible for me to be alone. The neighbourhood is extremely populous ; manu- facturing towns surround me on all sides j turn-pike roads environ me ; and the prospect from every window in my house glares with such a variety of intruding objects, that I have been often thankful to the shades oi night for giving me to tranquillity and to my- self. Besides, the parish-church is in my park; and I have more than once awoke from brilliant dreams, by the cackling of gossips irt full trot to a christening ; nay, I have some- D D 218 times shuddered to see on my splendid lawns the dirges due and sad array of the ru stick fu- neral. But this is not all. Coaches full of travellers of all denominations, and troops of holiday neighbours, are hourly chasing me from my apartments, or, by strolling about the en- virons, keep me a prisoner in it. The lord of the place can never call it his for a day du- ring the finer part of the year. Nor am I proud, as others have been, of holding my- self forth to the complimentary envy of those who come to visit it. My pride is not of that complexion ; and the consciousness of pos- sessing the first place of its kind in Europe, is a sufficient satisfaction to me, without shew- ing any preference to it as a rural residence. The little spot from whence I have the plea- sure to address you, has won my fondest at- tachment. H- left me this morning. We passed the whole of yesterday evening in searching into the nature of the soul, and con- triving ways and means for the final dissolu- tion of the world. We are neither of us qualified to make any great figure in astrono- my or metaphysicks ; nevertheless, we became very familiar with the heavenly bodies, and discoursed, with a most imposing gravity, on matter and spirit. We exercised all our ingc- 219 nuity to find out in what part of the human frame the soul had fixed her abode, but were totally unable to make the discovery, till our friend, with his usual singularity of thought, determined it to be in every part where there is sensation, and, particularly, in those parts where sensation is most exquisite. But, as it is much easier to pull down systems than to establish them, we destroyed the globe, and all that it inherits, with surprising expedition. A comet was seized upon by both of us, at the same moment, as the engine to be employ- ed in the tremendous conflagration. The con- test for the originality of this idea was carried on, with equal zeal between us, for some time, which my antagonist concluded by introducing another very interesting subject for enquiry: Whether the great day of judgment was to precede, accompany, or follow this great event of the world's dissolution ? In the course of his harangue, he rose to such a fervour of thought, delivered such forcible language, and intermingled such striking expressions from the scriptures, that he grew pale beneath his own conceptions. The alarm was contagious, and made my blood curdle in its veins. I verily believe, if a rattling thunder-storm had immediately followed his oration^ that our -JO confusion would have been too serious to have admitted of an acknowledgment. The two ladies, who composed our audience, were thrown into such a terrour of mind, that I be- gan to apprehend the evening's amusement would have concluded in sending two hand- some and useful women to the Magdalen. My house, with all its advantages, is not calcula- ted for the actual work of contrition, though it may prepare the way for it ; and if such a scene of repentance had really happened, it would have constituted an sera in my life suf- ficient to seduce the attention of mankind frotji all the past singularities of it. I remain, 221 LETTER XLIX. MY DEAR I HAVE obeyed your commands, read, with a very continued attention, Des Recherchcs sur le Despotisme Oriental. The author is a person of considerable erudition, active thought, and lively imagination. He steers his vessel with no common address on the ocean of conjecture, and I have beheld his course with much admiration.- But though he may help to forward an advanced progress in infidelity, I cannot natter him with the supposition that he alone has ever made an infidel. The paradox of primitive theocra- cies, I believe, is not a new one, though he may have given it a novelty of examination, and branched it forth into a variety of new ramifications. A writer, who strikes at the very root of sacred history, which has been an object of faith to so great a part of the more enlightened world for such a course of ages, and possesses the support of collateral tradition, as well as a supernatural strength of internal evidence such an author, I say, should produce something more than hypothe- sis, though supported by the most colossal strength of human erudition : nay, it may not be the least, among the many arguments, in favour of the sacred writings, that nothing but hypothesis can be brought against them. A faith of some thousand years is not to be destroyed by the elaborate, but artificial con- jectures of a modern infidel. I will oppose to your ingenious Frenchman the learned Mr. Bryant^ of our own country, whose late splen- did publication is an honour to our age and nation. The Gallic infidel must sink into nothing before the veteran abilities of our English believer. These casual thoughts, my dear friend, are my own ; and you may be assured, that I have not stolen them from any pious page of my father's manuscript lucu- brations. But I shall quit a subject, which is not in the ordinary line of my enquiries, and whereon I can only hazard a few occasional thoughts, from the uninformed reflections of the mo- ment, to thank you for the very judicious and elegant manuscript which you have intrusted to my perusal. It has all my praise. The dialogue is natural ; the language chaste ; the characters finely discriminated ; the sentiments admirably appropriated ; and the moral, if I may use the expression, irresistibly proposed 223 to the business and bosom of the reader. I will hope that you will continue to gild your leisure-hours with such delightful amuse- ments, and that your philanthropick spirit will give them to instruct and improve mankind. What think you of bringing Mrs. Montagu and Miss Carter upon your charming theatre? The similarity of those ladies' characters in some points, and their dissimilitude in others, would be finely portrayed by your pen, and might give you an opportunity of determining the just merits and standard of a literary fe- male. The one is an highly-instructed, ac- complished woman, possessed of great afflu- ence, who indulges herself in a chaste display of fashionable as well as literary elegance, makes her drawing-room the Lyceum of the day, maintains a luxurious hospitality for the votaries of that science which she loves, and patronizes the learning which she herself has adorned. The other, in a state of contented mediocrity, is humble as though she knew nothing, while she is not only the most learned woman of any age, but one of the most learn- ed persons of that in which she lives. The pure, sublime genius, which never swerves from virtue, accompanies her in the paths of rigid discretion, and is contented to slumber, 224 while its favourite votary is employed in the daily, habitual exercise of domestick duties. This colloquy should take place between Jus- tice, accompanied by Vanity enforcing reward, and Merit attended by Modesty, who will scarce suffer an acceptance. They must be made to contend, not for their own, but each other's genius and virtue ; and the scene may conclude with a well-decorated notice of that handsome independence which the former has attached to the valuable life of the latter. The whole, in your hands, will form a most enter- taining, instructive, and exemplary picture. Forgive my impertinence, I beseech you ; but the idea came across me, and I could not resist the vanity of offering it to you. After all, except in some few instances, I am not very partial to literacy ladies : they are, generally, of an impertinent, encroaching dis- position ; and almost always bring to my mind the female astronomer, who, after applying her nocturnal telescope, for a long series of months, and had raised the jealousy, as well as the expectations, of the male star-gazers, declared her only object was to discover if there were men in the moon. I am, with great regard and admiration, &... 225 LETTER L. MY DEAR LORD, I AM not so dull of apprehension as to be deceived by your elegant irony on the drawings of naked figures which you have ac- cidentally seen in their preparation for my cabinet. As works of art they have a claim to real admiration, as being exquisite copies of nature in her most beautiful and interesting appearance. This you readily acknowledge ; but seem rather to hint at the very great im- propriety of suffering such representations to be held forth to publick view. In the applica- tion, at least, this idea of your Lordship's is somewhat erroneous : these designs are des- tined to be the ornaments of my private dress- ing room, sanctum sanctorum^ into which they alone are admitted, whose steady virtue or ex- perience of the world will enable them to look, without any immoral sensation, on the works of a far more lascivious pencil than that which I have employed. K F, 226 The arguments which you have directed against my drawings, might be turned, with no small success, against the creative arts of painting and sculpture. I really feel a vast weight of matter rushing upon me ; but, for your sake, I will resist its impulse, and ac- knowledge with you, that a different species of decoration is more suitable to common apart- ments, where promiscuous companies of ei- ther sez and every age are received ; though a copy of Titian's Venus and the naked boys of Dominic/lino grace your with-drawing- room; not forgetting the sacrifice to Priapus, which is a principal ornament of your library. You have had the precaution, it is true, to hang a curtain before the former, which, I do insist, by tempting the guess of curious and sportive fancies, to say no worse, is a more actual promoter of blushing reflections, than the most open exposure of those naked charms that are obscured by it. Indeed, my Lord, your's is a false delicacy as applied to me, and unjust as proceeding from one who is himself guilty of similar and even worse practices. I really should have supposed, that an enthusi- asm for the fine arts, and the repeated tour of Italy, would have taught you better. The etegantiutn formarum spectator is a character. 227 that, I should imagine, would ever command your esteem : nor could it have entered into my belief, that you, who look with such fre- quent admiration on your fine set of engrav- ings after, if I mistake not, the Duke of Marl- borough's valuable cabinet of antique gems, would have ventured at any thing like a re- monstrance on my far more inanimate seraglio. The unfledged youth, who begins to feel an unknown something running through his veins, for a short time might be affected by such unveiled representations ; but to men of our age and experience, they would rather serve to create indifference, by continually presenting to us images of those objects, whose novelty is one of the principal causes of their influence upon us. Some of the an- cient nations exhibited the different sexes na- ked to each other, in order to smother that in- flammatory sensibility of nature, which you suppose the paintings of naked beauty, con- tinually before my eyes, must be capable of continually inspiring. Upon my word, you give me a combustible temparament which I do not possess ; and, if you judge of me, in this particular, from yourself, I give your Lordship joy of the very great advantage you have over me. Without entering" further into the argument, which, if duly pursued, of a moderate letter would make a long treatise, I shall only observe, that the mode of dress, now adopted by our women of fashion, is more seducing and inflammatory, and has a more direct tendency to call forth loose affec- tions in our sex, than any painted represen- tation of female beauty, though finished by the exquisite pencil of Titian himself. Your Lordship's Venus reposes, with little interrup- tion, behind her curtain ; while the ladies of the world unfold to every eye that share of their charms which are best calculated to se- duce it, and to fill the fancy with the idea of more winning beauties, which the mantle of lashion does not, as yet, disdain to cover. I called at your door to laugh with you up- on the subject of your reproof; and, though you had taken your flight to Bath, I was re- solved that you should not escape me. Per- haps you have not heard of Cosway's misfor- tune. In a pitched battle with his monkey, he has been completely worsted, and now keeps his bed from the wounds he received in the combat. I have, however, the pleasure to tell you, that the hand of your little Ra- phael has escaped the fury of his antagonist, and is still reserved to delight every lover of its art ; but, as there is a grievous laceration in one of his legs, there is some reason to fear that the important strut may be lost for ever. I am, with great regard, 230 LETTER LI. I PLEAD guilty to a very trifling part of the charge which you bring against me ; but I peremptorily deny that the accusing lady is a woman of virtue. Do you believe that every wife, who does not advance into the guilt of adultery, is a virtuous character ? Is it your opinion, that every unmarried lady, who does not keep an handsome footman, or make an occasional retreat into the country, to drink ass's milk for a dropsy, has a right to boast of chastity ? Alas ! sir, I know many of these, and hear daily of more, who, though they have not been guilty of what is pre-emi- nently called a criminal deviation from the nuptial vow or virgin honour, possess more unchaste minds, than many of those forlorn wretches who gain their daily bread by the miserable trade of nocturnal prostitution. Your artful, angry, or disappointed rela- tion (for I have not yet decided which of these epithets is most applicable to her present sit- 231 tiation) makes out a strange and horrid story from the ordinary occurrence of an accidental half-hour's tete a tete. I found her, par haz- ard, alone, and in those spirits which seem- ed to ask for that kind of libcnme-badinage^ which in her more sober humour would not have been exerted. The idle raillery was par- ried by her with much skill and coquetry : she neither retired into another room, nor rung for a servant to show me the door, or even discovered a gleam of disapprobation by a moment's gravity. On the contrary, she pressed my longer stay, and at my departure reproached me for the infrequency of my visits. But, stung with the mortification that her upbraidings were thrown away (excuse, I beseech you, the necessary vanity of my justification) she has thought proper to cry aloud against me, to revenge what she might consider as a neglect, or, perhaps, to make the world believe that she was still capable of inspiring such a violence of passion, which in her history so irresistably impelled me to make an adventurous attack upon her virtue. It really concerns me, that you should be, at once, the engine of her malicious rage, and the dupe of your own amiable credulity. Her threats, though they were to take her own 232 shape, would not alarm me ; but she knows too much of the wicked world to put them in execution believe me, my friend, she will not give her many enemies such advantage over her. I shall plead guilty, in a more general man- ner, to another charge which your accusing spirit has brought against me that I have a decided ill opinion of our co-temporary wo- men in high life. The corruption of the pres- ent times is in no degree so strongly marked as by the modern profligacy of female man- ners. Examine the catalogue of those ladies, whose rank, beauty, accomplishments, or for- tune, give them an influence in the great world, and then tell me what you think of the pres- ent state of superiour female character. Is their rank employed to give an example to the inferiour orders ? Is their beauty exerted in the various services of virtue ? Are their ac- complishments exercised in confirming and prolonging the duration of virtuous affection ? And is their fortune taxed with relief to pov- erty, encouragement to arts, or protection to science, otherwise than in subservience to the caprices of fashion ? Is a simplicity of char- acter visible in female youth after fourteen years of age ? And does not the reign of co- 238 quetry commence before, and often times long before, that period ? Trace the course of fash- ionable education from the cradle to the altar ; examine with attention the efforts and views of maternal tenderness, in the circle of your own society ; and tell me where is that per- fection of female character to be found for it might every where exist which can awe the most dissolute into respect and admiration ? You must very well know, that the passion of the most impassioned is very rarely indeed so irresistible as to inflame with the design of carrying the fortress of chastity by a coup de main ; and when such attempts are made, it is some visible breach in the out-works which encourages to that fierce mode of conquest* A chaste, virtuous woman is an awful char- acter : something supernatural seems to sur- round and shroud her from the profane ap- proaches of seduction. Innocence may be seduced, and ignorance may be deceived ; but chastity, founded on the firm basis of pure virtue, holds forth to the eye of the most art- ful, as well as the most rampant lust, the re- pulsive evidence of impregnable security. You must well remember where we dined together not many weeks ago ; nor can it have been possible for you to forget the friendly ap- 234 prehensions which our hostess expressed lest the House of Commons should detain Mr. , as she was sure Lady would not be in tolerable humour if he was not of the par- ty. At length, however, they both came, were carefully placed together at table, and seemed in perfect contentment. Now, all this pretty business was managed in chaste society, and in a virtuous house ; nevertheless, it ap- peared to me, that the mistress of it, even in the presence of her daughters, did little less than promote the progress of adultery. This, you see, is so common an arrangement, that Mrs. - , who holds herself forth as a wo- man of renowned discretion, considered it as a matter of course. I wonder much that you will suffer such rare virtue, as dwells in that most amiable woman whom you possess, to risk the taint, of such societies. I would forgive the artifice of dress, and the little hypocrisies of personal decoration ; they originate from a desire to please, and can never produce any fatality of deception : but the wearing a mask upon the mind, and the giving a falacious appearance to character, is a forgery that becomes oftentimes more fatal to happiness and honour, than a crime of the same title which never finds mercy. How many women are there now flaunting about our world, who have made use of the falsest pretences to obtain a settlement and an hus- band; and, when they have succeeded, not only throw aside the painted veil which cover- ed them, but laugh at the poor hapless dupe who reproaches their duplicity ! They daub their tempers o'er with washes As artificial as tl.e'.r faces j and while some of them condescend to appear charming, both in mind and person, to all the world, poor Benedick, who possesses the en- vied privilege of going behind the curtain, a- lone sees the decomposition of that beauty and virtue which leaves not a look or a wish to please behind them. That excellent woman, whom you have the supreme happiness to call your own, is, as I have been told, the only one of her sex who deigns to say a word in my favour. The rea- son, my dear sir, is evident : she is the only one I know who possesses a sufficient share of real, intrinsick virtue, to keep me, in her presence, in the most patient and satisfactory decorum. Those charms which, while they allure, cor- rect, and, while they delight, improve, are of rare growth ; and it becomes the interest of a corrupt world to employ its contagion to their 236 destruction. This is a language which you might not expect from such an incorrigible sin- ner as I am ; but believe me, it is that of all the tribe when reason resumes her lucid in- terval : and if the women of coquetry, vani- ty, and intrigue, knew how much their most devoted, admired, and familiar favourites, at times despise and speak of them, they would have recourse to the sincerity of virtue, to obtain honest praise, real admiration, and so- lid pleasure. , It will afford me no small satisfaction to hear that I have laid your spirit of censure, and that on this subject at least it will haunt me no more : for, though publick severity hardens me more and more against publick opinion, I should ever wish to justify myself to you, when I possess the means of justification. You will do me the favour to present my very sincere respects to Mrs. , and receive the affectionate regard of Your faithful, &c. 237 LETTER LIL I WISHED, for many reasons, that you could have accompanied me hither : but ano- ther is now added to the number, by an un- pleasant indisposition that has hung upon me for some time ; and, though it does not keep me at home, it deprives me of any and every enjoyment when I go abroad. I want you to console me, to assist my present tendency to grave speculations, and to behold me an ex- ample of your favorite proposition, that man is a superstitious animal. A being continually agitated by hopes and fears, is naturally dis- posed to consider every trivial occurrence as an omen of his good or evil fortune. The hot and cold fits of life, from one or other of which we are seldom free, keep the mind in that tremulous state of suspense which makes rea- son subservient to the sickly power of imagin- ation. Common superstition is awakened by the eager pursuit of the most common objects, and is particularly visible in those who attend 258 upon the nightly orgies of the god of game ; where the force of lucky and unlucky omens is strongly, as well as universally impressed. Women, and men who resemble women, are supposed, from extreme fear of disap- pointment, to be very generally disposed to the habit of drawing idle consequences from every trivial event. But wherefore do I ven- ture an imputation against the weaker sex, or the less resolute part of my own, when a mo- ment's reflection convinces me that the strong- est mind cannot always resist the same influ- ence ; and that it is not in the utmost perfec- tion of human nature to boast a perfect supe- riority over it. The wide extent of antiquity is full of it : the flight of birds and the entrails of beasts determined the fate of kings and the prosperity of nations. The vision of the night, and the awakening hour, gave a colour of good or evil to the succeeding day ; and the unwieldy code of proverbial wisdom is indebted for its bulk to the liberal aid of preg- nant superstition : nay, were I to explore the modern and more rational system of late ages, it would only be tracing a more extensive chart of human credulity. This propensity of the mind, which is tri- lling and transitory in the course of ordinary 259 occurrences, becomes a grievous and oppress- ive weight, when, from the frowns of for- tune, or the languors of disease, it passes from this world to another. When the frame begins to discover symptoms of decay, when its pains and debility fix the gloomy idea of an eternal separation upon a mind unused to sim- ilar, or perhaps any serious contemplations, there is no alternative but Stoical apathy or fanciful superstition. I am not disposed to admit the possibility of the former; or, at least, it is beyond the reach of my nature to attain it : I must, therefore, submit to the lat- ter, and endeavour to shelter my weakness under that of all mankind in all ages of the world. Will you believe me, when I tell you, that in a morning's ride, which conducted me by some of the tremendous fires employed in the manufactories in my neighbourhood, I shud- dered at the sight of their angry flames, and expressed my sensations to the young lady I accompanied, in such a manner, as to make her cheek pale as my own ? It has been ob- served by some wicked wit, and I believe by Voltaire for the thought is of his cast that, on the morning of the thirtieth of January, every sovereign in Europe rises with a crick in his neck. Now, you may apply this idea, for your amusement, to the alarms I have just described. I am sinner enough to justify the application, and am, at present, humble enough to acknowledge the truth of it. The same shrewd genius declared, when he was out of humour with a certain race of kings, que tons, les Bourbons craignent le diable : nevertheless, (for I am determined to be even with him,) if any credit is to be given to general and uniform report, the lively satirist was himself subject to certain fits of despondency, when he suf- fered severely from similar apprehensions. Mors instans mnnina majora facit. Tranquillity, I am told, is absolutely neces- sary for the restoration of my body ; but, in submitting to the proposed remedy for my corporal infirmities, I shall certainly acquire all the horrours of intellectual disease, if you do not hasten to console me. If you re- fuse me your temporal comforts, I shall be under the necessity of applying to the rever- end John Wcstly (who, according to the Bir- mingham paper, is preaching about the neigh- bourhood,) to assist me with his spiritual elixir. was here last week, and happy beyond expression in the full enjoyment of 241 rural luxury ; but the beautiful scenes, which filled his mind with such mad and mortifying delight, are viewed, by my jaundiced eye, with less than indifference : though, when he exclaimed, Rura mihi, et rigui placeant in vallibus amnesj Flumina arnem sylvasque inglorius; a moment's feeble inspiration enabled me to add, O ubi campi, Sperchiusque, et virgivilnu bacchata Lacxnit Taygeta ! Adieu, and believe me, &c. &:c. I have this moment received a letter ffcm , which proves him to be the^iost un- grateful villain in existence. This convic- tion has, I believe, forced an unexpected glow upon my wan countenance. It may be for the best, that my immediate indispo- sition prevents me from honouring the ras- cal with a reproach. , G G LETTER LIIL MY DEAR THE letter, which I had the pleasure of receiving from you yesterday, afforded me all the satisfaction I had so much reason to expect from it. But as every good in this world must have its alloy, it was accompanied by one of those half-dictatorial epistles, which, under the colour of friendly concern, and in the garb of respectful language, contains no small degree of concealed impertinence. A certain relation of mine never fails to pester me with a few of them, whenever I happen to be in his debt. I had rather pay him ten per cent, if he would spare his counsels, than have the loan without interest and encumbered with them. But this is not all ; for I am obliged to play the hypocrite against the grain, to acknowledge his goodness, to prom- ise amendment, and so on. 243 The last Paris jaunt ended unprontably ; it emptied my purse, led me into difficulties, and made me dependent where dependence is particularly painful ; to which may be added some scurvy treatment, which I do not like to think of, and am sorry has got abroad. ought to have cut the bully's throat, without hesitation ; but he was a tranquil spectator of the business, and had not the gratitude to risk his own pitiful life to save my honour. When I seriously reflect on the miseries of dependence, by whatever name it may be dis- tinguished, I cannot but admire the prudence, and envy the disposition, of those men who preserve themselves above it. I am convinced, that no man can be happy, or honourable, who does not proportionate his expenses to the means he possesses : and if the phrase is sig- nificant, that describes the man who pays ev- ery body, as above the world, he, who has disabled himself from pursuing the same con- duct, must submit to the abject idea of being beneath it. If your creditor is a shoe-m?,ker, and you cannot discharge his bill, whatever your rank may be, he becomes your superiour ; and the moment you put it out of your power to pay a servant his wages, he becomes your master, and you must not only submit to his 1^44 impertinence, but connive at his fraud, in or- der to prevent this liveried creditor from mak- ing his demands. I tell you honestly, that the galled horse winces on the occasion, and that my withers are most severely wrung. I feel the grief so sensibly, that, if I had an amanuensis at hand, I should like to patrol my library, and dictate a discourse on worldly prudence. The circumspect use of money, arising, not from any avaricious principle, but from the wise practice of applying means to ends, will keep a man in that state of inde- pendence which is the rock of life. On that foundation he can stand firm, return the haughty look, smile at the supercilious frown, give truth its due force, and scorn the em- broidered lie. You have a son ; and let me advise you, while the smartings of the mo- ment dictate the counsel, to instil into his ten- der mind the lasting impression of a liberal prudence, without which virtue is continually harrassed by necessity, pleasure has but an interrupted enjoyment, and life becomes a chequered scene of agitation and distress. -Quzrenda petunia primum j Virtus post numinos.- But this by the way. You inform me that you every day expect an increase of your fam- iiy, which I very sincerely hope may prove an addition to your happiness. However, I cannot but think it a great mistake to make merry over a creature who is born to the same miseries as ourselves, who, the first moment he draws the breath of life, is enrolled in the register of death, and, from the womb, makes swift and direct advances to the grave. I am almost a convert to the practice of the Thra- cians, who wept beside the cradle, and danced around the tomb. These opinions will prob- ably preclude any proposals to me from be- coming a God-father. Mrs. once did me the honour to hint something of that na- ture : but I beg you to tell her, from your own experience, that I am too unsanctified a person to take upon me the character of a bap- tismal sponsor. You will then be so obliging as to add, from me, that I shall ever have too sincere a regard for any child of her's, to pro- cure it so ungracious an entrance into the Christian Church, as I am apprehensive that it would find, were I to be the officiating ush- on the occasion. I am, with great regard, &c. 246 LETTER L1V I RECEIVE your congratulations -with an unaffected sensibility ; but, as your ap- plause proceeds from the partiality of a fa- vourable representation, and nbt from your own immediate experience, I may, without impropriety, or any false show of modesty, to which I am not very much habituated, ob- serve, that the part I took in the debate to which you so kindly allude, would not have been so favourably mentioned, if you had been one of its crowded audience. I will tell you, with great truth, that it was an important object with me to exert the full force of my mind and talents on the business of that day. I had directed all my thoughts to that purpose, and not only exerted a very unusual industry in acquiring the knowledge necessary to give my opinions their due weight, but had laboured the dress in which they were to be clothed, and attentively com- posed the decorations which were to give the 247 final embellishment. In short, I omitted no mode of study, reflection, or exercise, which might enable me to force conviction, and ra- vish applause. But I succeeded in neither ; and, after a speech of some length, I sat down, oppressed with disappointment and mortification. Several circumstances unex- pected in themselves, and untoward in their nature, co-operated to the fall of my pride on that day. In the morning, while I was re- hearsing my part to A , by some mistake H was admitted to me, and not only in- terrupted my lesson, but, by the ready com- munication of his eccentrick flights upon the aame subject, threw my well-marshalled band of ideas into irretrievable confusion. But this was not all ; he desired to accompany me to the house, and, in our way thither, he seized upon the bugle ornaments of my clothes, as a subject for still more discomfit- ing singularites of thought ; so that I was most heartily glad when my coach broke down in Parliament-street, and produced a separa- tion. The worst, however, remains behind. It was my purpose to follow the Earl of Shel- burne ; and in consequence of such a plan, I had necessarily pre-supposed the line of de- bate he would take, with the general turn of 248 argument he might adopt, and had prepared myself accordingly. But all my conjectures proved erroneous ; for that noble Lord took a course so different from my pre-supposiuons, and displayed a degree of political erudition so far beyond me, that, when I arose, the confusion between my prepared thoughts, and those which were suggested by the able dis- course of the foregoing speaker, was so great, that, although I was not thrown into hesita- tion, I got so wide of the point before me, as to be called to order with great vehemence and some propriety from the opposite side of the house. This proved confusion worse con- founded ; and though I proceeded with soma degree of spirit and recovery, I sat down, at length, with much self-dissatisfaction : nor had I reason to think, from the succeeding part of the debate, that I had made any im- pression on those within the bar, whatever I might have done among the tribe of curious listeners without it. This is the true, unvarnished state of the rase ; and, from the circumstances of it, I have formed a resolution, which, I trust, you approve to make no more such pre- paration. I will give the announced si all the consideration they desei 249 the knowledge of them in my power, form my general principles, and leave their particular arrangement, with the necessary shape, dress, and delivery, to the circumstances and im- pressions of the moment. When a senator is to take the lead in a debate, in order to intro- duce a projected motion of his own, or is engaged to second that of another, he may enter upon the task with the most minute verbal preparation ; but, when he is to take his casual turn, he must trust to his feelings of the moment, operating upon the knowledge of the moment. If a man, with the common, gifts of speech, possesses a good store of the latter, he may be soon habituated to yield himself to the former, with a certain assurance of acquiring an important political reputation. In American affairs I have ever possessed a perfect uniformity of opinion. My doctrine has ever been, that legislation involves in it every possible power and exercise of civil government. For this principle I shall never cease to contend ; though I am forced unwil- lingly to acknowledge, that the ministerial means of supporting it have, at times, been very erroneous. But you may be assured, that, if some better plans for reinstating Great- Britain in the full dominion of her revolted H H 250 colonies be not pursued (an event which hu* inanity at first, succeeded by mis-information and later indecision, has so unfortunately de- layed, but which is still practicable) ministers shall hear the deep-toned energy of my re- proach : I will lift up my voice against their timid and indecisive counsels. My political career, at least, shall not be marked with dis- honour. I cannot do better, than, with the feelings of the present moment, to assure you of my most grateful acknowledgements for the regard vou have shown, on so many occasions, to Your most faithful, Sec. 551. LETTER LV. INDEED, my friend, you are quite wild n the subject of eloquence. It may adorn our parliamentary debates, but it will not save our country. It is an adventitious qualifica- tion, that will do but little, unless other more substantial talents and attainments are in alli- ance with it. An orator, in Cicero's definition of the character, in which, I suppose, he de- signed to comprehend himself, combines every thing which is great in human nature ; but the mere man of words, metaphors, and impu- dence, in which, you may tell me, I should comprehend myself, is nothing more than an useful tool in the hands of superiour direction. Tow are very sensible, but you mistake my sense. I did not declare it to be my opinion that we had no orators among us, but that there was a melancholy dearth of real states- men. Perhaps, there never was a period, in the annals of this or any other country, which has produced more able publick speakers than that wherein we live. The system of attack and defence, displayed eveiy session in both houses of parliament, produces specimens of oratorical abilities which would have done honour to any nation at any period. Elo- quence is a powerful auxiliary to great poli- tical talents ; but it is nothing without them I mean, as to any great line of national utili- ty. Mr. Edmund Burke, who is a prodigy in his kind, will never make a leading statesman. I do not know, nor have I ever heard of any man who could deliver such a rapid, correct, adorned, and highly-finished oration, as fre- quently proceeds from the instantaneous im- pulse of this gentleman's illuminated faculties. As a scholar, as a man of universal knowl- edge, as a writer, he is the object of my most sincere admiration ; but, in my opinion, he would never figure in office beyond the board of trade. Charles Fox's abilities and elocu- tion are of a decided superiority ; but, out of the senate, their exertions would be of du- bious expectation. If the formation of a new ministry were to fall to my lot, Charles could not be engaged in a more busy part than is generally allotted to a vice-treasurer of Ireland As for Colonel B , nature designed him 253 for the service of attack: he is nothing but in the house of commons, nor does he figure there but in opposition. To muzzle the mas- tiff, he must have a place ; for, while he sat on the treasury-bench, he was dumb, and opened not his mouih. Lord Weymouth is not an orator ; but he delivers his good sense' with a very becoming dignity. The Duke of G 's speeches are words, words, words ; but are accompanied with an imposing air of con- sequence, which tells you, in every look of gesture, and expression, what the speaker thinks of himself. Lord C an orator ! Where was your reflection fled, or in what quarrel had you engaged with reason and judgment, when you made such a mistaken declaration ? Believe me, my dear friend, he possesses nothing but a little, literary, spang- led kind of embroidered politicks ; pretty, decorative, and in fashion ; but without any thing like solidity of abilities, or permanency of character. I could never view him in any other light, not even when he presided at a commission, whose history should be blotted from the annals of Great-Britain. Our pre- sent Palinurus is by no means deserving of that contempt, which some men, very much his inferiours in every thing, think proper to 254 throw upon him ; and the secretary for the American department ranks high among our modern politicians : nor must Lord Shelburne be forgotten, who possesses, in a brilliant de- gree, the gift of utterance, and is a perfect vade-mecum in politicks. I bear a willing tes- timony to Lord Camderfs vigourous under- standing ; and I possess an hereditary admira- tion of Lord Mansfield's very superiour talents and character : but the leading lawyers, how- ever able or learned, do not come within the compass of our present discriminations. But all the eloquence on which you build your hopes, and all the abilities which our leading men possess, if brought into one aggregate mass of political talents, would not compose that consummate character on whom a nation might repose with confidence and security. Is there a man among us, who can claim an equal share of ministerial reputation with Mr. Pel- ham or Mr. George Grenville ? But I must add, for our consolation, that our enemies cannot boast of any intellectual superiority over us : their mistakes have kept pace with our errours : the catalogue of their blunders is not less bulky than our own. Besides, we still bear ourselves like a great people ; we do not discover any marks of des- 255 pendency ; and, I trust, we shall continue to support our national character, to the confu- sion of our enemies, and the final glory of our country. I have this day been informed, that Dr. Price, the Dr. Brown of the present day, has been formally and solemnly invited by the Congress to take upon him the formation and superintenclency of their exchequer. It would gladden my very soul to hear that he was em- barked for America ; though, I fear, he is too much of a self-politician to take such a step. The labours of his theological accompting- house would be of no small service to Great- Britain, if they were employed beyond the At- tantick. This reverend gentleman, in his sad vaticinations of British downfal, shelters him- self beneath the double character of a political prophet and Christian divine. If America should finally become independent, the proph- et will then exult in the accomplishment of an event which he has long foretold : if, on the contrary, the power of Great-Britain over her colonies should be re-established, the Calvin- istical cant of the divine must display itself in an humble, submissive resignation to the dispensations of Heaven. I am. with great regard, cc. 256 LETTER LFL MY DEAR SIR, I ACKNOWLEDGE, with a very serious concern, the indecisive and sluggish spirit of the present administration. This political temper of our leading statesmen was amiable in its origin, perhaps pardonable in its pro- gress, but is equally unaccountable and dis- graceful, to say no worse, at this very im- portant period. The humanity of the royal breast, co-operating with the moderate spirit of his immediate councils, and the general disposition of the nation, produced those lin- gering measures in the beginning of the pre- sent troubles, which encouraged the insolence of democratick ambition. If half the regi- ments, which have hitherto been employed in vain, with a proportionable fleet, had cross- ed the Atlantick at the early period of the American revolt, the mishapen legions of rebellion would have been awed into submis- 257 sion, and the numerous loyal inhabitants would have had a strong-hold to which they might have resorted for protection, instead of being urged, by the hopes of preserving their me- naced property, to join the standard of rebel- lion, to which, by seduction, by habit, or by necessity, many of them vowed, and some of them have proved, their fidelity. This humane disposition of government towards the colonies, which has proved a fa- tal errour in the politicks of our day, naturally led to another, which arose from the placing a confidence in, and drawing their intelligence from, men, some of whom I imagine, were as deficient in judgment as the rest were in honesty ; I mean the American refugees. By their suggestions ministers were influenced to continue the inactive line of conduct, till in- dependence was thundered in their ears, and circumstances seemed to announce that alli- ance which has since taken place between the natural enemies of this country and its revolt- ed subjects. Permit me to observe, that, in the early period of this unhappy business, the nation at large seemed indisposed to adopt the measures of fire and sword. The peo- ple, very generally, hoped and believed, that the alternate anathemas and conciliatory pro- i i 253 positions of rtur acts of parliament would have answered their beneficial intentions of quiet- ing the disorders of the colonies ; and I verily believe, if, at the period to which I allude, a parliamentary motion had been made to pn> vide for the sending a large fleet and army, \vith an active design, to America, that min- isterial power would have met with a very nu- merous and respectable opposition : nor would the humanity of the nation at large have been satisfied with a design which portended .the slaughter of British subjects; while faction would have lifted up its voice against it, as being framed upon the principle of extending, with drawn swords and bayonets fixed, the powers of corruption, and the influence of the crown. I again repeat, that, at this time, there was a very general aversion in the Brit- ish nation from entering seriously into the contest ; for, even after the Americans had published their separation from Grea-t-Britain, and hostilities were actually commenced, the exertions of British valour were languid, and the rebels, at least on the sea, gained more ad- vantages than they have since done with the open alliance of France and the secret aid of Spain. . When that unnatural union took place, the British nation underwent a prci'y 259 general and very sudden change in senti- ments ; and many of the most rational friends of America could no longer corfsider its inha- bitants as fellow-subjects, when they humbly ^mplored the ready ambition of France to sup- port them in their disobedience to their lawful sovereign. At this period, I must acknowledge that my expectations were broad awake to the most vigourous exertions of the British govern- ment. I did not doubt but the Genius of my country would arise and shake his spear. Alas ! one general was appointed upon a principle of reconciliation, and he does not re- concile ; a second is named, and accoutred beyond example, for execution, and he exe- cutes nothing. A third succeeds, and new expectations are on the wing. Immense ex- penses are incurred, the national debt enor- mously encreased, and no substantial advan- tages are obtained. At length my patience is almost exhausted ; I begin to view the indeci- sive spirit of ministry in a criminal light ; and, if some promising symptoms of a change in their measures do not appear at the meeting of parliament, I will repeat what I have now written, and much more, in their very teeth. The place I hold shall not bribe me from let- 260 ting loose the angry spirit of my reproach against them. But another scene is opening that is preg- nant with more alarm, and may bring on a contest more trying to this nation, than the trans-atlantick commotions and the ambition of France. I allude to the growing discontents of Ireland. You must too well know that there are, at this moment, thirty thousand in- dependent men in arms in that kingdom, who have erected their own standards, and are prepared either to repel a foreign invasion, or to resist domestick tyranny. The Irish have long been an oppressed people ; but oppres- sion has not quenched their spirit, and they have seized on the present favourable moment to demand justice ; nay, if they were to de- mand more than justice, England is not in a situation to refuse it. But of these matters I shall soon be better informed ; and you may be assured of being the first repository of my future and more mature opinions. This is ra- ther a disheartening subject. It demands my utmost resolution to look towards the storm which is gathering in the sister-kingdom. If, however, that can be dissipated, and the bond of peace, which is already cracked, be re- stored, my fears will vanish, and I shall no 261 longer doubt but that Great-Britain and Ire- land, in spite of American rebellion, of for- eign foes, of an indecisive, timid, procrasti- nating ministry, and of a noisy, malicious, hungry faction, will work out their own sal- vation, and close the present contest with ad- ded glory. 1 am, &c. 2G2 LETTER LV1L I WILL endeavour to obey your com- mands, and, if possible, to compress my un- prepared reflections into the compass of this paper. The Opposition is respectable for rank, property, and abilities ; but it is feeble and unimportant, from the narrowness of its plans, as well as the want of a sincere confidence, a firm union, and, as I shrewdly suspect, a gen- eral political integrity in the parties that com- pose it. They all readily accord in opposition to the measures of government, but differ, notf only in the manner, but in the time of exer- tion. They all agree to go forth against the enemy ; but each distinct body follows its own leader, and chooses its own mode of attack; they never unite but for the purpose of the moment ; by which means, that strong-com- pacted, lasting force, which, directed to one point, and at one instance, would scatter a- larm through any administration, is frittered down into a variety of desultory operations, 263 which wouM disgrace the meanest ministerial apprehension. The warmest friend of government cannot deny, that in the minority, "there are men of sound principle and proved integrity. They are indeed, but few in number, and may be easily distinguished from those who are in- fluenced by the daemon of disappointed am- bition, the fury of desperate faction, and the suggestions of personal rancour. It has been a matter of surprize to many sensible, reflect- ing persons, that the opposition did not use every possible means to obtain the aid and countenance of Lord Chatham's abilities, and concentrate, as it were, their scattered rays in the focus of that great man's character. Under such a leader they might have acted with effect, and knocked so loud at the door of administration, as to have made every member of it tremble, even in the most secret and guarded recesses of the cabinet. But such a coalition was wholly impracticable, even if the veteran statesman had been free from those bodily infirmities which so seldom permitted him of late to step forth to any pub- lick exertion. If we except Lord Camden, there is not one of the leading actors of opposition, who has not, ?.t some time or other, calumni- 264 ated, deceived, deserted, or, in some manner, mis-treated this great man. Lord S e's oratorical Echo made his first entrance into the house of commons notorious, by flying, as it were, at his very throat : and yet this man has been proud to wear the armorial banner at his funeral. The first day on which the Earl of Chatham took his seat in the house of peers, the Duke of R was forced to bow beneath its reproof for insulting him. The Buke of G , who, to use his own words, had accepted the seals merely to trail a pike under the command of so distinguished a po- litician, when advanced to an higher post, turned an angry face against the leader whom he had deserted. Even the INI of R , when at the head of his short-lived admin- istration, was vain enough to affect a refusal of Mr. Pitt's assistance. The conduct of such men, though it might be despised, could not be entirely effaced from his mind by all the submissive homage they afterwards paid him ; and, though he may have since lived with some of them in the habits of occasional inter- course, you may be assured, if his health had permitted a re-entrance into the publick ser- vice, that he never would have engaged in the views of men whom he could not trust. The 265 ministry, I believe, sent somewhat of an em- bassy to him, which he treated with contempt : and if Lord S e, in an occasional visit to Hayes, undertook a similar business, on the part of opposition, I doubt not but the answer he received, though perhaps more softened, had its concomitant mortification. During the last years of his venerable life, he seemed to stand alone ; or made his communications to no one but Lord Camden, whom He faithful found among the faithless, Faithful only he. The grave is now closed upon that illustri- ous statesman, and his splendid orb is set for ever. There was that in his character which gave him a very distinguised superiority over the rest of mankind. He was the greatest war-minister this kingdom ever knew ; and the four years of his administration form the most brilliant period that the British annals, or perhaps those of the world, can produce. They who aim at the diminution of his glory, and that of his country, by attributing the rapid change of national affairs, under his ad- ministration, to chance and the fortunate cir- cumstances of the moment, must be slaves to the most rooted prejudice, the foulest envy. K K 266 or the darkest ignorance. To the more bril- liant part of his life, let me add, that he was a minister who detested the arts of corruption, set his face against all court as well as cabinet intrigues, and quitted his important station with unpolluted hands. It is a great national misfortune that the mantle of this political pa- triarch has not been caught by any of his suc- cessors. We are not deficient in men of ge- nius, and both houses of parliament give daily examples of eloquence which Rome and Athens never excelled ; nevertheless, there does not appear to be a man in the kingdom with that power of understanding, depth of knowledge, activity of mind, and strength of resolution, sufficient to direct our harrassed empire. There are many among us, who are capable of being second in command, and fill- ing all the subaltern departments with ade- quate ability ; but the State, as well as the army, wants a commander in chief. The truncheon is become little more than an use- less trophy, as an hand fit to grasp it is no longer to be found. In bearing my poor testimony to the manes of Lord Chatham, I have yielded to the im- pulse of my very soul. In this imperfect act of veneration I can have no interest, for the 267 object of it is gone where the applause of this world cannot reach him ; and, as I ventured to differ from him when alive, and delivered the reasons of my difference to his face, what motive can there be for me to flatter him now he is no more ? To oppose the sentiments of that venerable statesman, was an undertaking which shook my very frame. My utmost re- solution, strengthened by a sense of duty, and the laudable ambition of supporting what I conceived to be right, against the proudest names, could not sustain me. You, I believe, were present when I sunk down and became silent beneath the imposing superiority of his abilities ; but I did not feel it a defeat to b^ vanquished by him : nee (am Turpe fuit viuci, quatn coulendisse decorum esf. LETTER LFIIL YOUR letter arrived, most opportunely, to awaken me from the slumbering ennui of a toilette. I was actually in the power of my valet de chambre, when it came to delight, as well as instruct me ; and I have proposed a truce with powder, pomatum, and papillotes, to encourage a thought which instantaneously arose from my situation, and may, in its pro- gress, produce a suitable answer to your phi- losophick epistle. That very important and unexpected events arise from the most trivial causes, is to be dis- covered in every page of history, as well as in every line of the passing volume of life. Cir- cumstances, to all appearance, the most incon- sequential and insignificant, have not only dip- ped thousands of pens in the bitter ink of con- troversy, produced infinite envy, heart-burn- ing, and calumny, but have also turned the plough-share and the pruning-hook into weap- ons of bloodshed and destruction. 269 Turning away, with alarm, from the sub- ject at large, which would be little less than the history of the world, permit me to call your attention to the virulent animosities which have been created, among a large and power- ful part of mankind, in different ages, by the modes of dressing the hair, wearing beards, and weaving periwigs. It is a dressing-room subject, and, being arrayed in all the satin- dignity of a robe de chambre, I feel myself in- spired to pursue it. It is not with any view to instruct you, that I mention the great veneration which in for- mer times has been paid to the hair, but to give somewhat of order and arrangement to the weighty matter under my immediate con- sideration. That the tresses of pious virgins were thought an acceptable offering to their tutelary goddess, is well known by every classsical student ; nor is it less an object of common literary knowledge, that among the Greeks and Romans, the first fruits of the hu- man temples, as well as of the chin, were claimed, with great ceremony, by the altars of Bacchus, Neptune, and other presiding divinities. In later times, but in the early part of our sera, (you perceive I write as a Christian,) an oath was supposed to demand 270 instant conviction, when a man swore by his hair ; and the act of salutation was never so graceful or acceptable, as when it was accom- panied by the plucking an hair from the head, and presenting it to the person who was the object of respectful attention. The offering the hair to be cut, was an acknowledgement of sovereignty, and an acceptance of the of- fer was considered as an assurance of adop- tion. The cerf, or bondsman, was distin* guished by the shortness of his hair ; and the insolvent debtor, on the resigning himself to the future service of his creditor, presented the potent scissars, whose instant sharpness was applied to his flowing locks, the marks of that freedom he no longer possessed. Long hair being at this period the distin- guishing proof of a gentleman, and, of course, an object of great care and attention, became a subject for pulpit- sarcasm ; and religious oratory did not fail to make the churches echo with the crime of toi/efte-assiduity. At length, however, some of the younger clergy, sigh- ing after the appearance of fashionable life, ventured upon the reigning mode, and gave a new ton to clerical Coeffure, which was soon adopted by a long train of their complying brethren. This schism in dress caused the 271 ecclesiasticks to turn the tide of invective from the lay-world to each other, and produced a division in the church, which drew forth, through no small period, the retaliating me- naces of damnation from the long-haired and short-haired clergy. Saint Paul, it seems, who by the perversions of his successors, has been the innocent cause of much uneasiness in the world, was held forth as having, by apostolick authority, forbidden his own sex to suffer their hair to fall below the shoulder, and granted the luxuriant tresses to flow only as a covering for female charms. There seems to be some taste as well as wontonness in the regulation ; but, as I do not possess, among my many hereditary talents, the quali- fication to become a commentator on the sa- cred writings, or the champion of an injured apostle, I shall take leave of the subject, and proceed to another stumbling-block of offence, and angry source of controversy," which the human chin has so amply afforded. The respect which has been shown to the beard, in all parts of the civilized, and in some parts of the uncivilized world, is well known to the slightest erudition ; nay, a cer- tain prejudice in its favour still exists, even in the countries where the razor has long been 272 omnipotent. This impression seems to arise very naturally from the habit of associating with it those ideas of Experience and wisdom, of which it is the emblem. It cannot wait upon the follies of youth; its bushy and de- scending honours are not known to grace the countenance of early life : and though it may be said, in some degree, to grow with our growth, and strengthen with our strength, it continues to flourish in our decline, and at- tains its most honourable form and beauty, when the knees tremble, the voice grows shrill, and the pate is bare. When the bold and almost blasphemous pencil of the enthusiastick painter has aimed at representing the Creator of the world upon the canvass, a flowing beard has ever been one of the characteristick and essential marks of the Supreme Divinity. The pagan Jupiter and the graver inhabitants of Olympus would not be known without this majestick ornament. Philosophy, till our smock-faced days, has considered it as the appropriate symbol of its profession. Judaick superstition, Egyptian wisdom, Attick elegance, and Roman virtue, have been its fond protectors. To make it an object of dissention, and alternately to con- sider it as a sign of orthodoxy or the standard 273 of heresy, was reserved for the fantastical zeal of the Christian church. In more modern times, not only provincial and national, but general councils have been convened, synods have been summoned, ec- clesiastical congregations and cloistered chap- ters of every denomination have been assem- bled, to consider, at different periods, the character of this venerable growth of the hu- man visage. Infinite disputes have been, of course, engendered, sometimes with respect to its form, at other times in regard to its ex- istence. Religion interested itself, in one age, in contending for that pointed form to which nature conducts it : at a succeeding period, anathemas have been denounced against those who refused to give it a rounder shape ; and to these, other denunciations have followed, which changed it to the square or scollop. But, while religious caprice, (for religion, sor- ry am I to say it, seems to be troubled with; caprices,) quarelled about form and shape, the disputes were confined within the pale of the western church ; but, when the beard lessen- ed into whiskers, and the scythe of ecclesias- tical discipline threatened to mow down every hair from off the face, the east sounded the alarm, and the churches of Asia and Africa L L 274 took up the cause, and supported, with all the violence of argument and remonstrance, those honours of the chin that they still pre- serve, and to which the existing inhabitants of those climates offer up a perpetual incense. In the history of the Gallick church, (for, by some unaccountable accident, I have some- times stumbled upon a page of ecclesiastical story,) the scenes of religious comedy still live in description. For example a bearded bishop appears at the door of a cathedral in all the pomp of prelacy, and demands installa- tion to the diocese to which he is appointed. He is there met by a troop of beardless ca- nons, and refused admittance, unless he will employ the golden scissars they present to him, to cut that flowing ornament from his face, which they would think disgrace to their own, as well as to the religion they pro- iess. This same history, also, is not barren of examples, where the sturdy prelate has turned indignant from the disgraceful propo- sal, and sought the enforcing aid of sovereign power, which has not always been able, with- out much difficulty, to compel the reluctant chapter to acknowledge a bearded diocesan. Others, unwilling to risk or delay the power and wealth of an episcopal throne for the sake 275 of a cumbrous bush of hair, have, by the ready sacrifice of their beards, been installed amid acclamations and hosannas, as disgrace- ful as they were undeserved. It may appear still more ridiculous, but it is no less true, that some of these bishops have compounded the matter with their refractory clergy, in giving up the greater part of the beard, but retaining the growth of the upper lip in the form of whiskers. The idea of a bishop en moustaches must trouble the spirit of a modern Christian ; but such there have been, who, in the act of sacrificing to the God of Peace, have exhibit- ed the fierce, terrifick aspect of a German pio- neer. At length, the persecuted beard, which has been the object of such faithful veneration, finds in our quarter of the globe, if we ex- cept the corner of European Turkey, its only asylum in the capuchin cloister ; unless we add the casual protection which is given to it by the fanatical Jew, or mendicant hermit. The wig, peruke, o\- periwig, with the cler- ical tonsure, have been the cause of as much ecclesiastical contention, as the Arian.and Athanasian schisms. The last century expe- rienced all its fury, which would not have given way to less important events, than the 276 edict of Nantz, and the questions of nius. The former turned bigotry to a more engaging object, and lost common-sense in astonishment ; while the latter opened a new vent in the combustions volcano of religious discord. The first wig which is mentioned in history was the hairy skin of a goat, which the daugh- ter of Saul is related to have employed to save the life of her husband. In a succeed- ing age, Zenophon makes mention of the peri- wig of Astyages, the grandfather of Cyrus ; and describes the astonishment which seized the royal boy, on beholding his ancestor so majestically covered. Suidas and Tacitus both bear testimony, that Hannibal of Carthage wore a peruke, and that his wardrobe was furnished with a very large assortment of wigs of all kinds, fashions, and colours, not only for the purpose of magnificence, but also from the policy which frequently obliged him to change his appearance. The Romans, and in particular the fash- ionable ladies of Rome, had great recourse to false hair. That of a white colour was the ton in Ovid's days ; and it was imported from Germany where it was common. JNunc tili cafltivoi mittet Gtrmania crinci j Culta triumphal^ munire gent is erh. 277 This courtly, gallant poet is very severe up- on the custom ; Martial has made it the sub- ject of several epigrams ; and Juvenal charges Messalina with wearing the adscititious orna- ment of her head to obtain concealment in the pursuit of her debaucheries. The ladies of the present day may, therefore, shelter them- selves behind the greater extravagance of the female Romans. The latter imported their borrowed locks from a foreign country, while the former are contented with the spoils of Death in their own, and do not shudder at mingling, with their own tresses, such as are furnished by the fatal hand of disease in hos- pitals and infirmaries. Louis the thirteenth of France, having lost his hair, was obliged to ask, or, as he was king, I should rather say, command, the com- fortable aid of a periwig ; and the necessity of the sovereign cut off all the hair of his fashion- able subjects. Louis the fourteenth annexed great dignity to his peruke, which he increas- ed to an enormous size, and made a lion's mane the object of its similitude. That mon- arch, who daily studied the part of a king, was never seen with his head uncovered but by the barber who shaved him. It was not his prac- tice to exchange his wig for a night- cap, till he 273 was enclosed by his curtains, when a page received the former from his hand, and deliv- ered it to him in the morning before he un- drew them. The figure of the great Bourbon must, at times, have been truly ridiculous. But of ridiculous figures had I lived in the reign of good Queen Anne, my thread-pa- per form and baby-face must have been adorn- ed with a full-bottom periwig, as large as that which bedecks the head and shoulders of Mr. Justice Blackstone, when he scowls at the un- happy culprit who is arraigned before him. 1 It is, I believe, very generally known, that there is no small number of the Clergy who love a little of the ton, as well as the ungodly lay-men : the question, therefore, of wearing wigs, with the form of ecclesiastical tonsure, became a matter of bitter controversy ; and the first petit-maitre of a clergyman, who was bold enough to appear in a wig, was called le patri- arch? des Ecclesiastiques emperruq.ues. At this time was published the famous book in favour of peri-wigs, with the admirable title of Absa- lorn, whose melancholy fate was caused by his hair ; and I remember, in the humourous ex- hibition of sign-painters, with which I think Bonncl Thornton amused the town some years ago, that he adopted this idea, in a represent- 279 ation of the Jewish prince suspended in mid- air, as related in holy writ, which was entitled A Sign for Peruke-makers. Tom JVarton, of Oxford, wrote a little Latin jeu (V esprit on the subject of wigs, with their applications and ef- fects, of which it concerns me to remember no more than that it possessed his usual Latinity and classical humour. Hogarth also em- ployed his pencil to ridicule the fall-bottoms, especially the Aldermanick ones of the last cor- onation, with his accustomed success. But of the histories that relate to this subject, the most extraordinary, and which will be hardly credited by posterity, is the petition delivered by 'the peruke-makers of London to his pres- ent majesty, praying him, for the benefit of their trade, to resume the wig he had been pleased to lay aside : and (what adds to the ridicule, as well as the impudence of the mea- sure) I have been informed, by a spectator of their procession, that a considerable number of them actually wore their hair, though they openly avowed the sacrilegious wish to pluck that ornament from the pate of sovereignty. In the Augustan age of the Roman empire, the wit and the satirist have employed their different weapons against the prevailing atten- tions to the decorations of the hair ; and Sen- 280 eca, in one of his epistles, writes with solemn indignation, against the Roman toilettes, which he describes in the precise form and process of our own. Some of the fathers were equal- ly severe against the female coquettes of their time ; as their denunciations seem to be more particularly levelled at the fairer part of the creation. One of them, in particular, declares, that they who employ their hours in arranging their hair, instead of performing the duty of Christians, sacrifice to Cotys, who is the goddess of Impurity, and to Priapus, who is the god of it. If this be true, what a more than pagan age is renewed among us ! But, to conclude my unsuspected learning on this subject, I must add the curious re- proach of Ttrtitllian against the high head- dresses, as well as the practice of dying the hair, so prevalent in his day. He concludes his. earnest address, on this subject, to the la- dies, by impressing on their attention the sa- cred text, that we cannot make an hair white or black, or cause the least addition to our stat- ure ; and reproaches them on employing the above-mentioned arts of the toilette to effect both these purposes, and thereby giving an express lie to the divine declaration of the gos- pel. 231 Petit- Maitrdsm (excuse a new-fangled word) lias existed at all periods, in all countries, and in every situation. Private peace has been disturbed by it ; and the spirit of Christianity has been lost in its contentions. It found its way into the cloister ; it has accompanied the hermit in his cell ; and the Hottentot does not escape its influence : nay, 'the patriot Roman and the hardy Goth have condescended to be- come coxcombs. Theodorick, a well known Gothick prince, is related to have had an of- ficer, who, when the barber had finished his beard, was employed to pluck every remain- ing hair from his face which might interrupt its smoothness. Ctssar used to say, that his soldiers fought better when they were perfum- ed ; and, according to Plutarch, Surena, gen- eral of the Parthians, and the bravest man of the nation, painted his face. The French do not suffer the most refined effeminacy of their toilettes to extinguish their gallant spirit, and, at the command of their sovereign, they rush from all the silken softness of luxury, to the hardships of camps, and the dangers of battle. Whether you will be of opinion with me, that man is a Petit-Maitre by nature, or, to express myself more philosophically, a cox- comical animal, I cannot tell ; but I have, in 282 the course of these reflections, wrought myself so fully into the belief of it, that, under the future operations of my friseur, I shall look in the glass before me with the complacent patience of a man, conscious that he is acting under the common impulse which governs all mankind. Adieu ! 283 MEMOIR CONCERNING THE LAT1 LORD LYTTLETON, OF all the men who have been distinguished by any thing great, worthy, or remarkable, or who have left any thing behind them which will transmit their names to posterity, no one, per- haps, is so little known, or has left us so few memorials of his life, as the subject of this brief memoir. Neither has there lived, in modern times, any other man of eminence, concerning whom such a circumstance would be so little regretted. None but the historian who is uselessly and frivolously inquisitive, or the author who should be constrained to publish his biography, would regret it all. But the means of developing the mysteries, which hang over his history, and the materials for writing his life cannot be found on this side the Atlantick : and, that it has not already been written in that country, where alone it could be faithfully done, is evidence that it cannot yet be done, without either disagreeably affecting some rela- tives or friends,* imposing upon the reader, or injuring the publick. For it would seem, that such a life as he led would afford but few incidents calculated to excite general interest, excepting what he has himself related in his Letters ; and we are confident that any thing like a biography of so young and so profligate a Lord ought not to be laid before the publick. His character is best drawn by himself, and will be sufficiently known and understood by those who read his Letters and his Speeches in parliament. But, as all persons have a kind * On publishing his Letters, the names of the persons to whom they were addressed were omitted by particular request, as ;-.pj><>ars by the Introduction. Scoie Lciurs, also, which alluded to certain trausai:t:oii of his life, wue wholly oioitUd. 284 of literary curiosity to learn something concerning the origin, the situation, the family and connexions, and the publick career of any one, whose deeds or whose writings have extorted admiration or yielded entertainment and instruction this short sketch of young Lyttleton'b life shall embrace some of these objects. The late Thomas, Lord Lyttleton, was the only son of the wor* thy and illustrious George, Lord Lyttleton, who descended from one of the ancient and most respectable families in England. His ancestors had possessions in Worcestershire, particularly a* South. Littleton (from which place some antiquaries derive the name,) as long ago as in the reign of Henry III. The learned Mr. Seiden had in his possession two grants of land, to wh'ch one John de Lyttleton was witness in 1160. The great Judge Lyttleton, in the reign of Henry IV, was one of this family and from him dc'ccm'ed Sir Thomas Lyttleton, father of George, Lord Lyttleton, and grand- father of Lord Lyttleton, the Younger. George, Lord Lyttleton, (for distinction's sa\e sometimes denorru, inated the Elder,) was born in 1708, educated at Eton, and remov- ed to Christ's Church, Oxford; after which he made the tour of Europe, obtained a seat in parliament, distinguished himself as a speaker in the opposition, was appointed secretary to the Prince of Wales, and on the death of his father (i;6r) succeeded to the title of Baronet. In 1744 he was appointed one of the lords commis- sioners of the treasury in 1754 he was made cofferer to his majesty's household and privy-counsellor and in 1757 he was created a peer of Great-Britain. He rendered his name celebrated, as an author, by his Persian Letters, the Conversion and Apostleship of St. Paul, Dia- logues of the Dead, the History of Henry the Second, and by several other ingenious performances, among which are seme fine and c'clic;;te specimens of poetry. He was connected, on the side of his mother, with the family of the late Lord Cobham. In 174! he married Lucy, daughter of Hugh Fortescue, Esq. of Filleigh, in the county of Devon, a most amiable lady,* the sister of Lord Fortescue. B? her he had one son (the subject of this memoir) and two daughters- one of whom married Lord Viscount Valentia, and the other the Earl of Angitsey. * Her husband has drawn her excellent character, in his Mw.h on her . which happened in the br^inmi g of 17tn \'id- Poctica! Ln to iv and in his h-.-crip'.ion on her Mouumeut Vide hi* tile io Aiucr. LacKco .Urcb, &c. &c. 285 This only son, Thomas, was born in 1744, or the latter part o 1743, and was educated at Eton. Where his education was finish- ed for that he received a liberal and finished one, his speeches and letters, as well as other records, evince we do not know; but from his letters it appears, that he was sent on the tour of Europe '* to complete the sensible plan," as he terms it, which was to be followed by his marriage. As he does not think proper to disclore " what happened during his travels," except by hinting at it incidentally, it is presumed to have been in no wise creditable to himself or family. And yet it seems that only because he had gotten into parliament and made a bold and flowery speech, bis offended family (which had, we believe, but lately discarded him,) received him ** with a degree of warmth, delight, and triumph, which the brightest virtue could alone have deserved." Such was the miserable management the fond father and family applied to an only and darling son of the most extraordinary promise. But on this subject we refer the reader to the gth and nth Letters in this volume : there parents will find a. most solemn premonition. That such promising talents should partially blind the eyes of af- fection is less to be wondered at, than regretted; but that the wise, the pious, the polished Lyttleton, should suffer so hopeful a candi- date for his titles and character, through profligacy, to disappoint the political, and to disgust the moral world, can never be sufficient- ly deplored. The brilliancy of his wit, the sprightliness of his fancy, the native force of his intellect, the strength of his memory, the extent of his knowledge, and the facility with which he wrote and conversed in the most elegant language, very naturally excited high expectations among his numerous acquaintance and friends as the following EPISTLE, from the Hon. Constantine John Pbli>ps % JTjtf, addressed to him, while in his juvenile years, will attest. Sprung, Lyttleton, from noble British blood, Mv friendship's honour, and life's greatest good 3 Th'n courts the ra'ible with obsequious nod, Or, the mob's idol, deems himself a ^od : lhat of th* unruly courser seeks a name, And rsks his neck, to nain a jockev's lanio : Aao her tills with joy his father's land, Or prunes the curling vine with >ki!ful hand : Some love '.he tented field, the drum, the file, The din of aims, the battle's bloody stii'e : Me, other can-s, in other climes engage, To seek experience irem the battle's ui.'^e; Where fleets moot fleets in deepest conflict joined, Where Biimkk Unjuders aiock llic iiapuiliu;; wind. 286 But, lirn in t^rtatfr character 1o tFiintf And add neiu imlrc to a noble line, Be thine the yrcater part in deejt d'.bate t With steady counsels to uphold the state. So thy great sire, skilled in each pubhtk art, By virtue rules, bv preiept guides the h;art. If his commands submissive you receive, Immortal and unblamed your name shall live. U ' may hu labour jjaiu an hu|>p\ end, Make thee a patriot i><.iod, and constant f r ' er >d! May heav'u show'r down its choicest blessings still> A Calo's virtur, and a Tullv's (kill Mav'st thou tiie first ol Britain's Senate shine, And be thy lather's name surpassed by thine ! How lamentable, that " Manhood did not keep the promise of Youth" ! Yet in manhood, with all his dissipation and mispending of time, he rose far above mediocrity, both as a politician and a writer. And, however incorrect he might be in his opinion respect- ing the issue of the war with the American colonies, his political principles were just and well founded ; nor is it by any means im- probable, that, if the measures he advised had been pursued, the event would have been as he predicted. And besides a man's in- tentions can never be considered altogether censurable, nor his pre- dictions weak or erroneous, when he is obliged to make up his opinion (if he have any of his own) on men and things that are not under his observation, and are known only by second-hand informa- tion or conjecture. But where the objects of his remarks and pre- dictions lay before him, he was correct, even to prophecy witness his observations on the character and abilities of Mr. Wyndham. As a man and an author his judgment was sound and penetrating ; his knowledge of the manners, character, and principles of men exten- sive ; and his distinctions nicely drawn and plainly defined. His wit sparkles without dazzling, his sentiments enliven without inflaming, his knowledge instructs without dictating, his independence of spirit elevates without over-awing, and his suavity interests without flat- tering. As an orator (a title he was thought to have deservedly ac- quired in both houses .of parliament,) he was, except perhaps in some few instances, bold, graceful, and commanding, rather than serviceable and efficient. As a statesman his powers were rather to be dreaded in the opposition, than valued on the side of the ministry. His oratory was luminous, rhetorical, and pure some specimens of which will be found in "Chapman's SELECT SPEECHES, Forensick and Parliamentary," now in the press at Philadelphia, 287 In reviewing a speech of Mr. Burke's, in favour of conciliation with America, March 21, 1775* the London Reviewers took up one of Lord Lyttleton's also, delivered May 17, 1775, against the repeal of the Canada bill, and gave the latter the preference. They observe that Lord L's is as ' spirited, pointed, and concise, as Mr. B.'s is studied, elaborate, and diffuse;" and add, that "Lord L. disunguished him- self in a manner by no means unworthy his promising abilities." But we will quote a few passages After remarking that his exordium, different from Mr. Burke'f, was pertinent, and without affectation, the Reviewers select the following from his speech : " At the conclusion of this long and laborious session of parlia- ment, when the unhappy divisions subsisting between England and America seemed, by the joint wisdom of both house?, to converge towards conciliation, I am greatly surprised that the noble and learned Lord* should come forth again to scatter abroad the seeds of dissention, and, not content with that resistance to the legislature, and to the law of England, which prevails over all British America, should now endeavour to involve the Canadians in the common re- volt ; establishing as a leading principle, by which your Lordships may be induced 10 repeal this bill, that those for whose emolument J t was made are the most dissatisfied with it that they groan under the pressure, and consider it as a most intolerable grievance PAINT- ING their dislike to it with the strongest colours of rhetorick, and, by these groundless insinuations, wishing to deprive them of all those beneficial advantages they most gratefully acknowledge to have re- ceived by the equitable system of jurisprudence obtained from the parliament of England. " My Lords, however bright may be the eloquence, and however dark the purpose, of that noble and learned Lord, I trust he will fail in his attempt ; and though strong was the arm that directed this shaft against the vitals of the constitution, though the point was ea- venomed, and, though it was aimed at a mortal part, I trust, my Lords, it will fall blunted to the ground, without endangering tlie p:ifety of the commonwealth, or affecting the true interests of the kingdom." Having stated, that Lord C. had declared this bill to be repugnant t> the constitution &c. he eays he will remind his Lordship, that * i-orci CaimJeD. 233 this bill was not framed for England, but for a Conquered province, and agreeable to stipulations made and ratified between the country which conquered and the one which has lost said province : he adds, And then, my Lords, I will go a step further ; I will meet the no- bie Lord on his own ground ; and I will uphold to his Lordship, that the general principles and policy of this Canada bill were founded in wisdom that the principles of it, which his Lordship affirms to be repugnant to Christianity, emanated from the gospel, and are co- eval with the religion of our Saviour ; that they breathe forth the spirit of their divine master ; for they are neither principles of popeiy nor feivitude they are principles, my Lords, of toleration, unrestrained by prejudice, and unfettered by absurd and odious re- strictions. The inhabitants of Canada were catholicks before they were conquered by England ; they are catholicks now, but under the jurisdiction of a protestant parliament, and under the cogni- sance of protestant bishops, who form a part of that parliament, and who, I believe, were unanimous in allowing them the free exer- ci:-.e of their religion," Having produced some arguments in favour of his opinions, &c. he turns the battery of his rhetorick against Lord C. charges him. with conduct less becoming himself than a factious burgher of Ge- neva, and proceeds : ** But we have seen enough of republican government enough of that levelling principle, which pulls down every thing, and sets up nothing of that furious, ungovernable spirit, which rises against all order and subordination ; which militates against ail power which it cannot invade, and would destroy all government which it dots not possess. My Lords, the constitution of England abhors all despo- tism : it equally abhors the despotism of one man, and the tyranny of the uncounted multitude! The medium between both is what it delights in : It delights in freedom, guarded and governed by law under the controul and protection of the three powers of the state, king, lords, and commons, in parliament assembled. But this hap- py and most envied state, with which God has blessed us, does not flatter the ambitious purposes of the noble and learned Lord : he has therefore employed all his talents, and all his learning, to conjure xip a noxious spirit, both in England and America; a spirit which assumes the fair form of liberty, that it may more surely destroy le- gal and constitutional freedom." To this spirit his Lordship attributes the rise of the discontents in America, and censures those who excited it as highly culpable, 289 rather than the Americans. This spirit, he says, has roused the colonists to opposition, by telling them " their lives and properties, their all was at stake that the affair of the ship-money, in the time of Charles I. was a trifle light as air to the afflictive despotism, under the lash of which they groaned," &c. &c. He adds "This was the language held forth within THESE walls, and from THESE walls re-echoed to America. It was HERE, my Lords, HERE that these opinions were broached : and can you wonder at the ef- fect they have produced ? Can you wonder that, urged on by men of such exceeding weight, the colonists should have taken the alarm ; or that it should have spread, like a pestiferous disease, from the mountains of New- York down to the Gulph of Mex ; co ? To WHOM then are you to ascribe the?e disorders ? At WHOSE door then are these calamities to be laid, which have shaken the peace of the kingdom ? To the misled, to the infatuated Americans: 1 or to the perfidious counsellors, whose atrocious policy has involved them and us in common destruction ? Is it credible, my Lords, that so long as the great interpreters of .the law in this house, men of supe- riour talents, and deeply versed in the science of the constitution, proclaim aloud that their fellow-subjects on the other side of the Atlantick are cramped and fettered in slavery is it credible that they should submit to any government, or ever think themselves in a state of freedom ?" He was active in parliament till his death ; and the subjoined re- marks respecting that event advert to his speeches delivered the last day of his life this we have no reason to doubt, as we find in the journals of the House of Lords, that two days before his death, he, together with the Marquis of Rockingham, Lord Coventry, and others, opposed Lord Chesterfield's motion for an address of thanks. Of his Lordship's peculiar habits, temper, and disposition, we have but little other knowledge than what is to be derived from his Letters and the writings of those acquainted with him. We believe he sometimes amused himself, like his father, in writing poetry mostly gallant and complimentary, we presume : and in the London Critical Review, for 1780, we find some notice taken of " Poems, by aywng Ncbleman" which are attributed to his Lordship. Judging, however, from the specimens there quoted, we should not think very favourably of them, nor believe them to be his. In her Me- moirs, Mrs. Robinson, after observing that his Lordship ore dny presented her the works of Miss Aikin (since Mrs. Barbauld,) -says, N N 290 K Lord Lyttleton had some taste for poetical compositions and wrote vtrses with considerable facility " Mrs. Robinson, who had sufficient opportunity to know some- thing of Lyttleton's conduct and standing in the world, makes t>e- veral severe but contradictory observations on his Lordship. JrL and Captain Ayscough were, at the same time, presented to her b) Lord Northington ; and Lord Lyttleton afterwards introduced to her, among other friends, some theatrical characters, Sir Francis Moli- neux, Alderman Sayer, and the unfortunate George Robert Fitz- gerald. Of all these, she says, Lord Lyttleton was most decidedly her abhorrence that he led her husband from the paths of domes- tick confidence to houses of profligate debasement that he was uniformly her aversion his manners were overbearingly insolent, his language licentious, his person slovenly to a degree that was dis- gusting, &c. This does not well accord with a preceding remark, that he " w, as the most accomplished libertine that any age or coun- try has produced" that "he was an adept in the artifices of fash- ionable intrigue" and, afterwards, that his " society had marked Mr. Robinson as a man of universal gallantry. We may, therefore, con- clude that she overstrained the d.scription of his manners, dress, &c. through resentment at his continued raillery towards her, as he used frequently to call her the pretty cbiTd ; whereas Mr. Fitzgerald was very attentive to women, took great concern in her v\tlfare, and became her ardent admirer ! No doubt, she preferred Mr. F. and hated, perhaps misrepresented, Lord L. Mrs. R. also mentions " his shameless conduct to an amiable wife from whom he was separated :" but when he was married we do not know ; neither to whom, txecpt that he himself calls her Mrs. P . in his 34th letter. Mrs. R also chaige> him with "cruel neglect of a lady by the name of Dawson, who had long been attached to him.' r This is doubtless the "amiable and handsome lady,' 1 spoken of in letter nth, as being "cold as an anchorite." Many vague, and probably fictitious, stories have been spread abroad, to make his life and death appear wonderful and miraculous. The editor of the Lounger's Common-Place Book (London, 1796,) thinks that many of his excesses \\crc founded in that kind of bravado only, which revelling- and vanity produce ; and he is persuaded, that many reports about him oiiginated with one of his infamous asso- ciates. He says, also, it is reported of Lyttleton, that at 12 years of age, he declared with an oath, that he would not only be a libertine, 291 but a libertine destroyed that he had a front which no blush ever disconcerted (hut there ought to be one exception to thib assertion, according to letter 29th) that he believed in the earthly visitation of apparition^, ghosts, &c. that he would frequently ring his bell with violence at midnight, for his servants, who generally found him sitting up in a cold sweat, with every symptom of dismay and ter- r our and that he would oblige one or more of his servants to bit up with him for the night, on account of these visitation of a guilty conscience, or a disordered imagination, which was produced, or at least exaggerated, by intoxication and revelry. Such a man, in des- paii of a lost heaven and the honours of an approaching hell, may be baid to " meet the ghosts of Ins departed days, a numerous train, who frown like furLs." After all his Lordship's ill conduct, we cannot but think, that most of his misbehaviour is chargeable to the indulgence of his family, and (to use h s own word..) nut to <l obdurate and inflexible disposi- tions inherent in his character. ' We cannot discover in his whole career any rooted malice towards mankind, any propensity to rebell- ion, murder, publick or private frauds, or swindling but the very reverse. Nor do we discover any other motive in his propensity to licentiousness and profligacy, than the indulgence of inordinate appe- tite, or a desire to appear as wild and unrestrained in thought, word, and deed, as his young and prodigal companions. Inwardly, and with himself, he was no libertine, no advocate for deistical or immor- al principles, but deprecated such characters, paid secret homage to opposite qualities, and deeply lamented his want of them in practice. We refer the reader, among other letters, to the jd, jth, 7'.h, gth, ijth, 24th, 29th, 4ad, 47th, 49th, jist, & jjd. What a lesson to inculcate strict family-government, an attention to the choice of a young man's associates, and to teach the fallacy of leaving a child to himself because he has nothing real! wicked in his disposition ! All our remark? have been founded on the supposition of these Letters' being genuine which beems to have been a matter in dispute. The editors of the Critical Review, after speaking highly in favour of the Letters, suggested the possibility of their being the work of some other hand: and when the zd volume appeared, an advertisement is said to have been inserted in the newspapers by Lord Lyttleton's ex- ecutors, declaring them spurious ; the truth of which advertisement was never controverted by the publisher. The editor of the Loung- e"'j Common-Place BOOK, also, says, they are the production of Mr. jinbe, the ingenious author of the Diaboliad ; and that they are 292 exactly such as Lord L.. wouIJ have written. The editor of the Port Folio says, still " he is very incredulous" of all this. The Letters, eays he, " are certainly strong resemblances of his speeches and conversation." We owed it to candour to cite these passages, though we have no doubts respecting the authenticity of the Letters ; and although all this could never affect the excellence of the production, and on that account is of no importance at all, yet the whole business of the before-mentioned advertisement looks very much like a concerted plan between the publisher and the executors, after the fact, as the law would term it. Almost innumerable reasons might, nay we should say must, have operated among Lord L's remaining friends, acquaint- ance, and correspondents, to have them declared spurious, for a time, if not always since they tad gotten abroad, and most prob- ably without the consent or knowledge of many persons concerned or implicated. And there is in themselves evidence of their gen- uineness ; as Mr. Combe would hardly have been able to relate all the things, in them related, and with such exactness too, unless assisted by his Lordship, his papers, or some of his family all which is wholly improbable. Concerning the manner of his death, various stories have been told, and told no doubt without foundation. In the Lounger's Com. P. Book, it is stated, that he hastened his death by over-heating himself in running or walking for a wager and, that for several days before his er.d he declared that an invisible hand had drawn open his bed- curtains, and presented to his sight a fluttering dove. The first we think a mistake ; and as to the last, it is sufficient to know, that all the last days of his life and much of his evenings (even to a few Lsurs before Lis death) Were sptnt in parliament, or among his gay companions. From the Gentlemen's Magazine, for December, 1779* we, there- fore, extract the following, as the most rational, candid, and authcn- tick Accoutit, which has yet been published, concerning this event. "ANECDOTES AND REMARKS RISPECTING THE SUDDEN DEATH OF THE LATE LORD LYTTLETON. THE vtry extraordinary circumstances that preceded the disso- lution of the young, the gay, the dissipated Lord Lyttleton, when they first appeared in print, soon after his death, were generally con. sidered as the productions of some enthusiastick brain, ever ready to construe all striking iirpiessions on the rr.li.ds of men, who have 293 led a life of vice or fully, into extraordinary interpositions of Provi- dence to promote the teformation of the hardened sinner; and to alarm a volatile, unthinking, giddy race of people, who, following the tide of luxury and sensuality, are easily seduced into a denial of the existence of a superintending Providence, or, if not so far advan- ced on the road of infidelity, at least forget that there is a God. Considered in this point of view, it is no wonder, in an age like this, when philosophy, instead of being the handmaid to truth, is the pros- tituted mistress of atheism and impiety, that everv report con- cerning the previous warning, given to his lordship in a dream, of his approaching end, was received by the publick as an idle tale, and made the standing jest of all the polite assemblies in town. At length, however, the following anecdote, so well attested that not a shadow of doubt remains of its authenticity, has given birth to a variety of speculative opinions on the nature of that impression on his lordship's mind, which, from the time of his communicating his dream to within an hour of his death, certainly was too strong to be subdued either by the strength of a fine natural genius, the force of reason improved by a liberal education, 01 the surrounding pleasures which affluence and elevated rank can always command, when their aid is wanting to dispel the gloom of melancholy reflections. Having given the fact, as it now stands confirmed by the evidence of persons of character, we shall submit to our readers some free thoughts upon the subject, and shall esteem it as a favour if our cor- respondents will take up this interesting theme, and communicate their opinions, illustrated by any similar anecdotes withinthe compass of their own knowledge. On Thursday morning, the 25th of November last, his lordship mentioned at breakfast to Mrs. Flood (a widow lady who lived with him as companion to the Miss Amphletts, his nieces,) that he had pass- ed a very restless night ; that he thought he had heard a fluttering noise in the room ; and that immediately after he fancied he saw a beautiful lady, dressed in white, with a bird on her hand, who desir- ed he would settle his affairs, for that he had but a short time to live. On his enquiring how long, the vision answered, " Not three Jajs." His lordship mentioned this dream frequently, but with an affected air of careless indifference, which only showed that it had made a stronger impression on his mind, than he chose to acknowledge. On Saturday evening he pulled out his watch, observed that it was half past ten, and that he had still an hour and an half longer to live, 4d jocosely chucking under the chin one of the young ladies (hia 294 nieces) danced about the room, and asked her if she did not think he should get over it, and live beyond the time predicted for his death. Soon afterwards, however, he went to bed, complained of an unea- siness in his stomach, and while his servant was mixing a cup of rhu- barb and pepper mint-water, a medicine which he frequently took, ex- pired. It was remarkable, likewise, that his lordship endeavoured to account for his having dreamed of the bird, by saying that a few days before, being in his green-house, at Pitt place, with Mrs. D , he had taken some pains to catch a robin, which had been shut in, and which he had set at liberty. The methodists and the quakers look upon the dream in this case, together with its effect on his lordship's mind and the accomplishment of the prediction, as one of those singular manifestations of his power over men, which God is pleased to make from time to time, in order to strike conviction home to the hearts of infidels and voluptuaries. Proper subjects, say they, are likewise chosen for these supernatur- al exertions of Providence ; persons whose exalted station in life, uni- versal acquaintance, and known dissipation make the example more awful and alarming to a gay world. Sermons have been already preached to enforce this doctrine on the strength of this recent in- stance, and the celebrated female speaker, Mrs. K , is expected to deliver an excellent oration to the brethren and sisterhood in Grace- church-street, upon this subject, wherein she will take occasion to demonstrate the divine intercourse between the Supreme Being and the spirit of man, from which will be deduced the favourite doctrine of the operations of the spirit, the chief tenet of the quakers. Others, who are inclined to think seriously upon the subject, but at the same time cannot subscribe to the opinion that there is any thing miraculous in the circumstance of the dream, or of his lord- ship's subsequent death, account for the whole from physical causes. They maintain, that his lordship having been in a bad state of health for nine months past, and labouring under an inward complaint which weakened his nerves, it is no wonder that he was subject to restless nights and uneasy dreams. His gcncial complaint was a pain in his stomach, and his usual medicine, a dose of rhubarb in mint-water. His teal disorder was a polvpiu on the heart, described to be a quantity of coagulated blood, contained in a erst or bag, on the burbling of which, immediate death, the natural consequence, emitted. Let us now reason candidly upon all these circumstances: is it not weil known that frequent return of paius in the stomach biing on 295 great dejection of mind, or what is called low spirits ? It is natural to suppose, that the gayest man upon earth, in such a situation, will turn his thoughts upon the past disagreeable events of his life, and that if any crime, of which he is conscious, occurs to his recol- lection, it will serve only to increase the melancholy frame of his mi'.jd ; the generous design of making retribution, the impossi- bility of doing this, in some cases, reflections upon death, which break in upon every valetudinarian (whatever may be his religious opinion-,) all contribute to stir up the \var within. Thus distemper- ed in mind and body, accustomed to palliative relief, the voluptuary, upon the first interval of pain, repairs to the banquet, and indulges to excess.. Repletion causes a return of the disorder, perhaps in a lesser degree, permiting exhausted nature to seek for recruiting strength from that universal restorative, balmy sleep ; but this relief being interrupted by indigestion, perturbating dreams are the conse- quence dreadful struggles, between the active spirit, imagination, mind, or whatever you are pleased to call it, and the encumbered body, prevail more horrid to sensation than words can describe : few there are, young or old, who have not laboured under these horrours, vulgarly called the night-mare, afttr eating hearty suppers. What are the subjects that distract the man in these dreadful con- flicts ? Are they not familiar occurrences of his life ? The horseman is flung from his seat, dashed on the pavement, the blood gushes from every vein, the struggle to recover awakens the terrified drtam* cr: he doubts for a few minutes whether the scene was not real, and dreads to close his eyes again, lest the imaginary vision should return. Another is attacked by a favourite dog or cat, and seems to feel the teeth or talons of these furious animals. In short, not to dwell upon the variety of shapes which this midnight disorder as- sumes, let us only add, that the seducer of women will in his turn be visited by the imaginary appearance of the injured female : the agitated mind and the diseased body may work this up, in one of these nocturnal phrenzies, into confused combinations of occurren- ces. Mrs. D , representing the green-house occurrence, and the bird, the confined fluttering robin with these might be intermixed (for the person in these dreams often changes in the instant, some- times we fancy it one, and then another,) some other female form, unhappily ruined, which assails the dreamer, and intimates what is most likely to strike the seducer with terrour, at his speedy dissolu- tion. Awakened at this scene of terrour, the idta of some fixed time easily intrudes itself on the disturbed imagination, and leaves a last- 296 ing impression t just the same, and no more than that which hag urged a man to give a premium for a particular lottery-ticket which he has dreamed of so perfect as to remember the number, and that it was drawn a capital prize. The very evening after the dream, Lord Lyttleton in his weak state exerted himself in two speeches in the House of Lords, and returned home quite exhausted: what other fatiguing voluntary exertions he imposed upon himself the next day we know not ; but it is a fact, that he ate a very hearty supper on the Saturday evening, that the impression upon his mind of his approaching death still affected him, that in this situation the pain in his stomach returned, too violent to permit him to take his usual medicine, or to go off in a confused dream. The pressure of the burthened stomach bore too heavy on the polypus, and the discharge killed him almost instantaneously. We s>ee nothing supernatural in all this, and could we possibly ad- mit that the Supreme Being occasionally steps out of the line of the ordinary operations of his prov idence in the regular course of nature, we should suppose it would be to furnish more general examples of bis omnipotence and mercy, which must inevitably have an effect on whole bodies of people ; on the conduct of nations ; and produce general, not particular changes. Montezuma and his subjects, by such an interposition, would have avoided those horrid cruelties under which they slowly expired, when the Christian Spaniards conquered Mexico : or the innocent victims of a bloody inquisition would have been saved, while the pretended holy inquisitors had been destroyed by fire from heaven. But as we have no right to expect miracles of this nature, it is miserable super- stition to believe that they exist for less important purposes. Finally, let it be remembered that men of apparently vigorous con- stitutions and sound judgments have been killed by the force of ima- gination ; and in Lord Lyultton's case, if imagination had any force, disease of body co-operated at the same time to hasten his dissolu- tion." Lord Lyttltton, the Elder, died in July, 1773, on which event young Lyttleton succeeded him in his titles and estate. The death of the Younger Lyttleton happened, as mentioned above, Nov. oj, 1779, when he was about 15 years of age with him his titles became extinct. A more appropriate epitaph could not, perhaps, be inscribed on his tomb, than this by the editor of the Port Folio " IN CENITS AND VICE A PARAGON." SiUBRARYQ/r University of California Library Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Phone Renewals 310/825-9188 AC MAY 01 2001 ffl JIT 111 A 000 033 923 4 CO I irrl irrl