i V\ V ////{ Av/A/ e A /////A/ r>/ r/fo//o//V / // ////' ArrAA THE .RITISH NEPOS; CONSISTING OF SELECT LIVES and that we nei- ther wished to bewilder their judgment, burden their memory, nor tax their pocket, by the size of our volume. It would have been much easier to extend our plan than to confine it within such moderate limits ; * Cornelius Nepos' " Lives of distinguished Persons," a book constantly read in classical schools, as it first suggested the idea and title of this Volume, so it also served as a kind of model iu its exe- cution. - "* A 5 but X PREFACE. but to the numerous works on general biography, al- ready before the public, it would have been unneces- sary to add ; and an attempt to improve them would be vain. They have already passed the test of criti- cism, and are valued as they deserve, by the accom- plished scholar. Happy should we be to find, that parents and instructors of youth deem this manual deserving their patronage, and adapted to the use of tyros, for whom it is designed. The motives which prompted a publication on this plan, we are satisfied cannot be wrong : if we have failed to realize our ideas, it is only because it is easier to project than to execute — to know what is right than to be able to perform it. To the candour of the public we commit ourselves and our work, the first of its kind hitherto attempted in this country : we ask no praise but the praise of meaning well — we fear no censure but that wfikh must arise from a conscienciousness of volun- tary error or neglect. JDVERTRE* ADVERTISEMENT. TO PARENTS AND TUTORS. THOUGH the Editor of this Volume by no means pre- sumes to dictate generally to the learned instructors of Touth, yet he takes the liberty to suggest, from long expe- rience in the art of teaching) an important end to which the British Nepos may be applied. The memory and application of pupils are obvious, and easily ascertained ; but their real genius and capacity fre- quently escape observation for a considerable time, from a want of opportunity to exert them. _In order, therefore , to develope the latent faculties of judgment , reflection and imagination, and to impress the youthful mind with right principles of action, he would beg leave to recommend, that each LIFE be made the subject of an exercise, to be written by the scholars, and presented to their master, once a- week or ofiener. In this exercise the pupil should be required to point out the leading circumstances in fortune and char abler, and to deduce a few maxims or observations from the whole, for the regulation of his own conducl in future scenes of action, as well as to display his powers of ratiocination and taste. By this ?neans the Biography will be rendered a very useful leclur e-book ,- and, while it e?itertains the juvenile fancy with various pictures of If e and manners, it will insensibly tend to enlarge the understanding and improve the hearts a6 CONTENTS. Page ALFRED THE GREAT 17 FRIAR BACON 28 JOHN WICKLIFF 32 GEOFFERY CHAUCER 3() CARDINAL WOLSEY 44 SIR THOMAS MORE 52 CROMWELL, EARL OF ESSEX 60 BISHOP LATIMER Qj SEBASTIAN CA30T 76 BISHOP JEWELL 80 SIR THOMAS GRESHAM 87 THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON 96 SIR FRANCIS WALSINGHAM 103 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE 1 JO LORD BURLEIGH . . ..... 1 23 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE . . . . 134 SIR WALTER RALEIGH 144 LORD BACON 155 ANDREWS, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER ... 1 66 SIR EDWARD COKE 173 EARL OF STRAFFORD 185 JOHN HAMPDEN 1Q5 DR. WILLIAM HARVEY 204 ADMIRAL BLAKE 208 THE EARL OF CLARENDON. 219 CONTENTS. 13 Page JOHN MILTON 229 ANDREW MARVELL 240 ALGERNON SYDNEY 245 ARCHBISHOP TILLOTSON 252 JOHN LOCKE 262 CHIEF JUSTICE HOLT..~. 268 BISHOP BURNET f ljQ WILLIAM PENN 285 JOSEPH ADDISON 2()1 THE-DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH 2£?9 SIR ISAAC NEWTON 310 SIR ROBERT WALPOLE . . . . 320 THE EARL OF STAIR 327 SIR HANS SLOANE . . . 335 GENERAL WOLFE 341 LORD ANSON. . . .' 346 THE EARL OF HAKDWICKE 354 SIR JOHN BARNARD 358 LORD LYTTELTON . 364 LORD CLI VE 373 EARL OF CHATHAM 381 DAVID GARRICK 3Q2 CAPTAIN COOK 400 SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE . 408 DR. JOHNSON 414 BISHOP LOWTH 426 JOHN HOWARD. 432 Critical Critical Opinions which have been published res peeling Dr. Mavor* s Bri?ISU NEPOS^ and which cannot fail to satisfy all Parents and ^Tutors of the propriety of their introducing it to the use of their Children and Pupils. Extracl from the Monthly Revi ew, for June, 1799. « TN presenting this work to /the public, Dr. Mavor has not only- made a valuable and' much wanted addition to the school library, but has furnished a book which is well calculated for the parlour win- dow, and for the shelf in the room behind the shop of those tradesmen who devote to reading some of the hours which they can steal from bu- siness ; justly persuaded that money without knowledge is an acquisi- tion of little value. As we cannot be ignorant of the dullness and ap- parent sterility of the initiatory paths to science, we are pleased with every thing that tends to enliven juvenile study, and to excite an early love of reading. It may be objected to what is called a classical educa- tion that it leaves us ignorant of those characters and events which are most interesting to us; that it directs the ardour and curiosity of young readers from the theatre of their own country, and from the great and ' illustrious persons who have acted on it, to men who' have figured in remote climes and periods, and with whose history, though certainly it be worth knowing, we are not so intimately connected. Respect is due to science and virtue in all ages ; and let them be presented to the minds of youth so as to fire them with the noblest ambition : but let not our systems of instruction- be such that young men of genius shall contemplate with admiration the heroes of antiquity, while obscurity is suffered to rest on that part of the temple of Fame which contains the worthies of their own country. " To British History, Chronology, and Biography, the attention of the British youth ought to be awakened •, and while we wonder that more works have not been compiled with this intention, we would give to Dr. Mavor the praise and credit which are due to him for this agree- able biographical manual 5 and we would recommend it to the masters of all our respectable schools. It is pleasingly written : and the reflec- tions interspersed are calculated to inspire a love of pure and generous principles, and an hatred of all such as tend to degrade civilized man. " At the head of- each- article, Dr. Mavor has very judiciously set down the time when the person who is the subject of it was born, and when he died ; and if the death was a violent one, that circumstance is specified. " Embracing the most eventful and important periods of English story, this rich variety of biog aphical matter must prove acceptable to young readers, and to such as thirst for knowledge, which they are obliged to "-snatch? as Pope says, i( not take:' 1 The memoirs are in- troduced by judicious remarks from the pen of Dr. M.; some specimens of which we think it may be gratifying to our readers to subjoin." [Here the Reviewer extracts a variety of elegant passages, and proceeds.'] L " This Critical Opinions of Dr. Mavor's Nepos, M This BjtiTisn Nepos (the title and idea of which were suggested!, as we need not tell the classical reader, by a Latin book much read in Schools, entitled " The Lives of illustrious Personages, by Cornelius Nepos") is preceded by an advertisement, addressed to parents and tu- tors, in which Dr. Mavor, with a view of developing the latent facul- ties of judgment and reflexion, and of impressing the youthful mind with right principles of adlion, recommends that each life be made the subject of an exercise to be written by the scholars and presented to their master once in a week, or oftener. This hint is worth regarding. The example of the good and wise has always been considered as sin- gularly conducive to virtue j and this mode of studying biography must give it peculiar efficacy." Extraft from i1\c Critical Review, for April , 1799. c< The Biography of illustrious men deserves a more distinguished rank than it has hitherto occupied in the system of British education. — We- think Dr. Mayor's Nepos has many advantages to recommend it to extensive circulation. It is compendious, and includes those pro- minent characters of British excellence, with which it is chiefly desir- able for our youth to be acquainted. The style in which the lives are written may justly be commended." 'Extract from the Christian Spectator, No. IX. *' From the plan and execution of this work, I am warranted in giving it a strong recommendation, as being most admirably calculated to cherish the best and most tried principles in young minds. The persons whose memoirs this judicious biographer has selected for the improvement and entertainment of young persons, are those who have filled up the most important stations in society, with the greatest glory to themselves and advantage to the state The actions of these great men are told in a plain and pleasing manner; and, what is no small difficulty in a work adapted- for juvenile capacities, the incidental re- flections suggested by particular circumstances, or traits of character, are so naturally made, that the reader cannot, but feel the effect of the example with a force equal to the pleasure excited by the story." Extract frem the New London Review, for February y 1799. *' The patterns of excellence here placed before the eyes of young minds, are all distinguished by such talents and virtues as every parent would wish successfully cultivated by his offspring. The vices which here and there darken the picture, only render the lustre of the whole the more sufferable, and shade a brilliancy otherwise both offensive and inimitable. We know not, that from the ample circle of British bio- graphy a more animating and improving selection could be made. The experience and acquisitions of those who have distinguished themselves in almost every public and private walk of society, are thus held up, in minute traits, and bea'utifuliy coloured from nature, both for the entertainment and instruction of the rising generation- And no exhi- bition occurs to our recollection, where a greater variety of useful and interesting paintings from life, can be seen more readily, and at less expence $ Critical Opinions of Dr. Mavor's Nepos. expence ; or to which the young, of all descriptions, may repair, with a certainty of receiving both pleasure and profit." From the Young Gentleman's and Lady's, Magazine^ for February, 1799. c< The selection is extremely judicious, and the execution is corre- spondent. The principles throughout are entitled to our unqualified' praise; and we have no doubt the author wrote with a view to the in- culcation of thofe maxims, civil, moral, and religious, which have raised Great Britain to such an exalted height among the nations of the earth, and the observance of which alone can perpetuate her glory and her prosperity. Did our limits permit, we should have been happy t<> have given one of the lives as a specimen •, but we have little doubt the whole will be read with avidity, and supersede the necessity of our recom mendation ." From the Ladies' Annual Register, -page- ISO. by the same Author y price $s. bound) of the same size as the British Nepos y A NATURAL HISTORY, FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS: founded on the System of Linnaus, Buffon, Goldsmith) Pennant^ and Smellie, and decorated with Copper- plate representations of one hundred subjecJs, THE BRITISH NEPOS; CONSISTING OF SELECT LIVES OF ILLUSTRIOUS BRITONS> ALFRED THE GREAT. Born 849— Died about 900. IN whatever light we consider Alfred, whether as a legislator, a hero, or a king, we shall have reason to pronounce him one of the greatest and the best of men* We cannot, therefore, more properly commence this manual, which is intended as a mirror for youth, than by briefly recording his eventful life; — one of the earliest luminaries of this island, and the most brilliant example, perhaps, of talents, enterprise, patience, for- titude, and universal virtue, that the volume of history unfolds. This accomplished prince was the youngest son of Ethelwolf, and grandson of Egbert, under whom the kingdoms ©f the Saxon heptarchy seem to have beea firmly connected into one state. He was born at Wan- tage, in Berkshire, and gave early indications of those virtues and abilities which, in the sequel, were instru- mental in saving his country from utter subversion. His father, fitter for a monk than a king, and entertaining a profound veneration for the see of Rome, which in- creased with his years, carried this his favourite son to tho 18 ALFRED. the papal court, when very young ; and soon after their return, again sent the young prince thither, with a splen- did retinue; where, a report being spread of the death of Ethelwolf, Leo III. gave him the royal unction* though still a boy, and, as the youngest of five brothers, very rempte from any prospect of a throne. It is pro- bable, however, that the pregnant genius of Alfred gave his holiness presages of future greatness ; or perhaps by this ceremony the pope meant to assume the power for- which his successors afterwards contended, of conferring kingdoms at his pleasure. The novelty and grandeur of the scenes which Rome displayed to? the youthful hero, made an impression on his mind which was never after- wards effaced ; and he profited more by his own quick- ness of apprehension than by the partiality of the pope, who had destined him to be a king. After his second return from Rome, his father made him the idol of his fondest but misguided affection. He indulged him in every pleasure ; and so neglected his education, that when he was twelve years of age he was still ignorant of the lowest elements of literature. His mother, having a taste for Saxon poetry, encouraged her son, by rewards adapted to his juvenile years, to commit some verses to memory. The noble and elevated senti- ments with which nature had endowed him were now roused into action; and, not satisfied with reciting, he. speedily learned to read his native tongue, and after- wards to acquire a knowledge of Latin, which opening new sources of mental improvement to him, fanned the ingenuous ardour that lay smothered in his breast* Ethelwolf divided his property and his kingdoms among his sons with impartial affection. Alfred, being exempted from the cares of sovereignty, devoted much of his time to the pursuits of literature. He had, how- ever, frequent opportunities of displaying his courage. against ALFRED. IQ against the Danes; and his three elder brothers dying after short reigns, he was appointed first minister and general of the armies to Etheldred,who next assumed the reins of government. In a battle fought soon after, Etheldred was mortally wounded ; and Alfred, in the twenty-second year of his age, was called, to his un- speakable regret, from learned leisure, in which he took the most sincere delight, to the defence, not to the enjoy- ment, of a crown. The Danes were ravaging the country far and near, and scarcely had he time to bury his brother, before he was obliged to take the field with inferior numbers. The enemy, however, accepted terms of accomoda- tion, and stipulated to depart the kingdom; but no sooner were they at a distance from a power to which they had reluctantly yielded, than they renewed their devastation; and fresh swarms pouring in from the North, they penetrated into Dorset, the very centre of Alfred's dominions. Again they were obliged to come to a treaty of the same purport as that which they had lately violated; but with singular perfidy seized the first opportunity of falling on Alfred's army, and, hav- ing put it to the rout, obtained possession of Exeter. The spirit of the prince rose with the dangers he was called to encounter. He collected new forces, and press- ed the foe with such vigour, that, after fighting eight battles in one year, he reduced them to the utmost ex- tremity. Still, however, the love of peace was supe- rior to a passion for military glory in the heart of Al- fred ; he listened to new overtures for accomodation, and insisted only that they should retire from his borders* and suffer no further importations of their countrymen. However, during the very execution of this liberal treaty, news was brought that a fresh band of marauders, had landed^ and surprised Chippenham,, then a town of some: 20 , ALFRET5 some importance, and were carrying fire and sword through the heart of the kingdom. This last calamity reduced the English to despair. Each thought of his own preservation, the authority of the king was disregarded, and all his eloquence and his heroism could not inspire them with resolution to make another effort in defence of their liberties and homes. In this dilemma Alfred prudently laid aside the ensigns of royalty, dismissed his attendants, and in the meanest attire endeavoured to conceal himself from the fury of his foes. History relates that he sought an asylum for some time with one of his own cowherds, whose wife f ignorant of the condition of her guest, left him one day in charge of some cakes which were toasting ; but the* mind of Alfred being intent on higher objects, he neg- le<5ted his trust, and suffered them to burn ; on which the honest housewife rated him soundly, and ©bserved r as he had no objection to eat her warm cakes, he might have taken some care in toasting them- Alfred was too magnanimous to resent this taunt : it doubtless excited only a smile. The Danes becoming less ardent in their pursuit, he retired into the isle of A.thelney, in Somersetshire, a spot formed by the fnundations of the Thone and the Parret, where he established himself; and gradually collecting a few of his most faithful adherents, whom he inspired with hopes of seeing better days, supported them in this sequestered and almost inaccessible retreat by occasional excursions in the environs. After lying twelve months in this concealment, medi- tating projedts of delivering his country, he was in- formed that a party of his followers had routed a consi- derable army of the Danes, killed their chiefs, and taken the famous raven, or enchanted standard. This omen of success inspired, him with fresh resolu- tion ALFRED. 21 tion to take the field, and to discover himself to his sub- jects ; but prudently reflecting that caution should pre- cede enterprize, he disguised himself in the habit of a harper, and reconnoitered the enemy's camp in perfect security. His music and his facetious humours were so acceptable to the Danish prince, that he entertained him for some days, little suspecting the quality of his guest, or the hostile object of his visit. Finding the enemy sunk in supine security from their contempt of the English, he summoned his nobles to bring their followers into the field, and by his appear- ance reanimated their drooping courage, and inspired them with a desire of liberty or death. Immediately taking advantage of the popular impression, he led his army against the Danes, who panic-struck at this unex- pected attack, made but a feeble resistance ; and after great numbers of them were slain, the rest offered an unconditional submission, Alfred, no less generous than brave, formed a scheme for converting them from mortal enemies into faithful friends. He assigned them apart of the northern and eastern coasts, en condition that they would embrace Christianity, betake themselves to habits of industry, and form a rampart against any future incursions of their countrymen. This lenient and politic measure secured the peace of Alfred's reign for several years ; during which interval, he applied himself with patriotic zeal and diligence to perfect the civil and military institutions, to rebuild the ruined cities, particularly London, which had been cruelly sacked and destroyed, and to erect nu- merous castles and forts. At the same time availing himself of the insular situation of Britain, he first raised a navy ; which he instinctively foresaw would be the future bulwark of his realms. But, as ships are of little use without sailors, he pro* moted 22 ALFRED. moted navigation by every possible means to secure a supply; and in time trained a body of men, courageous and hardy, and prompt, whenever called, to defend their native coasts from hostile aggression. Thus to Alfred we are indebted, not only for many wise and salutary institutions and establishments, which still have a sensi- ble influence on our laws and government, but most par- ticularly for cherishing a mode of defence to which we owe our principal glory and security. But so rapid seems to havebeen the increase of Scan- dinavian population for some centuries, that colonies were sent out from those extensive regions in quick suc- cession, either to seek new settlements, or to enrich their native country with the plunder of more southern na- tions. Accustomed to warfare, restrained by no ties, human or divine, these barbarians carried devastation wherever they went, and proved the terror and the scourge of countries with which they could have no quarrel, or plausible cause for enmity. Even the fame and prowess of Alfred could not, for any continuance of time, guard his coasts from viola- tion. The Danes tried to excel him in the art of naval war, and made frequent descents, in some of which they did considerable damage. On one occasion, however, when they had sailed up the Thames, and built a fort which curbed London, and numbers of their ships had been drawn up^the Lea, he contrived to divert the course of that river, and to leave them dry ; which extraordi- nary enterprise obliged the enemy to make a precipitate retreat. Still they returned with new means of annoyance ; and when they found themselves unable to cope with Al- fred's fleets in open fight, they carried on a piratical kind of warfare, more galling than any regular attack. A considerable number, however, of these freebooters 7 having ALFRED, 23 having been captured, they were brought to trial at Winchester, and justly sentenced to be hanged up as the common enemies of mankind. This instance of well-timed severity, added to the formidable naval and military force which Alfred now commanded, purchased tranquillity for the remainder of his reign. During the three last years he was at full leisure to devote his time and his talents to arts the most glorious for a king to cultivates he softened the fero- cious manners of his subjects by the encouragement which he gave to literature: he taught them the value of industry, by securing the possession of property, and diffusing prosperity and happiness over aland to which they had long been strangers. While engaged in these truly great and meritorious pursuits and occupations, he was arrested by the hand of death, in the vigour of his age, and the full strength of all his faculties, after a splendid reign of twenty-nine years and upwards; during which he had fought an al- most unparelleled number of battles with general suc- cess, and had deservedly acquired the titles of Great, and Founder of the English monarchy. Contrasted with the brightest ornaments, either of an- cient or modern times, the character of Alfred will ap- pear to advantage. Whether regarded as a citizen, a monarch, a legislator, or a hero, he will appear highly estimable, and presents the finest model for imitation that even the power of fancy could delineate. In him the virtues were so well tempered, and so justly blended, that none exceeded its proper limits. He possessed the most^enterprising spirit with the.coolest prudence; the most steady perseverance with the mildest flexibility; the most rigid justice with the gentlest mercy. He knew how to reconcile the vigour of authority with the arts that conciliate love; and to give the sovereign command 24 ALFRED. command the air of a friendly request. With the high- est capacity, and the most ardent inclination for science, he united the most shining talents for action. His civil and military qualifications equally claim our admira- tion, and keep our judgment in suspense which ought the most to be the object of our applause. Nature too, as if anxious to produce a finished model of personal as well as intellectual excellence, had be- stowed on Alfred every attraction of form that can please the eye, or engage the heart. He was well made, active, and vigorous, dignified in his mien and air, with an open, engaging countenance, which never failed to attract regard. Eut the character of Alfred is too illustrious to be dis- missed without a more particular enumeration of its leading traits and brilliant energies; and to trace the origin of several of the most valuable privileges and wisest institutions in our country to this great man, will infallibly tend to render them honourable in our eyes, and attach us the more strongly to their observance. After he had repressed the incursions of the Danes, and internal tranquillity gave him an opportunity of ex- erting his talents for government with effect, he began with establishing the principles of justice. Having di- vided the counties throughout the kingdom into hun- dreds and tithings, and established that incomparable mode of trial by juries — the best security of our liberties, both personal and political; — in order to guide the ma- gistrates in the administration of justice, he framed a body of laws, which, though now lost, are not obsolete, but still operate in full force under the name of the common law ; an inestimable code of jurisprudence, by which the rights of individuals are most sacredly guarded and public and private delinquents rendered amenable to justice. 2 And ALFRED. 25 And though a convention of the states, on extraor- dinary emergencies, seems to have been of much earlier date than the reign of Alfred, yet to him we owe their regular periodical meetings, which he fixed twice a year in London; a city which he had himself repaired and beautified, and constituted the capital of his kingdom. In these sessions of parliament, laws were enacted by the advice and with the concurrence of the most en- lightened and distinguished subjects; while, on ordinary occasions, the monarch was directed by a kind of privy council, composed of some among the principal persons who attended his court. When Alfred mounted the throne, he found his peo- ple immerged in ignorance and barbarism. He himself complains that, on his accession, he could not find one person, south of the Thames, who was capable of trans- lating the Latin service into his mother- tongue. In every age, and among all nations, it has been found that purity of morals has kept pace with the propagation of sound knowledge and good principles. As a sove- reign, he saw it was his duty and his interest to promote a spirit of learning among his subjects, and his own ex- ample must have furnished a very powerful incentive. He not only excelled all the English of his time in ge- neral literature, but by encouraging learned foreigners to settle here, and by an impartial appreciation of merit, he rendered science both honourable and advantageous. He raised and endowed many schools ; and, if the illus- trious university of Oxford does not own him for its original founder, which is a point that has been disputed, it is generally allowed that to Alfred it is indebted for some df its most valuable privileges, and much of its early reputation and distinction. But as genius is a plant which does not always spring in a patrician soil, and as without the fostering hand of patronage it can seldom bring its fruit to perfection, this B sagacious 26 ALFRED. sagacious monarch not only sowed the seeds of know- ledge, but he took care, when they appeared to rear them with parental attention. The vicious and the il- literate, whatever other distinctions they might claim, were never the objects of Alfred's regard; while merit and science engrossed, as they deserved, all his favour, and -every reward in his power to bestow. Indeed, this was the golden age of literature among the Anglo- Saxons: the harvest was abundant, and die labourers were not more than could obtain an ample recompense •for their toil. The penetrating mind of the sovereign qualified him to discriminate between real and specious claims to preferment; intrigue could not deceive him; interest was useless, when judgment, abilities; and pro- bity, were to decide the prize on account of virtue and talents. Of the private life of Alfred we have few memorials; but enough to shew that he was one of the most amiable men in every domestic relation that ever lived. Success could neither elevate him to the extravagance of joy, nor the heaviest calamities affect him with unmanly despair. He inspired his children with a portion of his own ge- nius, and qualified them for the important destinies to T/hich they were born. To his friends he was open, cheerful, and communicative: to his enemies he shewed no resentment after they were disarmed ; to his country he was a truly parental guardian. A remarkable econo- mist of his time, he devoted one part to sleep and the refection of his body by diet and exercise; another to the dispatch of business; and the third to study and de- votion. And as, in those rude times, the art of mea- suring hours was very imperfect, he invented tapers of equal length, which he fixed in lanterns; and when one was burnt out, it warned him that a new avocation awaited him. By this wise distribution of his time, though subject to frequent ALFRED. 27 -frequent interruptions of health, and though he was obliged to fight ill person fifty-six battles by sea and land, he acquired more knowledge, and composed more books, some of which are still extant, in a life of no extraordi- nary length, than many possessed of genius and leisure, with all their laborious researches, have been able to per- form in more fortunate ages, though letters were the sole object of their pursuit. Yet, as the welfare and comforts of society are not promoted only by literature, but also by the cultivation of humbler arts which come into daily use, and are equally necessary to all, he did not neglect to encourage mechanical industry; and no inventor or improver of whatever could tend to embellish life, or add to its con- veniences, was suffered to go unrewarded. He likewise introduced and encouraged manufactures ; and by his zeal for naval and commercial enterprize first taught his subjects the art of defending themselves at home, and the advantages of an interchange of produce and labour with foreign countries. . And, lastly, to complete the character of this great hero, king, and scholar, he was temperate, pious, and devout. Knowing that states must rise or fall by their attention to religion, or the neglect of its precepts, he re-edified and restored almost every monastery in his do- minions, which the fury of the Danes had brought to ruin; he also founded and improved others, and gave many substantia] proofs of his regard for the welfare of the church in all its component parts. Thus, in the latter part of the reign of Alfred, justice was purely administered, religion and its professors were respected, and the nation flourished in peace, happiness, and security. The vigour of Alfred's genius pervaded every department of the state. It is even said, the police was so excellent, that golden bracelets were hung up f near the highways, and no one dared to touch them; B2 yet 28 FRIAR BACON. yet amidst this firm support of legal authority, Alfred preserved the most inviolable regard to the liberties and constitutional rights of his people. His last will, among other pathetic passages and bequests to posterity, con- tains this ever-memorable sentiment, the best pledge of his being a truly patriot king, "** That it was just the English should for ever remain as free as their own thoughts ." FRIAR BACON. Born 1214— Died 1294. From 1 5th John — 22d Edward I. AMONG those who have displayed superior abilities and penetration, in an age when the gloom of igno- rance was too thick to be pierced by common minds, the illustrious Friar Bacon will ever obtain a distinguished rank. At any period, the vigour of his endowments would have raised him above the mass of common men: at the period in which he lived, his high attainments in knowledge, contrasted with the prevailing general stupi- dity, render him an object of profound respect, and chal- lenge the applause and admiration of all posterity. Roger Bacon was born near Uchester, in Somerset- shire, of respectable parentage, in the year J 21 4. He began his literary career at Oxford ; and thence removed to the university of Paris, then reckoned the grand cen- tre of science and learning. Here the lustre of his ta- lents began to be distinguished; and his progress in the sciences rendered him the ornament of that university, and gained him some very valuable friends. He was particularly caressed by his amiable and learned country, man, Robert Grosthead, afterwards Bishop of Lincoln, whose patronage at once gave and reflected honour. About FIUAR EACON. 2Q About the twenty-sixth year of his age, having ac- quired all the learning of the times, only, however, to detect its fallacy, and to substitute something better in its room, he returned to Oxford, and assumed the Fran- ciscan habit. The learned leisure that this situation allowed him, he devoted to the ardent prosecution of experimental philosophy, his favourite study, in which he expended considerable sums, and made very impor- tant discoveries. Like his immortal namesake, Francis Bacon, who was born in happier days, he emancipated himself from the trammels of the existing philosophy, pierced the subtleties of the scholastic divinity with an intuitive per- spicacity, and had so little respect for the reigning ab- surdities, though rendered venerable by time, that he declared the whole works of Aristotle were fit only to be burned. By his extraordinary talents and astonishing progress in sciences then concealed from the rest of the world, or only known to a distinguished few, he could not fail to awaken envy, the constant attendant on worth and genius; and his illiterate fraternity, having neither sense nor diligence sufficient to keep pace with his discoveries, and unable to brook his intellectual superiority, possess- ed the vulgar with a notion, that he maintained an in- tercourse with the agents of darkness. Under this ridiculous pretence, which convinces us how much his attainments were above the level of com- mon understandings, he was restrained from reading lectures; his writings were confined to his convent; and, finally, when he nad reached the sixty-fourth year of his age, he was imprisoned in his cell. Still, however, being indulged with the use of his books, he did not suiter his mind to be diverted from the great object of his inquiries; he extended his know- ledge, he corrected his former labours, and he aug- B 3 mented 30 rniAR BACON. merited them by some new and curious disquisitioiiSe His opus majus, or great work, which is still extant, had been prepared at the request of Clement IV. : and after lying ten years in confinement, he addressed a treatise to Pope Nicholas IV, " On the Means of avoid- ing the Infirmities of old Age," and importuned that pontiiF for his release. The effect of this application is unknown: it^ certainly was not immediately regarded ; but being backed in the sequel by several persons of distinction, Bacon was at length set free, and spent in tranquillity the remainder of his days, in the college of his order, at Oxford; where he departed this life, in the eightieth year of his age, on the 11th of January, 1294. Such are the few particulars which the most inquisi- tive have been able to discover concerning this honour of his country and pride of human nature, w^ho darted forth his light in the midst of monastic bigotry, like a bright star in a dark hemisphere. He was incomparably the greatest philosopher of his time, and in many re- spects may stand in competition with the most eminent of more enlightened ages. His writings are elegant, terse, and nervous, and adorned with such exquisite ob- servations on nature, that he may be said to have un- locked her treasury. In chemistry he stood unrivalled ; and, according to Dr. Frend, almost every useful inven- tion and operation which modern practice has adopted in this science, may be traced to its origin in his various works. He describes the preparation of gunpowder in the most precise terms ; yet the Jesuit Barthol Schwartz, who lived several ages after, must, doubtless, be allow- ed the honovr of pointing out the destructive purposes to which this composition may be applied. In short, from an attentive perusal of the works of this great luminary, it will be found that Bacon was a linguist and grammarian ; that he was well versed in the theory and practice of perspective ; that he understood the FEIAR BACONS 31 the use and manufacture of convex and concave glasses ; that die camera obscura^ the burning-glass, and the tele- scope, were familiar to him ; that he was intimately acquainted with geography and astronomy; that he was aware of the great error in the calendar, assigned the cause and proposed the remedy ; that he was an adept in chemistry, and possessed great knowledge of the heal- ing art ; in fine, that he was an able mathematician, an expert mechanic, a sound logician, and a rational the- ©legist. But with all his acquirements, solid and valuable as they are, much dross was necessarily mixed. This how- ever was the fault! of the age, and not of the man. — Judicial astrology was then in high repute, and Bacon was a dupe to all its illusions. " He tells us in one place, that life may be preserved hy spermaceti, aloes, and dragon's flesh; and that im- mortality itself may be secured by the philosopher's stone. These were the reveries of the times : in some respects it was impossible to submit them to the test of experiment, and theory alone will ever be vague. He seems to have been unacquainted with that noble dis- covery the polarity of the; magnetic needle ; but he has largely descanted on the hazel-twig of divination. " Yet notwithstanding some absurdities and chimeras, this Bacon," says Voltaire, " must be allowed to be a very great man for the age in which he lived. Imagine to yourself the Samoieds and Ostiacs to have read Aristotle and Avicen, and you will have an idea of what mankind then were. At that period all knowledge was confined to the Arabians, who were the philosophers of Christendom. The king's fool," adds this witty author, " was always a native; but the physician or doctor was either an Arabian or a Jew." B * JOHN ( 32 ) JOHN W1CKLIFF. Born about 1324— Died 1384. From \7th Edward II— 7 th Richard II. IF we trace many of the greatest events and the most important discoveries to their source, we shall have the satisfaction to reflect, that some of the most astonish- ing and beneficial, which history records, have in a great measure originated from our illustrious country- men; among whom Wickliifwill maintain just celebrity, as long as a love of truth and a detestation of imposture and intolerance shall actuate the human heart. This precursor of the reformation, which Luther and others had the honour of completing, was a native of WicklifF, near Richmond, in Yorkshire ; but of his family or his early years, we have no account. Being designed for the church, he was first sent to Queen's college, Ox- ford ; but, the advantages for study in that newly esta- blished house not answering his expectations, he removed to Merton college in the same university, then esteemed one of the most learned societies in Europe. , At that period, a deep skill in dialectics and an in- timate acquaintance with the scholastic divinity were the grand passports to fame. To a man of Wickliff's pene- trating genius, these " difficult trifles" soon gave way; and he quickly became a very subtle disputant, and reigned in the schools without a competitor. It is pro- bable, however, that he mastered the fashionable studies only to detect their fallacy and insignificance. In di- vinity he appears to have early chalked out a simpler path than any of his contemporaries had either the sense or the resolution to devise ; he drew his tenets from the scriptures alone, and rejected the glosses of the school- men, and the dogmas of authority. Having JOHN WICKLIFF. 33 Having made himself conspicuous by his defence of the university against the mendicant friars, who pleaded that their practice was of gospel institution, he acquired the reputation of a man of profound learning and abili- ties; and in consequence was chosen master of Baliol hall and soon after warden of Canterbury college, by its founder, Archbishop Islip. A schism had for some time agitated that society, which was composed of regulars and seculars; and though its head how belonged to the latter order, this did not give such a preponderance as to ensure quiet. Some regulars, who had been ejected by the founder, taking advantage of the promotion of Simon Langham to the primate's chair, a man who had been bred up with all the monastic prejudices, found a zealous patron in this quondam monk; and sentence of expul- sion was passed on WicklifF and his associates in their turn. Such a flagrant piece of injustice raised a general out- cry, and WicklifF was advised to prefer an appeal to the Pope: but through the manoeuvres of Langham, and the irresolute policy of Urban, after the business had been protracted to a great length, the ejectment was con- firmed. On such casual pivots the minds of men turn, that the virtue of pure principle is scarcely to be expected. There can be little doubt but this decision finally determined WicklifF in his opposition to the holy see; yet it must not be concealed, that in his previous writings he had inveighed freely against the exactions and corruptions of the papal court; and now the whole strength of his excellent understanding was directed to expose its errors, and to lessen its influence. Notwithstanding his expulsion 1 , his credit with the university was not lost. He took his degree of doctor in divinity with much eclat ; and the professor's chair in that science being vacant, he was chosen to fill it, not B 5 only 34 JOHN WICKLIFF. only in compliment to his acknowledged merit, but as a remuneration for his4oss. Wickliffhad now attained the summit of his ambition. His station afforded him the opportunity he had been anxiously looking for, of throwing new lights on the established religion of Europe. His reason and his re- flexion convinced him, that the Romish religion was re- , plete with errors in theory, and that the lives of its pro- fessors were still worse in pra&ice. His inveteracy against the monks was inflamed, and he omitted no op- - portunity of painting them in their genuine cblours of infamy — But amidst all his zeal for truth, and his an- tipathy against the interested supporters of a false and domineering religion, he proceeded with caution and circumspe&ipn. He first led his hearers into habits of argumentation; and artfully raised objections, rather that others might see through delusion, than that he might have the credit and danger of exposing it himself. When he had accustomed men to think, he attempted a higher flight; and taught them to think justly. He removed the veil of prejudice by gradual but reiterated efforts ; he let in the light by degrees, and in such pro- portions as he found the eyes of a nation, so long used to darkness, could endure it. Though of a known hostility to the encroachments of Rome, its most zealous parti- sans had some difficulty in finding out a plausible pre- text to silence him ; but at last they^ucceeded so far as to deprive him of his professorship, and probably in- dulged the hopes that, as the theatre o&his exertion was closed, his principles would soon be forgotten. It happened, however, otherwise. The insolence of the Pope in claiming from Edward III. the homage which had been paid by his weak predecessor John, roused the indignant feelings of John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster; who, during the decline of his father, had the principal diredion of affairs; and th&peaofWickliff was JOHN WICKLIFF. 35 was successfully exerted in defence of his sovereign and his fellow-subje&s. v This was the means of introducing him to court- and the duke of Lancaster, who had liberal notions in reli- gion for the time in which he lived, and was irritated by recent vexations from the clergy, seeing their animosity against WickliiF, took him under his prote&ion; and treated him with a Jkindness proportioned to the enmity which he bore his adversaries. The grievances of the nation from the papal domina- tion had reached such a height, that it was resolved to send an embassy to the Pope to treat for the liberties of the church of England. At the head of this mission, which proceeded to Bruges, were the bishop of Bangor and Dr. WickliiF. On the part of the see of Rome were men in whom it could wholly confide. The negotia- tion was carried on with great abilities on, both sides; and after its sittings had been protra&ed for two years, the English agents prevailed so far, as to gain a stipula* tion that his holiness should no longer dispose of any be- nefices in, England. This treaty, however, was eluded to a flagrant degree ; but, in consequence of the abilities which WickliiF had displayed in it, he was presented by the kingto the living of Lutterworth in Leicestershire, and soon after obtained a prebendal stall in the church of Westbury in the county of Gloucester,.. During his residence at Bruges, the views of the church of Rome had been gradually developed to the inquisitive and penetrating WickliiF; and he discovered it to be as corrupt in principle, as he had long known it to be depraved -in practice. He now threw off the mask which he had worn so long; and thought it unworthy of his chara&er to temporize. The pretended successor of Peter himself did not escape his inve&ives:. the ponti- fical infallibility, usurpations, pride, avarice, and tyranny were the frequent topics of his declamation; and the ap- B 6 propriate 36 JOHN WICKLIFF. propriate epithet of Anti-Christ seems to have been first conferred on him by this proto English reformer. Having sown the seed which he had reason to believe would ripen into a full harvest of shame to the church of Rome, he retired to his living in Leicestershire, in order to avoid the gathering storm. But his privacy, and his distance from Oxford, the scene of his honour- able labours, gave his enemies fresh, spirits. A papal bull was forwarded to Sudbury archbishop of Canter- bury, and Courtney bishop of London, to secure this arch-heretic ; and at the same time the king and the uni- versity were importuned to favour the prosecution. WicklifF being cited to appear before the bishop of London at St. Paul's, on a fixed day, found himself obliged to notice the unexpected summons. In this dilemma, he applied to his patron the duke of Lancaster, who, though he wished to screen him wholly, judged it expedient to sacrifice something to appearances, and only promised to attend him in person to his trial, accompa- nied by Percy, earl marshal of England. When they reached St. Paul's, the court was already convened, and there was some difficulty in procuring admission. The bishop piqued to see WicklifF so honourably attended* let fall some peevish expressions, which the high-spirited and indignant Lancaster being unable to brook, retort- ed with great warmth, and even began to threaten. " Sooner," said he, in a kind of half-whisper, " than bear such usage from a bishop, I v/ill pull him by the hair of the head out of the church." The populace, however, catching the menace, the whole assembly was instantly in a ferment. The general cry was, They would stand by their diocesan to the last breath; and the confusion rose to such a height, that the court broke up in disorder, and its proceedings were never resumed. The tumult, however, did not end so soon. The duke 3 in the agitation of his passions, immediately pro- ceeded JOHN WICKLIFF. 37 ceeded to the house of peers, where he preferred a bill to deprive the city of London of its privileges, and to alter its jurisdiction. In consequence of this, all was uproar and riot; and Lancaster was obliged to quit the city in precipitation, till the rage of the populace had subsided. Wickliff again sought the retirement of Lutterworth, and proceeded in his great work, a translation of the Scriptures into English. He appears to have met with no more molestation after this, till' the death of Edward III. when Richard II. son of Edward the Black Prince, only eleven years of age, ascended the throne of his grandfather. On this occasion, the duke of Lancaster, uncle to the young king, aspired to be sole regent; but parliament put the office into commission, and allowed him only a single voice in the executive power. The clergy, who perceived the diminished influence of the duke, began their prosecution against Wickliff anew. Articles of accusation were drawn up, and the Pope by several bulls, had ordered his imprisonment, or at least cited him to make his personal appearance at Rome, within the space of three months, unless he should retract his heretical opinions. The bulls were treated with neglect in general, and by parliament with contempt. The bishop of London alone entered into the letter and spirit of the pope's mandate ; but scarcely had he taken the preliminary steps in this business, when he received a peremptory order from the duke of Lancaster not to enforce impri- sonment for the sake of opinion only, as a measure con- trary to the laws of England. The bishop, intimidated at this interference, contented himself with citing Wickliff to a provincial synod, at Lambeth; where being questioned as to the articles of his faith, he gave such an ambiguous "explanation of Q them, 38 JOHN WXCKLIFF, them, as proves, that, however sincere he was in his be- lief, he felt but little ambition to gain the crown of mar- tyrdom. He was therefore dismissed, with an injunction not to preach any more those doctrines which had been objected to him; but his zeal, it appears, was inflamed by the coercion, and he afterwards enforced his tenets with more ardour than before. Falling into a dangerous illness at Oxford, some of the begging friars, to whom he had ever been an enemy,, intruded themselves, it is said, into his chamber, and 'warned him, for the good of his soul, to repent of the injuries he had done them, Wickliff raised himself from his bed, and, with a stern countenance, exclaimed,, " I shall not die, but live to declare the evil deeds of the friars j" which resolute expression, we are told,, drove away his ghostly monitors m confusion. Soon after this, having finished his translation of the* Scriptures, he again became particularly obnoxious to* the clergy on that very account. It had long been a politicaJ tenet in the Romish creed, " that ignorance is> the mother of devotion," and therefore the bible had been locked up from the common people. But Wickliff was not satisfied with aiming this new blow at religious tyranny : he next ventured to assail the grand article of transubstantiation, in what he called his sixteen conclusions*,. These conclusions being reluctantly condemned by the* chancellor of Oxford, at the instigation of Courtney, who- was now primate; Wickliff appealed to the king andi parliament: but being deserted by his fickle patron, the- duke of Lancaster, who was unwilling to embroil him- self any farther with the clergy, he was obliged to make a kind «of recantation at Oxford; and, by the king's or- der, was expelled the university ; where, it seems, till' then he had annually read lectures in divinity. Again he found an asylum at Lutterworth; but giv- ing fresh provocation by his writings, he roused the keen- est GEOFFERY CHAUCER. 3$ est resentment in Urban, who then wore the tiara; and in all probability would have suffered the utmost that his power could inflict, had not Providence delivered him from human hands. He was struck with a palsy soon after, but still attended divine worship, till a repetition of this fatal malady carried him off, in his church, at Lutterworth, in December, 1384. He was buried there 5 but, after lying more than forty years unmolested, his bones were taken up and burn!:, and the ashes scattered in the stream, by order of the reigning pope ! Such was the life and end of WieklifF, a man who may be regarded as one of the brightest ornaments of his country, and as one of those luminaries which Provi- dence raises up and directs as* its instrument to enlighten and bless mankind. " To this intuitive genius/' says Gilpin, " Christen- dom was unquestionably more obliged than to any name in the list of reformers. He opened the gates of dark- ness, and let in, not a feeble and glimmering ray, but such an effulgence of light as was never afterwards ob- scured. He not only loosened prejudices, but advanced such clear incontestible truths, as, having once obtained footing, still kept their ground ; and even in an age of reformation, as will appear from his various existing writings, wanted but small amendment/* GEOFFERY CHAUCER. Born 1328.— Died 1400, From 2d Edward III— 2d Edward IV. HOEVER loves to hold dalliance with the Muses, and Relights to rove through the regions of fancy, will contemplate with pleasure the character of w 40 GEOFFERY CHAUCER. of Geoffery Chaucer, not only as the father of English poetry, and a refiner of the English language, but as one of the brightest and most original geniuses that any age or country has produced. Though Chaucer was extolled in the highest terms of panegyric by his contemporaries, and has deservedly maintained his reputation with posterity, from some strange fatality we know nothing certain of his parent- age, though it probably was genteel ; and even the place of his birth is not perfectly ascertained. In his " Testa- ment of Love," he call himself a Londoner; but Wood- stock, his future residence, puts in its claim to the ho- nour also of being his native place ; and he certainly has rendered it classic ground, by his natural but poetical description of some of its most delightful scenes. The same uncertainty, that attends the history of his birth, attends that of his education. Whether he studied at Oxford or Cambridge, or at both universities succes- sively, is a point much disputed by his biographers ; nor can any new light be thrown, at this day, on the sub- ject. That his education was excellent for that age, can scarcely be doubted, from the learning displayed in his works ; but that his genius rose still superior to all the advantages of scholastic or academic institution will admit of no dispute. Having left the university, he is supposed to have improved himself by travelling into France and the Low Countries ; and on his return, it is partly ascertained that he entered himself a member of the Inner Temple, and for some time prosecuted the study of the law. In a record of this society, published by Speight, the follow- ing fact appears : " Geoffery Chaucer was fined two shillings, for beating a friar, in Fleet-street." But, though he might probably pay some attention to law-learning as an' accomplishment there is no reason to think that he ever practised it as a profession. The sprightliness of his genius, the elegance of his form and manners. GEOFFERY CHAUCER. 41 manners, and the fertility of his endowments, seem early to have attracted the notice of the court ; and he particularly devoted himself to the service of John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster, son of Edward III. by whose favour he obtained in marriage Philippa, daughter of Sir Pagan Rouet, and sister of the famous Lady Cathe- rine Swynford, first governess to the duke's children, and afterwards his wife. Chaucer was then in the flower of his age, admired for his beauty, and distinguished for every talent and ac- complishment that could render him acceptable in the gay and splendid court of Edward III. As that monarch frequently resided at Woodstock, Chaucer had a house near the park gate, which still retains his name, though it has been entirely rebuilt and modernized; and here it is probable he penned some of his happiest compositions. After serving for some time in quality of the king's page, he w r as named in a commission to treat with the . republic of Genoa, for the hiring of some ships; and on his return he obtained, among other marks of royal fa- vour, the grant of a pitcher of wine daily. Next year he was made comptroller of the customs of London, for wool and hides ; with a singular proviso, that he should execute that office personally, and keep the accounts in his own hand-writing : a proof, that Edward did not promote him for his poetical talents, or he would cer- tainly have employed him in a different situation. Soon after this, Chaucer obtained a wardship; and it appears that his income at that period was not less than 1000 pounds per annum, a sum which in those days, enabled him to support a splendid hospitality congenial to his disposition, and to enjoy that otium cum dignitate which it is so rarely the lot of a poet to possess. It was in this meridian sunshine of prosperity that he % wrote his " Canterbury Tales," a poem which exhibits a striking variety of talents, an union of the sublime and the 42 GEOFFERY CHAUCER, the pathetic, with such a fund of poignant satire, ge- nuine humour and knowledge of life, as is seldom paral- leled. The clergy, both regular and secular, are the fre- quent butt of his keenest animadversions ; and by this most probably he aimed to ingratiate himself the more with his patron, the duke of Lancaster, who had openly espoused the cause of WicklifF. But as the flame of genius can with difficulty be separated from a love of liberty, Chaucer himself appears to have entered passion- ately into the views of that reformer ; a conduct, how-* ever, which in the sequel involved him in much trouble. When the duke of Lancaster found himself obliged ta abandon the Wicklifrites, and to retire from public life for a time, the interest of Chaucer sank at once, and he became from that instant exposed to all the malice of the opposite party.. These misfortunes gave rise to that beautiful performance, called the " Testament of Love," written in imitation of Boethius " on the Consolation of Philosophy." Satiated with the active scenes of life, which had defrauded him of so many enjoyments, he retired to Woodstock, where he again indulged his passion for study, and revised his former productions*. Here he finished his admirable " Treatise on the Astro* labe," and became so rivetted to his rural retreat, that even the return of the duke of Lancaster to favour and power, and the marriage of that great man with the sis- ter of his (the poet's) wife, could not seduce him from the tranquil scenes he loved. And now the sun of prosperity, which had shone full on his meridian, again warmed his evening hour. Chau- cer, by this last-mentioned alliance, acquired considera- ble property and influence : and, when about seventy- years of age, we find him quitting. Woodstock, for Don- aington Castle, near Newbury. Not long after, Henry IV. son of the duke of Lan~ Caster, mounted the throne, and™ the first year of mV rek^. GEOFFERY CHAUCER. N 43 reign conferred some marks of his regard on our poet. Chaucer's former grants, however* being annulled, in common with all others passed in the late reign, the venerable bard, in the concluding scene of his life, was obliged to become a solicitor at court for a renewal of his pensions ; and though he succeeded to a certain de- gree, the fatigue of attendance, and his great age, pre- vented him from enjoying long the royal favours. Fall- ing sick at London, he quitted the stage of mortal life, October 25th, 1400, in the seventy-second year of his age, with a kind of enviable philosophical composure, as appears from his songCx : " File from the Pre/e. y> Chaucer was buried in Westminster Abbey, where, in 1556, a monument was erected to his memory, by Nicholas Brigham, of Oxford, from a just regard for his talents. He left two sons, Thomas and Lewis ; the former of whom was speaker of the house of commons, in the reign of Henry IV. and passed through several Other high offices with reputation and applause. The private character of Chaucer appears to have been asv amiable as his literary attainments were illus- trious. — Genteel and complaisant in his manners and ad- dress, frank and liberal in his disposition, he was at once the fine gentleman, the easy boon companion, and the learned writer. On his poetical and other literary qualifications it is unnecessary to expatiate here. He was indeed the first person in England to whom the appellation of a poet, in its genuine dignity, could be with propriety applied* He attempted every species of versification, from tire epigram to the epic, and he was eminently successful in all. CARDINAL ( 44 ) CARDINAL WOLSEY. Bom 1471— Died about 1530 From 10th Edward IV— 21 st Henri/ VIII. TO repress the aspirings of inordinate ambition, to silence the murmurs of neglected merit, and to pourtray the instability of fortune and the vicissitudes of human life in their most striking colours, let us attend to the proud career and chequered fate of Wolsey. This man, who afterwards rose to be archbishop of York, chancellor of England, cardinal priest of St. Cicily, and legate a latere, &c. &c. was the son of a butcher at Ipswich. It is probable, however, that his parents possessed some property, and more discernment; for perceiving the bent of his disposition to literature, they put him early to the grammar school ; and such was the maturity of his parts, that he had taken the de- gree of bachelor of arts at Magdalen College, Oxford, before he reached his fifteenth year, whence he obtained the appellation of the Boy Bachelor. Soon after, he was admitted to a fellowship in the same college, and in due time nominated to the superintendance of the school belonging to that society. This situation, which is too frequently the grave of genius, and the bar to promotion, proved to Wolsey the original source of his future exaltation. At this seminary were three sons of the marquis of Dorset ; and it is rea- sonable to suppose that a man of Wolsey's ambitious character was not inattentive to the advantages he might derive from such pupils. He assiduously attended to their education, and ingratiated himself so far with both parent and sons, that he obtained an invitation to the country seat of the marquis, during a recess ; and by his insinuating planners, his knowledge and his address, paved CARDINAL WOLSEY. 45* paved the way to more substantial marks of favour. By this nobleman he was presented, in his twenty-ninth year, to the rectory of Lymington, in Somersetshire, his first ecclesiastical preferment; where he immediately entered on his new function as a parish-priest. Here, it is said, the gaiety of his disposition, sometimes led him into excesses, and that in consequence he was once sentenced to the stocks. This disgusted him with the country; and the justice, who had ordered a punish- ment so disgraceful to a divine, had afterwards abundant reason to repent of his severity. Wolsey's patron dying soon after, he quitted his re- sidence at Lymington, and projected new means of pushing his fortune. Accordingly we find him, in a short time, promoted to be a chaplain to Dr. Dean, archbishop of Canterbury, which, however, served rather to enlarge his views than conduce to his immediate advancement. It appears, indeed, that the archbishop was extremely partial to him, and assisted to make him better known ; but he did not live long enough to re- ward Wolsey's assiduities, and the latter was again afloat in life. Having now been introduced to the great, he felt his native propensities roused, and ambition stimulated him to be a courtier. An observation frequently made by him was, " that if he could but set one foot in the court, he would soon introduce his whole body." A man of 1 abilities and an aspiring temper, who directs the whole vigour of his mind to one point, will seldom be finally unsuccessful. Wolsey, having lost his patron the arch- bishop, next tendered his services to Sir John Nephant, treasurer of Calais, a gentleman in high favour with Henry VII. The application was well received. Sir John not only made him his chaplain, but being debi- litated by age and infirmities, and finding Wolsey's aptitude for business, he committed to him the principal direction 4G CARDINAL WOLSEY. direction of his office; and in the sequel recommended him in such strong terms of approbation to the king, that his majesty put him on the list of his royal chap- lains. Being now landed in the haven of his wishes, he assiduously cultivated the acquaintance of the reigning favourites, Fox bishop of Winchester, and Sir Thomas Lovel, by whom he was zealously patronized ; and soon after recommended to the king as a person excellently qualified to conduct an important negotiation with the emperor Maximilian, who then resided at Bruges. Being entrusted with this business, he managed it with such address, and brought it so expeditiously to a suc- cessful conclusion, that the king was astonished at his political sagacity and prompt decision. The founda- tion of his fame and future promotion was now effectu- ally laid; and, as an earnest of the esteem in which he was held at court, soon after his return from this em- bassy he was made dean of Lincoln. The death of H^nry VII. happened in the following year ; but Wolsey, who had courted the rising sun, lost no ground by the accession of Henry VIII. ; on the contrary, he found himself more distinguished than be- fore. In 1510 he was admitted of the king's privy council, made canon of Windsor, and registrar of the or- der of the garter, besides reaping other tokens of the royal favour. Thus firmly seated, with the gratitude of a courtier, he neglected those worthy and deserving friends who had contributed to his advancement, and in a manner concentrated in himself the beams of royal beneficence. Henry, attached" to pleasure with the most youthful ardour, averse to application, yet impatient of controul, was charmed with a servant who could cater for his gra- tification, exonerate him from toil, and yet submit to his caprices without a murmur. A war with France being resolved CARDINAL WOLSEY. 47 resolved on, to Wolsey was committed the direction of providiivg the supplies for the army ; and his zeal and activity in this new situation were as conspicuous as his knowledge was extensive. Henry landed in France accompanied by Wolsey, and on the capture of Tournay the favourite was made bishop of that city. The campaign was glorious ; but a treaty being soon concluded, at Lisle, the English Teturned ; and in the subsequent year Wolsey was pro- moted, first to the see of Lincoln, and then to the arch- bishopric of York. The stream of royal favour had flowed with such a full tide on Wolsey, that the pope thought it politic to conciliate the favour of a man whose interest and income were now immense ; and to complete his exaltation, in 1515 his holiness sent him a cardinal's hat. The pride and ostentation of Wolsey on the acquisi- tion of this new dignity deserved ridicule rather than respedt. Even in those days, when the people were more captivated by show than in the present, they could not refrain from making merry at the cardinal's expence ; but Warehanu uicellor and metropolitan of Can- terbury, felt the conflict for pre-eminence with this up- t so humiliating, that he resigned the seals, and left him without a rival m power and dignity. Wolsey was immediately appointed his successor, and thmrew promotion did not lessen his former parade. Yet it must be acknowledged, that in his new omce he dis- played a pene-ratiu^ judgment, and a deep and enlarged acquaintance with law and equity. Cardinal Campeggio, the pope's legate, having about this time rendered himself unacceptable to Henry VIII. Wolsey had this high rank superadded to his other dig- nities, by the holy see. He had now gained all that a subject could aspire to ; and he appears even to have iained equality with onQ. Ke became imperious and insolent 48 CARDINAL WOLSEY. insolent to the last degree ; yet Wareham alone had the honest courage to acquaint his sovereign with the mal- versation of his servant. The king on that occasion reprimanded him for the first time ; and Wolsey became more cautious, if not more tolerant, than before. This towering prelate, however, had for some time entertained views on the chair of St. Peter, and amidst all his splendid follies this seems to have been uppermost in his mind. He engaged foreign influence in his be- half, and even sacrificed the interest of his country to his own private schemes of aggrandizement. On the death of Pope Leo X. he made himself sure of being chosen his successor; but Wolsey was of a character rather to be feared than loved, and he lost his election. But though disappointed and deceived, he did not relin- quish his design ; and when another vacancy happened, on the death of Adrian VI, he again put in his preten- sions, and again failed of success. He still, however, continued to direct the councils of his sovereign, and to lord it over his equals, and even his superiors. He treated the most powerful of the no- bility with arrogance and contempt ; and Stafford duke of Buckingham, the only courtier who ventured to op- pose him, fell a victim to his intrigues. This gave Occa- sion to an excellent bon mot of Charles V. " That the butcher's dog" (alluding to Wolsey's origin) " had worried the fairest hart in England.' ' Wolsey, who had long ceased to be popular, was now execrated by the people ; but he continued to enjoy the undiminished favour of his sovereign ; and those whom he could not conciliate by his bounty, he awed by his terrors. His establishment was princely, and his muni- ficence, or rather his ostentation, was correspondent. Yet let us not refuse Wolsey the praise to which his conduct, in some respects, has given him a just claim. His endowments at Oxford, and at Ipswich, the place of CARDINAL WOLSEY. 4p of his nativity, evince an ardent love of literature as well as of fame ; and prove that he did not accumulate wealth merely for himself alone, but with a view to the benefit of all posterity. Having now seen this extraordinary character at the height of his glory, and just vibrating on the pinnacle of renown, giddy with prosperity, and therefore unable to keep his hold, let us attend his rapid decline. Henry had long conceived an ardent affection for a young lady of the court, daughter to Sir Thomas Bo~ leyn ; and finding that her virtue was impregnable, was determined to remove every obstacle which stood in has way to an union with her on honourable terms. Wol- sey, while he considered this in the light of an intrigue, bowed to the new favourite with the most supple ad- dress ; but when he found that his master intended to violate every tie to gratify his passion, zealously dis- suaded him from his object ; and thus incurred the re- sentment of his sovereign, who could not brook controul, and of the lady, who aspired to be a queen. The cour- tiers saw the danger and the delicacy of his situation, and made Anne Boleyn the instrument of their ven- geance and her own. Against such a combination, co-operating with the impetuous desires of Henry, it was impossible for the premier to stand. Yet the king did not easily withdraw his confidence from a man who had long been his most obsequious drudge, at the same time that he was the ty- rant of his subjects ; and he continued to be employed in embassies to foreign courts, and to enjoy the apparent affection of his master. But these embassies were rather thrown in his way to remove him from the royal pre- sence, than with any view of employing his talents to the service of his country ; and, indeed, from the time that he aspired to the papacy, it is doubtful whether a C regard 50 CARDINAL WOLSEY. regard to private interest did not predominate over a sense of public duty. At length the divorce from Catherine came upon the tapis ; and the delays and impediments that occurred in the prosecution of this business were in a great measure ascribed to Wolsey, who had always dissuaded the kino; from such a step, and therefore was the rather suspected of protracting the proceedings of the legantine ctmrt, which had been established to decide on the validity of Henry's marriage* Anne Boleyn seconded the suspi- cions of the king, and the rage of the cardinal's enemies; and the seals were taken from him, though in a. manner that shewed some compunction on the part of the king* But Wolsey, sensible that his disgrace was now inevi- table, resolved to act with policy and caution in this critical situation. He ordered an inventory to be taken of his effects, his superb plate and furniture, and left them all for the king ; rationally concluding, that to divest himself of his wealth was the most likely method to check the spirit of persecution. He judged right: but the return of his influence was too much dreaded to render any sacrifices, short of life, saiTicieiit to satisfy his foes. He was impeached in par- liament, chiefly relative to the exercise of his legantine functions, and the scandalous irregularities of his life; but from the industry and address of his grateful servant, Thomas Cromwell, now appearing on the horizon of power, this charge came to nothing. Meanwhile the cardinal continued at Esher, in Sur- rey, in great obscurity and neglect, though he practised the most abject servility to regain favour. His master, indeed, by occasional messages of favourable import, seemed desirous of sloping the way to his final ruin ; but in the issue lie constantly found himself deceived ; I every step t^e king took, still farther removed him Jrom any hopes of seeing better days. Worn CARDINAL WOLSEY. 51 Worn out with disappointment, his colleges s tered and dissolved, though he earnestly besought the king to spare them, even his very tomb seized, v r] he begged in the most feeling terms, as a home he was soon likely to want, Wolsey at length was obliged to retire to his diocese of York ; where his munificence soon rendered him respected, and where he might have closed his days in peace and honour. But even here the implacable resentment of his enemies pursued him ; and he was soon arrested by the earl of Northumberland for high treason, and committed to the custody of the lieutenant of the Tower, who had orders to bring him to London. The people whom his bounty had relieved, flocked round him with lamentations, and followed him for se- veral miles, till he requested them to depart and be patient, as he feared not his enemies, but entirely sub- mitted to the will of heaven. But the shock now given to a mind, already broken by calamity, was too violent to be borne. When he had reached Sheffield-park, the seat of the earl of Shrewsbury, he was taken ill ; and suspicions were not wanting that he had either swalloved poison, or had it administered by others. There seems to be no good reason for accusing the cardinal of being accessary to his own death, nor any proofs that can at- tach to others. His illness, however, proved mortal. By a slow progress and short journeys, he reached Lei- cester-abbey, where he was received with all possible reverence and respect ; but his only observation was, u Father Abbot, I am come to lay my bones am- you." Three days after he died with the composure of a christian and the fortitude of a man, but reflecting on himself for his blind devotion to his prince. " Had I served God," said he, a little before his dissolu: *< as diligently as I have served the king, he would not have forsaken me in my grey hairs ; but this is the C 2 52 SIR THOMAS MORE. just reward I must receive for my indulgent pains and study, nor regarding my service to God, but only to my prince." He died on the twenty-ninth of November, 1 530, and next day was buried in the middlejof one of the abbey chapels. Such was the end of Cardinal Wolsey, who had a very considerable weight in the scale of European politics during a series of years ; and who certainly possessed eminent abilities as a statesman ; but, on the whole, may be characterized rather as a great than a good man. In person, Wolsey was tall and comely, and very graceful in his air and manner. Owing to a blemish in one of his eyes, he always took care to be painted in profile, as may be seen in his existing pictures. He who is arrogant in prosperity is commonly abject: and mean in adversity; a position illustrated by the con- duct of Wolsey. His vices and weaknesses were indeed not few, but they were balanced by some splendid public virtues. He was the patron of genius and of learning, and a liberal friend to the poor. SIR THOMAS MORE. Born 1480.— Beheaded 1535. From 19 th Edward IF. to 26th Emry VIIL WHILE incorruptible integrity, genuine princi- ple, and steady resolution, accompanied by the mildest social virtues, have a title to esteem, the name of Sir Thomas More will be held in veneration. This great man was bona m Milk-street, London. He was the son of Sir John More, one of the judges of the SIR THOMAS MORE. 53 die King's Bench, a man whose virtues and abilities seem to have been entailed with large accessions on his offspring. Of the early presages this young man gave of intel- lectual energy, we have some indisputable memorials, intermixed with fabulous legends. Being taken into the family of Cardinal Morton, the primate and chancellor, as was usual for youths of talents or distinction in those days, his grace had discernment to see the germ of ta- lents in his eleve, and would often say to his company, * This boy who now waits at my table, whoever lives to see it, will prove a wonderful man." Being duly initiated in classical learning, he was re- moved to Canterbury College, now part of Christ Church, Oxford, where he remained two years, and distinguished himself by his knowledge in languages, and his progress in the sciences. On quitting the university he was entered of New Inn* London, where he applied himself to the study of the law ; and being called to the bar, was beginning to ac- quire a reputation proportionate to his talents ; when, conceiving a sudden distaste to his profession, he retired to the Charter-house, and for four years secluded him- self from the world, engaged in the constant practice of devotion, or the prosecution of his studies. The greatest minds are not exempt from infirmity i they have their brilliancies and their obscurations. Superstition gained the ascendant on this illustrious character very early in life : he practised some monastic severities on himself before he was twenty years of age ; and at one time had a violent inclination to become a Franciscan ; but his filial piety made him at last yield to the predilection of his father in favour of the law. Being naturally of a gay and volatile temper, it is probable the austerities he voluntarily submitted to were intended to counteract the warmth of his passions. C3 His 54 SIR THOMAS MORE. His friends, zealous to promote his happiness- and his credit, persuaded him to marry. Being on a visit to a gentleman who had three daughters, he was captivated with the charms of the second : but when pressed to declare his choice, he named the eldest ; because he thought it would hurt her feelings to be overlooked* With this lady h? lived happily for about seven years, and resumed his practice at the bar with great reputa- tion and success ; which, in some measure, originated from the subsequent circumstance. Scarcely had he completed his twenty-first year, when he was returned to serve in parliament. In this great theatre he soon had an opportunity of displaying his abilities and his patriotism, by opposing a subsidy de- led by Henry VII. with such force of argument and effect, that it was actually rejected. One of the privy council, who was present, immediately reported to the king, " that a beardless boy had frustrated all his schemes. 5 ' Henry was determined to be revenged ; but as the son had nothing to lose, and had not exceeded the line of his duty, he visited his offence on the guilt- less father ; who, on some frivolous charge, was com- mitted to the Tower, and amerced in 1001. before he could recover his liberty. This mean and spiteful re- venge, which was intended to depress young More, only made him an object of importance in the eyes of the na- tion ; and his own conduct was such, that his enemies could neither entrap him, nor his friends have 'reason to be ashamed of their cordial patronage. After his return to the bar, there was scarcely a cause of importance in which he was not solicited to be en- gaged ; and as he never would defend »a bad one, his credit rose with the purity of the principle on which it was founded. His first preferment, however, was being made judge of the sheriff's court in London ; but hav- ing acquitted himself with distinguished reputation and abili SIR THOMAS MORE. 55 abilities on various public occasions, Wolsey was com- missioned by Henry VIII. to engage his services. More, with that diffidence which is peculiar to merit, - and that love of independence which is natural to the virtuous,, declined the proffered honour ; but being im- portunately urged, he thought it his duty to submit to his sovereign's pleasure, and was appointed master of the requests. A few weeks after, he was knighted, sworn one of his majesty's privy council, and admitted to the greatest personal familiarity with Henry. In fine, so much was the king charmed with his abi- lities, learning, wit, and convivial talents, that he not only consulted him on affairs of state and matters of science, but frequently invited him to be of his private parties, in order to enjoy his rich flow of humour. Sir Thomas was passionately attached to domestic endeai- ments ; and when he found that his facetious disposition was one reason that he was called on to devote so much time to court attendance, he began to assume a mere grave deportment, and to dissemble his natural propen- sity to merriment. By this innocent artifice, he reco- vered a greater share of liberty, and was less frequently drawn from the home he loved. Henry, however, did not abate in his regard for his faithful servant ; and on the death of the treasurer of the exchequer in 1520, Sir Thomas More was appoint- ed, without solicitation, to that office ; and three years afterwards he was chosen speaker of the house of commons. In this last capacity he evinced his usual intrepidity and patriotism, in frustrating a motion for an oppressive subsidy, promoted by Cardinal Wolsey. Soon after he was appointed treasurer of the exche- quer, he settled at Chelsea ; and having lost his first wife, married a second, of the name of Middleton, who, according to Erasmus, was a widow, old, ill-temp C 4 and 56 SIR THOMAS MORE. and avaricious; yet was beloved with youthful fondness by her husband. His next promotion was to the chancellorship of the duchy of Lancaster. Notwithstanding the known in- dependence of his mind, he was in such high favour with the king, that his majesty frequently visited him at Chelsea in the most unceremonious manner. After walking with him one day in the garden for nearly an hour, with his arm familiarly thrown round Sir Tho- mas's neck ; one of his sons-in-law, who saw the inti- macy with which he was treated, was remarking on the felicity of being so distinguished by his sovereign. Sir Thomas, who was no stranger to the turpitude . of Henry's heart, thus expressed himself — " I thank the Lord, I find his Grace to be a very good master indeed, and believe he is as partial to me as to any subject within his realm ; but yet I have no cause to presume on his favour ; for if my head could win him but a castle in France, it would riot long remain on my shoulders." Having discharged two embassies on the continent, much to the satisfaction of Henry, who, it has been re- marked, always treated him with more tenderness and good humour than any of his other favourites, on the disgrace of Wolsey, in 1529, he was entrusted with the great seal, as a reward for his eminent services. It is generally believed that Henry had previously sounded Sir Thomas on the subject of his meditated divorce from Queen Catherine ; but that finding him averse to lend the sanction of his respectable name to such a proceeding, the king thought by loading him with honours to ensure his compliance. In regard to mankind in general, that prince's judgment was politi- cally rights hut Sir Thomas More was not made of such flexible stuff as to bend for interest, or sacrifice his conscience for gratitude. He SIR THOMAS MORE. 0/ He saw the danger and delicacy of his situation from the first; but having entered on this high office, he would not shrink from the duties annexed to it. The meanest claimant found ready access to the new chan- cellor : no private affe&ion could bias his judgment, or influence his decrees ; no opportunity was given for in- trigue or interested solicitation: and after he had pre- sided in the court of chancery for two years, such was his application to business, that one day calling for the next cause, he was told there was not another then de- pending — a circumstance which he immediately ordered to be set down on record, and we suppose it will be al- lowed an unique of the kind. The chancellor, though no friend to the papal usur- pations in England, was far from wishing for a total rupture with the Holy See; and foreseeing that the meas'ures which Henry was pursuing must inevitably involve him with one or the other, he anxiously pressed to have his resignation of the seals accepted, which at last was granted ; though not without great reluctance on the part of Henry, and the warmest professions of a permanent regard. Thus, after he had filled this high office for nearly three years, with exemplary applica- tion, true magnanimity, and unsullied integrity, he re- signed this high dignity, and retired to Chelsea \ so little the richer for the important stations he had rilled for nearly twenty years, that his whole annual income did not exceed 1001. ; and after the liquidation of his debts, it appears that he had not above 1001. in money on earth, exclusive of his chain and a few rings. Though such disinterestedness in a courtier is but seldom imitat- ed, it deserves to be remembered The day after his resignation, he attended his wife and family to church, and when mass was finished, instead of going out first as had been usual, he went to the pew door, and, with a low bow, said, " Madam, my lord is C 5 gone/* 58 SrR THOMAS MORE* * gone. 5 * This was the first intimation he had given her that he was no longer chancellor. His wife at first thought him in jest ; but when she found he was in ear- nest, she broke out into reproaches and lamentations at his want of attention to his interest ; but Sir Thomas turned the conversation to another subject, nor seemed to heed the storm, His whole study now was to reduce his establishment to his diminished resources, and to provide for his fa- mily and dependants, in such a manner as might shew that he was more solicitous about them than himself. He gave himself wholly up to domestic privacy and retirement; and having every thing to fear from the in- constant and cruel temper of the king, to whom, he had been a devoted servant, but could not be a slave, he pre- pared his mind by study and reflection to meet with fortitude the worst that could befal him. Though now reduced to a private station, and even to indigence, so high was his reputation, and such credit was attached to his legal opinions, that reiterated at- tempts were made to obtain his approbation of the king's marriage w T ith Anne Boleyn. When every manoeuvre, however, that policy; could devise or power command,' proved ineffectual to warp his principles, and bring him over to measures he condemned, Henry, being highly exasperated, was determined he should feel his utmost vengeance ; and accordingly he was attainted, with se- veral others, of misprision of treason, for encouraging Elizabeth Barton, commonly called the maid of Kent, in her traitorous designs. However, it appearing upon record, that he had pronounced her the most false, dis- sembling hypocrite he had ever known, his name was obliged to be struck out of the bill. But malice en- trenched behind power is not easily baffled ; other im- putations, equally groundless, were brought against him in quick succession — from all which his innocence protected SIR THOMAS MORE, 5Q protected him, and enabled him to stand the severest » scrutiny. At last, however, his enemies prevailed ; for on his refusing to take the oath enjoined by the act of supre^ macy,- he was committed to the Tower, where having lain fifteen months, he was brought to trial on a charge for high treason in denying that the king was the su- preme head of the church. The same equanimity and cheerfulness which he had evinced through life, attend- ed him in this awful scene. The only evidence against him was Rich, the solicitor-general, whose credit he in- validated in the most striking manner; but as it w^s predetermined that he should either recant or be sacri- ficed, he resolutely maintained his principles, and the fatal sentence was passed upon him to suffer as a traitor. In the interval between his condemnation and execu- tion, which Henry commuted to simple decollation, he. employed his-time in taking leave of his daughters, and fitting himself for eternity. His humour and wit, how- ever, were displayed to the last; even on the scaffold his serenity of mind shone in its fullest lustre, and he seemed more like a man undressing to go to bed, than like one on the verge of the grave. At one blow his head was severed from his body : the latter was depo- sited in the chancel of the church of Chelsea, where a monument was erected to his memory ; his head, after being fourteen days exposed on London-bridge, was obtained by his daughter, and placed in a vault belong- ing to the Roper family, in St. Dunstan's church at Canterbury. It has been- observed of this illustrious character, that the ignorant and the proud, however exalted, were such as he respected the least ; but he was the patron of every man of science and merit, and kept up a correspondence with all the literati in Europe. As a judge, he was most upright; as a man, truly amiable, facetious and pleasing 3 C6 but OO THOMAS CROMWELL, but on the subject of religion he was weak and credu- lous to a high degree. Tinctured with superstition, and attached to the Romish church with inflexible adhe- rence, he suffered his good sense to be obscured by the glosses of error and the dogmas of theologists, and fell a martyr, perhaps, to bigotry rather than to sound reason. Yet we cannot help respecting the errors of principle, as much as we despise the whifflings of in-- consistency : For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight, His csn't be wrong whose life is in the right. Except by his Utopia, Sir Thomas More is now little known as an author : his polemic works have been car- ried down the stream of oblivion ; for the best produc- tions of this nature are not likely to earn the wreath of immortality. THOMAS CROMWELL, EARL OF ESSEX. Born 1498.— Beheaded 1540. From 13M Henry VII. to 3 1st Henry VI II. THE rise of the earl of Essex was as sudden as that of his patron, Cardinal Wolsey ; and, in several respects, more extraordinary. That learning should elevate a man above his original station, is consistent with the common order of human events ; but that a man without birth, education, or connections, should be able to pierce the cloud of obscurity, and to soar into the higher regions of life, is a. phenomenon which de- serves to be considered and accounted for. This EARL OF ESSEX. 6l This champion of the reformation was the son of a blacksmith, at Putney* in Surrey, where he received all his slender education, which did not exceed the know- ledge of reading and writing, with such a smattering of Latin as qualified him to understand his creed and pater-noster. Born in such a humble sphere of life, it cannot be sup- posed that Cromwell could owe much to his parents, beyond a vigorous and healthful constitution* How- ever, being possessed of a strong natural genius, and considering travel as the only means left of improving his understanding and enlarging his capacity, as he ad- vanced toward manhood, he determined to visit the continent ; and, according to some, he was first retained as clerk, or secretary, in the English fa&ory at Antwerp. This situation being ill suited to his aspiring genius, he soon found an opportunity of changing it for one more congenial to his views. Two messengers from the Guild of Our Lady, in the church of St. Botolph, at Boston, desirous to have their former liberal grants and indulgences confirmed by the reigning pope, Julius II. taking Antwerp in their way, fell into the company of Cromwell ; and finding his talents for negociation superior to their own, readily prevailed on him to ac- company them to Rome. On arriving at that ancient metropolis of the world, Cromwell's first care was to discover the weak side of the pontiff's character ; and finding him a great epicure, he caused some curious jellies to be made after the Eng- lish fashion, and presented to his holiness ; who was so highly gratified with those delicacies, that he imme- diately granted the request of the commissioners. It is a truth which all ages have exemplified, that to humour the palates of some men, is the readiest way to win their hearts ! After this transaction, an interval of doubt and un- certainty 62 THOMAS CROMWELL, certainty occurs in Cromwell's life. The chain of events is much interrupted ; and we only know that he served under the famous duke of Bourbon, and was at the sacking of Rome, in effecting his escape from Bo- logna, where he was in danger of being betrayed when on a secret mission ; a piece of service for which Crom- well was probably remembered and rewarded at a sub* sequent period. On the defeat of the French army at Castiglioni, our adventurer was reduced to the greatest distress ; in which condition he arrived at the city of Florence. Here he accidentally attracted the notice of Frescobald, a merchant of eminence, who pitying his forlorn situation, he was embarked in a proper ship by the philanthropic Florentine, and had sixteen golden ducats put into his pocket for defraying his expences to his own country. With pleasure we record an instance of a courtier's gra- titude in return : this merchant being afterwards re- duced to poverty, and visiting England to recover some outstanding debts, was recognized by Cromwell in his prosperity, and most munificently rewarded. Thus it appears, that the only benefit which our ad- - venturer derived from foreign travels was a more ex- tensive knowledge of mankind ; unless" we add, an ac- quaintance with the German, French, and Italian lan- guages, which he spoke fluently, and wrote correctly. With such natural and acquired abilities, however, he soon recommended himself to Wolsey, then in the zenith of his power, and in a short time was admitted to a considerable share of intimacy with the cardinal, and frequently employed in delicate and important af- fairs. On the disgrace of his patron, Cromwell behaved with a fidelity and gratitude which must endear his memory to every virtuous mind. He strenuously de- fended him from a charge of treason J he omitted* no attentions of affe&ion and respect to the prostrate great- _ ness EARL OF ESSEX. 63 ness by which he himself had risen ; and Henry, who saw his zeal and abilities, prudently took him into his own service, and promoted his interest and his fame. The dispute between the king of England and the pope having now reached its height, Cromwell was chosen to manage it on the part of his sovereign. In his religious sentiments he was publicly known to favour the reformation ; and having already been instrumental in the demolition of some of the convents, the clergy dreaded his accession of power, and traduced him with- out mercy. Their inveterate dislike to the man and his measures proved fatal to themselves. Cromwell, in- stead of attempting to soothe them by compliance, ir- ritated and injured them still more, by disclosing an important secret respecting their blind devotion to Rome. He had discovered at the papal court, that after the English clergy had taken the oath of alle- giance to their sovereign, the pope dispensed with that part of it which militated against his own usurped rights ; so that the royal authority was abused, and the clergy were subjected to all the penalties of a premunire. Henry heard this with indignation, till the artful Cromwell, favouring his passion for power and money, pointed out the means of effectually humbling the clergy, and of confiscating their property. In a transport of joy he now embraced the new favourite, and taking the royal signet from his finger, sent him to the convoca- tion then sitting, to declare the pains and penalties which they had incurred. The bishops were at first astonished at the charge, and attempted to deny the fact ; but, Cromwell pro- ducing a copy of the oath which they had taken to the pope at their consecration, they were awed into silence, and eager to compound with his majesty, by tendering a free gift of 118,840 pounds. The fortune of Cromwell was insured by this man- 2 ceuvre, 6A THOMAS CROMWELL, eeuvre, and he rapidly rose to the summit of power. He was successively made a privy counsellor, and master of the jewel-office ; clerk of the hanaper, and chancellor of the exchequer ; principal secretary of state, and master of the rolls 5 lord keeper of the privy seal, and lord Cromwell : and, to crown the whole, he was con* stituted vicar-general, and vicegerent over all the spirituality under the kjng, who had now assumed the title of " Supreme Head of the Church. " So many honours, accumulated by a person of such plebeian origin, could not escape envy : in quality of vicar-general he was exposed to obloquy also. The total suppression of the monasteries was a bold and novel step ; and as the rupture with the pretended representa- tive of St. Peter was now complete; while the greater part of the nation still professed popery, the danger of the man who had placed himself in the foremost ranks of reformation, and been accessary to that important revolution, must be obvious to the most cursory ob- server. Yet Cromwell was not intimidated by the difficulties which surrounded him. His good sense extricated him from some impending dangers, and his sagacity removed others that were evidently approaching. With such a capricious and fickle master, however, it was impossible to be safe. Reason may maintain its ground with reason; but, where passion and caprice alone bear sway, there is no tenable possession of the mind. The spoils of the monasteries gratified Henry's rapacity, and the offals, which he was continually distributing among his parasites, fixed their adherence to a minister who had provided such a banquet for their entertainment : but the number whom this conduct alienated was not small ;. and both the religiory and morals of the king were so much under the domination of his lust, that the tenets of one day were deemed heretical on the next. Thus EARL OF ESSEX. 65 Thus circumstanced, Cromwell felt the necessity of caution in the exercise of his religious powers. He began by publishing a few articles of faith, essentially different from the Romish; but not to shock the vulgar prejudices too strongly at once, he left some tenets doubtful, and others he did not touch. His next care, and in this his wisdom and piety were equally conspicuous, was to publish a translation of the Scriptures into English, a copy of which was directed to be placed in every church, for the inspection of all ranks. The Lord's prayer, the creed, and the deca- logue, were likewise ordered to be taught in the verna- cular tongue. These judicious measures menaced the speedy extirpation of the Romish religion, and its blind adherents were consequently incensed to madness. In- surrections broke out in different parts of the kingdom; the rebels boldly demanded that Cromwell should be brought to condign punishment, as a subverter of the laws and religion of the land; but the disturbances being speedily quelled, Henry only answered the com- plaints of the insurgents by heaping fresh honours on the head of his minister, who was now created earl of Essex. The tide of prosperity had hitherto flowed without interruption. The earl, studious to prevent a reflux, tock a precaution which precipitated his fall. Henry having lost his queen Jane Seymour, mother of Edward VI. for whom he seems to have entertained a sincere affection, turned his thoughts towards a Ger- man alliance. Essex warmly seconded his master's views, and brought about a marriage between him and Anne of Cleves, who was a protestant ;. in hopes thereby to strengthen his interest, against the popish faction, which continually menaced him. So uncertain, how- ever, is the issue of human events, that this very cir- cumstance proved his ruin. Anne was personally dis- agreeable 66 EARL OF ESSEX. agreeable to Henry, who had a whimsical and vitiated taste: he ceased to cohabit with her, and fixed his rov- ing affections on Catherine Howard, niece to the duke of Norfolk. The papists, seeing this, redoubled their clamours against Essex, and some of the bishops pro- mised to procure a divorce from the princess of Cleves,, provided he was removed. Henry, whom no tie of ho- nour or gratitude could bind when his passions were concerned, and who seems to have thought that the pros- tituted name of marriage would cover the blackest atro- cities, gave up his favourite, who was arrested by the duke of Norfolk at the council-board, and immediately conveyed to the Tower. Seven days after, he v/as ac- cused in the house of lords, of heresy- and treason; but the charges were either so frivolous, or so false, that they prudently denied him an opportunity of making his. defence, and the bill of attainder passed both houses, to adopt a modern phrase, almost by acclamation. Essex, during his confinement, acquitted himself of every accusation in some very pathetic letters, which he addressed to the king ; but the die was cast, and com- punction seldom touched the heart of that tyrant. The friends of the fallen minister, as is too common, imme- diately deserted him ; and his enemies triumphed over him with inhuman insolence* Cranmer, the primate, alone maintained his cause, though with ineffectual zeal; and in the fidelity of this great and good man he met with a recompense for his own attachment to Wolsey. Essex was brought to the block on the 28th o£ July, 1540, in the forty-second year of his age. - That he might not injure his son,, he avoided all reproaches against his enemies. He grayed fervently for the king, and the welfare of his country; and then gave die sig- nal to the executioner, who, either unskilful or timid, mangled the unfortunate victim in the most shocking manner. BISHOP LATIMER. 67 Essex was a sound politician, a good man, and warm- ly attached to the public welfare ; but he committed many errors in his ministerial capacity. In his zeal for the new religion, he had introduced the unjustifiable mode of attainder, in cases of treason and heresy ; and his enemies availed themselves of his own law to con- demn him, unconvicted and unheard. In person, he was comely ; in manners, courteous* He was exempt from all pride or arrogance ; and, in his highest exaltation, was easy of access, and remark- ably affable. His charity was unbounded, and his kind- ness to his dependants made their services appear like offices of love and gratitude, not the compulsion of superiority and duty. HUGH LATIMER, BISHOP OP WORCESTER. Born 1475. — Burnt at the stake 1555. From 14J Such was the impressive language in which Latimer pleaded with his sovereign. With the effect of his soli- citations we are unacquainted; but, it is certain, Henry entertained no unfavourable opinion of him for his freedom ; and soon after, he had an opportunity of re- commending himself more effectually to the good graces of the king, by strenuously defending his divorce, ■and maintaining his supremacy, in the university of Cambridge, where he ftill continued- to exercise his talents. Aboutlhis time, Cromwell was appearing on the hori- zon of court favour, and a similarity of principles at- tached him to Latimer. The letter was now introduced at court, and had a living in Wiltshire bestowed on him, to which he instantly retired, to discharge its functions, regardless BISHOP LATTMF.Fx. 71 regardless of the prospers that opened to him as a courtier. Not satisfied with a faithful attention to the immedi- ate duties of his parish, he extended his labours through the country, wherever he found the pastoral care neg- lected : and his preaching being in a strain familiar, but extremely impressive, he soon acquired great reputa- tion among the common people. His fame daily spreading, and his piety and benevo- lence being such as malice could not scandalize, nor envy distort, the orthodox clergy in those parts were se- riously alarmed, and resolved to circumvent or silence him. Intending, one Sunday, -to preach at Bristol, a mandate was issued by the bishop, prohibiting any one to mount a pulpit there without his special licence ; and though this was only secretly aimed against Latimer, he immediately saw through the motive which dictated the injunction, but prudently disguised his feelings. Opposition soon became more public and more viru- lent ; and calumniators were suborned to accuse him of heretical opinions, chiefly by passages taken from his sermons. The accusation was laid before the bishop of London, who cited him to a personal appearance before him. Latimer, sensible that this was an extrajudicial and assumed authority* appealed to his owiv ordinary ; but the primate being prevailed on to issue a citation from Lambeth, he hesitated not to comply, though it was then the depth of winter, and he was labouring un- der a severe fit of the stone and colic. When he arrived in London, he found a court of bishops and canonists assembled to receive him ; but, instead of being examined as to his doctrines, a paper was put into his hands, which he was ordered to sub- scribe. Having found that its purport was to profess his belief in some of the mosl absurd dogmas of the aiomish church, he refused to sanction it with his name ; and 72 BISHOP LATIMER. and was then dismissed, with a hope that at the next ap- pearance he would be found in a more compliant temper. This farce was acted again and again; but, as he still continued inflexible, and even remonstrated against this vexatious usage, the court began to think of proceeding to greater severities. However, the king being informed of his perilous situation, probably by the intervention of Cromwell, stept in and rescued him from his bigoted enemies. Be- ing liberated, he attended at court, and made such an impression on Ann Boleyn by his simplicity and aposto- lic manners and appearance, that she warmly joined with Cromwell in recommending him to the first vacant see. The king, in this instance, did not want much solicitation ; and Latimer was offered the bishopric of Worcester, which he accepted, in 1535. Having assumed the pastoral office, he was remark- ably assiduous in the discharge of every part of his duty: he preached, he visited, he reproved, he exhorted; and without rejecting all the superstitions of ivome, he ex- plained them in such c way as was calculated to facili- tate the reception oijthe Protestant doctrines. While thus usefully and honourably employed in the proper sphere of his activity,s he received a summons to attend the parliament and convocation. His eloquence being then in great repute, he was called on to open the latter by a Latin oration ; but he prudently avoided launching into the ocean of contest between the Protes- tant and the Popish parties, and in consequence, escaped an intended public censure, which was directed at the primate Cranmer, and himself. Anxious to discharge the functions of a bishop alone, he meddled not with state affairs, for which he had nei- ther inclination, nor, perhaps, abilities. Certainly how- ever, he had too little policy to be a statesman, and too much bluntness to be a courtier. He could not flatter vice. BISHOP LATIMER. 73 vice, nor stoop to baseness ; and therefore spent no more time in London than what was absolutely requisite. After a two years' residence in his diocese, he was again summoned to London, on parliamentary busi- ness; and soon after, preaching a sermon before the king, in which he had, as usual, been severe against the reign- ing vices of the court, he was accused of sedition. With the undaunted consciousness of innocence he repelled this idle charge, and, in the presence of his sovereign and his ministers, professed his want of ambition and ability to preach before the court ; but, if called upon, claimed the privilege of discharging his conscience, and framing his doctrine according to his audience. The firmness of his virtue turned the edge of his ac- cuser's malice, and the king dismissed him with tokens of regard. About this time, Gardiner, bishop of Winchester, ob- taining great influence with Henry, the six bloody arti- cles, as they are called, were framed: the object of which was virtually to restore the Romish religion, though the king was as tenacious of his supremacy as ever. Thus, by the versatility of his faith, and the vio- lence of his temper, both protestants and papists were alike exposed to destruction. Latimer being unable to reconcile those articles to his conscience, thought it wrong to hold communion with a church that required them, and immediately re- signed his bishopric.^ It is related that when he had divested himself of his episcopal robes, he leaped up, declaring, " that he thought himself lighter than ever he was before." Retiring into the country, his sole wish was to enjoy a sequestered life ; but, receiving a violent contusion by the fall of a tree, he was obliged to repair to London for medical assistance ; and here he had the mortification to find all in confusion, the popish party triumphant, D and 74 BISHOP LATIMER. and his patron Cromwell in the Tower, whither he was soon afterwards sent himself, for having spoke against the six articles; and during the remainder of Henry's reign he continued in imprisonment. On the accession of Edward VI. a new scene opened, and the friends of the reformation were not only liberat- ed, but received with every mark of affection. Latimer was now pressed to resume his former bishopric of Wor- cester, into which an ignorant bigot had been foisted ; but he excused himself on account of his age, and plead- ed his claim to a disincumbrance from ecclesiastic care. He now took, up his residence at Lambeth with his friend archbishop Cranmer, and chiefly devoted him- self to acts of charity. He had a principal share, how- ever, in the composition of the homilies, which were set forth by authority; and occasionally preached before the king. On the revolution at court, after the duke of Somer- set's death, he perambulated the country as a general preacher; a practice which he continued till the acces- sion of Mary, when he was with all expedition cited be- fore the council. As he passed through Smithfield, where heretics were usually burnt, he said with a cheer- ful air, " This place has long groaned for me." After some abuse from the council, he was committed to the Tower a second time, where Cranmer and Ridley were soon sent to join him. Their imprisonment for some months was severe ; but at last they were sent to Oxford, under the care of the lieutenant of the Tower; where they were informed that the long-depending con- troversy between the papists and the protestants would be finally determined, in a disputation between the most eminent divines of both parties. However, when they arrived thither, they were all confined in the common prison; and dented the use of pen, ink, and paper. In this dismal state, their chief solace was prayer and 6 meditation ; BISHOP LATIMER. 73 meditation : and when the commissioners from the con- vocation arrived, about a month after, articles were ex- hibited for them to subscribe or confute. Having de* clined the former, copies were delivered them, and sepa- rate days were fixed when they were publicly to argue against them. The venerable Latimer, his head palsied with age* and his hand propped by a staff, with a Bible under his arm, briefly professed the articles of his belief, but jocu* Jarly observed, " that he was as fit to be made governor of Calais as to dispute at his time of life, and under such circumstances." The arguments used by the more youthful champions, Cranmer and Ridley, were over- ruled by the insolence of authority, and treated with contempt. The three bishops, after sixteen months' close con- finement, till the pope's authority could be completely restored, were again brought not to trial, but to con- demnation. Cranmer was cajoled into a recantation, and thus had a few bitter months added to his life ; but he atoned in the last scene for that instance of infirmity. Latimer and Ridley were sentenced to the stake, and soon after carried to execution. The scene of this dreadful tragedy was opposite Ba« liol college. The spectators burst into tears, when they saw men, venerable for age, dignity, and worth, about to suffer such a horrid death. Latimer appeared in a shroud prepared for the purpose, and eyed the pile which was to consume him, with the confidence of im- mortal joy. Being fastened to a stake with an iron chain, a faggot ready kindled was laid at Ridley's feet f on which Latimer exclaimed, " Be of good comfort master Ridley, and play the man : we shall this day light such a candle inEngland,asI hope, by God's grace* will never be put out." Then recommending his scful to the Almighty, the flames quickly closed on him, and D 2 he 76 SEBASTIAN CABOT. he passed through this fiery ordeal to eternal bliss. Ridley was much longer in torture but supported the for- titude of a Christian martyr to the last. Of characters so severely tried, and so greatly victo- rious, it is impossible to speak in adequate terms. The honest heart feels what no language can express. For piety, charity, humility, and exemplary manners, they were both alike distinguished., Their labours were all calculated to promote the cause of true religion and practical morality, to make men good and happy here, and ripen them for eternal bliss hereafter. 5EBASTIANCABOT. Born about 1477— Died 1557. From \6th Edward IV. to 4tt/i Mary I. THE close of the fifteenth century was pregnant with many great events, and produced some of the most extraordinary characters for enterprize that ever graced the annals of fame. Columbus discovered a new con- tinent, and Di Gama laid open the precious treasures of the East. Henry VII, to whom the former had offered his services, through the medium of his brother, was either too incredulous or too penurious to discern and seize the mighty project; but, when he, at length, be- came sensible of what his narrow policy had lost, ambi- tion or curiosity roused him to participate in the ho- nours and advantages of Columbus's discoveries, al- though he could no longer claim them by an original title. The patronage of a king will always elicit enterprize; and no country is so barren in genius and talents as Hot to possess some aspiring minds, to which royal counte- nance SEBASTIAN CABOT. 77 nance and encouragement can impart an enthusiasm to dare and suffer. Sebastian Cabot was born at Bristol, about 1477- His father was a native of Venice ; and made it his first care to educate his son in those branches of marine and ma- thematical science, to which commerce had then given celebrity and value. Before Sebastian was twenty years of age, he had performed several voyages; and, by thus adding practice to theory, he became early eminent in the nautical profession. The first voyage of importance, however, on which Sebastian was engaged, seems to have been that made by his father John, who had obtained a joint commission with his son from Henry VII. for the discovery of a north-west passage to India, the favourite object of Columbus; whose glorious career the king was then desirous that his subjects should emulate or excel. The two Cabots sailed from Bristol in the spring of 1494, and pursuing their course with favourable gales, on the twenty-fourth of June saw Newfoundland, to which they gave the name of Prima Vista, or first seen. Landing on a small island on this coast, they gave it the appellation of St. John's, from its discovery on the day dedicated to St. John the Baptist. This island proved to be barren; but the surrounding seas teemed with fish. The na- tives were clothed in skins, and armed with bows, arrows, pikes, wooden clubs, darts, and slings. The naviga- tors returned to England with three of those savages on board, made a report of their discoveries, and met with a gracious reception from their delighted prince. Cabot the father dying soon after, a fresh patent was granted to his son Sebastian, to proceed again in quest of new discoveries : he accordingly set sail on the fourth of May, 1497, before Columbus had commenced his third voyage. He sailed as high as 67 deg. 30 min. north la- titude, from whence shaping his course southerly, he D 3 came ?S SEBASTIAN CABOT. came down to 56 dcg. after which he explored the wholff coast of North America, as low as 38 deg. This part of the continent, he expressly says, was, afterwards named Florida. His provisions beginning to be exhausted, he found it expedient to sail back ; and, first touching at Newfoundland, returned to England with a full cargo of the productions of the countries which he had visited.. It is probable that Sebastian made several subsequent voyages to compleat his survey of the coast of New- foundland. A chart of his discoveries, drawn by him- self, with his effigies annexed, was hung up as a curiosity in the private gallery at Whitehall. Purchas, with the laudable partiality of a man who feels for the honour of his country, expresses some in- dignation, that the new western world should be named America, when in fact Cabot had discovered that con- tinent before Americus Vesputius, or even Columbus hifriself. Newfoundland, in its most extensive sense, was cer- tainly the first of our plantations ; and the spirit of en- terprize to which the discoveries of Cabot gave rise', naturally paved the way to the subsequent naval power, the commerce, and the glory, of the British nation. While Spain was enervated and rendered indolent by the riches poured into her lap from the discoveries of Co- lumbus, it was the happier fate of England to secure such a soil and climate as gave a new stimulus to exer- tion, and rendered her enterprizing sons still more hardy and more brave. Of the history of a man who, without doubt, first dis- covered the continent of America, every trace must be interesting to a Briton. But, for the space of twenty years of his life, no vestiges of his labours are on re- cord. In the eighth year of Henry VIII. he again ap- pears on the stage; and was then, through the interest ©f Sir Thomas Pert, vice-admiral of England, furnished with SEBASTIAN CABOT. v 79 with a good ship of the king's, to prosecute fresh disco- veries. It seems, he had by this time altered his plan, and his intention was to sail by the south to the East In- dies. For this purpose he proceeded to Brasil: but, failing in the grand design of his voyage, he shaped his course for St. Domingo and Porto Rico; and, after carry- ing on some traffic there, returned to England, without much increasing, however, his reputation by this expe- dition. Disappointed, and probably neglected in consequence of his failure, he left his native country, and entered into the service of Spain, in wh ch he rose to the highest rank and signalized himself in many hazardous attempts, to, promote the views of his employers. Fortune, however, frowned upon him once more. In an intended voyage to the Moluccas, through the Straits of Magellan, his men became mutinous, and 'his project was thereby frus- trated. He, however, sailed up the rivers Plata and Paraguay, built several forts, and discovered and reduced a rich and fertile tract of country, under the dominion of Spain. After spending five years in America, he re- turned in chagrin to the former country, where he met with but a cold reception. These circumstances, probably, conspired to make him anxious for revisiting his native land; and about the latter end of the reign of Henry VII. we find him settled again at Bristol. A spirit of maritime adventure beginning by this time to be diffused through England, Cabot, in 1552, was ' active in a speculation to fit out ships for discovering , the northern parts of the globe, and thereby to explore new scenes of action, and open new channels of com- merce. This expedition took place under the patronage of. government, and was the first voyage ever made to Russia ; a voyage which laid the foundation of the inter- course that has since subsisted, to the mutual profit of both 80 BISHOP JEWELL. both nations. Upon this first success, a Russian Com- pany was formed; of which Cabot was constituted governor for life. After an active life, spent in pursuits honourable to himself, and useful to his country and to mankind, he died in a very advanced age ; and retained his cheerful- ness of temper and urbanity of manners to the last. Though his nautical fame is certainly inferior to that which is justly ascribed to Columbus, his claims, as an original discoverer, are yet far superior to those of Ame- ricus Vesputius. But fortune, influenced, in this case, by chance or caprice*, has given the latter a celebrity which is neither equitable nor just. Thus one man fre- quently earns the palm, while another carries away the prize. It has been observed that Cabot was the first mariner who noticed the variation of the magnetic needle, so important in the science of navigation; but, although this may be the fact, it must have occurred antecedently to the first voyage of Columbus; as all the historians of his adventurous enterprize agree, that this phenomenon^ which has never yet been satisfactorily explained, great- ly perplexed and astonished that spirited navigator* amidst the unknown seas which he was traversing. JOHN JEWELL, BISHOP OF SALISBURY. Bom 1522— Died 1571. From 13 th Henry Fill, to I3t/i Elizabeth. IN purity of manners, integrity of life, and well-tem- pered zeal in defence of the protestant cause, Dr. John Jewell furnishes ail amiable example, which de- serves BISHOP JEWELL. 81 serves to be handed down to posterity, both as an incen- tive and a pattern. His works also on polemical theo- logy; at a time when this species of writing had its utility and its praise, still rank him high among the champions of religious liberty, and the learned apologists for a se- paration from the church of Rome. This eminent divine was descended from an ancient family in Devonshire, and was born at the village of Buden in that county. He received the first rudiments of classical learning under his maternal uncle, a respect- able clergyman: and passing successively through the schools at Branton, South Molton, and Barnstaple, where his progress must have been considerable, though the little incidents of his puerile days are unrecorded, before he had attained the age of fourteen he was entered of Merton college, in the university of Oxford. His first tutor was a man of no literary eminence, and rather inimical to the doctrines of the reformation. At the period when the intellectual powers begin to expand, principles generally sink deep; and had not this promis- ing youth been soon after committed to the care of ano- ther gentleman, in every respect the reverse of his former tutor, it is possible that protestantism might have lost one of its ablest defenders, and most exemplary or- naments, by the deleterious opinions of his academic guide. Having, however, imbibed the tenets of the reformed religion, and distinguished himself by his aptitude for learning, and his assiduity in its acquisition, he removed to Corpus Christi college, where he was chosen scholar ; and pursued his theological studies with such ardour,' that he became almost wholly absorbed by them. It is recorded of him, that he read from four in the morning till ten at night, almost regardless of the calls of nature; by which indefatigable perseverance he acquired a most extensive fund of knowledge, but at the expence of his D 5 health, 82 iisiloP Jjewfelfc* health, an object of so much importance to maintam and secure, that youth should never overlook its value, either in their thirst for innocent pleasure, or even the laudable ambition of literary acquirements. Inconse- quence of neglecting a cold, he contracted a lameness which attended him to the grave ; and in other respects he had sapped his constitution, before he reached the prime of life. His abilities, however, Were so conspicuous, and his virtues so great, that he commenced tutor with general applause, and initiated many in the doctrines of the re- formation. Being afterwards chosen professor of rheto- ric in his college, he read lectures with distinguished reputation, and daily added to his celebrity and his in- fluence. So estimable, too, was his moral character, that the dean, a rigid papist, used to exclaim, " I should love thee, Jewell, if thou wertnot a Zuiriglian. In thy faith I hojd thee to be a heretic, but in thy life thou art an angel." When Edward VI. mounted the throne, Mr. Jewell made a public profession of his principles, and contract- ed an intimate friendship with Peter Martyr, the divi- nity-professor of the university. On proceeding bachelor In divinity, he preached an excellent Latin sermon in de- fence of the protestant doctrine, and sedulously attended to his pastoral duty at Sunningwell, in Berks, of which he was rector, Whither he regularly walked every Sun- day, notwithstanding his painful lameness. The short reign of Edward, and the bigotry of hrs successor Mary, soon exposed Mr. Jewell, to all the rage of persecution. The fellows of his own college lost no time in expelling him for heresy ; but the university, out of respect to his abilities, or, as others say, with a design to entrap him, appointed him to draw up and deliver its congratulatory address on the queen's accession. The address, l)€wever, was composed with such felicity of matter BISHOP JEWELL. 83 matter and expression, that it not only passed without censure, but was favourably received by all parties. Unwilling to quit the scene of his honourable labours, he withdrew to Broadgate-hall, now Pembroke college, where he continued his lectures ; but, popery being re- established, and his life in danger, he was drawn into a compulsive signature of tenets which his heart and rea- son abjured. His enemies so well knew the inefficacy of his subscription, that they determined to deliver him up to Bonner, the grand inquisitor; but he avoided their vigilance ; and, taking a bye-road towards London, by night, walked till he was quite exhausted, and obliged to lie down upon the ground. In this situation he was providentially found by a benevolent Swiss, who had formerly been in the service of bishop Latimer, and who conducted him to the house of a lady, w r here he met . with a hospitable reception, and by whom he was after- wards privately conveyed to London. The zeal and friendship of Sir Nicholas Throgmorton furnished him with means of reaching the continent, where he immediately joined his former associate, Peter- Martyr, who had preceded him ; and with that learned divine settled first at Strasburgh, and afterwards at Zurich, where profession of the reformed religion was neither criminal nor dangerous. The society which they kept was distinguished for erudition, and zeal for protestantism ; and their situation was not uncomforta- ble; but, on the joyful news of Elizabeth's accession, Dr. Jewell returned to his native land, where his fame and reputation had suffered no diminution by his volun- tary exile, but rather gained an ample increase. In consequence of this, he was particularly favoured by the queen, and soon after his return appointed one of the sixteen Protestant divines to hold a disputation in West- minster Abbev, against the champions of popery. DO The 8tt BISHOP JEWELL. The tide of preferment now flowed on apace, and in quick succession, he rose to several dignities, which were soon after crowned by his elevation to the mitre. In 1559 he was consecrated bishop of Salisbury; and never were ecclesiastical rank and emolument more judiciously bestowed. Dr. Jewell, in the most critical times, had shewn his attachment to the reformation ; he had en- forced its doclxmes both by his eloquence and his writ- ings, and he had adorned them by his blameless life and exemplary conversation. The papists, however, though often confuted, were not to be confounded. The more absurd any tenets are, the stronger hold they take on minds of a certain cast. The feeble intellect is dazzled by what it cannot com- prehend: and it regards the delusions of plausible de- signing men as the sacred mysteries of religion. On this account the bishop of Salisbury found it necessary to be instant in season and out of season, in order to trace and disconcert the schemes, and to break through the snares, of an insidious and domineering party. He impeached some of the leading dogmas of the Romish church, and challenged the whole world to defend them; but the Papists, though they did not altogether decline the controversy, knew too well the disadvantageous ground on which they now stood, to enter the lists with him in public. The bishop, encouraged by success, and emboldened by the present aspedt of affairs, published his famous "Apology for the Church of England;" a work which was translated into all the modern languages of Europe, and even into Greek ; a work that, in its day, did more service to the cause of the information, and more injury to popery, than almost any other that can be named, or put in competition with it; a work that still deserves to be read by every member of the church of England; and, in short, by every Protestant who wishes to know the BISHOP JEWELL. 85 the foundation of the principles which he professes to believe and follow. But Dr. Jewell was not only celebrated as an able defender of the protestant faith, but he carried a spirit of reform into every ecclesiastical department within the sphere of his jurisdiction. He corrected clerical abuses; he purified the courts, and made them instru- ments of utility, instead of engines to oppression. While engaged in such truly honourable public pur- suits, and in an unwearied application to private studies, he began to feel the strength of his body unequal to the vigour of his mind ; yet no persuasion of friends, no affectionate warnings of the danger which he incurred, could prevail on him to relax into the least indulgence to himself. He persisted in his usual practice of rising at four in the morning; at five he called his-family to prayers; at six he attended the public worship in the cathedral; and the remainder of the morning he devoted to study. Some part of the afternoon was taken up in public audiences, and the transaction of business ; at nine in the evening he examined his servants how they had spent the day, and afterwards joined with them in family devotion. From this time till midnight he with- drew to his study, and even when at last he was dis- posed to indulge nature in repose, one of his chaplains generally read to him till he fell asleep. A life so watchful, so laborious, without any relaxa- tion, except the change from one engagement to ano- ther; without any recreation, except at moderate and hasty meals ; could not fall to hasten the advances of mortality, and to abridge the number of his days. But, if living be estimated by action, Dr. Jewell may be said to have reached longevity. Except very few hours de- dicated to sleep, his duration might be said to be wholly life; and even when the monitions of his approaching 5 end 86 SIR THOMAS GRESHAM. end could no longer be disregarded, it was his constant observation, " that a bishop should die preaching." His sense of the episcopal duty was undoubtedly very strong ; and it may be said almost literally, fnat he died at his post. Having promised to preach at a church in his diocese, he set out, when evidently labouring under a severe illness, regardless of the impending danger. He preached his last sermon, but with difficulty ; and soon after resigned his immaculate soul into the hands of him who gave it, at Munkton Farley, and was buried in the' choir of Salisbury cathedral. The character of this primitive bishop will be best seen in his life and manners; but every particular re- specting such a worthy man cannot fail to be interesting. In his person he was thin and spare, the effect, probably, of his intense application to study ; in temper he was pleasant and affable, modest and meek ; in his morals he was pious and charitable; and, after he became a bishop, he seems to have made as near approaches to the standard of Christian perfection, as the weakness of human nature will fte^mit. He was gifted with a very tenacious memory, which he had improved to an extra- ordinary degree by art; so that he could exactly repeat whatever he wrote, after a single reading. This useful art he appears to have been capable of communicating to others. Of his skill in languages and his immense erudition he has left sufficient testimonies in his writings ; which, as far as they were practical, received an instruc- tive and persuasive comment from his life. SIR f 87 ) SIR THOMAS GRESHAM. Born 1519— Died, 1579. from \Otk Henri/ VUJ. to 2lst Elizabeth. IN the age of Elizabeth, our commerce began to ex- pand itself to the remotest parts of the world, and the character of a merchant to become as truly respecta- ble, as in the eye of reason, and the scale of utility, it certainly deserves to be. The national opulence of Bri- tain, her consequence, and her glory, arise neither from the peculiar fertility of the soil, the extent of the terri- tory, nor the number of inhabitants; in all which re- spects she is excelled or rivalled by her neighbours ; but from her shipping, manufactures, and trade, from the spirit of enterprize that actuates her capitalists, from the industry and skill of her artists, and from the skill and resolution of her seamen, which have carried the British flag, either to enrich or aggrandize their country, where- ever winds blow, or ocean rolls. But among all the mercantile characters who- in past or present times have done honour to their native lead, or immortalized their memory by laudable and benevolent actions, there are none that can be putin competition with GRESHAM; a man, who will be remembered with gratitude, while the city of London shall remain the emporium of nations, and while extensive commer- cial knowledge, combined with a love of science, shall merit esteem and reputation upon earth. Thomas Gresham was descended of an ancient family in Norfolk, several of which had borne the honour of knighthood, and among the rest his father Sir Richard, . who was sheriff of London in 1531, and much employed by Henry VIII. in his foreign contracts and negotia- tions. He had two sons, the elder of whom, though bred 88 SIR THOMAS GRESHAM. bred to his father's business, accompanied the protector Somerset, m his expedition to Scotland, and was knight- ed by him in the field of battle at Musselborough ; but died in the reign of queen Mary. The younger, the subject of the present memoirs, was also bound very early to the trade of a mercer; but it appears probable that this was only to initiate him in a general knowledge of business; for neither his birth nor his fortune re- quired that he should, for any length of time, submit to the drudgery of a counter. It is to be lamented, however, that we can scarcely recover one particular of this celebrated merchant's early life. It is certain that he received a classical education ; and, notwithstanding his apprenticeship, we find him passing some years at Caius college, Cambridge, under its great founder, Dr. Caius, who in compliment to the learning and proficiency of his pupil, calls him, " Merca- tor Doctissimus," or the very learned merchant. But, though the higher departments of trade are by no means incompatible with the greatest advances in learning, Gresham's destination in life, much for his in- terest and credit, being early fixed by paternal solicitude, he soon engaged in active commerce, which put an end, in a great measure, to his literary pursuits, although not to his zeal in the cause of learning. He was made free of the Mercers company, and about the same time married the widow of a gentleman by the name of Reade. On the demise of his father, who had been the king's agent at Antwerp, another person was appointed to that office ; but, either from his wanting abilities or integrity, he involved his sovereign in considerable difficulties; and young Gresham, being consulted on the mode of extricating his majesty from the pressure of certain pecu- niary engagements, gave such a shrewd and satisfactory opinion, that he was immediately authorized to carry his SIR THOMAS GRESHAM. 8Q his own ideas into execution, and removed to Antwerp with his family, in quality of royal agent. Here he soon found himself involved in a business of great intricacy, arising from the want of prompt respon- sibility in his government; the fertility of his invention, however, enabled him to accomplish the object in view with honour to himself, and advantage to his employer. Having discovered the selfish and intriguing disposition of the Flemings, he counteracted it in the most effectual manner for the service of his country ; and raised the reputation of England to such an unusual pitch, that he could with facility borrow money on equitable terms, either on account of government, or by his own private credit. He turned the balance of trade wholly in favour of England, and so raised the course of exchange, that money flowed apace into his native country, which had been exhausted before, and was even deeply in debt to the citizens of Antwerp. However, on the accession of queen Mary, he was removed from his appointment; but not before he had obtained sufficient grants from his late royal master to enable him to live with credit in the style of a private gentleman. ■ In a patent, settling a pension on him and his heirs for ever, signed only three weeks before Edward's death, among other honourable expressions are these words, " You shall know that you have served a king." During the reign of Mary he was rather a petitioner for justice, than an object of favour; but when Elizabeth ascended the throne, and merit was confident of royal regard, he was among the first citizens of London that experienced her discriminating attention. She employed him to furnish the arsenals with arms, and soon after, conferred on him the honour of knighthood, and made him her agent in foreign parts. Among his fellow-citizens his credit, at this period, had gO SIR THOMAS GRESHAM. had arrived at a very high pitch ; and in order more en- tirely to establish his connections among them, he Built a spacious house on the west side of Bishopsgate street, afterwards called Gresham College, where he lived in a style becoming his character, opulence, and station. But that prosperity which had hitherto been his con- stant attendant with little variation, was now inter-* rupted by the severest domestic calamity. He had an only son named Richard, about sixteen years of age: his toils and his cares were all probably directed to secure the fortune and to promote the welfare of this object of his fondest affection ; but he was deprived of this his only solace, his son and his heir, in the very opening bloom of youth, before it was possible that his virtues could be developed, or his faults, if he possessed any -could diminish the anguish of a parent's sorrow. Being now destituie of a natural representative, he began to embrace and adopt the public. The strong ties, which bound him to his offspring, being for ever dissolved, with the dignity of a man, who still wished to perpetuate his name by honourable service, he turned his thoughts to the welfare of his fellow-citizens, among whom he lived highly respected and beloved. The merchants of London had hitherto met to trans- act business in the open air in Lombard-street, subject to all the inclemencies of the weather; and he conceived that he could not more essentially serve them, than by erecting an Exchange for their use, on the plan of the Bourse at Antwerp. Animated with this liberal idea, he only requested the corporation to assign him over an eligible spot of ground for the purpose, and he promised to erect the edifice at his own expence. It was impossi- ble that an offer of such a disinterested nature could be considered with indifference. The citizens assigned him the site of eighty houses in Cornhill, which were pulled down; and on the seventh of June 1567t sir Thomas laid SIR THOMAS GRESHAM. ()1 laid the first stone of the Exchange; which was raised with such extraordinary diligence, that it was completed before Christmas. When the fabric was fit for use, and the shops within its precincts opened, Elizabeth, attended by her cour- tiers, made a procession to inspect it ; and being highly gratified with the munificence and taste of her subject and agent, she ordered a herald, by sound of trumpet, to proclaim it the Royal Exchange; an appellation which she desired it might ever afterwards retain. This structure, however, though sufficiently splendid and capacious for that period, was by no means equal in grandeur to the present. The dreadful fire in London, in 1666, consumed it with numerous other public and private buildings: and out of its ashes rose the present pile, which was finished at the joint expence of the city and the mercers' company, at the cost of 80,0001. It is impossible to do adequate justice in a general work, to the patriotic exertions of Sir Thomas Gresham, either in the service of his sovereign, or of his fellow- citizens. Philip II. having in the rage of disappoint- ment, prohibited all commerce in Flanders with the English, Cecil then Secretary of State, found it ex- pedient to consult Sir Thomas on the probable conse- quences of this measure, and the best means of coun- teracting its effects. His advice appeared so judicious, that it was immediately adopted, and proved so salutary, that the machinations of the enemy were converted to their own injury and disappointment. At his instiga- tion, government not only averted the danger of a re- striction on the English trade, but concerted means of being more essentially independent on foreign nations. Till this period all loans had been negociated on the con- tinent; a circumstance by which this country was im- poverished, and aliens were enriched. A new scene, however, was now opened ; it was determined to try raising Q2 SIR THOMAS GRESHAM. raising of money on the merchant adventurers in Lon- don ; and though* at first, from the novelty of the plan, and the general ignorance of the monied men, it met with a very cool reception, yet by the interest of Gre- shamitwas at last carried into full execution; and thus a revolution in the financial operations of the govern* ment was effected, at once tending to ensure its stability, and to promote the interest of the subject. The prudent regulations, adopted at this period, ren- dered a foreign agent no longer necessary for money ne- gotiations, and Sir Thomas Gresham was superseded by his own public-spirited designs: but Elizabeth, who was not insensible to his distinguished merit, immediately joined him in an honourable commission with the arch- bishop of C anterbury, the bishop of London, and some lords of the council, who were usually appointed assist- ants to the lord mayor in the government of the city, during her majesty's splendid progresses through her dominions. A life so full of activity as Sir Thomas Greshara's was not likely to leave much space for indulgence and sequestration; the mercantile world was not only the scene of his occupation, but of his pleasure : he loved the society of men whose views had been enlarged by com- merce, and was never more happy than on his favourite Exchange ; yet as years came on, he found some relaxa- tion necessary, and therefore purchased an estate at Osterley, where he built a magnificent seat, for his occa- sional retreat from the cares of business and the bustle of the capital. But his very hours of amusement were not spent in vain. A vigorous mind from every object elicits some improvement; a benevolent heart is never removed from the sphere of its exertions. He erected paper, oil and corn mills in his park at Osterley, which at once filled up the leisure of the proprietor by superinten- dance r SIR THOMAS GRESHAM. Q3 dance, and furnished constant employment to various descriptions of artificers and labourers, who depended on him' for their daily bread. At this seat queen Eliza* beth visited the " Royal Merchant/' as he used to be called ; and was magnificently entertained. Her ma- jesty, however, pointing out an improvement in the court before the house, which she said would look better, if divided ; Sir Thomas, anxious to shew his respect for his sovereign's taste, privately sent to London for work- men ; and when the queen rose next morning, she was astonished to find her suggestion completely carried into execution. We have already mentioned that this opulent and worthy citizen had the misfortune to lose his only son, and that Providence had intercepted the means of per- petuating his name, except by his own noble and praise-worthy actions. The Exchange alone would have rescued his memory from oblivion ; but so rapidly had his fortune accumulated by his consummate judgment in mercantile transactions, that he began to project new schemes of beneficence to his fellow-citizens and to man- kind. The city of London having no establishment express- ly devoted to the liberal sciences, and the merchants of his time from want of education, being commonly obsti- nate and prejudiced, as Sir Thomas had witnessed on many occasions in his intercourses with them ; he reflect- ed that he could not more effectually promote their wel- fare and their credit, than by converting his mansion- house in Bishopsgate-street into a college, and endowing it with sufficient revenues for professors in the seven sciences, divinity, law, physic, astronomy, geometry, music, and rhetoric. In this he followed the plan of academic institution; though it cannot be denied that lectures adapted to the local circumstances of the great emporium $4 SIR THOMAS G-RESHAM. emporium of the world, would now be more dseirablfc and beneficial. No sooner, however, was this generous design di- vulged, than the ruling men in the university of Cam- bridge made use of every argument to induce him to alter his plan, and of every solicitation for the prefe- rence in his favour. As his own alma mater^ it might be naturally expected that he would rather found a college there than in Oxford ; and they expatiated on the dan- ger of affecting the interests of the two established uni- versities, by raising rival institutions in London. His partiality for Cambridge was no doubt strong, but it was still stronger in favour of the metropolis. He per- severed, therefore, in his first intention ; and on the 20th of May, 1575, executed a deed of settlement, by which, after the demise of his lady, should she happen to sur- vive him, his town-house was to be converted into a college, and sufficient revenues were assigned for the support of the professors. Having given to his proposed institution all the sta- bility which legal sanctions could confer, and bequeath* ed by will considerable sums to several private and pub- lic charities, particularly the hospitals ; like a man who had performed an honourable part in life, and was ambitious to benefit the world when he was called from this transitory scene ; he began to court retirement, and that tranquillity which is best suited to declining age. And few had more claims to the peaceful enjoyment of the last hours of life, than Sir Thomas Gresham. His fortune was so ample as to preclude every anxious care, and the reflection on the long series of pious and bene- volent actions which he had performed, must have re- galed his mind with the solace of conscious worth. Be- loved and respected, he enjoyed the smiles of deserved friendship and the homage of the public ; and had his days SIR THOMAS GRESHAM. Q5 days been protracted to a much longer period, it is pro- bable from his diposition and his conduct, that the last would have still been more honourable than the former. But in four years after he had adjusted his worldly affairs in a manner which will ever reflect lustre on his name, he was seized with a fit of apoplexy in his own house, immediately on his return from the Exchange ; and falling suddenly down, all attempts to restore him proved ineffectual. His obsequies were performed in a public and solemn manner, worthy the respect due to so distinguished a citizen: and his charitable deeds may be said to have followed him to the grave ; as his hearse was attended by a hundred poor men, and as many poor women, for whom he had ordered appropriate funeral dresses at his cxpence, whenever the aweful ceremony should take place* From the best accounts that have been transmitted to us, it appears that this truly patriotic citizen was throughout of a temper generous and benign ; and that his posthumous chanty was only a continuation of the munificence that had adorned his life. He was well versed in ancient and modern languages ; and shewed a predilection for learning, and its professors, whether natives or foreigners. Some acknowledged his patronage in very handsome terms; among the rest, John Fox, the martyrologist. Few have equalled his public spirit, and few can claim a larger tribute of esteem and gratitude. He who lives only for himself, will soon be forgotten^ but he, whose labours are directed to the perpetual bene- fit of the community, may lay claim to immortality as his reward* JAMES ( 96 ) JAMES CRICHTON; Commonly known by the Appellation of THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON. Born about 1560 — Died about 1582. From IStk Edward VI. to 2±th Elizabeth. TO magnify what is great, and to diminish what is little, seems to be a disposition natural to men* Else how can we account for the adscititious qualities ascribed to the person long known by the name of The Admirable Crichton, which are so vague and partake so much of the marvellous, that the prodigious and unpa- ralleled talents, which he actually possessed, have in con- sequence been brought into dispute ; and, if the concur- ring testimony of contemporaries did not identify his fame, his very existence might in time have become questionable. If it should be asked, why we select a character so enveloped in legend by partial admirers, and so aspersed by sceptical revilers, that half its native excellencies are obscured, it is because we think it honourable to our kind to shew that such extraordinary persons have ap- peared on this mundane stage; and because a display of such endowments, according to their most moderate estimate, cannot fail to have a potent effect on the gene- rous minds of youth, when they see what is attainable by man. The aera of the birth of this prodigy has been vari- ously related; but according to the earl of Buchan, the latest inquirer, he first saw the light in 1560. His father soon after became lord advocate of Scotland; his mother was a Stuart, and lineally descended from the family james cjuchto:n t . 97 royal family of Scotland ; so that Crichton in the subse- quent scenes of life did not boast without reason of his high extraction. He is said to have received his grammatical learning at Perth; but if we may give credit to Aldus Manutius, who afterwards became intimately acquainted with him, he studied under Buchanan, and other preceptors of James I. along with his majesty. That rtiebest masters in every branch of learning fell to the lot of Crichton, may well be inferred from his proficiency; and it is absolutely impossible that he could have imbibed his various knowledge from any one man of the age in which he lived, strong as the natural force of his genius must have been. However, Ruther- ford, at that time a famous professor at St. Andrew's, had the honour of being his tutor at that university; and de- rives much greater celebrity from his forming such a scholar, than from his own commentaries on Aristotle, which are now obsolete and useless. By the time Crichton had reached his twentieth year, he had run through the w r hole circle of the sciences, and was a capital master often languages; which, from his vast memory, were judged to be as familiar to him as his mother-tongue. Nor was his fame confined merely to literary excellence: he seemed to combine the most discordant qualities, and was without a rival in all athletic exercises. It is recorded of him, that in fencing he could spring at one bound the length of twenty feet on his antagonist ; and could use the sword in either hand, with equal dexterity. He had also a fine voice, and great skill in playing on musical instruments. His person and countenance were alike eminently beautiful, which served to set off all his other accomplishments; for even virtue in a graceful form never fails to be more acceptable. Thus qualified, he set out on his travels, and, as it E should <)8 JAMES CRICHTON. should appear, fully sensible of his marvellous acquire- merits, and fired with an ambition to display them. Having reached Paris, he affixed a kind of challenge on the gate of the college of Navarre, inviting the learned of that university to a disputation on a certain day ; giv- ing his opponents, whoever they might be, the choice of ten languages, and of all the faculties and sciences. After such a bold and novel step for a youth still in his minority, it might have been supposed that be would have devoted the interval to refresh his memory at least, and prepare himself against every advantage that could reasonably be taken of his unguarded provocation. But the reverse appears to have been the fact. He gave himself wholly up to private pleasures, or public manly exercises. He engaged in every diversion and in every dissipation with the same ardour; and became so con- temptible in the eyes of the students at the university, that beneath his own placard they caused to be written, " that the most likely place in which to find this mon- ster of perfection would be the tavern or the brothel." But Crichton soon redeemed his character, and covered his detractors with confusion. On the appointed day he attended in presence of three thousand auditors ; and, after a disputation of nine hours against four doctors of the church and fifty masters, he silenced his antagonists, and was presented with a diamond and a purse of gold, amidst the loudest acclamations. Every passion that had agitated, the university, was now converted to admi- ration; and one of his opponents is said to have confess- ed, that Crichton, who now obtained the epithet of" Ad- mirable," gave proofs of knowledge almost more than human, and that one hundred years, spent in an inces- sant application to study, would not be sufficient for the attainment of such learning. It is farther added, that so little was the youthful champion fatigued with the dis- pute, that the very next day he attended a tilting-match to JAMES CRICHTON. 99 at die Louvre, where, in presence of the court of France, he bore away the ring on his lance fifteen times, sue- cessively. The next account we have of Crichton places him at Rome, where he fixed a placard on all the most public places throughout the city, couched in the following terms: " Nos Jacobus Crichtonus, Scotus, cuicumque rei propositi ex improviso respondebimus." In a city so famous for scholastic learning and wit, a challenge that bore such apparent marks of presumption could not escape a pasquinade. He was considered as a literary empiric, and the place of his residence was indicated to such as wished to see his exhibitions : but Crichton, in no wise daunted, entered the lists which he had sought, and, in the presence of the pope and his cardinals, bore away the palm of victory. Leaving Rome, he directed his course to Venice; and, if we may judge from the Latin lines still extant, which he composed on this occasion, notwithstanding all the reputation which he had acquired, he was either dis- tressed in mind, or laboured under some embarrassment in his pecuniary affairs. Having, however, introduced himself to Aldus Manutius, by means of that distin- guished scholar, who was amazed by his extraordinary endowments, he was introduced to the literati of that city, and afterwards had the honour to attract the no- tice of the doge and senate; before whom he pronounced an unpremeditated complimentary oration with such dignified elocution and force of eloquence, that he re- ceived the thanks of that illustrious body, and was uni- versally considered as the prodigy of human nature. From Venice he repaired to Padua, whose university, at that time, was in the highest reputation. Here he engaged in another disputation, beginning witn an ex- temporaneous poem in praise of the place and his au- ditors : and after disputing six hours with the most cele- E 2 brated 100 JAMES CRICHTON. bvated professors, whom he foiled on every subject which they started, by his superior acuteness in dialectics, he concluded, to the astonishment of every hearer, with an unpremeditated poem in commendation of ignorance. Amidst all the literary laurels that he won, he conti- nued his pursuit of pleasure with the same eagerness as if it had been his sole study. So contradictory were his merits, and such was the versatility of his talents, that he became the subject of envy as much as admiration. Few were willing to allow one man to carry away so many prizes; and in proportion to his fame arose the opposition of his revilers. Crichton was not insensible of this ; and to silence at once the invidious impugners of his talents, he caused a paper to be posted up, in which he offered to prove that there were innumerable errors in the works of Aristotle, and gross ignorance in his in* terpreters: at the same time, that he was ready to dispute in all the sciences, to answer any questions, and to repel any objections, either by logic, or an hundred kinds of verse, or by analytical investigations and mathematical figures. This contest, Manutius assures us, he maintain* cd for three days, without flagging ; and conducted him* self with such spirit and energy, and so completely van* qui shed his opponents, that he obtained the loudest plaudits that ever were elicited from men. The literary fame of the .admirable Crichton by this time had spread over the remotest parts of Italy; and when he came to Mantua, he had an opportunity of sig- nalizing himself by a feat of arms. A prize-fighter, who had defeated the most celebrated masters in Europe, had fixed his residence, for a time, in Mantua, and had killed three persons who had entered the lists against him. The duke, therefore, began to regret that he had granted his protection to this licensed murderer; which reaching the ears of Crichton, he was fired with the am- bition of ridding the world of such a sanguinary mon- 2 ster; JAMES CRICHTON. 3 01 ster; and offered to stake fifteen hundred pistoles, and to mount the stage against him. With some reluctance the prince consented ; and, every thing being prepared, this single combat was exhibited before the assembled cour.t, and an immense concourse of spectators. Their weapon seems to have been the single rapier, then newly introduced into Italy. The prize-iighter advanced with great impetuosity, while Crichton contented himself with parrying his thrusts, and suffered him to exhaust his own vigour, before he attempted to charge. At last, Watching his opportunity, Crichton became the assailant, and pressed upon his antagonist with such force and agility, that he run him thrice through the body, and saw him expire. Ke then generously divided the pri-.e which he had won among the widows whose husbands had been killed. The duke of Mantua conceived the highest esteem for this illustrious stranger, and made choice of him for preceptor to his son, Vincentio .di Gongaza, a prince of dissolute manners and a turbulent disposition. The ap- pointment was highly acceptable to the court; and Crichton, to evince his gratitude, and to contribute to the amusement of his patrons, composed, we are told, a comedy, in which he exposed and ridiculed all the prin- cipal weaknesses and miscarriages of men, with the most poignant satire and propriety of application; and in this play he himself exhibited fifteen duferenc characters, with such inimitable ease and grace, that he appeared every time to be a different person. But the time was now approaching, in which it was proved, that, with all his endowments, Crichton was no more than mortal. Roving about the streets one night, during the carnival, and playing on the guitar, he was attacked by six men in masks. His courage did not de- sert him on this critical occasion; he opposed them with such spirit and adroitness, that they were glad to fly ; E 3 and 302 JAMES CRICHTOtf. and their leader being disarmed, threw off his mask, and begged his life. How must it have wounded the sensibility and confounded the reason of Crichton, to discover the prince, his pupil, as the suppliant! Instead of granting the forfeited boon of life, which was all that ©ught to have been required, he fell on his knees, apolo- gized for his mistake; and, presenting the sword to Gonzaga, told him that he was always master of his existence, and needed not to have sought his death by treachery. The brutal prince, irritated by the affront which he had received, or, as some say, stung with jea- lousy, grasped the proffered instrument of destruction, and plunged it in his tutor's heart. Thus fell the admirable Crichton, in the very bloom ©f youth, by the hands of a worse than common assassin. The court of Mantua testified their esteem for his me- mory by a pnblic mourning, and the contemporary wits expressed their grief in numerous elegiac compositions ; and for a long time afterwards his picture decorated the chambers and galleries of the Italian nobility, represent- ing him on horseback, with a lance in one hand, and a book in the other. The generality of his biographers fix his death in 1583; but Lord Buchan, from the most minute inqui- ries, thinks it took place a year earlier, when he was still only twenty-two. That a man, who during his short but brilliant career filled such a space in the minds of men, should have the time of his birth and his exit disputed, as well as many of his most memorable atchievements is mortifying to those who are animated with a love of posthumous repu- tation. The case seems to be, whatever character is rais- ■ ed too high in one age, is sure to be sunk too low in an- otner. Envy, which is afraid to attack exalted living merit, consoles itself with preying on the dead. It first detects some anachronism, or some exaggerated praise, and SIR FRANCIS WALS1NGHAM. 103 and then tries to invalidate the whole chain of evidence that coeval testimonies have produced* The fame of Crichton, like that of the actor, was chiefly confined to those who had witnessed his talents. He wrote little, but he performed much. The performance was soon forgotten, or blended with fiction; and the few speci- mens which he has left of his intellectual powers, either do not rise above mediocrity, or at least would not en- title him to singular praise. He blazed like a meteor for a moment: his confiscations dazzled the eyes of the beholder; but when he vanished, the impression which he had made was no where to be found. Yet we do not hesitate to pronounce him one of the most accomplished men that ever appeared on our sublunary sphere To those who feel the glow of genius, he furnishes an ex- ample of the heights to which it can ascend ; to those who are less gifted by nature, his unsettled life and his melancholy end may at least teach acquiescence in their providential allotments. SIR FRANCIS WALSINGHAM. Born 1536— Died 1590. From 27th Henry Fill, to Wad Elizabeth. NO period in English history is more illustrious than the reign of Elizabeth for the great men which it produced in every department of the state, and who were called into action by that penetrating judge of me- rit who then sat on the throne. Indeed, half the glory of this sovereign may be fairly ascribed to the abilities of her ministers: nor does this in the least derogate from her just fame; for, to adopt the sentiment of an acute discerner of men and manners, " no weak prince was ever known to choose a wise council." E 4 Among 101 SIR FKANC1S WALSINGHAM. Among those worthies who contributed to the honour of Elizabeth's reign, and gave stability to her govern- ment, Sir Francis Walsingham will occupy a prominent place. As an able politician and an honest man he was celebrated by his contemporaries ; and he seems to have deserved the highest eulogiums which they could be- stow, as the subsequent notices of his life will evince. This statesman was born at Chislehurst, in Kent, of an ancient and honourable family; but it is matter of .serious regret that no memorials of his early life, which €an serve to stimulate the youthful bosom to follow his steps, have been preserved by the historians of his time* It only appears that he was educated at King's college, Cambridge, and soon after sent on his travels into fo- reign countries. His attachment to the principles of the reformation were, however, well known, while un- der the shade of academic bowers; and it was, perhaps, fortunate for him that he was engaged in distant pere- grinations during the sanguinary reign of Mary. With a genius turned for politics, he availed himself ©f every opportunity which his travels afforded, of ac- quiring an intimate acquaintance with the laws, govern- ment, customs, and manners, of the nations on the Con- tinent; and such were his accomplishments and known aptitude for public business, that, on his return to his native land, he speedily attracted the notice and was taken into the confidence of Cecil ; by whom he was brought forward in a manner suitable to his talents and views. That he possessed a maturity of parts, even when he first launched on the ocean of politics, may be inferred from this circumstance: he was appointed ambassador to the court of France during the storms of the civil wars in that kingdom,. and acquitted himself there with sucji zeal and ability, in various important and delicate transactions, particularly in a negociation relative to a treaty SIR FRANCIS WALSINGHAM. 105 treaty of marriage between his mistress and the duke of Alencon, and afterwards between her and die duke of Anjou, that he was ever after considered as fully quali- fied to discharge the most weighty trusts at home or abroad. The papers that passed during his embassies were collected by Sir Dudley Digges, and published un- der the title of the Complete Ambassador; from which, his penetration, his judgment, and his abilities, may be distinctly appreciated. But no part of his character is more estimable than his perfect disinterestedness. Eli- zabeth, though she could distinguish merit, was parsi- monious in her rewards. Walsingham, zealous to support the dignity of his station and to promote the interest of his sovereign, incurred greater expences than his public allowances would defray ; and it appears that he rather wasted than bettered his circumstances, during his ac- credited residence in France. On his return, however, he received the honour of knighthood ; and when his firm friend and patron, Cecil, was raised to the Peerage and maxle lord treasurer, Walsingham was appointed one of the secretaries of state, and sworn a privy coun- sellor. In this situation, he not only gratefully supported Burleigh's pow r er and influence, by which he had him- self risen; but on a variety of occasions detected and dis- concerted intrigues and conspiracies at home, and with an intuitive sagacity penetrated into the most secret designs of foreign cabinets. The states of Holland just rising into political conse- quence, Walsingham was sent over in 1578, as the queen's representative, at one of their early meetings ; and by his influence and address, he contributed much to form the basis of their union, which was successfully consolidated the following year. In short, on every occasion where skilful management and consummate address were deemed requisite, Wal- E 5 sin^ham 106 SIR FRANCIS WALSINGHAM. singham had the honour to be employed. " To him," says Lloyd, " most faces spoke as well as their tongues, and their countenance was an index of their hearts." He also maintained a number of spies and agents, and thus developed the most secret designs, before they were ripe for execution. Attached to the protestant religion, he settled its con- stitutional polity, and disconcerted all the intrigues of the papists, who not only dreaded his penetration, but complained of his insidious artifice, which was an over- match for their own. At first he shewed a predilection for the puritans; but, finding that they would not make the least advance to uniformity, even in the most harm- less ceremonies, he left them to their narrow principles and obstinate prejudices. Intelligence having been received that the young king of Scotland, afterwards James I. of England, on whom the queen always kept a watchful eye, was placing his confidence on favourites whom she disliked, Walsingham was dispatched to break through his delusion, or to create a party in his court, and to oppose his minions. The latter point he effected ; but he seems to have formed a wrong estimate of the character and abilities of the youthful monarch. This prince testified an uncommon fondness for literature, and talked not irrationally on his favourite topics. Walsingham, being well versed in ancient and modern authors, pleased him by his quota- tions from Xenophon, Thucydides, Plutarch, and Taci- tus; and on subjects of general knowledge they inter- changed sentiments with mutual freedom and satisfac- tion. This politician thought he foresaw, that so much theory as James possessed, would, at a maturer age, be turned to useful practice, and he gave a report accord- ingly; in which, however, he was certainly mistaken. James might have made an useful academical tutor, or even a professor ; but his mind was rather contracted than SIR FRANCIS WALSINGHAM. 107 than enlarged for public business, by his attachment to the classics, and his taste for polemics, in which, it must be allowed, he was an adept. A mind not originally great, is only rendered more conspicuously feeble by an undigested mass of learning ; just as a clown in a court- dress appears more ridiculous than in his own. When Elizabeth had determined on an act which forms the chief disgrace of her reign — the trial and con- demnation of her unfortunate rival, Mary ; Walsingham was appointed one of the commissioners on this tragi* cal business. He had previously exerted himself with great industry and effect to develope the plot of Babing* ton's conspiracy, in which Mary was implicated; and he appears to have been guided in this whole transac- tion, by the purest sentiments of loyalty and moral obli- gation ; for he rejected, as infamous, a scheme pressed by Leicester, of taking off the captive queen, by poison.= In the course of the trial, when Mary charged him with counterfeiting her cypher, and practising against her life and that of her son, Walsingham rose with a dignified emotion, and protested that his heart was free from all malice towards the prisoner.; calling God to witness, that in his private capacity he had done no- thing unbecoming an honest man, nor in his- public capacity any thing unworthy of his station. He de- clared that lie had done what his duty and allegiance prompted ;, and by those principles alone had he squar- ed his- conduct. Mary, with noble frankness and gene- rosity accepted his protestation, and even apologised for having given credit to what she had heard to his preju* dice. When all Europe was kept in fearful expectation by the vast armaments which the king of Spain was pre* paring, and no one could penetrate into his real desigr r Walsingham employed every manoeuvre that a long ha- bitude with politics could suggest, to discover this im : E 6 portant 10$ SIR FRANCIS WALK INGHAM. portant secret ; and, learning from an emissary at Ma- drid, that the king had avowed to his council the sending off a letter to the pope, begging his benediction on the design which he had avowed in it, a design, however, that he did not chuse to divulge till he had obtained an answer; the artful secretary, having found this clue, by means of a Venetian priest, his spy at Rome, procured a copy of the original letter; which was stolen out of the pope's cabmet by a gentleman of his bedchamber, while he slept. Having by this dexterous management developed the mystery which had puz/.led the deepest politicians to unriddle ; by the obstacles which he raised up, he pre- vented the Spaniards from receiving those pecuniary i-rupplies which would have enabled them to put to sea; and thus the sailing of the armada was delayed for a whole year. Walsingham by his intense application to public bu- siness seems to have hastened that; moment which no power or address can at last escape. He died in the 54th year of his age; and, though he had holden some of the highest and most lucrative stations, he did not leave enough behind him to defray the last offices due to mortality. To save his body from an arrest, his friends were obliged to bury him by night in St. Paul's church, without the respect and honour which were due to such a rare instance of political sagacity, disinterested zeal, and pure patriotism. He left only one daughter, who was married successively to three very distinguish- ed characters; Sir Philip Sidney, Devereux earl of Es- iex, and Bourke earl of Clanrickard and St. Albans. In Walsingham, his too penurious mistress lost one of her most faithful servants, and the public one of its best friends. He seems to have been one of those states- men in whom the noblest virtues love to dwell. He pursued the good of his country by all practicable > means, SIR FRANCIS WALSINGHAM. 100 means, regardless of all other objects. He was emi- nently instrumental in promoting voyages of discovery, and every useful scheme of trade and navigation in ge- neral. The protestant religion found in him a warm and a judicious supporter; and all the machinations of Rome to overthrow it fell beneath his superior address. His negotiations, or state papers, display at once his lirerary and his political talents. A manual of pru- dential maxims, entitled Arcana Aidica, is likewise as- cribed to him, though with no sufficient authority. It is very probable, however, that some of the most valu- able sentiments found in this work were borrowed from him : one which his whole public life illustrated, we sub- join: " Knowledge is never bought too dear." That this great and good statesman was a patron of literature, is evident from his founding a divinity lecture at Oxford, as also a library at King's college, Cam- bridge. He assisted Hakluyt : and his purse as well as his influence were always at the service of those who were qualified to do honour to their country by their arms or arts, by their enterprize or their talents. It was impossible indeed to escape a man of Walsingham's penetration, that the patronage of merit and talents, in general, is the glory and the best support of govern- ment ; or, in other words, that knowledge and virtue are the gales by which states are waited into the port of prosperity, or driven on the quicksands of disgrace. SIR ( HO ) SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. Born 1545r— Died 1596. From 36t/i Harry VIIL to SSt/i Elizabeth. THE illustrious names which throw a splendour on the age of Elizabeth are so numerous, that selec- tion becomes difficult. It produced men eminent in all the arts that give a security to nations, or embellish the walks of private life : heroes, adventurers, statesmen, poets, and scholars arose in quick succession, or rather were contemporaneous; and, ifw-e except the present and part of the past, in no preceding or subsequent reign have such brilliant naval achievements been performed. Among those, however* who by their courage and nautical skill contributed to ennoble their country, and the great princess whom they served, the first English circumnavigator, Drake, stands conspicuous in the tem- ple of Fame. He was the eldest of twelve children, and born at a village near Tavistock, in Devonshire. His father it seems was a mariner, but his actual cir- cumstances are unknown. However, he had the good fortune to be connected by marriage with Sir John Haw- kins, who took young Drake under his patronage, and gave him that kind of education which was best adapt- ed to a marine life, for which he was destined from his infancy. A cloud frequently hangs over the early years of celebrated characters, which biographers in vain at- tempt to pierce. Of the juvenile period of Drake's life, not an incident has descended to posterity. We are, therefore, obliged to take him up when he first entered on his profession, in an ostensible capacity. By the in- terest of his patron, co-operating with his own abilities, he was appointed purser of a ship, trading to Biscay, about SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 1 J 1 about the eighteenth year of his age. At twenty he made a voyage to Guinea, which then began to be visit- ed ; and two years after, he was appointed to the com- mand of the Judith. In that capacity, he particularly distinguished himself in the glorious action which took place under his patron, Sir John Hawkins, at St. John de Ulloa, in the harbour of Mexico, and returned to England, with a rising reputation, but without the least advancement in his fortune. The event of this voyage seems to have given * Drake a rooted enmity to the Spa- niards, which only terminated with his life. In those times the laws of nations seem to have been interpreted with great laxity ; and predatory voyages against the rich Spanish settlements w T ere frequently undertaken by private adventurers, rather with the connivance than the sanction of their sovereign. In such expeditions, where the love of enterprize or thirst of gain was the ruling motive, Drake took a very active part; yet his success, and die aversion to the Spanish name, which had then become endemial, always protected him from a strict inquiry into the authority under which he acted, or the means which he pursued to effectuate his designs. He made three successive voyages against the Spanish settlements in America; and, besides doing much mis- chief to individuals, he obtained a considerable share of booty, which, greatly to his honour, he divided with strict impartiality among the companions of his fortune and those who had risqued any capital in his under- takings. This conduct, so just' and praise- worthy, gain- ed him a high reputation, and made him the idol of his men. With the fruits cf his industry and his courage, he now fitted out three frigates, and sailed for Ireland, where he served as a volunteer, under Walter, earl of Essex, and performed signal feats of valour. On the death of this nobleman he returned to England, where he 112 SIR FRANCIS BRAKE. he was introduced to her majesty by Sir Christopher Hatton, and very favourably received at court. Thus basking in the beams of royal favour, his views expand- ed to nobler atchievements than what he had yet at- tempted, and he projected an expedition which will ren- der his name immortal. When a man of an ardent imagination once gives up the reins to the pursuit of interest or ambition, nothing will appear too arduous that flatters his darling passion. Drake having in one of his former expeditions obtained a prospect of the Great South Sea, determined that no obstacles or dangers should deter him from endeavour- ing to spread his sails on that ocean. But indefatiga- ble as he was in the pursuit of his design, it was not till the year 1577 that he had collected a force sufficient to man five vessels; when, by a particular royal commis- sion, he appeared as admiral, or, as the phrase then was, general of the squadron. The fleet equipped for this important expedition con- sisted of the Pelican, of one hundred tons, the flag-ship ; the Elizabeth, the Marygold, the Swan, and the Chris- topher; all of inferior burden. These vessels were partly fitted out at his own risque, and partly at the ex- pence of others, and manned with one hundred and sixty-four select mariners. They were stored with all necessary provisions, and at the same time furnished with whatever could contribute to ornament or delight: carrying a band of music, rich furniture, and specimens of the most elegant productions of this country. The admiral's table was equipped with silver utensils, and even the cook-room was decorated with the same cost- ly metal. This apparent ostenstation, however, might be the effect of policy rather than vanity. Of the re- spect, which is always paid to the externals of opulence, Drake was fully sensible j and he omitted no means of keeping SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. U3 keeping up an appearance, suitable to the station which he now held. Notwithstanding his reputation was by this time suffi- ciently blazoned, prudently reflecting on the difficulties to which his men had been exposed in former trans- atlantic expeditions, which might have deterred the less resolute, or probably to mask his design from Spain, he gave it out that his intended voyage was to Alexan- dria ; nor was the real destination known till they reach- ed the coast of Brazil. Every requisite preparation having been made, Drake sailed from Plymouth, on the 15th of November, 1577; but soon after was forced by tempestuous weather into Falmouth, whence he took his final departure, on the 13th of December, with all the auspicious indications of a favourable voyage. On the 5th of April he made the coast of Brazil, no important occurrence intervening, and entered the rive? De la Plata, where he parted company with two of his smaller ships, but meeting them again, and transport- ing the men and provisions into the rest, he turned them adrift. After encountering a dreadful storm, in which the admiral was saved by the skill and intrepidity of his second in command, on the 29th of May they entered the port of St. Julian, not far from the Straits of Magel- lan, where they lay two months, in order to make prepa- rations for passing that dangerous and hitherto little known channel. At St. Julian, a tragedy was acted, which impartiality obliges us to record ; Drake having summoned his prin- cipal officers to attend a court-martial, opened his com- mission, which . gave him power of life and death; and with considerable eloquence, which he possessed, not- withstanding his imperfect education, he began to charge a gentleman, of the name of Doughty, who had long been the object of his dislike, with first plotting to 114 SfR FHANCIS DRAKE. murder him, and then to ruin the enterprize. Jealousy of his talents and his worth is generally thought to have prompted this persecution. However this may be, ma- lice, backed by power, will seldom fail of accomplishing its object, particularly where the influence of the laws is too distant to be felt or feared. Of this tragical affair there are various and even contradictory accounts; but none, though they palliate the admiral's conduct, can wipe away the suspicion of deliberate cruelty. With a mockery of justice, while he observed some of its least important forms, he condemned to death a gentleman who had been his friend, and who followed his fortunes by his own particular solicitations. The sham tribunal, which had been instituted by Drake, and over which he himself presided, confirmed the sentence. The ill-fated Doughty obtained only the respite of a single day, to settle his affairs both temporal and spiritual. The ad- miral, it is said, received the communion with him ; and, with a hypocritical shew of regard, assured him of his prayers. The consciousness of his innocence seems to have sup- ported this unhappy victim; he broke out into no in- vectives against his prejudiced judges; he even preserved a serenity of countenance and mind ; recommended his friends to the candour of Drake, and submitted to deca- pitation with constancy and fortitude. The execution being over, the admiral by plausible harangues and excuses endeavoured to justify his con- duct ; but though the panic-struck crew might acquiesce in his decision, we are inclined to think Drake indefen- sible in the whole of this business, as far, at least, as from a review of the documents we are able, at this day, to judge. Cruelty ought ever to be the object of ab- horrence, and the more so, when it assumes the insidious mask of justice. The fleet being now reduced to three ships, Drake bade SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 115 bade adieu to port St. Julian, and on the 20th of August entered the Straits of Magellan ; which, notwithstanding the intricacy and difficulty of this navigation, he passed in sixteen days ; a shorter space of time than it has ever been performed in by any succeeding navigator. No sooner, however, had they entered the great South Sea, than they were overtaken by a violent storm, which continued, without intermission, for nearly a month, during which the ships were dispersed, and left Drake, at last, two hundred leagues out of his course, in latitude 55° south. Here they discovered a number of small islands, and were fortunate enough to obtain a supply of refreshments, by an interchange of such toys as are always valuable in the estimation of uncivilized hordes. Departing from these shores, another storm of much greater violence arose, and drove them to the very ex- tremity of the South-American coast ; where they saw for the first time, the conflux of the southern and western oceans ; and at length they had the good fortune to na- vigate a calm unruffled sea, to which they had been so long strangers. Drake now directed his course to the appointed place of rendezvous, in case of the separation of the fleet : but when he arrived at the wished-for latitude, he found neither ships nor convenient 'harbours, and therefore steered directly to Macoa ; where the natives, at first, made a shew of friendship. But probably mistaking them for Spaniards, a nation which they had reason to detest, they soon after laid an ambush for a watering party, killed two of the crew, and slightly wounded the admiral with an arrow under the eye. This disaster induced them to shorten their stay; and now sailing along the coasts of Chili and Peru, they carried terror wherever they appeared, and plundered ships and rich towns with so little opposition, that the men became satiated with spoils and began to indulge the 1 10 SIR FRANCIS DR'AKE. the wish of returning to their native land to enjoy it; But the admiral was fired with glory no less than ava- rice ; and expatiated on the honour, as well as the utility, of discovering a nearer passage to Europe, which he did not deem impracticable. His influence and authority prevailed ; and with a view of exploring a north-west passage, they proceeded to latitude 45° north ; but here the cold proved so intole- rable to persons long habituated to a warm climate, that he was obliged to desist from the farther prosecu- tion of his design ; and measuring back their course to California, they put into a harbour of that peninsula, where the natives received them in the most hospitable manner, and even offered to confer the sovereign power on the admiral. This compliment, of course, was waved for himself,but he transferred the proffered allegiance to his mistress, Elizabeth, and took possession of the coun- try, to whicn he gave the appellation of New Albion, in her name. The ceremony being ended, the simple na- tives demonstrated the highest respect and veneration for the strangers ; and^ lacerated their bodies in the se- verest manner* as is customary among barbarous nations when actuated by grief or joy. Though the acquisition of this territory was only va- luable either to the admiral or his country, as it furnish- ed supplies and a resting-place on the present occasion, Drake seems to have plumed himself much on the vo- luntary grant; and before his departure caused the cir- cumstances of the resignation to be engraven on a brass plate, and fixed up as a memorial of the transaction. No sooner were the Indians sensible that their new friends were about to depart, than they burst out into the most lively expressions of sorrow. As the ships re- ceded from the shore, they ascended the hills to prolong their view of them; and lighted up fires, as if intended for sacrifices. Indeed, when we consider with what pro- found SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 3 17 found respect, almost bordering on adoration, the Spa- niards were first received on this continent, it is not un- likely but the simple natives of California might act un- der similar impressions : certain it is, that the conduct of Drake long rendered the English popular among these barbarous tribes, It was on the *23d of July that they quitted these shores, and, after a general consultation, it was agreed on to proceed to the Moluccas, In latitude 20° north, they fell in with some islands, where the natives, at first, shewed signs of amity, and readily bartered their com- modities: but, emboldened by the mild behaviour of the English, they became insolent; when the blank dis- charge of a piece of ordnance checked the progress of Unprovoked agression. On the 3d of November, they had a joyful view of the Moluccas, and touched at Teniate, whose king ap- pears to have been a wise and politic prince, and kept up a dignified regal state, while he was not deficient in pay- ing proper honour and respect to his visitors. Here they shipped between four and five tons of cloves, refitted the ships, and refreshed the crews : but just as they were about to sail, they had the inhumanity to abandon a male and female negro, taken from one of the Spanish prizes. The poor girl, it seems, was only about fifteen years of age, and, either by Drake or one of his companions, had become in that state which entitled her to protection from every manly and feeling heart. We cannot mention an incident of this kind without re- probating such cruel and atrocious conduct. It is ouj? wish and our duty to mend, not to corrupt the heart; and while we record perfidy, it shall be our study to re- prehend it. In their course towards Celebes, they fell in. with a number of islands, whose names are not preserved ; but just as they flattered themselves with having escaped the Il8 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. the dangers incident to such a navigation, the ship struck during the night, on a hidden rock ; and the mur- murs of the crew at such a protracted voyage, which had long been with difficulty repressed, now broke out into all the virulence of invective, and all the wildness of de- spair. Fletcher, the chaplain, was particularly severe on the admiral; but he, feeling the dreadful catastrophe in which they were involved, disguised his resentment at the rude attacks which he was obliged to endure, tried to conciliate the minds of his people by every leni- tive art that experience could devise; and in the midst of the most imminent danger of universal ruin, pre- served a courage, prudence, and presence of mind un- altered. At last, when every ray of hope was gone, and they expected to be swallowed up without leaving a single memorial of their adventures behind, the wind suddenly shifted, and the surges heaved the ship off the rock ; when they continued their course to Baratane, where they were hospitably received, and repaired the damage which they had sustained, Departing thence, they proceeded to Java, and took In afresh supply of provisions, with an intention of pro- secuting the voyage to Malacca; but the crew now be- came absolutely mutinous, and insisted on the admiral's directly steering for Europe. Obliged to yield to their menaces, the admiral direct- ed his course towards the Cape of Good Hope: but in order to wreck his resentment on some individual as a terror to the rest, he seized on Fletcher, who had been loud in censuring his conduct, when the ship was in danger of being lost; and, accusing him of spiriting up the crew to oppesition, went through the same forms of external justice as he had done in the case of Doughty, and concluded with deposing him from the priesthood in SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 119 in a singular form of excommunication, and afterwards turned him before the mast with every mark of disgrace. On the 15th of June, 1580, they doubled the Cape of Good Hope, and, without any other occurrence worthy of remark, reached Plymouth on the 3d of November ; having performed the circumnavigation of the globe in two years and about ten months. The news of Drake's arrival was soon disseminated over the kingdom; and, as this was an age when heroic deeds challenged the highest admiration and regard, the admiral's reputation reached the most exalted pitch, and the fame of his accumulated wealth heightened the re- spect which was paid him. Yet as merit and enterprize will always excite envy, his conduct and principles were not only canvassed by his countrymen, but the Spanish ambassador exerted himself to have him declared a pirate, notwithstanding the royal commission. The queen, with that policy for which she was distinguished, heard the arguments of his friends and opponents, but concealed her own senti- ments till a proper opportunity offered of divulging them. In this state of painful suspence, Drake remained for some months ; uncertain whether he should be declared a benefactor to his country, or its disgrace. At length, when matters were sufficiently ripe for an avowal, the queen threw off the veil at once, and went on board his ship at Deptford, where she was magnificently entertain- ed, and conferred the honour of knighthood on our navi- gator ; observing, that his actions did him more honour than his title. She also gave orders for the preservation of the ship which had performed such an extraordinary voyage, and it was long visited as an object of public curiosity; till becoming so much decayed that it could ao longer be kept together, a chair was made out of the 7 planks, ] 20 SIR PKA\ T CI3 DRAKE. planks, and presented to the university of Oxford, where it is now preserved in the museum. After this public testimony of royal approbation, envy and malice were obliged to hide their abashed counte- nances, and all ranks w r ere zealous to congratulate Sir Francis Drake ; who had a coat of arms assigned him, appropriate to his pursuits and his talents. With regard to the quantity of treasure amassed in this successful enterprize, there are various opinions; t\it, on an average of the best accounts, it could not be less than a million sterling. As to the distribution, it appears that all parties were satisfied ; and the manner of his reception gave a confirmation to the truth of the eld maxim, " that he who brings money, brings his wel- come with him." Having accompanied this naval hero round the globe, the first commander that ever accomplished such a voyage, Magellan having been cut off before his return, it will, no doubt, gratify juvenile curiosity to know his future destinies. In 1585, he was again called into action as admiral of an expedition against the Spanish West-Indies, in which his usual success attended him. Two years after, he was sent to Lisbon ; but receiving intelligence that the Spaniards were assembling a fleet at Cadiz on purpose to invade England, he sailed into that port, and burnt ten thousand tons of shipping, exclusive of all the war- like stores. New successes gave rise to new honours. Next year he was appointed vice-admiral under lord Howard of Effingham, and distinguished himself against the Spanish Armada, in such a manner, as deserves the un- qualified praise of all posterity. General history records the triumphs of our countrymen on this glorious occa- sion, and we mean not to interfere with its province. The very name of Drake was now a shield of defence to SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 121 to his sovereign, and the terror of her foes. His merits being duly appreciated by the queen, he was next dis- patched with a squadron to assist in placing Don An- tonio on the throne of Portugal. Here the event was not equal to the courage and talents employed in the expe- dition. Spain, indeed, was partially baffled, but Eng- land was little benefited. Drake was not formed so much to co-operate with others, as to execute his own bold and original designs. The sun of glory which had so long shone upon him with full lustre, was now verging to a decline. A for- midable expedition against the Spanish settlements was projected, soon after this failure, in which Drake and his relation and first patron, Hawkins, were appointed com- manders. After an attack on the Canaries, in which they mis- carried, the fleet arrived before Porto Rico ; when they held a council, and it was determined to make an assault on the ships in the harbour. The strength of the forti- fications rendered this attempt also abortive;' and Sir John Hawkins fell a martyr to the climate. The very same evening, while the principal officers were at supper, a cannon ball, entering the cabin, killed Sfr Nicholas Clifford, mortally wounded another gentleman, and car- ried away the stool on which Sir Francis Drake was seated. — Thus fortune once more befriended him, before she bade him a final adieu. After committing several depredations in those seas, to the injury and vexation of the Spaniards, they pro- ceeded on their grand design, which was to cross the isthmus of Panama ; but in this they were likewise foiled. Repeated disappointments, to which he had been so little accustomed, preyed on die mind of Drake with such pungent force, that he fell into a melancholy ; in which state, being seized with the bloody flux, he quitted F this 122 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. this life, at Nombre de Dios, without leaving issue, in January, 1596. In stature, this accomplished seaman was low, but xvell set; his chest was broad and open, his head very round, his eyes large and clear, his complexion fresh, and his whole countenance animated and engaging. In England his death was lamented with the sincerest de- monstrations of sorrow; and his character for perse- verance and fortitude, for all that can exalt the hero and intrepid commander, was so firmly fixed in the hearts of his countrymen, that time' can never tarnish his just laurels. Yet his defects as a man were very consider- able; and if he excelled most in his great qualities, he sunk beneath the mass of mankind in some essential characteristics of humanity. Impatient of control, avaricious, and despotic, he was rather formed to excite fear, than to attract regard. Untinctured with the libe- ral arts, except as far as they were connected with navi- gation, in which he stood unrivalled and alone, he evinced none of those weaknesses which are an honour to our mind; and he lived without seeming to enjoy life, except when some successful enterprize shed the casual gleam of satisfaction on his heart. Favoured by the smiles of Fortune till he vainly fancied that he had chained the fickle goddess, he could not endure her frowns; and has left a moral to posterity, " that a long series of uninterrupted prosperity seldom promotes the ultimate happiness of a being, so weak and frail as man," \ WILLIAM ( 123 ) W I L LI A M CECIL. LORD BURLEIGH. Born 1520.— Died 1599. From 1 1 th Henry Fill, to Aotk Elkaheffu IN a private station a good man may be estimable, but when raised to rank and power, he becomes emi- nently meritorious. The more the sphere of his activity is enlarged, and the higher the summit from which his influence is felt, the greater are his glory and his use. All those virtues, and all that wisdom, which in privacy are only calculated to win the applause of his own heart, or the veneration of a discerning few, spread their delightful energies over a range worthy of their force and direction, promote the general welfare, and embrace whatever is great or good. These reflections were suggested by contemplating the life of Cecil ; a man who, during the long space of forty years, and amidst many eventful scenes, was a principal minister of state, and directed the machine of government with a wise and steady aim. William Cecil was born at Bourn, in Lincolnshire, the native place of his mother. His father was Richard Cecil, esq. of Burleigh, in the county of Northampton ; principal officer o£ the robes to Henry VIII. and a dis- tinguished favourite of that monarch. Young Cecil imbibed the first rudiments of learning at the Grammar schools of Grantham and Stamford, and gave early indications of those solid and shining talents which were to adorn the future man. His thirst for knowledge was excessive; and his father, willing to humour the bent of his mind, sent him, when still a boy, to St. John's college, Cambridge,, Here intense appli- F2 cation, 124 WILLTAM CECIL, cation, miked to a pregnant genius, soon procured him distinction in the literary career; hut from too little at- tention to those springs by which the human machine is kept in repair, and its faculties improved, he indulged his sedentary disposition to such an inordinate degree. that he had nearly lost the use of his limbs, and certainly laid the foundation of that tormenting disease the gout ; which, at intervals, preyed on his constitution for life, and gradually sapped the foundation of his vital powers. Before he had completed his nineteenth year, he left Cambridge full of academic distinctions, which he had richly merited ; and entered of GrayVinn, London, to prosecute the study of the law, as his future profession. Here his proficiency was as rapid as in the acquisition of general learning ; and it is probable that he might have risen to the very height of juridical eminence, had not his better fortune called him to other pursuits, still more adapted to his capacity and endowments. The pivot on which the success or micarriages of men turn, is often influenced by such accidental causes as neither prudence can direct, nor any human foresight, is able to anticipate. This position, which, in itself is li- able to no contradiction, receives a forcible illustration from the incident by which Cecil rose to honour. Towards the close of the reign of Henry VIII. on a visit to his father at court, Cecil accidentally met. two priests, in the presence-chamber, chaplains to the fa- mous chief Irish O'Neale ; and byway of filling up the interval of waiting, he fell into conversation with them on theological subjects. A warm dispute ensued, which was carried on in Latin; and so closely were the bigots of superstition pressed by the youthful advocate for the doctrines of the reformation, that they felt themselves overpowered, and burst from him ina paroxysm of rage. The advantage which Cecil had gained was immediately reported to the king ; who, pleased to find a champion in LORD BURLEIGH. 125 hi the cause which he himself had espoused, ordered him into his presence, and was so delighted with his good sense and address, that he promised him the first vacant place at court, compatible with his views ; and in the mean time he was complimented with the reversion of the custos brevium office. About this remarkable period, on which his future fortune hinged, he married a sister of Sir John Cheke; who left him a widower, with one son, in less than two years after their nuptials. Five years after, he espoused Miss Mildred Cooke, daughter of Sir Anthony Cooke, tutor to Edward VI. a lady of uncommon merit and accomplishments. Connected by marriage with two of the most distin- guished scholars of the age, and possessing in his wife not a rival, but an associate, in study, he was more ar- dently attached to literature than ever ; but by no means to the neglect of his law profession ; in which he be- came eminent, though his access to court probably in- spired him with more elevated expectations, which were afterwards abundantly gratified. On the accession of Edward VI. he was warmly re- commended to the lord protector, Somerset ; and suc- cessively rose, under this high patronage and the favour of his sovereign, to be master of the requests, custos rotolorum of Lincolnshire, and one of the principal se- cretaries of state. He also received the honour of knighthood, was sworn of the privy-council, and made chancellor of the garter. - But those honours did not flow upon him in an unin- terrupted stream. Though his good fortune and good sense always extricated him from difficulties, he ex- perienced some of those reverses to which all public men are more or less obnoxious. As his elevation was principally owing to his munifi- cent patron, Somerset., he was involved in his destinies. He attended him in his expedition to Scotland; and at F3 the 12(3 WILLIAM CECIL, the battle of Musselburgh was only saved from inevita- ble destruction by the generous interposition of a friend, who pushed him out of the level of a cannon, and had his own arm shattered by the ball, which must other- wise have passed through Cecil's body. When the protector was obliged to give way to the intrigues of a powerful army, Cecil was also committed to the Tower, where he remained three months; but Edward, who seems to have entertained a warm affection for him, soon obliterated this disgrace by new honours. The destruction of his first patron, however, appearing inevitable, and the duke of Northumberland rapidly cir- cumventing his power and influence, he was thrown into the most distressing dilemma, how to avoid the storm, without incurring the deep disgrace of ingratitude. By some, who are no friends to his memory, it is said, that Cecil, with the wariness of a politician, and " the easy tergiversation of a courtier, strengthened his own in- terest by espousing the stronger cause : but this assertion rests on no substantial grounds. He was prudent and circumspect, but nothing more. His answer to Somerset, who was expressing his apprehension of some evil de- sign against him, is dignified in the extreme, though it may appear cool to such a benefactor, — " If you are not in fault," said he, " you may trust to your innocence; if you are, I have nothing to say but to lament you." Having strenuously opposed, at the council-board, the resolution for changing the succession of the crown in favour of lady Jane Grey, though as privy-coun- cellor he witnessed it, as the act and deed of the king, Mary was so much pleased with his behaviour, that soon after her accession she granted him a general pardon, and made him a tender of the office of secretary and counsellor, provided he would embrace the catholic faith. Eut Cecil, whose attachment to the reformation was founded on principle, and who seems to have been sincerely LORD BURLEIGH. 127 sincerely religious, after thanking her majesty, and pro- fessing his zeal for her service, as far as conscience would allow, requested her indulgence to withdraw from the public councils, and to lead a life of privacy and con- tent. Among other expressions he made use of on this occasion, the following deserves to be remembered: u that he was taught and bound to serve God first, and next his sovereign; but if her service should put him out of God's service, he hoped her majesty would .give him leave to chuse an everlasting, rather than a tempo- rary, reward." This freedom, from a man of such an established cha- racter for probity and wisdom, did not offend. The queen still treated Sir William Cecil very graciously, and her ministers were sometimes glad to avail theni- t selves of his political sagacity, by asking his advice. With all their bigotry, they were obliged to own, that good sense and talents are of no particular religion ; and the heretic in faith was frequently made the oracle of their decisions. Yet Cecil prudently forbore to step forward, farther than he was absolutely compelled. He was satisfied with attending his duty in parliament, as a representative for the county of Lincoln,' where he avow- ed his sentiments with manly freedom ; and what shews his exalted reputation, he was never molested, either for his religious or political opinions. Indeed we find he was highly respected by cardinal Pole; to conduct whom to England from Brussels, he had been deputed in the commencement of Mary's reign. The virtues and talents of Cecil had been matured, not blighted, in the shade ; and when Elizabeth mount- ed the throne, he was immediately called into action with happier omens, and appointed secretary of state. In this capacity, his tried prudence and address were essentially necessary to heal the wounds which the reformation had receiyed, and to emancipate the nation, without san- F 4 guinary 1 28 WILLIAM CECIL, guinary measures, from the chains <&f Rome. By Cecil's advice, a conference was holden in Westminster church between the most eminent divines of both persuasions ; and soon after, that form of worship was resolved upon, which has ever since been the religious establishment of the church of England. Having settled ecclesiastical affairs on a solid basis, his next care was to compose jarring interests, and to strengthen native and external relations : but we must leave history to do full justice to his various merits, and satisfy ourselves with briefly narrating the prominent passages of his life. In 1560, he was made master of the wards, and the same year was sent to negotiate a peace between England, Scotland, and France. After the bu- siness, however, had been brought to a successful termi- nation by the plenipotentiaries, the French court refused to ratify it; and the whole fell to the ground. Though in the full possession of his mistress's confi- dence, and universally respected as a man of superior political abilities, he had, as usual, to contend with jealousy and opposition; and the favourite and powerful Leicester, in order to strengthen his influence, putting himself at the head of the popish faction, still rather depressed than annihilated; Cecil, notwithstanding all his address, must inevitably have lost his station, and, as some pretend, his life, had lie not been firmly supported by Russel earl of Bedford, and Sir Nicholas Bacon. This last was a man of congenial mind and talents, and the affection between him and the minister seems to have been almost fraternal. But, though the secretary was thusrendered too power- ful for his public, he had almost fallen a victim to his private, enemies. The dark intrigues, that were formed agains-t him, are too numerous to recount, and too dis- graceful to be preserved. On one occasion, he escaped assassination by slipping down the back stairs, while a villain LOED BURLEIGH. 12$ villain waited at the foot of the great stairs to dispatch him; on another, the hired ruffian who was to murder him, after gaming admission to his chamber, and grasp- ing the instrument of death, in act to strike, was stung with remorse, and shrunk from the perpetration of the deed. Elizabeth, though she studied to balance the power and influence of her favourites and ministers, was not of a temper to be overawed by a faction ; and, beholding the prevalence of Leicester's party with some emotion, and their insidious arts against Cecil, her most sage and confidential adviser, gave him a signal mark of her fa- vour, because rare in those days, in raising him to the peerage, by the stile and title of Lord Burleigh ; and soon after she appointed him lord high treasurer. The object of royal favour is sure, like a focus, to con- centrate the rays of public regard. The most virulent of Burleigh's opponents were now anxious to obtain a claim to his friendship ; and they now courted the man with the humblest assiduities whom they had plotted to assassinate before. Such is the action and re-action of po- litical manoeuvre: and so little dependence is to be placed on the smiles or the frowns of a party. The interest of Burleigh had now become too strong to be shaken; and to his honour be it recorded, he Uni- formly exerted it for the service of his sovereign and the welfare of his country. When Mary, queen of Scots, became a prisoner by the cruel policy of her rival Elizabeth, Cecil advised and practised lenient measures, as best adapted to the object in view; but, when he found this infatuated princess engage in reiterated conspiracies, perhaps rather to re- gain her own independence than to overthrow the go- vernment of Elizabeth; when he was satisfied by long experience that the popish faction, which regarded Mary ^s its head, would never cease to plot and to undermine F 5 'vXi 130 WILLTAM CECIL, till she was removed from the stage of life, he yielded to the pressure of circumstances ; and acted, or thought he acted, politically right, though, no doubt, morally wrong. In short, he felt it his duty to give his sanction to her trial, condemnation, and execution ; but with a sense of honour which his mistress did not possess*, he avowed the necessity of the, measure, and did not meanly attempt to shelter himself behind a battery of hypocrisy, which Elizabeth played oiF, only to render herself still more criminal and contemptible. He remonstrated with her against the disgrace of Davidson, who was the inno- cent agent of Mary's execution; and throughout pre- served that consistency of character which might have been expected from his approved wisdom, and unvarying rectitude. For some time, he frustrated all the attempts of Spain, whose machinations against England were justly suspect- ed to have for their object the restoration of Mary to her kingdom, and the overthrow of the protestant religion ; and, when the decollation of that unhappy queen put an end to the former part of the design, vengeance for her death stimulated the court of Madrid to make more for- midable preparations than ever, while the thunder of the Vatican was summoned to aid the arms of infuriate bi- gotry. Lord Burleigh, however, with that foresight for which he was remarkable, if he could no longer prevent the storm from bursting, had, by the most persevering in- dustry, provided against its fatal effects. Availing him- self of a ten-years 5 peace, he had put the kingdom into such a posture of defence, and had so thoroughly sifted the conspiracies of domestic traitors, that no event could tome unexpected, or unprovided for. The naval force had been increase i to an extent hitherto unknown; men of tried courage and experience were promoted to the command; and the powers of heaven co-operating with 9, , the LORD BURLEIGH. 131 the bravery of the English, in defence of their religion, liberty, and homes, the redoubtable armada soon ceased to be an object of terror, and victory and independence triumphed on its ruins. Happy in the undiminished favour of his sovereign, happy in the signal defeat -of her enemies, and in the confidence of the nation, this period may be considered as the most glorious in the life of Burleigh; but, as if to shew that human felicity isneither permanent nor secure, he soon after met with a severe affliction in the loss of his lady, with whom he had lived in the closest bands of affection for the long space of forty -three years 5 and whose death cast a gloom over the remainder of his days. Lady Burleigh was not only amiable in every domestic relation, but in all respects was an example and orna- ment to her sex. With learning and endowments al- most more than masculine, she cultivated every femi- nine art that could improve youthful love into the most ardent and unalterable esteem. Her husband himself, verging into the vale ef years, felt all the poignancy of lacerated affection; his constitution gave way to the shock, and public business became almost insupportable. Exhausted with incessant application, and no longer cheered with domestic regard, he earnestly solicited per- mission to resign all his employments ; but the queen, fully sensible of the value of his services, encouraged him, by the most consoling attentions, to continue the principal manager of her affairs. She frequently visited him, and omitted no opportunity of soothing the languor of declining age, and of flattering it by every demonstra- tion of regard. Her pains were abundantly rewarded. The hoary statesman was roused to exert his accumu- lated wisdom for the public weal; and accordingly, during the last ten years of his life, we find him dis- playing, on various important occasions, all the zeal and vigour of unbroken youth. By his advice, the univ'er- F6 sUt 132 WILLIAM CECIL, sity of JDublin was founded ; and no measure was con* certed throughout the various departments of govern- irientj without the advice and approbation of Burleigh. He was premier in the most extensive sense of the word ; and the ability, accuracy, and dispatch, which he evin- ced only a short time before his death, could scarcely be exceeded at the most active period of his life. " To him," says one of his biographers, " all ranks addressed themselves, to the very last. The bishops and clergy for preferment; the puritans for favourable treatment, and relief from ecclesiastical oppression; fugitives in foreign countries for pardon* which he grant- ed in consideration of their useful intelligence, respecting the designs of the nations among whom they sojourned; the lieutenants of counties for instructions and advice ; the admirals for fleets and supplies ; in a word, the in- terests of the state abroad, and its domestic tranquillity at home, were provided for, and preserved, by this ac- complished statesman, to his final hour." But no honours or distinctions can ward off the stroke of fate. Age advanced, with all its train of ills; and, though his dissolution was slow, and the gradations easy, after languishing two or three months, he paid the debt of nature, on the 4th of August, 1598. " Now," to use the quaint, but energetic, words of the same writer from whom we have made the previous extract, " might one see the whole world mourning ; the queen for an old and true servant; the council for a wise and grave counsellor; the court for their ho- nourable benefactor; his country and the common- wealth trembling, as it were at one blow to have their head stricken off; the people, widows, and wards, la- menting to lose their protector ; Religion, her patron ; Justice, her true minister; and Peace, her upholder; his children bewailing the loss, of such a father ; his friends, ■of such a friend ; and his servants, of such a master : all men* LORD BURLEIGH. 133 men rather bewailing his loss, than hoping ever to find such another. Yea his very enemies did now sorrow for his death, and wish him alive again.' ' In person, Burleigh was rather well-proportioned than tall ; he was very erect till bent by the infirmities of age, and extremely active and alert in all his motions. Viewed in every possible light, his character rises on our esteem. To the purest patriotism he united such a capacity for business, as is seldom equalled. In his pri- vate affairs he was frugal, rather than avaricious ; and, though he left a good estate, it was raised by no mean- ness. It descended to his two sons, who were both ennobled, and whose posterity still continue with an in- crease of honours. In public expenditure he was a rigid economist ; and, when we compare him, in this respect, with the most celebrated statesmen of modern times, we shall more plainly discover his inestimable worth. He never suffered the wealth of the nation to be drained for sinister ends, or diverted to wrong purposes. To uphold the honour and defence of the government, were the sole objects which he proposed in raising supplies ; and what was levied from the necessities or the superabun- dance of the people, he took care to apply for their ho- nour and advantage. No parasite was gratified with a pension; no venal supporter of his power, with a job. It was a maxim with him, that when the treasury, like the spleen, grew too great, the rest of the body languish- ed and pined away; he therefore wisely considered pri- vate opulence as the surest wealth of the state; and was wont to declare, " that nothing is for a prince's profit that it is not for his honour also." His character, as drawn by Camden, who saw his meridian and his setting hour, is worthy of a place here. ** Having lived long enough to nature," says that able historian, " and l@ng enough to his own glory, but not long enough to his country, he resigned his soul to Cod, 3 34 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. God, with so much peace and tranquillity, that the great- est enemy he had freely declared, he envied him nothing, but that his sun went down with so much lustre. " Certainly he was a most excellent man ; for he was so liberally furnished by nature, and so polished and adorned with learning and education, that every way for honesty, gravity, temperance, industry, and justice, he was a most accomplished person. He had an easy and flowing eloquence, which consisted not in a pomp and ostentation of words, but in a masculine plainness and significancy of sense. He was a master of prudence formed on experience, and regulated by temper and moderation. His loyalty was true, and would endure the touch, and was only exceeded by his piety, which indeed was eminently great. To sum up all, in a word, the queen was happy in so great a counsellor, and the state of England for ever indebted to him for his sage and prudent counsel. He was one who lived and died with equal glory ; and while others regard him with ad- miration, I am rather inclined to contemplate him with the sacred applause of silent veneration." WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, THE PRINCE OF DRAMATIC POETS. Born 1564.— Died 1613. From 6th Elizabeth to \Oth James I* THOUGH the lives of poets in general are less in- structive than their writings, and the eccentricities of genius frequently furnish as much to lament as to ad- mire, yet there seems to be no just reason why the highest intellectual endowments, and the warmest poetic inspiration, should not be coupled with judgment and^ with WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. I 35 vrith prudence; andth.it the union should produce its natural fruits, honour, independence, and happiness. An illustrious proof of the most glowing energies of mind, connected with a general, though not undeviating, observance of those prudential maxims by which the mass of men direct their conduct, will be supplied by contemplating the life of Shakspeare, the immortal poet of nature, the glory of his country and his age. Stratford-on-Avon had the felicity to produce this prodigy of dramatic genius ; and, in consequence, will ever be hallowed as classic ground. His father was a considerable wool-stapler, and it appears that his con- nections, in general, ranked with the gentry of the place; but a large family of ten children, of whom our poet was the eldest, proved an incumbrance that, must have been very sensibly felt. In consequence the education of young Shakspeare, though by no means neglected, was confined to what the grammar-school of his native town could supply. What progress he made there, what indications he gave of his future celebrity, are wholly unknown ; but as genius is born with us, and can- not be acquired, it is probable that he early " warbled his wood notes wild," though unnoticed by the dim eye, and unheard by the dull ear, of common men. The fancy of Shakspeare was unquestionably pluming its in- fant wing, even amidst the most ordinary avocations, and his soul darting into distant scenes of glory and of fame, though the path was yet untraced by which he reached them. After a few years'attendance on scholastic instruction," in which it is evident that he acquired a complete ac- quaintance with the vernacular idiom, and was initiated at least in the Roman tongue ; the slender finances of his father, and the want of assistance at home, occasion- ed his early devotion to business. To accomplish him as a scholar seems to have been no part of his father's de- sign; 136 WILLIAM SHAK3PEARE, sign; and it is now too late to discover, whether the son shewed any particular predilection to general study, or aversion to mercantile engagements. Certain it is, that while he was still very young, he contracted marriage with a lady of the name of Hath way, daughter of a substantial yeoman in the vicinity; and became a parent when he was not yet out of his minority* Having taken upon him the charge of a family, before it could be expected that his juvenile years could have taught him prudence, or given him any considerable experience in life, his behaviour in this important rela- tion, it is probable, was not marked with the requisite economy or attention. That he pursued his father's trade, as the means of a livelihood, seems to be pretty well ascertained; but his success and reputation can only be judged from the incident which, however dis- graceful in itself, of necessity gave a new direction to his talents, and thus fortunately called forth that latent spark of genius, which might otherwise have been smothered for ever. There is a tradition that Shakspeare was of a very gay and convivial dispotition ; and, if we reflect on the warmth of his imagination, so conspicuous in his com- positions, we can have little reason to doubt the truth of this tradition. The same impetuosity and energy of mind which have rendered him the delight and admira- tion of all posterity, unquestionably displayed them- selves, before he had reached the maturity of reason, in frolicksome excesses of conduct, and unguarded sallies ofwit. Without the society of one congenial soul who could cherish his native genius, or draw forth his shining qua- lities, is it to be wondered that he associated with the giddy and the thoughtless ; and, in the hilarity of his companions, forgot their grcssness or their depravity ? The fervid and aspiring mind can seldom repose in harmless WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 137 harmless inactivity: if its powers be not directed by pa- tronage or example to some worthy object, they will pro- bably become conspicuous, only for the more flagrant dereliction of established modes, and the greater inge- nuity in vicious refinements. Shakspeare's associates were not only gay, but crimi- nal. Sir Thomas Lucy, of Charlecot, near Stratford, whose descendants still support an honourable rank in life, had a deer park, which was frequently robbed by these unruly youths. In whatever design our poet en- gaged, he was qualified to be a leader; and being de- tected in the depredations of his gang, he was prosecuted with some severity. Instead, however, of asking pardon for his offence, he heightened it by a most satirical ballad, a stanza of which is still preserved, though by no means deserving a place here ; and so provoked the knight, that he felt himself justified in giving a loose to the ven- geance of the law: and Shakspeare was in consequence obliged to relinquish his business and his home, and to take shelter in London. The same Sir Thomas Lucy, the cause of his original disgrace, yet the accidental maker of his future fortune, he afterwards immortalized, under the well known character of Justice Shallow. Cast on the wide world, with only wit for his portion, it was natural for him to turn his thoughts towards the stage, asid to court the society of the players. By a fa- tality, for which it is impossible to account, the same for- tune, that seemed to have shipwrecked all his hopes carri- ed him into a haven to rent, and then launched him on his proper element. But the steps by which he mounted to his sphere were slow. In those days, gentlemen com- monly rode to the play; and it is said that he was at first glad to take care of their horses, during the time cf representation ; and that, even in this humble station, he soon became eminent, and was enabled by the increase of 138 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. of his business to engage a number of boys as his as- sistants. By this means he picked up a little money;, and having gradually insinuated himself into the good graces of some of the players, he was found to possess* such an admirable fund of wit and humour, that they readily closed with his overtures of making an attempt on the stage. His celebrity, however, as an actor seems never to have been great. As far as it can be traced by the diligence of his biographers, it appears that he had only very subordinate characters assigned him; and that the most considerable one he ever performed was the Ghost, in his own play of Hamlet. But, though nature did not form him to shine as a first-rate actor, it had moulded and endowed him for something far superior. Being now acquainted with the mechanical economy of the theatre, he was animated with a desire of signalizing himself as a writer; and that he did not mistake his genius or his forte, the con- curring testimony of every judge, the plaudits, not only of his contemporaries, but the still increasing admira- tion of mankind will incontestibly evince. Though it is impossible to trace with precision the first essay of this gigantic dramatist, it appears that the MidsjgmrnerVnight Dream was one of his earliest un- doubted pro duel ions, and the Twelfth Night the last; the whole thirty -five plays which have been ascribed to him, having made their appearance between the years 1589 and 1614. The number of editions, which they have since run through, and the pains which our ablest critics and commentators have taken to restore the ge- nuine text, and to elucidate the most trivial obscurity of diction or of sentiment, prove how highly Shakspeare ranks as an English classic. Nor is his fame, indeed, confined to this island, or to those who are acquainted with our language ; almost every nation of Europe have an WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. I3() an opportunity of reading him in their native tongue, and his fame as a poet reaches to the utmost confines of taste, civilization, and literature. But though the genius of our great dramatic writer burst out into a flame at once, it acquired new acces- sions of purity and resplendency, by habits of composi- tion, and a longer intercourse with mankind. Possess- ing an intuitive knowledge of the characters of men ; an imagination that ranged through all nature, selecting the sublime, the beautiful, and the agreeable ; a judg- ment that inclined him to adopt p]ots which had already been found to please ; an uncommon fluency and vi- gour of expression; — we cannot wonder if he gradually eclipsed all who had preceded him, and left his succes- sors in despair of ever reaching his excellencies. Elizabeth, who had a real taste for literature herself, had several of his plays adted before her ; and even first suggested the idea of continuing the character of Fal- staff^which had already been twice introduced, through another play, that he might represent him in love. This hint he adopted, and the Merry Wives of Windsor was the produce of his solicitude to gratify his sovereign. To wit, fancy, and genius unbounded, Shakspeare united sweetness of disposition, and amenity of manners. He was the agreeable companion, and the valuable friend ; and his demeanour being improved by an ac- quaintance with the finest models of his time, he was courted by the great, and honoured by the good. Besides the royal patronage, the earl of Southampton is known to have treated him with the most flattering distinction ; and from this Maecenas he received some solid marks of favour, which give us a very high idea of the estimation in which the poet was holden, and the munificence of his patron. A gift of -one thousand pounds, to enable him to complete a desirable purchase, is a proof of liberality, to which few similar instances are 140 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. are now exhibited by those who pretend to honour* genius. But, after all, it is to that part of Shakspeare's cha- racter in which his prudence and his love of indepen- dence is displayed, that we wish more particularly to call the attention of our young readers. Having, by his writings, his interest in the theatre, and his own good conduct, acquired a decent competence, he had the good sense to determine to enjoy it; and leaving at once the stage on which he had raised his fortune, and the busy stage of the world, he retired to his native Stratford, and lived in a handsome house which he had purchased, called New Place ; endeared to his intimate friends, and respected by the gentlemen in the environs. Whatever imprudencies might be charged on his ju- venile years, his mature and declining age atoned for them all. The commencement of his acquaintance with Ben Jonson shews his taste and his candour in a high degree ; and exemplifies, by a single trait, the prominent features of his heart. That learned and able dramatic writer had presented a play to the managers, who were on the point of returning it with an unfavourable answer, when Shakspeare luckily casting his eye upon it, had the penetration to discover its merit; and was generous enough to introduce Jonson and his writings to public notice and approbation. After he had secluded himself from the busy scene, he wisely conformed to his Situation ; and, instead of dis- gusting inferior minds by the claims of superiority, sunk to the level of common men. Among his particular acquaintances was an old gentleman named Combe j extremely opulent, avaricious, and usurious. In a free conversation, he desired our poet to write his epitaph, that he might know what his posthumous character would be. Shakspeare drew a ludicrous but a severe picture, in four lines, whose poignancy was never for- given | WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 141 given ; and indeed a man less acquainted with life, than he who had traced all its mazes, might have known u that 'tis the truth which gives offence." Finding his health on the decline, Shakspeare made his will in the beginning of 1616; and having provided for his family and left some memorials of his regard to his former associates of the stage, he departed this life in April of the same year, and was interred on the north side of the chancel in the church of Stratford, where a mural monument, with his bust, was erected to his me- mory; on which the following distich is inscribed: Judicio Pylium, genio Socratum, arte Maroaem, Terra tegit, populus moeret, Olympus habet. On the slab which covers his remains are these lines> generally believed to be written by himself; Good friend, for Jesus* sake forbear To dig the dust inclosed here. BlessM be the man that spares these stones j And curst be he that moyes my bones I A studious life seldom presents many memorable in* cidents; and of the private habits of Shakspeare in par- ticular, very little is handed down to posterity. He met, indeed, with a few vicissitudes, a single accident forced him to become the architect of his own fortune ; by gradual efforts he rose to eminence of fame, and competency of fortune; and no sooner had he acquired these, than he wisely retired to the tranquil enjoyment of what his genius and his industry had earned. Hence few occurrences swell the annals of his peaceful days. Shakspeare left two daughters ; but his family became extinct in the third generation. Some collaterals still, «ot did lately, remain at Stratford ; and, as may be justly imagined, they are not a little proud of such an illus- trious 142 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. trious kinsman. His mulberry-tree and chair were long the objects of veneration, and visited by his admirers as the most precious relicts ; but even these have now dis- appeared ; and his tomb alone remains, where devotees can pay the homage of their tear,, As a dramatic writer, in which point of view he con- centrates universal regard, his character has been often drawn; but by none with such vigour and justness of appreciation as by Dr. Johnson, whose sentiments we adopt without limitation or reserve. They bear the stamp of truth, and carry conviction to the heart. u Shakspeare," says he, " is above all writers, at least above all modern writers, the poet of nature ; the poet that holds up to his readers a faithful mirror of manners and of life. His characters are not modified by the customs of particular places, unpractised by the rest of the world ; by the peculiarities of studies or professions, which can operate but upon small numbers ; or by the accident of transient fashions, or temporary opinions ; they are the genuine progeny of common humanity, such as the world will always supply, and observation will always find. His persons act and speak by the in- fluence of those general passions and principles by which all minds are agitated, and the whole system of life is continued in motion. In the writings of other poets, a character is too often an individual ; in those of Shak- speare, it is commonly a species. u It is from this wide extension of design that so. much instruction is derived. It is this which fills the plays of Shakspeare with practical axioms and domestic wisdom. It was said of Euripides, that every verse was a precept; and it may be said of Shakspeare, that from his works may be collected a system of civil and econo- mical prudence. Yet his real power is not shown in the splendour of particular passages, but by the progress of his fable, and the tenor of his dialogue; and he that tries WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. ]43 tries to recommend him by select quotations, will suc- ceed like the pedant in Hierocles, who, when he offered his house to sale, carried a brick in his pocket as a speci- men. Upon every other stage the universal agent is love, by whose power all good and evil is distributed, and every action quickened or retarded, but love is only one of many passions ; and as it has no great in- fluence upon the sum of life, it has little operation in the dramas of a poet who caught his ideas from the living world, and exhibited only what he saw before him. He knew that any other passion, as it was regular or exor- bitant, was sl cause of happiness or calamity. " Characters thus ample and general were not easily discriminated and preserved ; yet, perhaps, no poet ever kept his personages more distinct from each other. " Other dramatists can only gain attention by hyper- bolical or aggravated characters, by fabulous and unex- ampled excellence or depravity; as the writers of bar- barous romance invigorated the reader by a giant and a dwarf; and he that should form his expectations of human affairs from the play, or from the tales, would be equally deceived. Shakspeare has no heroes, his scenes are occupied only by men, who act and speak as the reader thinks that he should himself have spoken or acted on the same occasion : even where the agency is super-natural, the dialogue is level with life. Other writers disguise the most natural passions, and most fre- quent incidents; so that he who contemplates them in the book, will not know them in the world: Shakspeare approximates the remote, and familiarizes the wonder- ful ; the event which he represents will not happen, but if it were possible, its effects would probably be such as he has assigned: and it may be said, that he has not only shown human nature as it acts in real exigencies, but as it would be found in trials to which it cannot be ^exposed. " This 144 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. u This, therefore, is the praise of Shakspeare, that his drama is the mirror of life; that he who has mazed his imagination, in following the phantoms which other writers raise up before him, may here be cured of his delirious ecstasies, by reading human sentiments in hu- man language ; by scenes from which a hermit may estimate the transactions of the world, and a confessor predict the progress of the passions." SIR WALTER RALEIGH. Born 1552.— Beheaded 1618. From bth Edxvard VI. to \bth Ja?ncs L -Who can speak The numerous worthies of the maiden-reign? In Raleigh mark their every glory mixM; Raleigh ! the scourge of Spain ! whose breast with all The sage, the patriot, and the hero, burnMj Nor sunk his vigour when a coward-reign The warrior fettered, and at last resigned, To glut the vengeance of a vanquislfd foe. Then active still, and unrestrained his mind, ExplorM the vast extent of ages past, And with his prison hours enrichM the world j Yet found no times, in all the long research, So glorious or so base as those he prov'd, In which he conquerM and in which he bled. Thomson. THIS immortal ornament of his country, whose brief character is so well delineated by the poet, was descended from an ancient and respectable family in Devon, and born at Budley in the same county. / 7 ' Though SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 145 Though he occupies such~an ample and honourable space in the annals of this nation, yet no incidents of his early days have been transmitted to an admiring poste- rity. It may, however,, evince to us the maturity of his parts, that he had acquired a sufficient stock of gram*, matical learning, by the time of completing his four- teenth year, for he was removed to the university of Oxford, and entered a gentleman commoner of Oriel- college. In this situation it was not long before he distinguished himself by the strength and vivacity of his genius, and his uncommon progress in academical learning. But, though qualified to shine in the schools, the bent of his disposition led him to more active pur- suits; and, when he was no more than seventeen years old, he enlisted in a corps of gentlemen volunteers, des- tined to recruit the Huguonot army in France, and commanded by the gallant Coligny. Here he not only initiated himself in the art of war, but acquired a know- ledge of the fashionable modern languages ; and, after six years spent on the continent, returned to London, with every accomplishment that adorns the gentleman. He now took up his residence in the Middle Temple, but the Muses here engrossed all his attention. Still, however, intent on military glory, he embraced the first opportunity which presented itself of resuming the pro- fession of^irms; and, after the lapse of three years, joined the prince of Orange, then warring against the Spaniards. The following year, he attended his half, brother, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, on an unsuccessful ex- pedition to the northern parts of America; and in 1580 we find hira serving as a captain against the rebellious Irish, where he quickly made himself conspicuous by his intrepid spirit, his generous humanity, a^nd presence of mind in the greatest dangers. In a word, so eminent •were his abilities and services, that he received a grant G from 146 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. from the crown of a large estate in that kingdom : but he was prevented from rising in his profession by an un- happy misunderstanding between him and the lord de- puty, which was at last heard and adjusted before the privy council. On this occasion, Raleigh defended his cause with such eloquence and address, that what was likely to ruin his interest proved the very means of re- cctamending him to the notice of the court. A contest with a superior, however just, seldom fails to bring ob- loquy and disgrace; but fortune, in the case of Raleigh determined otherwise. He only wanted a proper theatre on which to display his abilities : he gained that of a court, and succeeded. But the smiles of ministers were not sufficient to sa- tisfy his soaring ambition. He aspired to the favour of his sovereign; and it was not long before fortune once more essentially befriended him in this respect. The queen, taking the air, happened to come to a miry place, and was hesitating whether she should preceed or no ; when Raleigh, who, it is probable, was on the watch to win a smile of royal regard, immediately di- vested himself of a handsome plush cloak, and spread It on the ground. The queen, gently treading on it, was conducted over safe and clean. So much gallantry from a man whose address, person, and wit, were alike cal- culated to strike, could scarcely fail to make an impres- sion on Elizabeth. With a vanity natural to women, she construed every compliment into a proof of partial affection, and, by converting her courtiers into lovers', she was served with a zeal and fidelity which neither rank, nor power, nor munificence, could singly, or even collectively, have otherwise won. Soon after this adventure, Raleigh appeared at court ; and meeting with a reception which seemed to flatter his h©pes, as a farther exposition of his mind, he wrote with 5 STR WALTER RALEIGH. 147 with a diamond, on a pane of glass, the following line: " Fain would I climb, yet faajr I to fall ; which Elizabeth elegantly converted into a couplet, by adding, u If thy heart fail thee, climb not at all Raleigh was too quick of apprehension not to inter* pret this poetic challenge. He saw it was his own fault i^he did not rise; and after obtaining a proper intro- duction, his own fnerit was sufficient to accomplish the rest. But no court favour, no employment where he could have rivals in his fame, was adapted to the aspiring genius of Raleigh. Even the bounds of Europe were too limited for his capacious mind. He longed to sig- nalize himself by discoveries in the new world, the common field where daring spirits* at that time, dis- played their talents, or sought their fortune. Accord- ingly he made several voyages to the continent of Ame- rica, where he settled a colony named- Virginia, in ho- nour of his virgin mistress. The chief produce of this province being tobacco, Raleigh was studious to intro- duced as a luxury, while Elizabeth patronized its use as an article of commerce. To him too we are indebted for the most valuable root Which Providence, in its bounty, has bestowed on man : the potatoe was one fruit of his discoveries in this track, though it does not ap- pear that he was at first acquainted with its real value. It is generally believed, that being obliged to touch on the coast of Ireland, in one of his homeward-bound voyages, he left some of the roots there; which being cultivated with success, by degrees spread over the three kingdoms, and now constitute a principal relief to the poor, and a most agreeable luxury to the rich* But, though Raleigh was at great pains to colonize G 2 Virginia, 148 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. Virginia, the settlement was afterwards abandoned ; and the sagacity of Raleigh discovered the cause. Virginia afforded no means of immediate profit or emolument to government, and therefore was finally neglected. This set him on a scheme ©f settling a new colony in another part of America, which might at once be pro- ductive of advantage, and enable his countrymen to transfer the richest products of America to England, if they possessed sufficient courage to embark in the de- sign. To accomplish this magnificent purpose, he made die most minute inquiries into the state of Guiana. From books and papers he drew all the assistance that could ; possibly be procured of this nature ; and from personal information he derived much more. But for the know- ledge that he acquired, he was still more indebted to the vast stores of his own mind, to a profound judgment and a penetrating observation. Raleigh, however, was not one of those superficial adventurers who strike out a plan with crude and eager zeal, and then immediately pursue it with blind impe- tuosity. He knew the necessity of caution in an affair of such importance, and therefore dispatched an officer of approved skill and fidelity, to reconnoitre the coast ; that, after his information was as complete as the nature of things would allow, he might, on this solid basis, erect the superstructure of his design. But, though Raleigh seemed most in his element when in the prosecution of some distant object, he was not an inattentive observer of domestic concerns; and a man of his talents could not be useless, or unemployed on any stage. He exerted himself in Parliament, as knight of the shire for his native county ; he had a distinguished share in almost every expedition or feat of arms, during the greatest part of the reign of Elizabeth ; and, while the colonization SIR WALTER RALEIGH, )4() colonization of Virginia was the principal object of his attention, he received the honour of knighthood from his wise and politic mistress, who was as frugal of the honours which she bestowed, as careful of her treasury. His influence with the queen at last rose to such a pitch, as to excite the jealousy of less favoured courtiers; and his enemies employed every artifice to undermine him. To the clergy he had givea offence by some free notions in religion ; yet, if we may judge from his works, no man had juster ideas, and a more awful sense of the divine nature and perfections, or a firmer belief in reve- lation. So dangerous is it, however, to oppose popular prejudices, that, while he strove to exalt religion by at- tacking the old school of divinity, he was accused ci infidelity itself. The queen disregarded the petty malice of Raleigh's adversaries, and saw through their insidious design to lessen him in her esteem : but, what his most bitter ene- mies could not effect, his own imprudence had well nigh accomplished. Among the maids of honour to the queen, was a daughter of Sir Nicholas Throgmorton. With this lady Sir Walter Raleigh carried on an intrigue ; which be- ing discovered by its natural consequences, she was dis- missed from her attendance at court, and he w r as put under confinement for several months. In the eyes o£ Elizabeth, a secret amour, particularly with a lady of the court, was considered as highly criminal; but Ra- leigh made the most honourable regaration by marriage, and they long lived patterns of conjugal fidelity and af- fection. Under this temporary alienation of the queen's regard, our intrepid adventurer was rendered more desirous of carrying his long-meditated expedition to Guiana into etFect; in hopes that his success might reinstate him in the favour of his sovereign. Accordingly he set sail G 3 from 150 v SIR WALTER RALEIGH. from Plymouth, with a small squadron, on the 6th of February, 1595, and after a propitious voyage arrived at the isle of Trinidad, where he took the city of St. Joseph, together with the Spanish governor. He then sailed four hundred miles up the Oroonoko in little barks ; opened a friendly intercourse with the natives $ and obtained certain indications of gold-mines; but was not furnished with instruments for working them. Having extensively surveyed the banks of this beauti- ful river, he at last came to cataracts which impeded his further progress ; and the rains falling in such torrents, that they frequently penetrated ten times a day to the skin, it was judged expedient to make for the ships ; which was effected with the most persevering labour, in spite of multiplied difficulties. The ore, the fossils, and the plates of gold which Sir Walter Raleigh brought to England, considerably roused the attention of the nation, and the general voice would have favoured a prosecution of his discoveries ; but his enemies, stung with jealousy at what he had achieved, threw out the most invidious insinuations against his patriotism and veracity; and sacrificed th« honour and the interest of the country to their own pri- vate animosity and revenge. The queen too, harassed by the conspiracy, or rather frenzy, of Essex, had little leisure, and less inclination, to engage in distant schemes of glory: but she became perfectly reconciled to Sir Walter; and during the re- mainder of her reign, he basked in the sunshine of de- served favour; but all his prospeds y^ere eclipsed by her death. On the accession of James I. he experienced indeed a short gleam of royal favour; but the characters of the prince and the subject were so opposite, that it was im- possible for their good understanding to be permanent. Swayed by maxims of honour, Raleigh submitted not without SIR WALTER RALEIGH* 151 without declared aversion to the ascendency which strangers acquired, in prejudice to his native country; animated with the love of military glory, he could not help despising the pusillanimous conduct of James. He was likewise imprudently drawn in to join a sinking party, which his good sense might have told hirn could only operate his own ruin, without any probable ad- vantage to his country; and, in consequence, he was stripped of all the offlces which he so honourably held under Elizabeth; and was soon after committed to the Tower, on an alledged charge of treason, in plotting against the king, and carrying on a secret correspon- dence with Spain; to which nation he had in fact ever shewn the most inveterate hostility. The crown-lawyers, to whom his inflexible integrity made him obnoxious, carried on the prosecution- with the most rancorous virulence. The great Sir Edward Coke forgot the dignity of a judge in his invectives against him ; and " traitor, monster, viper, and spider of -hell," were some of the opprobrious titles which this rude calumniator bestowed on Raleigh. In a word, the court was determined to convict him, not only without evidence, but against it; and, though it seemed to hesi- tate at legalized murder, it kept him a close prisoner for the long period of twelve years. Such ill-requited services, and such severity, would have broken the mind of any other person save Raleigh; but he, superior to the malice of his foes, and panting with a generous ardour for immortal fame, employed his pen to illuminate a thankless age ; and, among other works, produced in the Tower his well known and much admired History of the World. at means he took to mitigate the prejudices of James cannot now be ascertained with precision. It is very probable that the application of a bribe to some of the needy coin tiers had considerable influence upon G 4 them ; 152 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. them ; and the sovereign himself, by his criminal pro- fusion, being in want of fresh supplies, no doubt listen- ed with avidity to a man who fancied that gold mines were within his reach, whenever he was permitted to proceed in quest of them. In 1616 he procured his liberation, and soon after're- ceived a royal commission to go and explore the mines cf Guiana. It was not, however, till July next year that he was ready to sail ; in consequence of which delay his designs were betrayed to the Spaniards, and all his plans rendered abortive. In his course he touched at the Canaries, with an in- tention of landing; but the Spaniards being prepared, opposed him with such vigour, that he was glad to stipulate for necessary supplies on the best terms by which they could be procured. He now proceeded to his destination; and, reaching Guiana, was received by the Indians with the most flat- tering homage and attention. So prepossessing were his manners, that wherever he went his favourable re- ception was insured; and wherever he had once visited, he was sure to be welcomed again. The kindness and respect which he experienced from these friendly peo- ple, he very modestly mentioned in his dispatches sent home; for in Sir Walter Raleigh modesty was blended" with the choicest gifts cf nature, with superior capacity, heroic resolution, and genuine magnanimity. Falling into an indisposition, he was obliged to intrust the command of an expedition up the Oronooko in quest of a gold mine, of which he had received notice in his former voyage, to Kemys, one of his captains, and to his eldest son, Captain Walter Raleigh. Devi- ating from the prudent instructions which had been given them, they fell into an ambuscade; and after doing considerable damage to the Spaniards at St. Thome, they were obliged to retire, without reaching * the SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 153 the mine which had been the grand object of their en- terprize. . Young Raleigh fell in this affair, while he was per- forming prodigies of valour, and proving himself the legitimate son of such a father. On receiving the me- lancholy news of his beloved son, Sir Walter felt all the bitterness of grief. The most terider sensibility is not incompatible with the highest degrees of courage. But Sir Walter had not only a domestic and irretrievable calamity to lament: he was frustrated in all his hopes from this expedition ; and he reproached Kemys in the anguish of his heart, for neglecting his instructions to procure some of the gold ore ; which would have pre- served his character, and allayed popular discontent. Kemys, unable to brook disappointment and blame, sa- crificed himself, as an expiation for his misconduct. He wanted true magnanimity ; for to part with life rashly is real cowardice; but to bear its accumulated ills with- out despondency, is an effect of the most exalted xou- rage. A council of officers being summoned, the prevailing wish was an instant return to England. Raleigh found it in vain to oppose the general sentiment; and, indeed* the Spaniards seemed to be now so well on their guard, that success in the attempt was more than problematical. He therefore yielded to the current of opinion, and about the end of July, 1618, landed at Plymouth, worn. out with illness and chagrin. To give the last touch to his calamities, he was in- formed here that the king had published a proclamation requiring him and his officers to appear before the privy council, to answer for their conduct at St. Thome, This was done at the instigation of Gondamar, the Spa- nish ambassador, who thirsted for the blood of Raleigh* in revenge for the long series of injuries which he had done the Spanish nation; and James had neither the- G 5 honour 154 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. honour nor the courage to protect a man who was one of the most distinguished ornaments of his age, and will be the admiration of all posterity. He was speedily ar- rested, and committed prisoner to his own house in London ; but, foreseeing the event, he endeavoured to escape. He had only reached Greenwich, however, be- fore he was seized, and being committed to the Tower, in mockery of all justice, and to the eternal infamy of this reign, on the 28th of October following, was brought into the Court of King's bench ; when the re- cord of bis former sentence being read, after the lapse of so many years, he was sentenced on that to die ; and the very next morning suffered decollation, in Old- Palace- yard, in the sixty-ninth year of his age. On the scaffold he behaved like a hero and a chris- tian. He vindicated his conduct in a most pathetic and eloquent speech; and then, feeling the edge of the fatal instrument of death, observed with a smile, " It is a sharp medicine, but a sure remedy for all woes." Being ksked which way he would lay himself on the block, he replied, " So the heart be right, it is no matter which way the head lies. ,, After this, composing himself as if he had been going to rest, his head was severed from his body at two blows. The former was long preserved by his widow as a precious relic of affection ; the latter was interred in the chancel of St. Margaret's church, Westminster. The cruelty and flagrant injustice of this execution astonished all Europe, and its history is still read with execration by Englishmen. In person Sir Walter Raleigh was tall, well shaped, and proportionably strong. His hair was of a dark co- ' lour and full ; and his features and the contour ©f his face- such as were formed so inspire respect. He- was magnificent in his dress ; but an attention to :dress was ■ the -least part of his ambition. In his character he united almost FRANCIS BACON. 155 almost every great quality that can deserve the venera-. tion of mankind. As a soldier, a statesman, and a scho- lar, he might have rivalled the most eminent personages of ancient or modern times. He was not only learned himself, but the patron of learning. To him we are in- debted for Spencer, the poet of fancy ; whom he intro- duced from Ireland, and whose fame will be co-eternal with his own. In short, in whatever situation Raleigh appeared, his character was luminous and great; and he seemed to live for his country rather than himself. His widow and children met with the basest ingrati- tude and ill usage from the same pusillanimous court which had taken oif the husband and the father; and. thus aggravated and perpetuated that infamy, which time might have softened, or its compunction have ef- faced. Who can read the life of Sir Walter Raleigh without being impressed with the truth of this maxim ; " that ambition^ however honourably displayed, is seldom the path that conducts to private felicity." FRANCIS BACON, TISCOUN-T ST. ALBANS, BARON OF VERULAM, AND LORD HIGH CHANCELLOR OF ENGLAND. Born 1561— Died 1626, From 3d. Elizabeth to 2d Charles I. OF this immortal honour to literature and his eoun« try, it is impossible to speak without enthusiasm, when we contemplate his genius ; or without pity, when we view his weaknesses. Pope characterises him in one line, as The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind s G6 . and J 56 FRANCIS BACON, and the late Horace Walpole, with as much elegance as propriety, calls him the " Prophet of those arts," which Newton was afterwards to reveal. Francis Bacon was the son of Sir Nicholas Bacon r lord-keeper in the reign of Elizabeth, and was born at York-house, in the Strand, January 22, 1561. His mo- ther was Anne, daughter of Sir Anthony Cooke ; a lady as illustrious for her classical attainments as for her do- mestic virtues. So extraordinary were the presages of his future ge- nius at a very early age, that queen Elizabeth distin- guished him while still a child, and with peculiar plea- sure heard *his shrewd remarks, and drew out his perti- nent replies. Such was the strength of kis intellect, and the prematurity of his understanding, that she used to call him in pleasantry, " her young lord-keeper." It is recorded of him when a boy, that Elizabeth having one day asked his age, he instantly and handsomely replied, w that he was just two years younger than her majesty's happy reign." So rapid were his attainments in classical learning, that he was judged qualified for removal to the univer- sity in the twelfth year of his age; and accordingly he was entered of Trinity college, Cambridge ; where he niade such incredible progress in his studies, that before the age of sixteen he had run through the whole circle of the liberal arts as then taught ; and even at this early period he began to perceive those futilities and imper- fections in the reigning philosophy, which, for the ser- t vice of learning andof mankind, he afterwards so effec- tually exposed and exploded. Leaving the university with the highest reputation* he was sent on his travels, and warmly recommended to the English ambassador in France; wh©se esteem and confidence he so entirely gained, that he was entrust- ed LORD YERULAM. 157 cd with a secret commission to her Majesty; which. having discharged with prudence and dispatch, he re- sumed his observations on the continent. While engaged in every liberal pursuit, and combin- ing a knowledge of the world with a 'knowledge of books and languages, his father was suddenly called from the mortal stage, without being able to make that provision for his son which he wished and intended. In consequence, the young philosopher was obliged to discontinue his travels, but not before he had acquired a deep and almost intuitive insight into the manners and customs of other countries, and the characters and views of their princes and ministers ; which he exempli- fied in a paper on the general state of Europe, publish- ed before he had attained his nineteenth year. Without a patrimony on w T hich to depend, in order to procure a genteel subsistence, he entered himself of Gray's-inn. The whole arcana of jurisprudence were speedily descried by this penetrating genius ; and, after receiving some honourable testimonies of approbation from the society to which he belonged, in being appoint- ed their reader, at the age of twenty-eight he was nomi- nated counsel-extraordinary to the queen. Robert earl of Essex, a man who loved and was ca- pable of appreciating merit, had formed a close intimacy with Bacon, soon after his return from his travels; and made use of all his influence, without effect, to obtain for him some professional appointment which would set him above dependence. To console his friend under his disappointment, which was probably owing to his avowed patronage, as it rendered Bacon an object of suspicion to the other courtiers, he generously presented him w T ith Twickenham park and gardens ; whither he frequently retired to indulge in learned ease, and in some of the most sublime speculations that could en- gage the mind of man. Our 158 FRANCIS BACON, Our early conne&ions frequently influence our latest hour ; and the utmost caution should be used in forming them. If the patron to whom we attach ourselves pos- sess not the power, or want the inclination, to push our interest, what can be expe&ed but indifference about our fortune from others ? It is well if it be no worse ; for frequently one fa&ion tries to depress the humbl&st adherent of another. Can we otherwise account for the little preferment which a man of Bacon's acknowledged abilities received, during the whole reign of Elizabeth* notwithstanding his near relationship to Burleigh, and the early prepossession of her majesty in his favour ? Whenever friendship solicited a place for him, enmity x>r opposition interposed ; and while they confessed his abstradt abilities, they represented him as a speculative man, who was isiore likely to perplex than to forward .public business. Even Burleigh with great difficulty procured for him in reversion the office of register to. the star-chamber, reckoned worth 1000/. per annum ; but this did not lapse till near twenty years afterwards. Depressed by his narrow circumstances, enfeebled by too sedulous application to study, conscious of merit which he found ineffe&ual to his elevation, both his health and his spirits forsook him ; and at one time he seems to have formed the resolution of bidding adieu to his country for ever. _ His friends, however, diverted him from this purpose ; and, for a while ceasing to feel the throb of ambition, he wrapped himself up in philo- sophical apathy, and planned those various works which throw unsullied rays of glory round his head. But the ambition of shining in public life, though dormant, was not extindt : and it gives us pain to deli- neate its renewed emotions. Gratitude to a benefa&or, though unfortunate, is a quality that reflects the highest honour on human nature. Bacon, though pure and cor- rect in his study, seems to have entertained very lax principles LORD V ERULAM. 1 5$ principles of political attachment. When Essex fell, rather than resign the empty title of counsel-extraordi- nary to the queen, he officially appeared, and to plead against him ; and, as if this was not enough to shew his tergiversation and ingratitude, he blackened the memory of his early patron by the most illiberal and unjust ac- cusations. Such baseness we will not attempt to exte- nuate ; and we are happy to record, as a warning to those who might be tempted to copy so infamous a pre- cedent, that it wholly failed of the effect which he in- tended. The queen still retained too much affedtion for Essex to countenance his reviler and betrayer ; and the people, too generous to see a man who had once been their darling attacked when he was incapable of defend- ing himself, particularly by a friend, were exasperated to madness against Bacon, and even menaced his life. During the remainder of Elizabeth's reign, he was justly treated with neglect by all parties ; perhaps with silent contempt for his prostituted services. Another prospect opened on the accession of James 5 and Bacon having had the address to ingratiate himself with the new favourites, was soon distinguished by .his majesty, from whom* he received the honour of knight- hood, as the first pledge of royal regard. To be over- looked by Elizabeth was, in general, a sufficient recom- mendation to James. He retained, indeed, some of her principal ministers, out of policy, or necessity ; but his favourites were all of his own making or finding. Sir Francis Bacon being new firmly established at court, had only to recover his popularity to accomplish his adverse merit. He whom a king distinguishes, is sure to r^e honoured by one party at least. It had, for some time, been a matter of complaint, that the royal purveyors oppressed the people ; and in the first session of parliament after James mounted the throne, a solemn representation of t^his grievance was agreed on in the house 3 60 FRANCIS BACON, house of commons, and Sir Francis Bacon was delegated to lay it before the king. His success in this mission was so great, that he recovered the entire good-will of the public, without lessening his interest with the sove- reign. He was thanked by die house of commons ; and the full tide of courtly favour and popular applause seemed now united in wafting him to the haven of his wishes. He was soon after appointed solicitor-general, an of- fice which had long been the objedt of his ambition; and from that period, becoming a professed courtier, he strained every nerve, and debased every faculty of his exalted mind, in forwarding the favourite measures of the weak and timid James. Among these, the union of the two kingdoms was one that lay nearest his heart; but all the powers of argument, and all the eloquence of Sir Francis Bacon, could not effeduate this design.^ ' Thus checked in his political career, he applied him- self with more assiduity to the business of his profession; and his reputation daily increasing, he soon monopo- lized the most lucrative and important causes at the bar. It is remarked of Bacon, that when he had no imme- diate view of preferrnent at court, he was a faithful and an a&ive patriot ; and, having on several occasions de- fended the liberties of the people with energy and effeft, his aberrations from this line of conduft were not too severely marked. Such, indeed, were his transcendent abilities, that he was now courted by all parties, and love or fear kept them steady in his favour. Being appointed attorney-general, he honourably ex- exerted himself to suppress duelling, the frequency of which had become disgraceful both to religion and go- vernment. A charge which he delivered on an occasion; of this kind was so much admired, that it was ordered to be printed. The private affairs of Sir Francis 5&conteing now in a most LORD VERULAM. 101 a most flourishing state, and those courtiers who had so long opposed his promotion being either dead or re- moved, he saw the sun of Villiers, afterwards duke of Buckingham, rising towards the zenith of favour ; he bowed to its influence, and was taken into the intimate friendship of that minister. Yet in this connection he must be acquitted of any sinister ends, incompatible with his duty. He gave the most excellent advice to the new favourite for trie regulation of his conduct ; and amidst all his political vagaries, seems, when not sway- ed by ambition or interest, to have felt warmly for the good of his country, and to have devoted his best ta- lents to her service. Having previously been sworn of the privy council, on the resignation of lord chancellor Egerton, Sir Fran- cis Bacon, who had always an eye directed to this high office, was promoted to the chair of equity, notwith- standing the powerful opposition of Sir Edward Coke. But the latter was made of less flexible materials than Bacon, and consequently less qualified to please an arbi- trary prince. To the high dignity of chancellor was added a peerage, by the tide of baron of Verulam ; and three years after, the more honourable distinction of viscount of St. Alban's. Soon after lord Verulam had received the seals, the king set out for Scotland ; and being then, in virtue of his office, at the head of the council, he felt all the dif- ficulties of his situation. The- treaty of marriage be- tween Charles prince of Wales and the Infanta of Spain being brought on the carpet, the chancellor, who saw the impolicy of this measure, strongly remonstrated against it both to the king and Buckingham, but he was overruled by obstinacy and folly ; and at last the ne- gociation was broke oil by the very means taken to effect it. A matrimonial connection between the daughter of Sir l62 FRANCIS BACON, Sir Edward Coke and die brother of the Duke of Buck- ingham likewise gave him much solicitude, lest he should be supplanted by such an union of interest against him; and he opposed this match with more perseve- rance than decency would allow; for which he incurred the slight resentment of his master: but the storm soon blew over, and Verulam triumphed over all competitors at court, at the same time that he was the object of just admiration, not only to his country but to Europe, for his successful studies, Amidst all the variety and intri- cacy of his pursuits, as a lawyer and a statesman, phi- losophical research was evidently his ruling passion. " Alas!'\exclaims Walpole, " that he, who could com- mand immortal fame, should have stooped to the little ambition ©f power." The instability of human grandeur has been prover- bial ever since men could reflect. Scarcely had Veru- lam mounted to the summit of his wishes, before he was hurled from his station with the loss of his honour and the impeachment of his honesty. James, having ex- hausted his finances, was obliged to call a parliament; and the nation being highly dissatisfied with the public conduct both of Buckingham and the chancellor, a strict: scrutiny was instituted against them. The king would gladly have screened them both, by a stretch of his pre- rogative in dissolving the parliament ; but he was obliged to temporize till he had obtained some supplies from its bounty ; and the chancellor, though certainly the great- est man and the least offender, was made the scape-goat for the other. To divert the commons from the prose- cution of the favourite Buckingham, some monopolies and illegal patents were cancelled and recalled by pro- clamation; while Verulam was impeached of bribery and corruption, in quality of chief judge in equity; and, meanly compromising his honour for a pension and a promised remission of the fine to be imposed, he com- plied LORD VERULAM. \63 plied With the wish of the court, in waving a right to speak in his own defence, and was condemned on a writ- ten confession. We blush for a man who could be made such a dupe, and who could sacrifice all that was estimable in -character, to the insidious blandishments of a court. Buckingham escaped by this artifice, though merely to make his catastrophe more terrible ; but Verulam was sentenced to pay a fine of 40,000/. ; to be imprisoned in the Tower during the king's plea- sure ; to be for ever incapable of any office, place, or emolument in the commonwealth ; and never to sit again in parliament, or come within the verge of the court. It is but justice, however, to the character of this eminent man to observe, that he fell tfee martyr rather to his want of prudence than his want of integrity. Notwithstanding his extensive practice at the bar, and the high office of state which he had filled, his whole landed property did not exceed 600/. a year ; and he was so far from having amassed money, that he was deeply involved in debt. Owing to his philosophic indifference about wealth, his great indulgence to his servants, and his total want of economy in the manage- ment of his domestic affairs, he had been cheated and defrauded without mercy. In short, that bribery and corruption for which he was condemned, though he was extremely culpable in conniving at it, tended only to the advantage of his retainers. The gifts were chiefly taken for interlocutory orders ; and so far was the chan- cellor from being influenced by them, that there was not a single instance in which his decisions were not guided by strict equity ; for not one reversal of his decreees fol- lower.' his disgrace. He seems himself to have been so sensible at last of his ill-judged lenity, that one day? during his trial, on his domestics rising to do him honour, as he passed through 104 FRANCIS JBACON, through the apartment, he said ; " Sit down, my mas- ters ; your the has been my fall." He who is destitute of prudence will soon be found, or fancied, deficient in every other virtue. Without economy there can be no independence ; and without independence, in vain shall we look for those qualisies that form the ground of honourable character. Conformably to stipulation, lord Verulam's confine- ment was but short ; his fine was remitted ; a pension of 1,800/. a year was settled on him ; and he was sum- moned to the first parliament of Charles I. notwithstand- ing the tenor of his sentence. After his disgrace, however, he seems to have been perfectly cured of ambition : he withdrew to that let- tered ease and retirement for which nature had adapted him ; and spent the last years of his life in the noblest studies that could engage the mind of man. While he was prosecuting some discoveries in experi- mental philosophy, near Highgate, he was suddenly taken ill, and being carried to the earl of Arundel's house in the vicinity, after a week's illness he breathed his last, on the 9th day of April, 1626. By his lady, a daughter of alderman Barnham, of London^ whom he married when near forty years of age, he left no issue ; and his title, of course, became extinct. He was buried in St. Michael's church at St. Alban's, and for some time lay without a stone to mark his name, tili the gratitude of Sir Thomas Meautys, who had for- merly been his secretary, erected the monument to a me- mory which can never die. In person, lord Verulam was of the middling stature ; his forehead broad and open, was early stamped with the marks of age i his eyes were lively and penetrating ; and his whole appearance venerably pleasing. So differently has his character been delineated, ac- cording to the different lights in which it has been view- ed ? LORD VERULAM. l65 ed, that by some his real blemishes are wholly thrown into shade; by others they are made to occupy the most prominent place on the canvas. His failings we have candidly endeavoured to represent ; his great and ex- alted qualities need not our feeble commendation. He was, no doubt, impressed with a sense of his own illus- trious attainments when he penned this singular pas- sage in his last will : — " for my name and memory, I leave it to men's charitable speeches, and to foreign na- tions, -and the next ages." And well might he make this appeal ; for in general his faulty, compared to his excellencies, were only like spots on the surface of the sun. We cannot better conclude our account of this extra- ordinary genius, than with a brief enumeration of his learned labours. His earliest philosophic production seems to have been the First Part of Essays; or Counsels, civil and moral. In this work, he lays down the useful principles of knowledge and prudence ; and points out the means of obviating ills, and obtaining blessings. Next appeared the introduction to his most capital per- formance, On the Proficicnce and Advancement of Learning, divine and human. The general design of this treatise was to exhibit a concise view of existing knowledge, under proper divisions ; with hints to supply its deficiencies. After his seclusion from public business, this was very much enlarged, and turned into Latin, and properly constitutes the first part of his Grand Installation of the Sciences. In 1607? he sent forth a treatise, entitled Cogitata et Visa ; which, as containing the plan of his Novum Orga- num, or second part of the Instauration of the Sciences, had been previously submitted to the most able literary friends, for their remarks and improvements. Three years after was published his exquisite little work, De Sapietitia Veierum ; and few books met with > a better l66 BISHOP ANDREWS* a better reception, or acquired more general celebrity than this. And lastly? in 1620, when in the zenith of his glory, he produced his most important philosophical work, under the appellation of the Novum Organum ScUnfiarwn ; which is, properly., a second part of his Grand Instau- ration of the Sciences, a performance, which, to praise would be idle, and to depreciate would be vain. His collected works were elegantly published in five volumes., 4to. in 1765. LANCELOT ANDREWS, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, Born 1555— Died 1626. From 2d Mary I. to 2d Charles L THE life of a good man, whatever his station or his success may be, cannot be written without pleasure, nor read without improvement; but, when we find the purest principles, the most extensive learning, and the utmost amenity of manners, receding lustre on preferment, the narrative becomes doubly interesting ; and we delight in tracing by what progressive steps ex- alted merit has risen to a suitable reward. This eminent divine, the contemporary and friend of Verulam, was the son of a mariner, who, towards the decline of life, was chosen master of the Trinity-house at Deptford. Of his connections little more is known, but that they were dignified by such a son. He was born in the parish of Allhallows, near Tower-hill ; and having received the elements of education at the Coop- ers' free-school in Ratcliffe-highway, he was removed to BISHOP ^ANDREWS. 1 67 to Merchant-taylors* school* under the tuition of Mr. Mulcaster. His astonishing progress in classical lore endeared him to his master, and by him he was recom- mended as a proper object to receive one of the scholar- ships thea lately founded, at Pembroke college, Cam- bridge, by Dr. Watts, archdeacon of Middlesex. Having, in consequence, been honoured with the first nomination, he plied his studies with such assiduity, par- ticularly in theology, and rendered himself so accepta- ble by his conduct, that he was soon chosen fellow of his college, and afterwards catechist. In the exercise of this vocation, he read lectures on the decalogue ; and as he possessed a graceful address, and fine elocution, his pulpit orations were much admired, and generally attended. His personal merits, and his growing reputa- tion as a divine, soon reached the ears of the founder of Jesus college, Oxford ; and, without his knowledge, he was complimented with one of the first fellowships in that new society. Of his minor habits, which sometimes develope the features of the heart more explicitly than the most im- portant actions, sdme pleasing details have been handed down to posterity. His filial affection, a virtue without which no one can he reckoned good or great, was so il- lustrious, that after he had been initiated at the univer- sity, he never failed to visit his parents in London, on proper occasions, during his residence botli at Cam- bridge and Oxford ; and that he might fill up those in- tervals, so dear to every feeling mind, with advantage, he took care to be provided with a private tutor, to in- struct him in such branches of science or art, as were not usually taught in the universities. By this means, within a few years, he acquired a prodigious fund of knowledge, to whicL he added an acquaintance with modern languages. His l68 BlSHOp ANDREWS. His journies to town he constantly performed on foot, till he had attained to such rank in the university, that he was fearful his love of pedestrWn exercise should be ascribed to parsimony. Yet walking still continued to be his favourite amusement, and he rationally pre- ferred it to all others ; declaring, that the contempla- tion of nature, and the examination of its various pro- ductions, were to him the most exquisite of all enter- tainments. The common recreations of volatile youth, the games invented to kill time without improvement, he never re- lished ; but sought for higher gratification in science and meditation. Such was his reputation, that he never had occasion to seek a patron. Happy man ! he never knew the an- guish of hope deferred, nor the misery of attendance and dependence. Henry earl of Huntingdon, lord pre- sident of the North, without solicitation, appointed him his chaplain ; and he accompanied that nobleman in ' his progress through that part of the kingdom, where he converted many from popery by his preaching, and more by his private exhortations. Such zeal and success, at once recommended him to Sir Francis Walsingham, the secretary of state ; who, rightly judging that his abilities would be more useful as the stage was wider on which they were displayed, first procured him the vicarage of St. Giles's, Cripple- gate ; and, in a short time after, a residentiaryship of St. Paul's, with a prebendal stall in the collegiate church of Southwell annexed. Thus preferred, probably beyond his humble and nn/ aspiring hof es, he redoubled his diligence as a preacher, till he was promoted to the mastership of Pembroke- hall, to which he afterwards bee me a generous bene- factor. His next preferment was that of chaplain-in- ordinary BISHOjP ANDREWS. \Qg ordinary to Queen Elizabeth ; who, charmed with his stile of pulpit eloquence, made him dean of Westmin- ster, in 1601. After the demise of his royal patroness, he had the good fortune to be holden in equal estimation by her successor James ; who, conscious of his talents, prompt- ed him to answer cardinal Bellarmine, who had viru- lently attacked his majesty's book, entitled " The De- fence of the Right of Kings. " The dodrrines of James were certainly most inimical to the catholic interest ; and Bellarmine, under the signature of Matthew Tortus, endeavoured to refute them. Dean Andrews, wittily playing on the adopted name, entitled his reply Tortura Torti ; and so far succeeded in supporting his master's cause, that he was rewarded with the bishopric of Chi- chester ; and, independently of his merit in this parti- cular service^, never did man better, deserve the mitre, - As a farther token of royal munificence and regard, he was likewise made lord-almoner, in which office he shewed the purest disinterestedness, so far as to sacri- fice his legal and undoubted rights. It was not long before the king had an opportunity of conferring a fresh reward upon this learned and pious prelate. On the vacancy of the see of Ely,, he was translated thither in 1609 ; and the same year was sworn of the king's privy council, both in England and' Scotland. After discharging the duties of his prelatical function' at Ely for nine years, with the -most conscientious atten- tion ; without solicitation, and without intrigue, he was promoted to the valuable see of Winchester, and ap- pointed dean of the chapel-royal. To the honour of bi- shop Andrews it ought to be mentioned, that though a privy counsellor in times of considerable difficulty and danger, when arbitrary principles were little disguised, and royal prerogative stretched to the utmost verge of H power. 170 BISHOP ANDREWS, power, he never sank his dignity by base compliances, nor irritated by useless opposition. "Wisely placing his honour and his duty in the faithful discharge of his pastoral office, he avoided the entanglements of tempo- ral affairs, and attached that respect to his character, which no mitred dabbler in party politics can ever hope to acquire. As a proof at once of the integrity of his principles and the promptness of his wit, we insert the following anecdote which is well authenticated.— One day, while James was at dinner, immediately after dis- solving the parliament, Andrews, bishop of Winchester, and Niele, bishop of Durham, were standing behind his chair. In the course of conversation, his majesty asked the two prelates if he was not authorized to take what- ever money he wanted from his subjects without the formality of a parliament ? The sycophantic-Niele rea- dily exclaimed, " God forbid, sir, but you should ; you are the breath of our nostrils." The king then turned to Andrews with "Well, my lord, what say you :" " Sir," replied he, " I have no skill to judge" in parlia- mentary cases." On this the king hastily added, " No put-offs, my lord, answer me presently." " Then, sir," said he, " I think it lawful for you to take my brother Niele's money, for he offers it." This shrewd evasion of a very delicate question amu- sed the company extremely : even James affected at least to be pleased with its humorous turn, and proba- bly in his own breast entertained a much more exalted idea of Andrews than of Niele. After enjoying a very rare" felicity in the singular es- teem of three successive sovereigns, the friendship of the learned and the great, and the veneration of the good, during a long and tranquil life, uniformly devoted to the cause of piety and virtue, this illustrious prelate was called from this world to a better, in 1626. He died at Winchester-house, Southwark, and was interred in the church BISHOP ANDREWS. 171 church of St. Saviour, where a handsome monument of marble and alabaster, with an elegant Latin inscrip- tion, was erected to his memory. His loss was lamented by the pious, and his virtues embalmed by the learned. Among others, the immortal Milton, then about seven- teen years of age, honoured him with a beautiful Latin elegy, one of the first productions of his muse. After having run through the more public scenes of bishop Andrews's life, with pleasure we revert to his pri- vate virtues. So truly amiable was his character as a prelate and a man, that it furnishes both an example and incentive to excellence, and ought not to be dis- missed with frigid indifference. His contemporaries have decorated his herse with unfading flowers, and we cannot do a more valuable service to those who have their course yet to run, than to select some of their- choicest sweets. The ductile mind of youth is prone to imitation ; and in bishop Andrews they have a pattern worthy of their love and esteem. Though cheerful in his disposition, there was such a tempered gravity in his manner, as checked the sallies of indecent levity. According to Fuller, James himself, who was much inclined to buffoonery, seemed to feel some awe and veneration in the presence of bishop Andrews. "Had he lived among the primitive bishops of the church," says one of his biographers, " his vir- tues would have shined even among those virtuous men." In short; to him might be applied what was sometimes said of Claudius Drusus, " that he possessed as many and as great' virtues, as mortal nature could receive, or industry rear to perfection." As a diocesan, he was remarkably careful to pro- mote men of learning and virtue. He invited unbene* ficed clergymen of reputed merit to visit him ; defrayed the expences of their journey ; and if, on conversation H 2 with. 17 '2 BISHOP ANDREWS, with them, they were found worthy of his patronage, . he preferred them as his livings became vacant. Thus seeing with his own eyes, and hearing with his own ears, he suffered no intrigues to impede the rise of worth, no recommendations to bias his judgment in favour of ig- norance and irreligion. As it pleased Providence to increase his fortune, his charity and liberality rose in the same proportion. He took particular delight in liberating those who had the misfortune to be confined for small debts, a. charity of the most beneficial kind, as well to individuals as to so- ciety. But wherever his bounty could be privately ap- plied, none but the immediate agent was sensible of the benefa&or. The vouchers which he required for the faithful discharge of the trust, were indeed to be signed by the person relieved ; but the sympathizing friend was unknown. In an age, when it is much to be feared • that charity is frequently the* result of ostentation ra- ther than of principle, we cannot expect that bishop Andrews will find many imitators ; yet the precedent is worthy of commemoration and applause. Another quality for which he was illustrious, was gratitude. As perfection is unattainable by humanity, some blemishes of one kind or other will adhere even to the best of men ; but, where gratitude is wanting, the heart itself is depraved. So warm was our prelate's sense of this virtue, that when he had it in his power, he not only remunerated those who had shown him kindness in his unprotected years, but extended his care to their relations. For the son of his first school-master he liberally provided ; and such was his personal esteem for Mr. Mulcaster, under whom he had studied at Mer- chant-Taylors', that he always placed him at the head of his table while he lived, and hung his picture in the most conspicuous part of his study when he was dead. Other SIR EDWARD COKE. 173 Other attestations to his grateful remembrance of fa- vours might be produced, but these are sufficient to evince his prevailing character. As a scholar, his reputation was high indeed. He is said to have understood at least fifteen languages ; and his fame was not confined to this island, but extended to most parts of Europe. His literary correspondence was very extensive. Casaubon bears testimony to his universal eruditron ; and Spanheim and Vossius are eloquent in his praife. Yet it must be confessed that his compositions were vitiated by the bad taste of the times. Tb t ey were full of pun and wit, and scraps of Greek and Latin ; and though all of them display the goodness of his heart and his extensive learning, they would now be read rather for improvement than for pleasure. This prelate had a. considerable share in that translation of the Bible which is' now in use. SIR EDWARD COKE, LORD CHIEF JUSTICE OP ENGLAXC Born 1550— Died 1634. From 3d Edward FT. to 9th Charles I. OF all the professions, that of jurisprudence affords the fairest and most promising field v for the exer- cise of abilities. The divine, with very slender preten- sions to talents, may mount on the props of patronage or connections ; the physician is often more indebted for success to his address than his skill ; but neither pa- tronage, connections, nor address, can make a man an able lawyer or an eloquent pleader. In this profession there must be intrinsic merit, which at last will sur- H 3 mount 174 SIR EDWARD COKE. mount all difficulties, and, trusting to itself alone, will if at all called into action, command that attention which the generality of men are obliged to court. It is not, therefore, to be wondered at that there should be so many candidates for the honours of the bar; and that, from among so many competitors, there should be some splendid instances of a right direction given to faculties, and of successful labours. Among those whose legal attainments acquired them honour and opulence alive, and whose works instruct when dead, Sir Edward Coke holds an elevated place. This luminary of the law was the son of Robert Coke, esq. of Mileham, in the county of Norfolk. After a slight domestic education, he was sent to the grammar- school of Norwich, when ten years old, and in due time removed to Trinity college, Cambridge. What early evidences he gave of genius or applica- tion, at school or college, we have no account. Our nascent and our juvenile years commonly pass unre- corded away, and are soon forgotten. Talents are de- veloped at very uncertain periods; the sprightly boy does not always turn out the man of abilities ; nor does the backward genius of youth always characterize ma- turer years. It seems Coke was originally destined for the law, for, after five years' study at Cambridge, he was entered of Clifford's-inn ; and the first incident that brought him into any notice was the precision with which he stated the cook's case of the house, and the shrewdness with which he pleaded it. It has been remarked,, on other occasions, that the fortunes of men frequently turn on slight and fortuitous circumstances, which no foresight can anticipate, no prudence can forward or retard. When the young law- yer was defending the cause of the cook, he probably little thought that such an insignificant introduction would SIR EDWARD COKE. - 175 would be the basis of his future feme; yet it seems that in consequence of the admiration which he excited on this occasion, he was called to the bar more early than had been usual; and, according to his own reports, in trinity term, 1578, he defended a clergyman of Norfolk, in an aclion of scandalum tnagnatum, brought against him by Henry lord Cromwell. About- this time he was appointed reader of LyonV inn, and his lectures increased his reputation. By ra- pid degrees he acquired such extensive practice, and was considered as such r, that after being seven years at the bar, he gained a co-heiress of the an- cient and honourable Paston Family, with whom he had a portion of 30,0001. By this marriage he became allied to seme of the no- blest houses in the kingdom; and honours and emolu- ments began to be showered upon him abundantly. Ke was chosen recorder of Coventry and Norwich, obtained the patronage of Burleigh, and was frequently consult- ed on political as well as forensic a£airs. Being return- ed to parliament by his native county of Norfolk, he was first appointed queen's solicitor, and soon after chosen speaker of the house of commons. In 159% he became attorney-general; and by this step his rise to the summit of his profession was, in a manner,- ensured. The only important business, however, in which he was employed in his new station, during the reign of Eliza- beth, was the trial of the earl of Essex, against whom -he pleaded with peculiar acrimony. Being left a widower with ten children, he turned his thoughts to another match of great fortune, and still greater connections. This was the relict of Sir William Hatton, and sister to Thomas lord Burleigh. But this marriage, however it might aggrandize him, was fatal to his domestic felicity. Their discordant tempers were the source of mutual misery ; and after many bickerings H"4 and 3 70 SIR EDWARD coke. and partial separations^ king James was obliged to be* come a mediator between them. But no authority can awaken the passion of love, or relume its extinguished flame: they lived but to curse 'their destiny: and the lawyer sought solace in business and ambition, instead of those sweeter comforts which a happy home can im- part. In May 1603, he was knighted by king James, and in the same year conducted the trial of the brave, unfor- tunate Sir Walter Raleigh with such asperity and inso- lence, such scurrility and cruelty, as greatly lessened the respect of the public for his character. However, he gained credit by his s sagacity, in unravelling that dark and vindictive conspiracy, the gun-powder plot; and on the trial of the conspirators, gave the most une- quivciral proofs of extensive capacity, acute penetration, and solid judgment. Soon after he was appointed lord chief justice of the common pleas ; on which occasion he took for his motto the significant and appropriate words, lex est tuthsbna cassia, u the law is the safest helmet.' J Having holden this post with high reputation for seven years, he was promoted to be lord chief justice of the king's bench, and sworn a privy counsellor. Two years afterwards, when Egerton, lord Ellesmere, vacated the place of lord high chancellor, his majesty was at a loss to determine on a successor, and seems to have thought of Sir Edward Coke ; but the intrigues of Bacon and others prevailed: for the lord chief justice, though the greatest lawyer, was far from being the be^t politician. Bacon, taking advantage of the inflexible character of his rival, painted his own more compliant disposition in such colours, as suited the humour and the principles of James, and in consequence he bore away the prize. Between Coke and Bacon there ap- pears not only to have been a generous emulation for rank and distinction, but a personal animosity which death ' i^ SIR EDWARD COKE. 1/7 death only could extinguish. Bacon, perhaps, envied that legal superiority which Coke was generally allow- ed to possess ; and Coke, in indignation and despair, beheld that universality of genius in Bacon, which de- fied all competition, and gained him the highest admira- tion of mankind. But to return. Though Sir Edward Coke had, in the situation of attorney-general, and with prospects of higher preferment before him, stretched the prerogative, in some cases, too far ; no sooner was he -elevated to the chief bench of justice, than he seems to have been determined to maintain the integrity and independence of his post. He gave public notice how much he de- tested corruption, by frequently repeating this maxim, u that a judge should neither give nor take a bribe f* and, instead of complying with arbitrary measures, on various occasions, which it does.not enter within our plan to recount, he shewed himself the firm friend of the liberties of his country, and the rights of individual?. This conduct, however honourable to himself, was not likely to ingratiate him with James, or render his office permanent: for, till die present auspicious reign, the judges were dependent on the royal will; and jus- tice w r anted this best and greatest safeguard, an assur- ance that its ministers could not be displaced, except for malversation in their office. By degrees Sir Edward Coke became more and more obnoxious to government; and the chancellor Bacon, in the plenitude of his power, eagerly widened the breach by his courtly insinuations. The immediate cause of Sir Edward's disgrace is differently accounted for. Certainly he had shewn himself unfavourable to the leading maxims of James's court; he had. offended the favourite Sir George Villiers, afterwards duke of •Buckingham ; arid the chancellor, as we have seen be- fore, was his inveterate enemy, H 5 Against 178 SIR EDWARD COKE. Against such a combination of powerful interests, it was impossible for him to maintain his ground : his fall was determined; and the manner in . which it was ac- complished was to the last degree humiliating. Being called before the privy council, on the 20th of June, 1616, in the most unprecedented manner, he was obliged to kneel, while the solicitor-general, Yelvertcn, preferred several vague accusations against him; such as, " speeches of high contempt uttered in the seat of justice, and uncomely and undutiful carriage in the presence of his majesty, the privy council, and the judges." Reduced to this humiliating situation, in an able and impartial manner he exculpated himself from the seve- ral charges urged against him, in support of which no direct evidence was advanced; but his removal being predetermined, the only business was to slope the way, and to invent some plausible excuses for such an exer- tion of power. At a second examination before the council-board, one of the secretaries of state informed him, that his majesty desired he might be sequestered from the coun- cil-table, till his farther pleasure was known ; that he should fqrbear to ride his summer circuit as judge of assize ; and, lastly, that he should, during the vacation, revise his book of reports, in which it was declared there were many extravagant and exorbitant opinions ; and having made what corrections his discretion recom- s mended, he was to exhibit the same privately to the king. Thus it appears the pedant James wished to assume the office of hyperergic ; and was, perhaps, the first, and we hope will be the last, of our sovereigns to usurp a character so degrading to royalty. Sir Edward submitted to his majesty's commands; yet at the commencement of next term, the lord chan- cellor imperiously forbade him Westminster-hall, and 6 ordered SIR EDWARD COKE. 179 ordered him to answer several exceptions against his reports. The following month he was dismissed from the office of lord chief justice; when lord Verulam not only privately triumphed in his disgrace, but personally insulted him by a very acrimonious composition, under the title of " An Admonitory Letter," in which he totally forgot the dignity of ' the gentleman, and the meekness of the philosopher. But though degraded by the court, Sir Edward was not yet disgraced in the eyes of die people ; and if he had shewn that fortitude and steadiness of resolution which the occasion required, he might have been con- sidered as a martyr to his incorruptible integrity. Un- fortunately, however, either a love of power, or a rank- ling desire to triumph once more over a rival by whom he had been foiled, prevailed on him to adopt a plan of policy, in which he was every way die loser. Haughty and arrogant in his prosperity, he became dejected and fawning in his adversity; and therefore neither deserved to be an object of respect in one fortune, nor of generous sympathy in the other. While chief justice, he had rejected with disdain some overtures of marriage between his daughter and Sir John Villiers, brother of Buckingham; but no sooner was his fall consummated, than he -magnified his own disgrace by courting this alliance through the most ab- ject means, and the most inconsiderate conduct. In. fact, he gave a carte blanche to Buckingham, in crder that he might insert what conditions he pleased in fa- vour of his brother; and as interest, not love, was the basis of the proposed match, the terms insisted on were sufficiently exorbitant, But Sir Edward had gone too far to recede, and hoped for such influence by this con- nection, that he regarded not the great diminution of his own income, which the settlement occasioned, nor , his own honour, which was compromised. His lady, H 6 however* 180 SIR EDWARD COKE. however, became quite outrageous at his proceedings In this affair, and disapproving of the match, merely be- cause she had not been consulted on its propriety, car- ried off her daughter ; and thus the whole family and their connections were thrown into confusion. The young lamost to defend the established religion, and the privi- leges of parliament; and should likewise do all in his power to bring. to condign punishment all who, by force or conspiracy, plotted against either. With this the populace were satisfied, and quietly dispersed. The Irish no sooner discovered that a man whose government had been so obnoxious to them was under trial, than they sent a deputation to both houses, to re- present their own grounds of complaint; by which the charges brought against Strafford in England were par- tially substantiated, and his condemnation was rendered certain. So vigilant, indeed, were the commons, so apprehen- sive that the accused might be fraudulently delivered out * of their hands, or have any possibility of escaping, that they petitioned to have the guards at the Tower strength- ened ; and when it was rumoured that the military power in that fortress was about to be committed to a sworn friend of Strafford's, they remonstrated against the appointment, and the king was obliged to withdraw the order. Secure in this respecl, they meditated schemes still more destructive of the constitution ; and, as it often happens v in public and private contentions, the aggrieved became the aggressor. Charles had been loudly cen- sured for betraying an inclination to extend the preroga- tive ; but the commons now took a step which vio- lated all constitutional authority. Foreseeing ^ that in the last extremity the king might dissolve the parlia- ment, and by this means elude their vengeance against Strafford, they declared their sitting permanent, at least till both houses should concur in a dissolution. The 1Q1* EARL OF STRAFFORD. The matter was now brought to a crisis. Charles immediately summoned his privy council ; and the pre- vailing advice was, to satisfy the wishes of his people, alledging, with great appearance of truth, that the life of one man was not to be balanced with the tranquillity and safety of the kingdom. The conscientious, though infatuated king, still felt all the anguish of regret at the idea of being obliged to pass sentence on a man whom he esteemed as one of his most faithful servants, and who was suffering only in his cause. He was irresolute, and distracted by contending principles. Strafford, apprised of his royal master's distress, with a sense of duty and attachment of which we have few examples, wrote a most pathetic letter to the king, con- juring him to pass the bill which was to remove him from the stage of life ; in hopes that this measure would for ever establish harmony between the sovereign and his people ; adding, " that his consent would more ac- quit his majesty to God than all the world cci?ld do besides." " To a willing man," said* he> " there can be no injury 'done." After passing two days and nights in a state of per- plexity not to be described, harassed by his parliament, beset by his people, and counselled by his cabinet to submit, Charles at last signed the fatal warrant for ex- ecution, and, by this act, paved the way for his own downfal. On the 12th of May, 1641, the earl of Strafford was brought to the scaffold en Tower-hill : he ascended it with the most perfect resolution and composure, and took an affectionate farewel of his sorrowing relations and friends. To his brother, who was weeping exces- sively, he thus addressed himself with a cheerful coun- tenance : — " What do you see in me to deserve these tears ? Does any indecent f ar betray in me a guilt, or my innocent boldness any atheism i Think now you are EARL OF ST tt AFFORD. IQ3 are accompanying me the third time to my marriage- bed. Never did I throw off my clothes with greater freedom and content, than in this preparation to my grave. That stock, " pointing to the block, " must be my pillow ; here shall I rest from all my labours : no thoughts of envy, no dreams of treason, no jealousies nor cares for the king, the state, or myself, shall in- terrupt this easy sleep. Therefore, brother, with me pity those, who, contrary to their intentions, have made me happy. Rejoice in my felicity, rejoice in my in- nocence." Then kneeling down, he made the following ani. mated protestation : — " I hope, v gentlemen, you will not think that either the fear of loss of life^or the love of reputation, will suffer me to belie my God, and my own conscience, at such a moment. I am now in the very door going out, and my next step~ will be from, time to eternity, either o£ peace or pain., To clear myself be- fore you all, I do here solemnly call God to witness, I am not guilty, so faf as I can understands^ the great crime laid to my charge ; nor have I ever had the. least inclination or intention to damnify or prejudice the king, the state, the laws, or the religion of this kingdom ; but with my best endeavours to serve all, and to support all ; so may God be merciful to my soul !" Then rising up, he expressed his desire of addressing the people ; and a profound silence ensuing, he made an animated and pathetic harangue, in which he excul- pated himself of every principal charge that had been alledged against him, professed the rectitude of his heart, and his attachment to his royal master and the constitution in church and state ; declared his forgive- ness of all his enemies ; and concluded with requesting the pardon of all whom he had offended by word or deed. Having finished, he saluted the friends who attended I him 1Q& EARL OF STRAFFORD. him on the scaffold, desiring their "prayers, and witlfthe utmost devotion addressed himself to the Majesty of heaven for nearly half an hour, concluding with the Lord's Prayer. After this he sent his last benediction to his family in terms of the warmest affection ; and, preparing himself for the block, laid down his head with surprising forti- tude and calmness, and at one blow he was no more. Notwithstanding the dignified manner in which the earl of Strafford had conducted himself in this last scene, no tears from the people attended his death. On the contrary, his execution w r as regarded as a matter of triumph ; and numbers who had flocked to see it, re- turned into the country, waving their hats in all the ex- ultation of barbarous joy. The abilities of Strafford were far above mediocrity, and his eloquence 'was very considerable. In point of personal courage, and those accomplishments which befit the gentleman, he deserved high praise ; but at the same time it must be confessed that he was inordi- nately ambitious^ arrogant, and passionate. In his man- ner of living he practised habitual temperance ; and his application to business was extreme. In private life he is represented as a warm and generous, friend ; and, had he lived in a more tranquil age, \>r performed in a less public theatre, he might have descended to a •peaceful grave, riot only without censure, but w T ith ap- plause. After the restoration, the bill of attainder was re- versed as a stigma on the national justice, and his son inherited his titles and estates. JOHN ( 19* ) JOHN H A M P D E N. Born 1594— Died 1613. From 36/4 Elizabeth lo \Sth Charles J. TO appreciate the real merits of political men from the history of our own times, is one of the most difficult tasks that. the biographer can undertake. The best intention is too often sullied by the event ; and pre- judice, or partiality, sees with distorted optics the con- catenation of causes which lead to an important catas- trophe. But an impartial posterity removes the glare of false colouring, and estimates character from its ob- vious tendency to good or evil, its innate propensity to virtue or vice. While the long-exploded doctrines of passive obedi- ence and non-resistance were in vogue, Hampden was pourtrayed as the Catiline of his age : but no sooner did constitutional liberty assume its proper form, and the interest and the glory of the sovereign become in- timately and indissolubly united with those of the' people, than he was regarded as the champion of his country's rights, and a martyr for her independence. John Hampden was descended from a long line of ancestors, settled at Great Hampden, in Buckingham- shire, and by the 'maternal side, was nearly related to Oliver Cromwell. % London claims the honour of his birth ; but this unimportant point rests only on tradi- tion, and indeed a dark veil is thrown over his early years. We find no traces of the future patriot in his juvenile days, no indications of the character which he was about to assume, or the part which he was des- tined to perform. Anions are frequently the result of 1 2 fortuitous ig6 JOHN HAMPDEN. fortuitous circumstances, and talents are elicited by the pressure of the moment. Had Hampden been born at any other period, or met with less urgent occasions for a display of his patriotism, it is probable that his name might now have been unknown to fame. Thou- sands are carried down the stream of oblivion, without ever having an opportunity of disclosing their virtues or their vices ; and join their kindred dust, unnoticed and unregarded. Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; Hands, that the rod of empire might have swayM, Or wak'd'to extasy the living lyre. Full many a gem of purest ray, serene, The dark unfathomYl caves of ocean bear; Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desart air. Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood: Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest; Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. Gray's Elegy. About the fifteenth year of his age, he was admitted a gentleman commoner of Magdalen college, Oxford ; whence he removed, without taking any degree, to the inns of court.- His progress in the study of the laws appears to have been considerable, and he might have made a distinguished figure at the bar, had not the death of his father early put him into possession of a splendid fortune. In the bosom of affluence, without a check on his youthful passion, it is said that he gave way to the na- tural consequences of such a situation, and ran into the usual dissipations of young men of fortune ; but without that degradation of character and probity which some incur. His ; sense and his reason soon recalled him JOHN HAMPDEN. 107 him from every excess, and he began to associate with persons of more austere and correct manners ; while his natural vivacity of temper and disposition remained the same. Though undeviating wisdom may net always attend the young, in every sensible mind there is a germ of re- flection ; and happy is it for those who early arrive at the stationary point of moderation. Hampden's views seem to have expanded with his change of manners ; and he qualified himself in the shade for the public part which he was afterwards called to perform. Having married a lady of considerable fortune and connections, he was returned to parliament in 1626 ; and espousing the popular cause, he was strenuous in pro- moting- an inquiry into the national grievances. His shrewdness and talents for oratory recommended him to the leading men of his party, and his resolution soon made him conspicuous. He protested against levying the duties of tonnage and poundage with peculiar vehe- mence ; an3 was taken into custody for refusing to ad- vance money on loans, not sanctioned 'by the voice of parliament. The applause which this conduct gained him from the people, fixed his principles ; for it appears to have been the character of Hampden to advance with caution, but never to recede with wavering steps. It was not, however, till 1636, that his energy and fortitude distin- guished him from the rest of his compatriots. At that time, when arbitrary power was making continual en- croachments on the liberty of the subject, and had al- most reached its acme of violence, Charles, by one stroke of impolicy, committed himself with an indivi- dual, and eventually with the nation. Hampden had been assessed the small sum of twenty shillings, in aid of what was called ship-money ; which was attempted to be raised by a writ under the great seal, without the I 3 concurrence 10/} JOHN HAMPDEN. concurrence of parliament. He singly resisted this 1 Il- legal exaction, unawed by authority, undaunted by me- naces, unabashed by calumny, and incorruptible by bribes. The cause was brought to trial in the court of exchequer, and solemnly argued by the collective abili- ties of the bar for twelve days successively ; but, as might naturally be expected, judgment went against him. According to. Clarendon, however, who was none of his panegyrists, he conducted himself in this grand trial with -such temper and modesty, that he ac- tually obtained more credit by losing it, than the king did himself service by gaining it. What had been hi- therto yielded out of affection, was now paid with mur- muring reluctance ; and the eyes of all men were turned on Hampden, as the pilot, who was to conduct them through the storm ; the champion who was to contend for the legal rights of all. His popularity now became so great, that he was re- garded as the father of his country, and the intrepid as- sertor of its liberties. He received the glorious appel- lation of the Patriot Hampden, and this title he never forfeited. He watched every measure of the court with jealous circumspection, and defeated every attempt against civil liberty, with a prudence that entitled him to- respect even from his opponents, .and with a zeal that nothing could withstand. The depositary of the national confidence, he held his trust us most sacred ; yet he ap- pears to have been actuated by no motives of personal hostility to his sovereign, by no views of aggrandize- ment for himself. If he resisted arbitrary power,, it was to save the con- stitution inviolate ; and, on the meeting of the long par- liament in 1640, his power and interest to do good or harm., in the opinion of lord Clarendon, were greater than any man's in the kingdom, or than any man of his rank possessed at any time. His reputation for honesty was JOHN HAMPDEN. lf)() was universal, and he appeared to be guided by such public principles, that no private or sinister ends could give them an improper bias. Having taken an active part in the prosecution of Strafford and Laud, and those obnoxious persons hav- ing been removed, it is said that Hampden, unwilling to proceed to farther extremities, projected a coalition of parties, and aspired to none of the splendid and lu- crative offices of the state for himself, but merely to the appointment of being tutor to the Prince of Wales. Sensible that the misfortunes of the nation arose from the mistaken principles of the sovereign, anxious to cor- rect rather than to overthrow the constitution, he ration- ally concluded, that he could not perform a more essen- tial service to his country, than by forming the prince's mind to legitimate sentiments of government. At first it appears that Charles listened to overtures of accom- modation^but, .prompted by his evil genius, he retracted his concessions ; and this apparent want of sincerity de- termined the part that Hampden was to act. The parliament now saw there was no alternative but implicit submission or open resistance, and the scene began to unfold which gradually deluged the country- in blood, and opened the flood-gates of anarchy. As Charles levied forces by his prerogative, the parlia- ment, foreseeing against whom their operation was to be directed, raised an army for the defence of the state, and Hampden accepted the command of a regiment of foot. As he had been instrumental in bringing matters to this crisis, so he was one of the first that commenced the civil war. The king had placed a garrison at Brill, in Buckinghamshire, a few miles from Oxford; the situa- tion of which gave it a considerable command. This . station Hampden attacked, and displayed the same cou- rage in the held as eloquence in the senate, But his I 4 ; military 200 JOHN HAMPDEN, military career was of short duration: he was. soon after mortally wounded in a skirmish with prince Rupert in Chalgrove-field, near Thame, in Oxfordshire ; and, after languishing six days, died, to the unspeakable regret and consternation of his party. It seems his incautious bravery precipitated his fate; and the royalists exulted in his death, as if die business had been settled, and con- sidered it as a just judgment on the most active partisan of rebellion. Yet it is believed that the king, when he heard of his lamentable situation, sent his own physician to attend him, as a mark of personal respect ; and if we can judge from the antecedent "conduct of the man, this favour, had he lived, would have been returned with in- terest. His natural disposition, the integrity of his heart, and the influence which he had acquired, in all proba- bility would have co-operated to save both the king and the constitution from final destruction. Though he had resisted the encroachments of arbi- trary power, he would have bowed to legitimate autho- rity ; and had his life been spared, there can scarcely be a doubt but he would have opposed the usurpation of Cromwell with equal resolution and success. The credit which he had gained would have speedily raised him to the command of "the army; and, as he was never known to exercise authority but for what he regarded as the public good, it may charitably be presumed that he would have listened with pleasure to the concessions which the unhappy Charles was afterwards induced to make. v Let the fate, however, of Hampden, and the conse- quences which ensued from his opposition, pure as it might be, teach the propriety of lenient measures, and the extreme danger of engaging in civil conflicts* The. first agents in reform may possibly be influenced by the most patriotic views ; but, when once popular opposi- tion is roused, and the bands of established government are JOHN HAMPDEN. 20l are loosened, the power may soon be wrested from the hands which before wielded it, and men of the most cor- rupt principles usurp the reins. Then flows in all the tide of misery which the virtuous seek to avoid, but the impetuosity of which they are unable to restrain. The history of all ages and of all nations confirms this incon- trovertible maxim, " that violence may demolish, but cannot repair; and that every melioration of the consti- tution of a country must be effectuated by gradual and almost imperceptible means, in order to render it salu- tary and permanent." The character of a man who stands so prominent on the historic canvas of the period in which he lived, and who may furnish both an incentive and a warning to future patriots, ought not to be dismissed without fur- ther notice. We shall not, however, attempt to draw a new character. The dark side has been forcibly deli- neated by the noble historian of the civil wars ; the bright, by the celebrated Mrs. Macaulay. As a proof of impartiality, we subjoin both ; nor can either be read without advantage. " He was/' says lord Clarendon, " a man of much greater cunning, and it may be, of the most discerning spirit, and of the greatest address and insinuation to bring any thing to pass which he desired, of any man of that time, and w T ho laid the design deepest. He was of that rare affability and temper in debate, and of that seeming humility and submission of judgment, as if he brought no opinion of his own with him, but a desire of information and instruction : yet he had so subtle a way, and under the notion of doubts insinuating his ob- jections, that he infused his own opinions into those from whom he pretended to learn and receive them. And even with them who were able to preserve themselves from his infusions, and discerned those opinions to be fixed in him with which they could not comply, he al- 1 5 ways 202 JOHN HAMPDEN. ways left the character of an ingenuous and conscien- tious person. He was, indeed, a very wise man, and of great parts, and possessed with the most absolute spirit of popularity, and the most absolute faculties to govern the people, of any man I ever knew. For the first year of the parliament, he seemed rather to moderate and soften the violent and distempered humours, than to inflame them. But wise and dispassionate men plainly ' discerned that that moderation proceeded from pru- dence and observation that the season was not ripe, ra- ther than that he approved of the moderation ; and that he begot many opinions and notions, the education "whereof he committed to other men ; so far disguising liis own designs, tl)at he seemed seldom to wish more than was concluded. And in many gross conclusions, which would hereafter contribute to designs not yet set on foot, when he found them sufficiently backed by a majority of voices, /he would withdraw himself before the question, that he might seem not to consent to so much visible unreasonableness^ which produced as great a doubt in some, as it did approbation in others, of his integrity. After he was among those members accused by the king of high treason, he was much altered ; his nature and carriage seeming much fiercer than it did before : and without question, when he first drew his sword, he threw away the scabbard. He was very tem- perate in diet, and a supreme governor over all his pas- sions and affections ; and had thereby a great power over other men's. He was of an industry and vigilance not to be tired out or wearied by the most laborious ; ^and of parts not to be imposed upon by the most subtle and sharp ; and of a personal courage equal to his best parts : so that he was an enemy not to be wished, where* ever he might have been made a friend ^ and as much to be apprehended where he was so, as any man could deserve to be. And therefore his death was no less pleasing JOHN HAMPDEN. 203 pleasing to the one party, than it was condoled in the other. In a word, what was said of China might well be applied to him : he had a head to contrive, a tongue to persuade, and a hand to execute any mischief; or, as the historian says elsewhere, " any good." " Clarendon," remarks Mrs. Macaulay, " has pretend- ed to draw the exact portraiture of this eminent, person- age ; but, though marked with those partial lines which distinguish the hand of the historian, it is the testimony of an enemy to virtues possessed only by the foremost rank of men. With all the talents and virtues which render private life useful, amiable, and respectable, were united in Hampden, in the highest degree, those excel- lencies which guide the jarring opinions of popular counsels to determined points; and, whilst he penetrated into the most secret designs of other men, he never dis- covered more of his own inclinations than was necessary to the purpose in hand. I n debate he was so much a master, that, joining the art of Socrates with the graces of Cicero, he fixed his own opinion under the modest guise of desiring to improve by that of others ; and, contrary to the nature of disputes, left a pleasing im- pression, which prejudiced his antagonist in his favour, even when he had not- convinced or altered his judg- ment. His carriage was so generally, uniformly, and unaffectedly affable ; his conversation so enlivened by his vivacity, so seasoned by his knowledge and under- standing, and so well applied to the genius, humour, and prejudices of those he~conversed with, that his ta- lents to .gain popularity were absolute. With qualities of this high nature, he possessed in council penetration and discernment, with a sagacity on which no one coukt impose, an industry and vigilance which were indefati- gable, with the entire mastery of his passions and affec- tions ; an advantage which gave him infinite superiority over less regulated minds. It was him the party relied 16 on 204 BR. WILLTAM HARVEY. on to animate the cold councils of their general ; it was his example and influence they trusted to keep him ho- nest to the interest of the public ; and to preserve to the parliament the affeftions of the army. Had he been at first appointed to the supreme military command, the civil war, under all the horrors of which the country languished more than three years, would have been but of a short continuance." DR. WILLIAM HARVEY. Born 1578— Died 1657. From 20th Elizabeth to 8th Charles IL IN every walk of life, and in every profession, Britain has reason to be proud of her sons. The healing art, in particular, has not only been carried to a very great degree of practical perfection by some of our illus- trious countrymen, but many of the most valuable and salutary discoveries in physiology and anatomy exclu- sively belong to them. No medical author, however, has gained more glory than Harvey. ' His investiga- tions led to the most important ends, and tend to the benefit of all mankind to the latest posterity. They throw a lustre on his profession and his name, which envy carihot tarnish or malevolence conceal. This celebrated physician was the eldest son of a gen- teel family, settled at Folkstone, in Kent. When he had reached his tenth year, he was sent to the grammar- school at Canterbury, where being well embued-with classical learning, he was removed at an early age to Gonvil and Caius college, Cambridge. In this univer- sity he diligently applied to such studies as were funda- mentally DR. WILLIAM HARVEY. 205 mentally connected with medicine ; and, after six years spent on the banks of Cam, he commenced his foreign travels, with a view solely to proficiency in his destined profession. Retiring to Padua in Italy, he attended the lectures of the famous Fabricius of Aquapendente, on anatomy; of Minodaus, on pharmacy; and of Casse- rius, on surgery. Under such distinguished masters, with a mind naturally inquisitive, and wholly devoted to medical studies and researches, his progress must have been rapid ; but whether he had yet conceived the idea which led to his future fame, is a fact that cannot now be unveiled. He stayed to graduate in that uni- versity; and, at the age of twenty-four, returned to his native land. Being immediately admitted to the degree of doctor in physic at Cambridge, he settled in London, and en- tered on the practice of his profession. By gradual ad- vances he rose to considerable eminence ; was chosen a fellow of the college of physicians, and appointed phy- sician to St. Bartholomew's hospital. In 1615, he was chosen by the college to read an ana- tomical and chirurgical lecture; and it is probable that this gave him the first opportunity of disclosing his sen- timents respecting the peculiar structure of the heart, and the circulation of the blood. Jiis ideas on this sub- ject he threw out with caution, and gradually developed. the important principles to which they led ; but when he had thoroughly canvassed his own hypothesis, forti- fied it by arguments, and confirmed it by reiterated ex- periments, he published, at Frankfort, a Latin treatise, concerning " the Motion of the Heart and Blood.'' This work, in the opinion of the best judges, is a master-piece of perspicuity in arrangement, and of nervous reason- ing ; nor was its literary merit inferior to the sublime doctrines which it was intended to establish. But though Harvey's discovery was of the last im- portance 206 DR. WILLIAM HAKVEY. portance in the healing art, and deserved the candid reception, if not the high approbation of all, he met with that fate which superior merit must not hope to escape. He was envied by those who could not com- prehend the value of his doctrine ; he was traduced by the dull plodders in the trammels of established preju- dices, who could not reach his heights. His own pro- fession in particular for some time regarded his opinions as heretical, or dangerous ; and, if they were not able to confute him, they raised a war of words, in which argu- ment was lost, and truth and reason were treated as the worst of foes. It appears from a letter of Harvey to one of his friends, that in proportion as he deserved re- putation, his practice as a physician diminished ; and that the most ignoble arts were used to depress a man whom obloquy could not depreciate, and whose applause was one day to become universal through the world. Even foreign physicians entered warmly into the con- troversy^ and either attacked the truth of his hypothesis, or denied him the praise of originality. It is thus in every branch of science, and in every great and merito- rious performance. Those who have benefited . or en- lightened mankind, have too frequently been made the victims of their virtues or their knowledge; and envy, which cannot endure to behold living worth, has relent- ed only at the grave. But Harvey, though he suffered from the storm, had the singular felicity to outlive its fury, and to see the world pressing forward to pay him the homage due to an original genius, and a benefactor of his kind. The more his system was criticised, the more its validity was established; and like gold which had been tried, it came brighter out of the furnace. By degrees the circulation of the blood was generally received ; and men began to wonder why such a palpable truth had so long been un- discovered and so long opposed* la DR. WILLIAM HARVEY. 20? In 1623, king James appointed Dr. Harvey a super- numerary physician in ordinary, with a promise he should succeed on the first vacancy. He was afterwards made physician to Charles I. and attended his majesty at the battle of Edge-hill, and from thence to Oxford, where he was incorporated doctor in physic. Soon after, by the king's particular recommendation, he was elect- ed warden of Merten college, in that university ; but the power of the parliament prevailing, he was obliged to relinquish this dignity, and retired to the vicinity of London. In 1651, he published a very valuable book on the generation of animals; but, being obnoxious to the do- mineering party for his adherence to Charles, his house was plundered of all the furniture, and all his manu- scripts carried off, and irrecoverably lost. Next year, however, having lived to silence envy, and to make opposition ashamed of shewing its face, a statue was erected to his honour by the college of physicians; and two years after he was chosen president of that body, in his absence. This distinction he declined with due acknowledgments, on account of his age and increasing infirmities; but, as a testimony of his gratitude, having 1 no children, he made the college his heirs, and settled his -whole paternal estate upon them. He had previ- ously built a room for them to assemble in, and fitted up a library ; and now he instituted an annual commemo- ration of benefactors, with a proper salary; and attended the first, in person. The Harveian oration still conti-. nues to be delivered ; and the aspiring and ingenious physician who is appointed to pronounce it, has thus an honourable opportunity of shewing his taste, his learn- ing, his skill, or his discoveries, before the most compe- tent judges of his art. During die latter part of his life, Harvey became a martyr 208 ADMIRAL BLAKE. martyr to the gout; and resigned his breath with gene- ral admiration and regret, on the 3d of June, 1657. He was buried at Hempstead, in Essex, where a monument was ere&ed to his memory. Besides an eminent skill in every branch of science more immediately connected with his profession, he was well versed in general literature. He was laboriously studious, regular, and virtuous in his life ; and not only an excellent physician, but an excellent man. His modesty, his candour, and his piety, were equal to his knowledge ; and the more he penetrated into the won- ders of nature, the more he was inclined to adore its di- vine author. With regard to his grand discovery, the circulation of the blood, it was soon confessed to be founded on the solid basis of reason and experience, and can never be controverted more. Of what consequence it was in the art of medicine, may be inferred from this, that it is, perhaps, impossible to define health and sick- ness in fewer words, than " by styling the former a free and the latter an obstructed circulation.' 5 ADMIRAL BLAKE. Born 1599— Died 1659. From 41st Elizabeth to 10M Charles II • NEVER- was our national glory greater among fo- reigners than during the usurpation of Cromwell, and never was it more disgraced at home. Fanaticism and imposture pervaded all ranks ; the great mass of the people became the dupes of a few factious leaders; and the deep dissimulation of the proce&or rendered hy- pocrisy ADMIRAL BLAKE. 20Q pocrisy fashionable, even among those who had sense enough to laugh at the silly tricks which were played to gain popularity. But as far as external relations were concerned, Crom- well assumed an absolute tone, and spake without dis- guise. He felt for his country's honour: he inspired his commanders with a portion of his own resolution and decisive conduct, and sent them to conquer or to die c Awed by no rank, and proof against all intrigues, he dictated to other courts, rather than negotiated: while the force of his genius and the superiority of his arms were confessed by nations which durst not brave his power, nor insult his usurped authority. Among the heroes whom the enthusiasm of the times awakened into life and action, Admiral Blake has made his name immortal. High as our naval reputation had stood at antecedent periods, he exalted it many degrees by his conduct and intrepidity; nor can the brilliancy of his achievements be eclipsed, or, indeed, scarcely ri- valled, by the greatest drsplays of courage and prowess that later times have witnessed. Robert Blake was a native of Bridgewater, in Somer- setshire, and was initiated in classical learning at the grammar-school of that town. His father was a mer- chant; but what was the original destination of the son cannot now be known. It is certain that he was sent to the university of Oxford, where he first studied at Alban-hall, and afterwards at Wadbam-college. In 1617, he was admitted to the degree of bachelor of arts ; but we have no farther account of his progress or his views, till six years after, when he composed some verses on the death of Camden the antiquary, and soon after quitted the university. Early tinctured with republican sentiments, and pre- judiced against the hierarchy, from the severity of his diocesan, Laud, who pressed uniformity with impolitic zeal, $10 ADMIRAL BLAKE. zeal, Blake began to adopt puritanical principles; and, by the ingenuous bluntness of his manner, soon recom- mended himself to that party, who procured his return to parliament for his native ..borough, in 1640. Elected under such auspices, the line of conduct which he had to pursue was obvious. On the commencement of the civil war, he declared for the parliament; but we have no evidence of his distinction either in the senate, or the field, for some time. He seems at first to have been considered rather as an honest than a great man. The period had not yet arrived which was to develope his natural energies; and he might be said to resemble the useless gold in the mine, which requires a proper stamp to give it currency. It was not long, however, that he remained under the cloud of obscurity } but the first display of his talents was in the military, not the naval line. Having the command of a small fort at Bristol, in 1643, under colonel Fiennes, who occupied the city, after prince Ru- pert had carried the place by capitulation, Blake con- tinued to defend the connected post, and killed some of the royalists. This exasperated the prince to such a de- gree, that he threatened to hang him ; and was only di- verted from his intention by perceiving the palpable ignorance of Blake in the laws of war. Escaping this danger, he afterwards served m Somer- setshire, and being generally beloved, he was very in- strumental in supporting the cause of parliament. By means of the good intelligence which he was able to procure, he surprized Taunton, in conjunction with Sir Robert Pye, and was soon after appointed governor of that placeythen one of the most important garrisons in the west. In this situation his talents and resolution soon became eminently conspicuous. The strictness of his discipline, and the endearing manner in which he conducted him- * self ADMIRAL BLAKE. 211 self towards the townsmen, enabled him to hold out a long time against the royal forces ; and when a breach was at last effected, and Goring got possession of a part of the town, Blake held out the castle and its environs, with unshaken bravery and perseverance, till relief ar- rived. .For this important service, he was handsomely remunerated by Parliament; and was now considered as a man qualified for hazardous enterprizes, and trusts of still greater responsibility. However, his adherence to the popular side had not obliterated his sense of right and wrong. He declared against the legality of Charles's trial; and frequently professed, that he would as freely venture his life to save the king's, as ever he had done to serve the parliament. Whether this arose from the natural humanity of his dis- position, or a reverence for royalty, is doubtful. His subsequent conduct, however, inclines us to believe, that the former was the cause of his compunction ; for after the king's death, he wholly fell in with the republican party; and, next to Cromwell, was justly considered as the ablest officer in the service. Blake had hitherto signalized himself only by land, but his destiny led him to triumph on a new element. In 16-1-9, he was appointed to command the fleet in con- junction with Deane and Popham; and, sailing for Ire- land, blocked up prince Rupert in Kinsale harbour. That gallant officer despairing of relief by sea, and find* ifig Cromwell ready to possess the town by land, : the desperate resolution of forcing his way through Blake's squadron, which he effected with the loss of three ships. Trie royal fleet steered for Lisbon, where it was pro- tected by the king of Portugal ; but Blake soon after coming up, on attempting to enter the port, was fired upon from the castle. Immediately droppjpg anchor, he 212 ADMIRAL BLAKE. he sent to enquire the cause of their hostility; but not receiving a satisfactory answer, he boldly sailed up the river within two miles of Prince Rupert's fleet, and again solicited permission to attack it. This being refused, Blake took five richly-laden Brazil ships, and made his Portuguese majesty acquainted, that unless he ordered prince Rupert to depart, he would seize on the remain- der of the fleet from America. Some time after, the prince endeavouring to escape, was driven back by Blake, who now captured the Portu- guese ships without mercy, and dispatched several of them to England. In October, 1650, he fell in with a fleet of twenty-three sail from Brazil, of which he sunk the admiral, and took the vice-admiral, with eleven ships richly laden. Resolving now to return home with his booty, or per- haps wirhdrawing'from Lisbon thatprince Rupert might be drawn from his retreat, he fell in with two French men-of-war which were in search of the English royal fleet, and captured one of them, reported to be worth a million sterling, which he sent into Calais. By this time prince Rupert had got into Carthagensu Blake, being apprized of this, hastened thither; and re- quested the governor, as the subject of a power in amity with the parliament, to permit him to attack his enemy. The governor hesitated till he could obtain instructions from his court ; and in the mean time prince Rupert escaped to Malaga. The vigilant Blake immediately came up with him ; and, disdaining to temporize, he attacked him in the port, and burnt or destroyed his whole fleet, with the exception of only two ships. This service achieved, he returned to Plymouth, r&- ceived the thanks of the parliament, and was appointed warden of the cinque ports. In the following summer he reduced the Scilly islands which ADMIRAL BLAKE. 213 which had held out for the king; and then, sailing for Guernsey, with some difficulty he added that island to the state of England. Being constituted sole admiral on the breaking out of a Dutch war, in which the greatest commanders and best equipped ships were engaged, on each side, that any age had produced, and in which the dominion of the sea was the splendid obj eel: of contest, he fought the celebrated Van Tromp with such bravery, though far inferior in force, that he compelled him to retreat. This action, which was commenced by the Dutch, and in which Blake singly bore the brunt for four hours, was one of the most severe and desperate in the annals of naval history, though indecisive in its consequences. The advantage however rested with the English, and •the states of Holland seemed inclined for peace, but the terms on which it was offered were so exorbitant, that hostilities were renewed with fresh vigour. In several partial conflicts, Blake obtained fresh laurels, and di- minished the strength of the enemy, but the Dutch, under their illustrious commander, still came forward with fresh armaments ; and the English fleet, being in want of provisions, were at length compelled to return to its anchorage in the Downs. Van Tromp, with fourscore men-of-war, resolved to attack Blake in^his situation. The English had not above half the number of ships, yet they maintained the -action, with undiminished resolution, from two in the morning till six in the evening. At last Blake, for the first and only time, was obliged to retire from the enemy with some loss, and to take shelter in the Thames. N The Dutch had also suffered very considerably, but so elated was Van Tromp with his success, that he sail- ed through the channel with a broom at the masts head, to signify that he meant to sweep the sea of the English. This exultation was of no long continuance. The Eng- lish 214 • ADMIRAL BLAKE. lish admiral being reinforced, attacked him with farinfe- - rior numbers; and, though severely wounded, continued the engagement till night, and compelled the Dutch to retire, with the loss of six ships. Next day the engage- ment was renewed, to the fresh discomfiture of Tromp, who continued retreating towards Boulogne. Night once more suspended the fury of Blake ; but on the third morning the contest recommenced, and the Dutch were obliged to secure themselves from final ruin, by running among the flats of Dunkirk and Calais. In this hard- fought battle, which lasted for three successive days the Dutch lost eleven ships of war, thirty merchantmen, and 1500 sailors. On the part of the English, only one ship was lost, hut the lass of men was nearly equal. Such a series of victories obtained by one man, not ori- Iginally bred to the sea, is almost unparalleled ; and must 3 convey a very high idea of Blake's superior bravery and judgment. Not long after, Cromwell assumed the su- preme power, and the Dutch flattered themselves that such an usurpation would alienate the affections of the English officers, and leave the nation an easy pre^ to their attacks. The sentiments of Blake on this occasion shew the sense he entertained of his duty, and the im- propriety of officers taking upon them a deliberative ca- pacity. " It is not for us," said he, " to mind state af- fairs, but to keep foreigners from fooling us." This pa- triotic maxim is applicable at all times ; and will gene- rally be found to actuate the brave, whatever convul- sions a government may undergo. Towards the end of the month of April, 1653, Blake having collected a hundred ships of war, stood over to the coast of Holland, and forced the Dutch to take shel- ter in the Texel. Here they were blocked up for some time; but on the 3d of June an engagement took place," which was continued the succeeding day, when the Eng- lish obtained a complete victory^ and the whole Dutch m 5 fleet ADMIRAL BLAKE. 215 fleet must either have been taken or sunk, had they not sought for shelter on the sands of Calais. The succeeding autumn, Blake took his seat in par- liament, and received the solemn thanks of the house; and not long after, he was appointed one of the lords of die admiralty. In November, the following year, Cromwell dispatched him with a strong fleet into the Mediterranean, with the ample commission to protect the English flag from every insult. The Algerines, in- timidated by his name, sought his amity by every con- ciliatory measure ; but the dey of Tunis sent him a haughty answer, and defied his power. Blake as was customary when in a passion, began to curl his whiskers; and after a short consultation with his officers, sailed into the bay of Port Ferino, silenced the guns of the castle, and then manning his boats, burnt all the ship- ping, with a very trivial loss on his own part. His name had long been formidable in Europe, but now it spread terror over Africa : the piratical states courted his forbearance with marks of servility; while the Italian princes sent magnificent embassies to con- gratulate the protector on the services of Blake to Chris- tendom in general. The war with Spain by this time waging warm, our illustrious commander exerted his utmost efforts to ruin their maritime force in Europe-, as Penn had done in the West-Indies. But his health was no longer equal to the energy of his mind, and he requested an associate in the command, which was granted him, in the ap- pointment of general Montague to be joint-admiral of the fleet. To Blake alone, however, did the nation and the navy look up for protection and glory: he was one of those highly favoured men whom Fortune, in her capricious freaks, never forsook : his most daring at- tempts were sanctioned by her smiles, and his fame was progressive to the la,st. Being 21 6 ADMIRAL BLAKE, Being stationed near the Straits, he alternately an- noyed the shipping and the ports of Spain. His activity was displayed every where, and his intelligence enabled him to seize every probable opportunity of glory or of gain. While employed in blocking up the harbour of Cadiz, he learned that the Spanish plate-fleet had put^ into the bay of Santa Cruz, in the island of Teneriffe. Determined to attack it, he sailed thither with twenty- five men of war ; and on the 20th of April, 1657, ar- rived off the bay, where he saw nineteen stout ships disposed in the form of a crescent. Near the mouth of the haven stood a castle, furnished with very heavy ordnance ; besides which, the whole bay was lined by strong forts and a chain of communication preserved between each, by files of musqueteers. Every other pre- caution was taken by the Spanish admiral, Don Diego Diagues, that military experience could devise, although rather to prevent a surprise, than in contemplation of an open attack. The captain of a Dutch ship, however, which then lay in the bay, entertained different sentiments, and had duly appreciated the character of Blake. Ke re* quested leave to depart, and observed to the admiral, "I am very sure Blake will soon be among you." " Get you gone, if you wish it, and let Blake come if he dares," was the reply of the haughty Spaniard. The English admiral did not want a challenge to fight. Having instantly made preparations for the en- gagement, a squadron of ships was selected from the whole fleet to make the first onset, headed by .captain Stayner, in the Speaker frigate ; who no sooner, received his orders than he flew with his canvas wings into the bay, and fell upon the Spanish ships, without appearing to regard the intense fire from the forts. Blake followed him with rapidity, and placing some of his largest ships to pour broad sides into the castle and forts> these played 7 their ADMIRAL BLAKE. 217 their part so well, that, in a short time, the Spaniards found their situation too hot to be tenable. Meanwhile, the admiral, in conjunction with Stayner, attacked the ships with such impetuosity, that, after a few hours' contest, the Spaniards were fairly beaten from them, and they were left to the mercy of the cap- tors. But, with all his exertions, Blake found it impos- sible to carry them off; and therefore he ordered his men to fire them, which was so effectually executed, that they were all reduced to ashes, except two, which sunk downright. This achieved, the English began to reflect on their own situation. The wind blew so strong into the bay, that many of the best officers despaired of get- ting out ; and as they lay Under the fire of the castle and forts, in a few hours more they must have been torn to pieces, and the fortune of the day reversed. What all the skill and bravery of Blake could not effect, Providence did for him. The wind suddenly veered to another quarter, and carried them to the open sea, before the Spaniards could recover from their con- sternation, at this daring and decisive action, which is one of the most remarkable ever performed by sea. " It was so miraculous, " says lord Clarendon, " that all men who knew the pla.ee, wondered how any sober man, with what courage soever endowed, would ever have undertaken it ; and they could hardly persuade them- selves to believe what they had done ; whilst the Spa- niards comforted themselves with the reflection, that they were devils and not men, who had accomplished such things.'' No sooner was the news of this signal victory bla- zoned abroad, than a public thanksgiving was ordered on the occasion, and a diamond ring voted by Crom- well's parliament to Blake, with other demonstrations of gratitude and respect to the whole fleet. K The 218 ADMIRAL BLAKE. The admiral resumed his former station on the coast of Spain ; but, his ships becoming foul from long use, and himself falling into a dangerous disorder, which was aggravated by a sea life, and the want of those re- freshments which are only to be found on shore, he re- solved to return home. Finding his constitution ra- pidly giving way to a complication of dropsy and scurvy, the love of his native soil seems to have been uppermost in his mind. He hastened his voyage, that he might, at least, resign his breath in a country which was dear to him by every tie which can bind a good man, and which he had aggrandized by his valour. In this wish alone was fortune unpropitious to his vows. He frequently enquired for land, but he lived to see it only ; for he departed this life as the fleet was entering Plymouth, on the l?th of August, 1657, in the 5Sth year of his age. The protector ordered him a pompous funeral, at the public expence ; but the tears and regret of his coun- trymen were the most honourable eulogy on his me- mory. Never was any man who had devoted himself to an usurper, so much respected by those of opposite principles. Disinterested, generous, liberal ; ambitious only of true glory, and terrible only to the enemies of his country ; he forms one of the most perfect characters of that age, and is the least stained with any vice or meanness. Clarendon observes, that he was the firs! man who brought ships to contemn castles on shoreA which had hitherto been thought very formidable, btf were proved by him to be more alarming than dangeft. ©us. He was also the first who infused that resolutiai into seamen, of making them attempt whatever was possible ; and the first who taught them to fight eitHer in fire or water. In short, he was the Nelson and me Sydney Smith of his day ; and proved, that to darelis generally to command success. Few things indeed, »e impracticatie , EARL OF CLARENDON.* 2 1 () impracticable to him who has a well-grounded confi- dence in his own powers, and who is diverted from his object by no seeming difficulties, nor lured from perse- verance by the blandishments of ease. After the restoration, the remains of Blake were re- moved from the vault wherein they had been deposited, in Westminster-abbey, by the express command of Charles II. and ignobly thrown into a pit with others, in St. Margaret's church-yard ; " in which place," says Wood, " they now remain, without any other monu- ment than that reared by his valour, which time itself can hardly efface. EDWARD HYDE, EARL OF CLARENDON, LORD HIGH CHANCELLOR OF ENGLAND. Born 1608— Died WJ4. Fiom bth James I. to 2bi/t Charles IF, TO preserve integrity of conduct, and consistency of principle, amidst public convulsions, when force generally sets right at defiance — to adhere to what is Just and honourable, regardless of what is expedient or profitable, is the character of a great and a good man. How far and in what respects lord chancellor Claren- don deserves this praise, will be seen from a brief survey of his life. This celebrated statesman, lawyer, and historiogra- pher, was descended from an ancient family in Cheshire, and was the third son of a gentleman, possessed of a small fortune, who resided at Denton, near Hindon, in K2 Wilts I £20 EDWAltD HYDE, Wilts ; where the future chancellor was bora. With no prospects of a patrimony, nor protected by great alli- ances, he had his fortune to make by his own merits ; and in the history of men it may be remarked, that for one who has increased the original honours of his fa- mily, and enlarged his hereditary possessions, thousands have pursued retrogade movements, and sunk what they felt no necessity to advance. Hence the aspiring and virtuous mind, ungifted by fortune, may draw the most favourable arguments for hope and perseverance : and when it views the elevation which others have reached, may learn to acquiesce in the toil which is requisite to gain the ascent. Edward Hyde received a private education, suitable to the circumstances of his family, under the vicar of the parish in which he was born ; but as an evidence that he must have been an apt scho- lar and displayed early talents, he was entered of Magdalen-hall, Oxford, .when just turned of thirteen. Here he took the degree of bachelor of arts ; and hav- ing improved his natural endowments by classical learn- ing, it seems that the height of his ambition, at that time, was to obtain a fellowship in Exeter college, but being disappointed in his views, he removed to the Mid- dle Temple. How often is Providence as kind in what it denies as in what it grants ! Had Hyde become the fellow of a college, it is probable that he might have passed his days in inglorious ease, and left no traces of his name ; but having once entered on the profession of the law, he found an opportunity for the exercise of his talents, and the display of his loyalty and patriotism. He pursued his studies in the Temple for several years with increasing reputation ; and when his society were determined to give a public testimony of their hatred to the indecent principles advanced in Prynne's Histriomastix, he was appointed one among the mana- gers of a masque presented on that occasion before king Charles EARL OP CLARENDON. Ill Charles and his queen, at Whitehall, in \6?A. But though Hyde was a friend to constitutional royalty, he strenuously opposed every illegal stretch of prerogative, and reprobated the subserviency of the judges to ad- vance the kingly power, at the expence of national li- berty. A remarkable incident, recorded by Burnet, is said to have contributed to Rx the steadiness of his principles, when he first began to acquire some emi- nence in his profession : As he was walking one day with his father in the fields round his native place, the old gentleman happened to observe, that men of his profession were apt to stretch the prerogative too far, and injure liberty ; and concluded with earnestly re- questing him, if it ever was his fortune to rise, never to sacrifice the laws or liberties of his country to private views or political intrigues. Having repeated this ad- vice in the most impressive manner, he immediately fell into a fit of apoplexy, which carried him off in a few hours afterwards. The filial duty of Hyde conspired with his own judgment to make this expostulation the rule of his future life, and he died in its observance. For some years he appeared to have confined himself wholly to the duties of his profession, without any am- bition of beine distinguished as a politician : but having been returned to parliament in 1640 forWootton Basset, he soon attracted notice by his eloquence, and the reso- lute stand which he made for his country's rights. This parliament was of short duration ; but another having been called, Mr. Hyde was elected for Saltash, in Cornwall ; and the promises which he had already given of a patriotic character were fully confirmed. He was frequently appointed chairman of several impor- tant committees ; and with all the fire of oratory de- claimed agaixst the usurpations of the crown, and the violation of the constitution, particularly in die article of ship-money. K 3 But 222 EDWARD HYDE, But Hyde was not one of those incendiaries, who, having detected errors in the exercise of government, overlook all its beauties. He was as vigilant to pre- vent innovations in the constitution as encroachments on the liberty of the subject. When it was moved to deprive bishops of their vote, he represented that from the earliest institution of parliaments, they had been an integral part of it, and that they were the legitimate re- presentation of the whole body of the clergy, whose rights could not be wrested from them without the gros- sest injustice. On this momentous topic, he differed from his friend lord Falkland, with whom he kept up the closest intimacy ; and their enemies hoped that their separation would be total, but in this they were deceived. Each only claimed the privilege of speaking his own sentiments on particular occasions ; in essentials they were united. When the earl of Strafford was impeached of high treason, he was appointed one of the committee to draw tip the articles of accusation ; but, divesting himself of passion and prejudice, and foreseeing consequences which escaped the eye of intemperate partizans, he con- sidered him as guilty only of misdemeanors, and dis- claimed any concern in the proceedings by attainder. In a word, he was one of those glorious patriots, who act on independent principles ; who scorn to thwart go- vernment out of pique, or to sanction its measures from venal motives. As soon, therefore, as he perceived the commons to be carried away by a spirit of hostility to the constitution, and beginning to assume the execu- tive power which had been legitimately vested in other hands, he abandoned them to their follies and their crimes, and repaired to the king at York, who conferred upon him the honour of knighthood, and made him chancellor of the exchequer. From this time he was a firm adherent to his royal master, EARL OF CLARENDON. 223 master, through all the vicissitudes of his fortune ; but confining his talents to their proper sphere, he' counsel- led rather than acted, and is little noticed during the intestine commotions, till the treaty of Uxbridge was set on foot, when he proved himself in quality of com- missioner a warm and judicious advocate for the king's "unalienable rights. All his exertions, however, proving abortive, and the civil war being renewed, Sir Edward Hyde was ap- pointed to attend the prince of Wales in the West, where he strove to maintain his master's interest, and to re- trieve his affairs ; but matters becoming worse and worse, he embarked from Pendennis castle for Jersey, in expectation of finding prince Charles at that place. His royal highness, however, having been removed to Paris, Sir Edward was so provoked at this impolitic and precipitate step, that he refused to attend him thi- ther, and spent two years and upwards in Jersey, em- ployed in the composition of his immortal work, the History of the Rebellion, which he undertook with the king's particular approbation and encouragement. In May, 1648, he received a letter from queen Hen- rietta, requiring him, in his majesty's name, to give his personal attendance on the prince of Wales, by a cer- tain day, at Paris. Some circumstances intervened to render this impossible, but he joined him soon after at the Hague, in company with lord Cottington. His various services to Charles II. during his exile, it is unnecessary to mention; they are sufficiently blazoned in general history. . His activity in promoting the re- storation, the pure and disinterested attachment which he shewed to his prince, under the most forlorn circum- stances, and sometimes amidst obloquy and ingratitude, rank him very high in our esteem. By the urgent soli- citation of Charles, he accepted the great seal, and in quality of lord Chancellor transacted almost the whole K. 4. business 224 EDWARD HYDE, business of his little court, carried on negociations, and paved the way for his return to the throne of his an- cestors. No sooner was Charles happily restored, than he con- firmed Sir Edward Hyde in his office of lord high chan- cellor, and placed the most unlimited confidence in the wisdom and integrity of his councils. Soon after, he was elected chancellor of the university of Oxford, and created a peer of the realm, by the title of baron Hyde ; and next year he was raised to the dignity of viscount Cornbury, and earl of Clarendon. Great as the honours and distinctions were with which he was invested, his merit became them all. His prudence, liis justice, and his moderation, had been eminently conspicuous on the restoration, in adjusting the boundaries between royal prerogative and national liberty. He reconciled many clashing interests, and from confusion had reduced much to order. He pro- moted an act of indemnity to calm the fears of the re- publicans, and an act of uniformity to satisfy the roy- alists. But still his situation was far from being enviable. The gay and dissolute Charles was liberal in professions, but he generally referred to his chancellor for their com- pletion. Clarendon had it not in his power to satisfy every just claim on royal munificence, much less to ra- tify heedless promises. Every person, however, who met with a gracious smile from the kmg, and a reluctant compliance from the chancellor, set him down as an enemy ; and when it was discovered that his daughter had been clandestinely married to the duke of York, though he was perfectly innocent in this respect, the po- pular odium against him was dangerously inflamed, and his best actions were misconstrued, as the means of aggrandizing his own family. The king assured him, however, of his continued favour and esteem ; but the friendship EAHl OF CLARENDON". 225 friendship of Charles was as fleeting as his enmity : with strong sense, and a cultivated understanding, he gave himself up to pleasure and mirth, and was seldom roused to reflection, except when his cofFers were low, or the associates of his indiscretions were clamorous for his bounty. Murmuring long repressed, or vented in private, at length found a public organ in the earl of Bristol, who, in 1663, exhibited articles of impeachment againt him in the house of lords. Between this nobleman and Cla- rendon there had subsisted a close and intimate friend- ship, both in prosperous and adverse fortune; and it was vainly thought to have been indissoluble ; but the chancellor, prompted by duty, having refused a fa- vour to a court lady, whom Bristol patronized, he henceforward thought of nothing but malice and re- venge. It is humiliating to reflect, how frail are the ties that bind men ! how fleeting are our dearest delights ! Friends now fast sworn, Whose double bosoms seem to wear or>e heart, Who twine, as tVere in love Inseparable: shall within this hour, On a dissension of a doit, break out To bitterest enmity. Sh akspe a re. To refuse the last favour in the chain of obligations, is frequently ta cancel all the preceding. The Earl of Bristol was more inveterate against Clarendon for a paltry refusal in regard to a worthless woman, than if they had never been friends ; but his resentment over- shot its mark, and the charges which he alleged, sa- voured more of private revenge, than a love of public justice. Clarendon was honourably acquitted, but his enemies did not wholly lose their aim. The purest human vir- tue, when sifted to the last, will discover some dross; K5 and 22.6. EDWARD HYDE, and some inuendos that had been thrown out paved the way to his future disgrace. To the king* whose dissolute course of life and licentious amours he freely censured, he daily became less acceptable ; to the nation he was deemed amenable for faults which he had not the power to correct* Intrigues were formed against him by the duke of Buckingham and others ; and Charles wearied with the importunity of parasites, and the bold remon- strances of Clarendon, demanded the seals, in August, 1667: which were no sooner delivered up, than the com- mons renewed the impeachment against him, and at the bar of the house of lords accused him of treason and other high crimes and misdemeanors. A variety of circumstances had conspired to render Clarendon unpopular. His pacific disposition, amidst the insults of the Dutch; his advising the sale of Dun- kirk, which perhaps was the truest policy; his opposi- tion to the bill for liberty of conscience ; and his vanity in building a splendid palace, during times of peculiar distress from plague and conflagration ; were all turned to his disadvantage by one party or the other. Yet it must net be concealed, that the odium excited against him was, in general, very unjust. He had ever steered a middle course between prerogative and national li- berty ; and the people were highly indebted to him for imposing a check on the crown by granting only such a revenue as obliged the king to have some dependence on his parliament. Had the advice of others been fol- lowed, Charles might have reigned without controul, by the profusion of that establishment which had been proposed for his use* The people, however, seldom think for themselves, and are more frequently the dupes of the intriguing than of the wise. Clarendon saw his credit was lost, and his doom sealed. He drew up, however, a mas- terly apology, in which he vindicated his own honour and EARL OP CLARENDON. 22f and conducT, and threw the whole blame that had been imputed to htm on those who better deserved it; but not trusting to the effect of this among prejudiced judges, he went into voluntary exile, from which he ne- ver returned. He made choice of France for the place of his sojourn- ment: but his enemies had already been tampering with that court; and no sooner had he reached Calais, than he received orders to quit the kingdom. Being seized with a violent fit of the gout, he petitioned for time; and during the interval of his recovery, the sen- timents of the French suddenly changing, he was in- dulged with permission to take up his residence there. At last he fixed himself at Rouen, in Normandy, where he breathed his last, in 1674; when his body was brought to England, and buried in Henry VII.'s chapel, in Westminster-abbey. For political sagacity, and genuine patriotism, lord chancellor Clarendon will bear a comparison with the most celebrated statesmen. He brought the vessel of state into port, after it had been tossed by one of the longest and most violent storms that this country had ever experienced; and on his fidelity the sovereign might repose unlimited confidence, while the people, under all the circumstances of his situation, could have little ground for accusation. Had he been more prone to a dereliction of their interests, he would have been more acceptable to the king ; had he been less attached to his majesty, his popularity would have remained to thj last. But, by pursuing the line of duty and consci- ence, he was finally a favourite with neither: his tem- per was too grave for the volatile Charles ; his integrity too inflexible for his debauched courtiers. It is said, that the duke of Buckingham, in particular, who pos- sessed the talent for ridicule in a high degree, used to entertain the king with the solemn pace, the sententious K 6 wisdom. 22S . EDWARD HYDE. wisdom, at second hand, of his chancellor: and to ren- der him ungracious, it was nothing unusual for the cour- tiers, who dared to take such liberties, to point out Cla- rendon to the king, with " there goes your school- master/' Charles had not gratitude enough to ap- preciate his services as they deserved, and he suffered himself to be prejudiced against a man, who stuck to him in the worst times, by the silly banters of worthless minions. Yet it must be allowed, that Clarendon was little qualified jto steer his way through the obliquities of a depraved court ; he could not disguise his abhor- rence of vice, he could not flatter foibles which he thought might be dangerous. He was religious from conviction, and his attachment to the church of England was manifested in his whole conduct. When his daugh- ter, consort to the duke of York, was induced to em- brace the religion of the Romish church, he wrote, in the most affectionate and earnest terms, to dissuade her from this resolution ; and his arguments displayed no 'mean skill in polemical divinity. But she was biassed by her deluded husband and crafty priests, and died in that faith, to the sincere and deep sorrow of her un- happy father. As a writer, we leave the fame of Clarendon in the hands of the public, which has highly estimated his la- bours, The history of the rebellion will be coeval with literature itself. Though not exempt from preju- dice, and though little graced by the ornaments of mo- dern style and composition, it shews a depth of research a masterly delineation of character, and a deduction of effects from their remotest causes, that must charm the sensible, and amuse the idle, to the latest periods of time. From his works the politician may glean know- ledge, and private men gather maxims for the regula- tion of their conduct, in almost every situation into which they can be thrown* JOHN ( 22Q ) JOHN MILTON. Born 1608— Died 1674. From bth James 7. to 2hth Charles 77. Three Poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England, did adorn : The first in loftiness of thought surpassed ; The next in majesty; in both the last : The force of nature could no farther go ; To make a third, she join'd the former two. IN these pointed and nervous paraphrastic lines of Dryden, the characters of the three great epic poets, Homer, Virgil, and Milton, are well discriminated. If the palm be given to the latter, it is, perhaps, no more than just. The dignity and sublimity of the subject, on which Milton wrote, raised him above all comparison ; and the vigour of his genius supported the weight which he had assumed. Whoever can read Milton without admiration, must be destitute not only of moral feeling, but genuine taste : his heart is not formed to relish in- tellectual pleasures ; his soul is not tuned to the percep- tion of what is beautiful or sublime. In a work, there- fore, intended to wake dormant curiosity, and to rouse the most generous passions, by example or contrast, it would be unpardonable to omit the life of Milton, the immortal honour of his country, and the prince of modern poets. If the man fail to instruct, the poet will not be studied in vain. To his principal works we wish to call theat- tention of our readers ; and here his praise is above envy, and his character without alloy. This illustrious poet was descended from an ancient family, long seated at Milton, near Thame, in 'Oxford- shire i but having engaged in the unhappy .quarrels be- tween 230 JOHN MILTON. tween the two roses, which long deluged England in blood, they had the misfortune to forfeit their principal estate. His grandfather, a zealous papist, enjoyed, however, an appointment in the forest of Shotover, in that vicinity ; but his father, being cruelly disinherited for embracing the protestant faith, settled in London, as a scrivener ; and in Bread-street, John Milton, his eldest son, ~was born, in 1608. After receiving a domestic education for some time under a worthy clergyman, whose fame is prolonged in his pupil's first essays, he was removed to St. Paul's school, where, by indefatigable application, he made an extraordinary progress in classical lore. From his 12th year, he devoted the greatest part of the night to study, and laid the foundation of those disorders which after- wards terminated in total blindness. It may be remarked, that few have made a distin- guished figure in the literary career, who have not evinced an early predilection for books. The boy who performs the prescribed task, who attends to all the mi- nutiae of his duty, may escape censure, he may even gain applause, but he will never reach the exalted heights of the voluntary student, who seeks for learning from the innate love which he bears it. To obtain excellence in whatever we attempt, sacrifices must be made which cannot be directed ; and an enthusiasm must inspire us to surmount difficulties, which the lukewarm and the indolent will fear to encounter. Had the boyish Milton spent his leisure hours, which might have been done without blame, in the common amusements of his years, it is probable that we should never have heard of his Paradisf Lost. Yet, while it is commendable to give a stimulus to youthful application, by the incentive of virtuous fame, it is^no less necessary to caution against sapping the springs of life by too intense study* Occa- sional relaxation is of service both to the body and the mind ; JOHN MILTON. 231 mind: the sanity of the latter depends much on that of the former, and all our comforts in existence certain- ly flow from health. But to return from this digression. In his sixteenth year, our poet was admitted of Christ's college, Cam- bridge. Deeply tinctured with classical learning, his academic exercises must have appeared extremely light : it is certain that he had composed some beautiful Latin poems before he removed to the university; and the greatest part of his compositions in that language were produced during the period which he continued there. He had formed his taste on the purest models of an- tiquity, and was considered as the first Englishman who wrote with classical elegance. But he did not confine himself to Latin poetry only ; in the studious retirements of Cambridge, he conceived the first rude idea of the w r ork which will render his name immortal. After taking the degree of master of arts, he quitted the university, and retired to Korton, near Colnbrook 5 where his father then resided, on a competent fortune, gained in the successful practice of his vocation. It seems that the old gentleman had destined him for the church: but Milton had early imbibed notions unfa- vourable to the hierachy; and his father, feeling for the conscientious scruples of the son, did not wish to press his compliance. The praise of consistency those who are the most inimical to the political and religious prin- ciples of our poet, cannot deny him: and so far he is en- titled to our esteem. In his retirement at Horton, he prosecuted his studies with unparalleled assiduity and success. He read over all the Greek and Latin classical writers, and made them, in every instance, subservient to his love for poetry. During this interval he produced his celebrat- ed masque of Comus ; a work in which imagery, pa- thos, and a fervid but chaste language, decorate every page. 232 John milton; page. Though less adapted for the stage, it will never' cease, while genuine taste remains, to please in the clo- set ; and in some respects it may, perhaps, be regarded as inferior only to Paradise Lost. His next production was Lycidas, a delightful mono- dy, occasioned by the death of an amiable young gentle- man, the son of Sir John King, secretary for Ireland, who was lost in his passage to that country. Between him and Milton an intimate friendship had been con- tracted at the university, and he bewails the lacerated ties of youthful affection, in terms as honourable to the man as to the poet. It is supposed that about this time too he composed those exquisite poems entitled 1' Alle- gro, and PernTeroso; which, had he left nothing else, would have transmitted his name to immortality. His reputation as a poet having attracted the regard of the public, and procured him some valuable private friendships, after spending five years at Horton, with occasional visits to the metropolis, on the demise of his mother, he obtained his father's permission to travel. After procuring proper recommendations and intro- ductions, he left England in 1638, and first visited Pa- ris, where he was introduced to the celebrated Grotius ; then hastening into Italy, he applied himself to the study of the language and literature of that country, with the most brilliant success. The great, the learned, treated him with distinguished attention; and notwithstanding his avowed principles, which he was too honest to dis- guise, cardinal Barberini, afterwards Urban VIII. shewed him some uncommon marks of personal respect. From Rome our poet proceeded to Naples, where the marquis of Villa, who had been the patron of Tasso, paid him the homage due to his illustrious attainments; and in return was complimented with the most grateful effusions of his elegant pen. In other parts of Italy he was equally honoured and caressed, by every one distin- guished JOHN MILTON. 233 guished for rank, urbanity, or talents. The great Ga- lileo, then a prisoner in the inquisition, for daring to know more of the celestial motions than his ignorant and bigotted judges, received a visit of respect from Milton, among other men of extraordinary acquirements in science and literature. After having spent two years in continental travels, which he originally designed to extend to Sicily and Greece, news arrived of the civil commotions in his na- tive country ; and judging it criminal to remain a dis- tant or an indifferent spectator of scenes which involved all that was dear to Englishmen, he hastened his return, and took a house in Aldergate-street, London ; where he employed his time in superintending the education of a few young gentlemen, who boarded and lodged under his roof. How well he was qualified for this im- portant, though often ill-rewarded office, must be evi- dent to every unprejudiced mind. His success, indeed, was correspondent with his capacity ; and his Treatise on Education shews the plan of scholastic institution which he pursued. While genius is pining in obscurity, or toiling in a vocation where its energies are useless, it may be some consolation to reflect, that the immortal author of Paradise Lost submitted to the drudgery of a pedagogue. His pen, however, was occasionally em- ployed in sapping the foundation of church govern- ment, and in exalting the puritanical party, to which he had devoted himself with unshaken adherence. Having reached his thirty-fifty year, he married Mary, the daughter of Richard Powell, esq. ; but his lady, on some disagreement, deserted him soon after ; which so provoked Milton, that he paid his addresses to another, and wrote, with much acrimony, against the existing laws of marriage; boldly maintaining that unfitness, or contrariety of dispositions, or whatever was repugnant to the endearments of conjugal society*, were as solid claims 234 JOHN MILTON. claims to a divorce as adultery, or natural frigidity. His wife, however, saw her folly, and retrieved her error before it was too late. In an unexpected inter- view, contrived by some - benevolent and judicious friends, she threw herself at his feet, and implored his forgiveness. Milton was not proof against a woman's tears, particularly those of a woman whom he so lately loved with an ardent affection : — -Soon his heart relented T'wards her, his life so late, and sole delight, Now at his feet, submissive in distress, The civil war now raging with the greatest fury, Milton was induced, by party zeal, to suspend the pur- suits of elegant literature, and to fall into the vortex of political discussion. But, though his talents gave him a temporary reputation in polemics, and indeed spread his fame over all Europe, his labours of this kind are now less celebrated ; while his celebrity as a poet has been continually increasing, and will increase till time shall be no more. The political work which gained him the most extensive fame, was his Dtfensio pro Popvlo An- glhano, in answer to Salmasius, who wrote the Defensta Regis. The asperity with which Milton wrote is said to have broken the heart of his rival ; but though our poet was rewarded with 1000/. for this piece of service, and made Latin secretary to Cromwell, he had little reason to triumph in his success. By too intense appli-. cation, a gutta serena, which had long afFecled his sight* now terminated in a total loss of vision. About this period, too, he lost his wife, who left him three daugh- ters ; and, soon marrying another, in little more than the revolution of a year, he became, a second time, a widower. After Cromwell had established his usurpation on the ruins of the monarchy, Milton, who seems to have been as JOHN MILTON* 235 as much inimical to ancient institutions as averse to ar- bitrary power, awed, perhaps, into silence by fear, or biassed by gratitude, acquiesced in the change that took place, and resumed his studies; but produced no- thing more, that deserves to be remembered, till after the restoration. At that era, he knew that the active part which he had taken would expose him to the most imminent danger ; and he prudently absconded till matters took another turn, and the late of the most violent partizans of rebel- lion and usurpation had been decided. The abilities, the virtues of Milton, raised him up friends on this emer- gency. By the interest of Sir William Davenant, whose life he had formerly saved, he received the be- nefit of the act of amnesty, and his polemical writings Only were ordered to be burnt by the hands of the com- mon hangman. It is gratifying to such as venerate the name of Milton to reflect, that in his highest exaltation he was moderate towards those who differed from him in politics, and that his memory is stained by no cruel or arbitrary action. In him it was exemplified, " that an intimate acquaintance with the liberal arts, softens the manners, nor suffers them to be ferocious. " He met with a recompence in the attachment of friends, at a crisis of peculiar danger; and his example proves the wisdom of lenity and forbearance, amidst the distrac- tions of political frenzy, Milton was now, in the fifty-second year of his age, deprived of sight, borne dow r n by infirmities, and de- pressed by the vicissitudes of his fortune; yet the vigour ; of his mind enabled him to rise, with elastic force, over this accumulation of ills: he appeared again in public, i entered the third time into the marriage-state, with a | Miss Minshul, a native of Cheshire; and, it is said, re- fused the place of Latin secretary to the king, notwith- standing the most pressing importunities of his wife. When 236 JOHN MILTON. When she urged him to comply with the times, and ao cept the royal offer, his answer is said to have been to the following purport: " You are in the right, my dear; like other women, you are ambitious to ride in your coach ; while my whole aim is to live and die an honest man." Soon after his third nuptials, Milton removed to a house in Artillery- walk, leading to Bunhill-flelds, where he resided till his death, except during the plague in 1665. During that awful visitation, he retired with his family to Chalfont St. Giles, in Buckinghamshire, where he put the last hand to his Paradise Lost, a work that had occupied his thoughts for a long series of years. We are told, that Milton sometimes was in* capable of producing a single line, and, at other seasons, his unpremeditated verse flowed with a felicity resem- bling inspiration. On those occasions, he immediately rang for his daughter, who acted as his amanuensis, and would dictate a considerable number of lines in a breath, which he afterwards polished and reduced. About the vernal and autumnal equinox, his vein of poetry was said to be the most happy. Indeed, few literary per- sons are insensible, that extremes of heat or cold are equally unfavourable to the exertions of the mind ; few are unacquainted with periodical obscurations and bril- liances of genius. After this immortal poem was ready for the press, it had nearly been suppressed by the ignorance or malice of the licenser, who found, or fancied, treason in the fol- lowing noble simile : As when the sun new-risen Looks through the horizontal misty air, Shorn of his beams ; or from behind the moon, In cl%n eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs. Having JOHN MILTON. 23? Having overcome the cavils raised by the licenser, Milton sold the copy-right for five pounds in hand, five pounds more when one thousand three hundred were sold, and the same sum on the publication of the second and third editions. From this agreement, Milton re- ceived no more than fifteen pounds ; and his widow after- wards transferred every claim, for the poor additional sum of eight pounds. Such was the first reception of a work that constitutes die glory and the boast of English poetry, and which may be reckoned among the noblest efforts of human . genius in any age or country. But Milton wrote for immortality; and he has not lost his reward. Like the sun bursting from the horizon of vapours, his Paradise Lost gradually rose to the zenith; and having long : become stationary, has no decline to dread, unless worse than Gothic darkness should overspread the regions of taste. About three years after the appearance of Paradise Lost, Milton produced his Sampson Agonistes, a tra- gedy, written on the purest Greek model; and Para- dise Regained, which our poet is said to have prefer- red before his great work; but, if this was his real opi- nion, it only shews how incompetent an author is to de- cide on the merits of his own productions. The Paradise Regained, we are told, originated from a hint suggested by Elwood the quaker; but, though a poem of consi- derable merit, and which would have raised the reputa- tion of any other man to an exalted degree, was so wholly eclipsed by the Paradise Lost, that its merits are, in a great measure, obscured by the comparison. In fact, it resembles the lustre of the morning-star absorbed m the meridian blaze ; it is the Odyssey of Milton. A life of indefatigable study, and which had been exposed to various vicissitudes, hastened that hour which neither the great nor the learned can escape. 2 Milton 238 JOHN MILTON. Milton had long been abided by the gout and other in- firmities, and was so completely worn out, that he had only to divest himself of mortality ; which he did with- out a struggle, on the 10th of November, 1674, in the sixty-sixth year, of his age. His remains were interred in the church" of St. Giles, Cripplegate; and his funeral was numerously and splendidly attended. A monument was, many years afterwards, erected to his memory, in Westminster abbey ; but what occasion has Milton for a monument, whose fame fills the enlightened universe ! Though improvidence is the general vice of poets, at least of those who vainly fancy that it is a proof of supe- rior genius to spurn at little things, Milton, after being stripped by both parties, through his prudent economy left 1,5001. behind him. We have, therefore, the con- solation to reflect, that this illustrious bard was never in indigence, though he might be remote from affluence. His family, however, gradually sank into the humbler spheres of life, and his line is generally supposed to be extinct. Milton was of the middling stature, formed with the most perfect symmetry ; of a ruddy complexion, and light brown hair. In his youth he was eminently beau- tiful ; and so delicate, that he went, at Cambridge, by the appellation of " the lady of Christ's college/' The marquis of Villa too, independently of existing portraits, gives us a high idea of Milton's beauty of person, in a neat Latin epigram; which has been paraphrastically rendered, So perfe&tbou, in mind, in form, and face, Thou'it not of English, but angelic race. Both his constitution and his taste led him to abste- miousness. The one was too weak to bear excesses, the other too refined to indulge in them. In early youth, he studied late at night, but afterwards reversed his hours. In JOHN MTLTON* 33Q In his occasional relaxations from the pursuits of lite* rature, he amused himself with conversation and music, in which he was a proficient. After a gutta serena had left him in total darkness, he taught his daughters to read the Hebrew, Greek, and Latin languages, without teaching them to understand these languages, and thus made them auxiliaries in his studies. His own learning was immense. He was perfect master of the Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Italian, and Spa- nish. He was originally of the school of Spencer, Shak- speare, and Cowley, as a poet: but he afterwards form- ed one of his own ; and, though he has had many imi- tators, he has never yet found a rival. His political principles were strictly republican, yet England was much less a republic under Cromwell than under Charles. In fact, in almost every revolution that history records, honest men are the dupes of their own sincerity, while some unprincipled demagogue artfully turns the popular frenzy to his own private interest or aggrandizement. In theology, Milton strongly inclined to arminianism ; but towards the close of his life he seems to have entered into communion with no religi- ous sect, and entertained only a certain philosophic reli- gion of the mind, founded, however, on the christian dispensation. The port of Milton was erect, his demeanor open and affable, his conversation easy, cheerful, and instructive. The promptness of his wit qualified him to shine on every occasion ; he was facetious, grave, or satirical, as the subject required; his judgment was just and pro- found; and his reading almost as extensive as his genius* If he had faults and defe&s ; and who is exempt from them? they were either diminished, or lost in the bril- liancy of his attainments. His character as an epic poet is thus admirably sum- med up by Johnson. — u The highest praise of genius 7 is / &40 ANDREW MARVELL. is original invention. Milton cannot be said to have contrived the structure of an epic poem, and must there- fore yield to that vigour and amplitude of mind to which all generations must be indebted, for the art of poetical narration, for the texture of" the fable, the va- riation of incidents, the interposition of dialogue, and all the stratagems that surprize and enchain attention. But, of all the borrowers from Homer, Milton is, per- haps, the least indebted* He was naturally a thinker for himself, confident of his own abilities, and disdain- ful of help or hindrance ; he did not refuse admission to the thoughts or images of his predecessors, but he did not seek them. From his contemporaries he neither courted nor received support : there is, in his writings, nothing by which the pride of other authors might be gratified, or favour gained ; no exchange of praise, n©r solicitation of support. His great works were perform- ed under discountenance, and in blindness ; but difficul- ties vanished at his touch : he was born for whatever is arduous; and his work is not the greatest of heroic poems, only because it is not the first." A ANDREW MARVELL, Born 1620— Died 1678. From X'jtk James I. to 2$t/i Charles IT. MAN, who could preserve the most blameless simplicity of manners amidst the allurements of public life, and a noble spirit of independence under the occasional pressures of real want ; who could neither barter his conscience for a smile, nor sell his vote for gain; who could render himself entirely beloved by his friends, and revered by those whose principles were diametrically opposite to his own ; — in these days would be ANDREW MARVELL. 241 be regarded as a singular phenomenon, and infallibly must have possessed some extraordinary virtues and en- dowments. Such was Andrew Marvell, the son of the minister and schoolmaster at Kingston-upon-Hull. This incorruptible patriot, and ingenious writer, dis- covered a predilection for letters from the earliest dawn of reason ; and he had made so great proficiency in clas- sical learning, that he was admitted a student of Trinity college, Cambridge, when only thirteen years old. Such was the promise of his genius, that he had not been long in that situation before the Jesuits, those busy agents of the Romish church, thought him a proper subject for a proselyte, and accordingly they inveigled him to London. His father, however, had the good fortune to find him in a bookseller's shop, and prevailed on him to return to college ; where he pursued his studies with great assiduity, and in due course took his bachelor's degree. When about eighteen years of age, he lost his father by a singularly melancholy accident, which, by as singu- lar a concatenation of events, paved the way to his own future fortune. A widow lady of great respectability and virtue re- sided on the other side of the Humber. She had an only daughter of eminent beauty and accomplishments, wno, on some festive occasion, was allowed to spend a night at Mr. Marvell's house. Next day the young lady was anxious to return to her expecting parent; and, though it blew r zh a storm, that even the watermen earnestly dissuaded her from attempting the passage, she was deaf to their remonstrances ; and the worthy minister deter- mined to accompany her. Just before they put off Mr. Marvell threw his gold-headed cane ashore, which he desired might begiven to his son, if any fatal consequences should ensue. His presntiment was too just ; he and his companion found a watery grave. The mother of the L unfortunate 242 ANDREW MARVELL. unfortunate ycurrg lady was long inconsolable; but in time, reflecting on' the greater loss which young Marvell had sustained, she adopted him as her son, took upon her the charge of his future education, and finally made him her heir. ' After leaving the university, Marvell made the tour of Europe, and began to distinguish himself as a writer as well as a scholar. He had a peculiar turn for humour and satire, and some of his first essays contain much point. It seems, he filled, for a short time, the situation of Secretary to the English embassy at Constantinople; and on his return to his native country, we find him first a tutor to a young gentleman of fortune, and then joint Latin secretary to Cromwell with the immortal Milton. * A little before the restoration he was chosen to repre- sent his native town in parliament ; and in this honour- able delegation he continued till his death, with un- bounded applause. So well were his constituents satis- fied with his conduct, that they pressed his acceptance of a pension raised among themselves ; an honourable mode of remuneration, once sanctioned by custom, but now grown obsolete. Nor was it only from his townsmen that Mr. Marvell gained the highest admiration; his incorruptible inte- grity rendered htm an object of respect to all the virtu- ous. By his writings and his conduct he made himself obnoxious to government, and more than once was obliged to abscond; yet the greatest men of the court, and even the sovereign himself, felt a strong esteem for the man. As a speaker he was not much distinguished, but his infhence was very great with the members of both houses ; and prince Rupert had such respect to his counsels, that he frequently adopted his sentiments, and voted accordingly, On such occasions it was a common saying, " that the prince had been with his tutor." In- deed, such was the intimacy between them, that when the ANDREW MARVELL. 243 the indignant pen of Marvell had roused all the malice of venal courtiers, and was forced to retire from the busy scene, the prince used to visit him in disguise, and preserved his secret inviolable. Charles II. himself took great delight in unbending his mind with the society of Marvell, and often invited him to his parties, probably with a view of gaining his support ; for it has long been a maxim with politicians, " that every man has his price." But all the winning arts of the king, and all the violence of his ministers, could not shake the resolution or corrupt the integrity of Marvell; he was absolutely proof against all temp- tations. One instance we wish to preserve in these pages. After spending the evening with Charles, lord Danby was dispatched next morning to find out his lodgings', which were then up two pair of stairs, in a small court in the Strand. When the treasurer opened the door> abruptly, Marvell was busily employed in writing; and* surprised at such a visit, told his lordship, " he supposed he had mistaken his way." "Not new I have found Mr. Marvell,''* was the reply; adding, that he was com- missioned by his majesty to ask what he could do to serve him. " It is not in his majesty's power to serve -me," facetiously rejoined Marvell. Coming to a more serious explanation, he told the treasurer, u that he was well acquainted with the nature . ourts, having been in many; and that whoever is distinguished by the favour of his prince, is always ex- pected to vote in his interest." Lord Danby assured him, " that it was from the sense alone which his ma- jesty entertained of his merit that he wished to know if any place at court would be acceptable to him/* To this Marvell answered, " that he could not with honour accept the offer ; since he must either be ungrateful if he voted against the king, or false to his country in sup- porting the measures of the court. The only favour, L 2 therefore. 244 ANDREW MAUVELL. therefore, which he bogged of his sovereign was, tn;- would be pleased to consider him as one of his most faithful subjects ; and that he had done more for his interest by refusing than embracing his proffered kind- ness." Being at last urged to accept 10001. till he could think of something permanent to his mind, he re- jected the money with the same steadiness as the place ; though the treasurer was no sooner gone, than he was glad to borrow a guinea of a friend. Such disinterested virtue will be laughed at by the selfish, and scarcely copied by any one, in times when luxury has deadened the moral feeling : yet to the young it furnishes a bright example, and it should be kept in view, though they may never be able to attain its excellence. The polar star serves to guide the ma- riner, though he never attempts to gain its sphere. After a life of private integrity and public worth, Marvell resigned his breath, in the 58th year of his age, not without strong suspicions of being poisoned. He was buried in the church of St. Giles in the Fields ; and his constituents, in grateful remembrance of his pa- triotic services, collected a sum of money to erect a mo- nument over his grave, with an appropriate and elegant inscription, which we subjoin as a just picture of the man: but the rector of the parish refused the admis- sion of either ; and his only, and indeed his best memo- / rials, are his life and writings ; from which he appears to have been an active and zealous champion in defence of civil and religious liberty. Near this place Lieth the body of Andrew Marvell, esq. A man so endowed by nature, So improved by education, study, and travel, So consummated by experience and learning, That, joining the most peculiar grace of wit With a singular penetration and strength of judgment, And ALGERNON SYDNEY. 24;> And exercising all these in the whole course of his With unalterable steadiness in the way of virtue, He became the ornament and example of his age ; Beloved by good men, feared by bad, admired by all ; Though imitated, alas ! by few, And scarcely paralleled by any. But a tombstone can neither contain his cha?acter, Nor 4s marble necessary to transmit if to posterity ; It is engraved on the minds of this generation, And will be always legible in his inimitable writings'. Nevertheless, He having served nearly twenty years successively in parliament, And that with such wisdom, dexterity, integrity, and courage. As became a true patriot; The town of Kingston-on-HuIl, From whence he was constantly deputed to that assembly, Lamenting, in his death, the public loss, Have erected this monument of their grief and gratitude, ALGERNON SYDNEY. Born 1622— Beheaded 1683. From 197* James T* tc 34 'h Charles IT, IN some minds the love of liberty is paramount to every other passion, and when this has a genuine stamp, is exerted on proper objects, and displayed on proper occasions, frigid must that soul be which feels no warmth from the contemplation of its effects. At the names of Hampden, Russell, and Sydney, the youthful bosom beats high with the throb of patriotism^ and expands with the glow of emulation. Their me- mories have long been consecrated by freedom and their country-; they have been embalmed in the poet's lay and the patriot's harangue ; nor are we disposed to tear one leaf of well-earned laurel from their, tombs, According to their own conceptions of duty, they L 3 afteii '246 ALGERNON SYDNEY. acted purely and uprightly, and therefore are entitled to respect from such as may dislike their conduct. Si- nister views did not enter into the composition of their actions ; and if their principles should be deemed wrong, their hearts were right. Yet, while we admit this, we wish to impress on our youthful readers the necessity of distinguishing between a real and a spurious liberty, and the danger of imbibing theoretic doctrines of go- vernment, which militate against practical experience, or are subversive of established order. Thomson, after paying a handsome compliment' to the, illustrious triumvirate which we have named, con- cludes with the following' character of the distinguished person now under consideration : Of high determine spirit, rcr.ighly brave, fly ancient learning to the enlighten 1 *] love Or* ancient freedom \vann\l. Algernon Sydney was the second son of Robert earl of Leicester, by a. daughter of Henry Percy, earl of Northumberland. From those dawnings of genius, which early appeared to a father's penetrating eye, the greatest encouragement was given to the cultivation of his parts, and the most sedulous care was taken that they should produce an abundant- harvest. When a boy, he accompanied his noble sire in his embassy to Denmark, and afterwards to the court of France, The acuteness of young Sydney, and the bent of his disposition for an active life, induced the earl, then ap- pointed lord-lieutenant of Ireland, to procure him a -commission for a troop of horse in his own regiment. In consequence of this, in 161-1, he repaired to Ireland, together with his brother, lord viscount I. isle ; -and in the succeeding Irish rebellion, on various occasions, distinguished himself for his personal bravery. Having acquired the character of a rising hero, in two ALGERNON SYDNEY. 247 two years' lime he had Charles's permission to revisit his native country in company with lord Lisle ; but the parliament found means to seize them in Lancashire : nor was it much doubted, from subsequent circum- stances, that they were perfectly satisfied with the hands into which they had fallen either through accident or choice ; for from this time they adhered to their new masters with unshaken fidelity, in opposition to a sove- reign, who both loved and respected them. The step which Algernon had taken ; was irretrievable, and it ap- pears to have influenced every future transaction of his life. He soon rose to be a colonel in this new service ; and when his brother was appointed the parliamentary lieutenant-general of Ireland, he served on an expedi- tion in that kingdom with the highest applause : and for his signal military exploits was promoted to the rank of lieutenant-general of the horse, and constituted governor of Dublin. But trusts of such importance were little suited to his youthful age ; he was soon su- perseded, and returned to England. Parliament, how- ever, still treated him with the greatest distinction ; and, as a recompence for the posts which he had lost, made him governor of Dover castle. When those who had usurped the powers of the state, in the plenitude of successful villainy, determined on bringing Charles to trial, Sydney was nominated one of his judges; but, though he was zealous republican on patriotic principles, lie found means to decline taking any part in that nefarious and unprecedented action. Warmed with the characters of some among the most exalted names of Greece and Rome, he professed to make Marcus Brutus his model ; and, when he found that his country had only changed an hereditary for an usurping tyrant, he opposed Cromwell with a de- termined spirit, and disdained to accept place or em- L $ ployment 24S ALGERNON SYDNEY. ployment under the enslaver of his native land. This stern opposition to the protectorate proves that Sydney had in reality adopted principles, which others only pro- fessed as a mask to allure popularity. He was inimical to tyranny in any form, or under any appellation ; and could least of all acquiesce in that which was established on the ruins of an ancient monarchy. Consistent throughout, civil liberty was his idol, and whoever violated it was the object of his enmity. In the album of the university of "Copenhagen he wrote and signed these lines, which may be considered as a summary of his principles : Marcus hrcc, inimica tyrannic, Liise petit placidam sub libertate quietem.* From every indication of his mind there cannot be a doubt, but that he would have joined, heart and hand, in any well concerted plan for deposing Oliver Cromwell, and executing the same vengeance upon him as Charles had suffered. But the die was cast, and he brooded in silence over his country's wrongs. A dawn of hope, however, revived in his breast when the gentle and ho- nest Richard Cromwell resigned the protectorship. Syd- ney, pleasing himself with the idea that the parliament would now establish a republican form of government, was eager to hold an ostensible place in the administra- tion of affairs, and accordingly was nominated one of the council of state, and soon after sent as a commissioner to mediate a peace between Denmark and gweden ; but the happy restoration quickly dissipated the illusive phantom that had swum before his eyes. The earl of Leicester, after remaining loyal to the king under every change, would probably have had suf- ficient interest to get his son included in the act of * To tyrants, hostile, shall this arm be shewn : It seeks for peace through liberty alone. oblivion ; ALGERNON SYDNEY. 24<> oblivion; but he preferred a voluntary exile, in which he continued for seventeen years. For a considerable part of this long period he sojourned at Rome and its environs, where he received the most flattering atten- tions from persons of the highest rank, and was holden in no small estimation for his mental and personal qua- lifications. Tired, however, with a routine of fashion- able unmeaning forms, and desirous of witnessing his fa-" vourite republican maxims realized in some existing go- vernment, he withdrew to Switzerland ; where he asso- ciated with Ludlow and other political refugees. He afterwards passed into France, and during his stay in that country gave a proof of the b-luntncs.s of his man- ners, which a stern republican would dignify with the appellation of independence ; but, as long as a gradation of ranks is necessary in polished society, so long will respedl and civility be estimable and lovely* Being a hunting with Louis XIV. his majesty . took a parti- cular fancy to the horse which Sydney rode ; and sent a message to request that he would part with it, and fix, his price. Sydney only replied, " that his horse was not to be sold." The king, unaccustomed to such languages sent peremptory orders to tender him a sum of money, fully adequate to its worth; and, in case of his refusal, to bring the animal by force. Sydney, apprized of this re- solve, instantly took a pistol and shot his horse ; remark- ing u that it was born a free creature, had served a free man, and should not be mastered by a king of slaves." His father, the earl of Leicester, being sensible of his approaching end, expressed the strongest desire once more to see his son, and obtained a special pardon from Charles II. for all past offences. Accordingly, his filial duty overcame his rigid political. principles, and he re- turned; but brought with him all his prejudices. Dur- ing his residence in France, he had detected some mean artifices, which had for their object an extortion of mo- L 5 ney 250 ALGERNON SYDNEY. ney from the people of England, under the sham pre- text of an approaching war; while he was convinced there was no real misunderstanding between the two courts. He inveighed with his usual asperity against such a fraudulent collusion, and exposed the king and his administration in all the virulence of invective. The earl of Leicester dying soon after, Sydney felt himself at liberty to censure, if he could not reform. The eyes of administration were necessarily turned on such an obnoxious character, and it was determined to keep him out of parliament by the most unwarrantable stretches of power. In this they twice succeeded, but our patriot's courage rose superior to all opposition; he exposed the duplicity of government with such force as carried conviction of its truth ; he was zealous in pro- moting the bill for excluding the duke of York from the throne ; he associated only with the most determined enemies of a corrupt court ; and by these means he pro-? voked its vengeance to such a d,egree, that a resolution was taken to ruin this formidable enemy, by any me- thods that ingenious malice, seconded by power, could devise. Accordingly, it was not long before an opportunity jpas found to let Sydney feel the strength of that oppo- sition which he had provoked. He was charged on the most incompetent ^evidence with being concerned in lyhat history has termed the Rye-house plot. His friend, the virtuous lotfd William Russell, who had niade him- self equally obnoxious by his manly defence of civil li- berty, had been first condemned on a similar accusation, jiotonly without evidence, but against it ; and- Sydney was singled out as the next victim of political vengeance. He was brought to trial in the court of king's-bench, before the sanguinary Jefferies, on the 21st of Novem- ber, 1683. Three of the witnesses in favour of the pro- secution cc/uld swear only to vague reports, picked up from ALGERNON SYDNEY. 251 from others; which, nevertheless, were set down as evi- dence, though Sydney justly impeached the legality of such proceedings. At last lord Howard, a man of the most abandoned principles and- character, but a fit tool for such a purpose, positively swore that he had been present at two meetings, when business of a revolutionary nature was agitated by the conspirators ; and, in order to strengthen the evidence of a man who had lost all pre- tensions to be believed, the attorney-general, by a most shameful and unprecedented expedient, produced a pas- sage from Sydney's discourses on Government ; which, though an abstract principle, without the least reference to the immediate subj eel: of the charge, was deemed va- lid to convict him. Such a perversion of the law of evi- dence was never known in the worst times of our his- tory; but, perhaps, there was never a judge who dis- graced the bench like JefFeries ; and it is only wonder- ful how an insulted people could so tamely submit to his decisions! Sydney made a manly defence, and excepted against the unparalleled means that had been used to convict: him. In the most solemn manner he abjured' all per- sonal knowledge of the pretended plot, and he called God to witness, with uplifted hands and eyes, that he did not believe any such to exist in the contemplation of others.- Several noblemen, of unimpeachable veracity, ' invalidated the testimony of Howard, and spoke to the innocence of Sydney; but a packed jury, and a bloody judge, brought him in guilty; and he suffered death, with the most heroic fortitude and composure, on Tower-hill, December 7th, 1683. * His attainder was reversed in the first year of Wil- liam and Mary; and that solemn justice was done to his memory, which had been denied to himself. His character has thus been drawn by Burnet, who knew him well; and will supersede the necessity of less L 6 authenticated 252 JOHN TILLOTSON-, authenticated remarks : " He was," says this prelate, " a man of extraordinary courage, and steady even to obstinacy; sincere, but of a rough and boisterous dis- position, and impatient of contradiction. He seemed to be a christian, but of a particular form : he thought it consisted in a certain divine philosophy in the mind, but he was against all public worship, and every thing that looked like a church. He was stiff to all republi- can principles; and such an enemy to every thing that looked like monarchy, that he set himself in a high op- position against Cromwell when he assumed the protec- torate. He had studied the history of government in all its branches, beyond any man I ev r er knew." His discourses on Government have been so highly esteemed by some, that they are regarded as an ample compensation for the loss of Cicero's six books de Zepub- Ika. It is certain^ they abound with energetic senti- ments, and marks of deep penetration ; but his collective principles are irreducible to practice, and. are, in many respects, only ingenious speculations. In short, Alger- non Sydney commands our respect rather than our love ; lie was too inflexible for a politician who really wished to serve his country, and had none of those amiable weak- nesses which conciliate affection, and blunt the edge of opposition and animosity. JOHN TILLOTSO.N, ARCHBISHOP OP CANTERBURY. Born 1630— Died 1694. From bth Charles L to b-tk Willizm III. IF ever there was a man whose life in a more peculiar manner evidenced the influence of genuine Christia- nity, who rose, without an effort or a wish, by dint of merit ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. 253 merit alone, and whose highest exaltation gave more pleasure to the virtuous and the good than to himself, it was archbishop Tillotson. Though all who enter the lists cannot reach his eminence, or equal his success, he furnishes one of the finest models for his profession, from its humblest to its highest sphere. The gifts of Fortune are often capriciously bestowed, and no one can be sure of her favours; but, whoever copies this amiable and accomplished divine, will be rich In what the smiles of the world cannot give, nor its frowns take away. John Tillotson, one among the brightest ornaments of the English church, was the son of a respectable clothier, and born at Sowerby, near Halifax, in York- shire. Both his parents were rigid nonconformists, and he was initiated in the same principles, which his ma- turer sense, and more liberal mind, soon taught him to reject. His proficiency in grammatical learning was great, and almost superior to his years. This aptness for study induced his father to send him to the university of Cambridge, where he was entered a pensioner of Clare- hall ; and in due course took the degrees of bachelor and master of arts ; having, before he commenced mas- rer, been chosen to a fellowship of his college. The love of truth was the ruling, passion of his heart, and he sought it with sedulous zeal. - Early disgusted with the narrow views of the- puritans, he had the good fortune to read a celebrated performance of Chilling- worth V, which fixed the future bias of his mind. Above the prejudices of education, he relinquished whatever was wrong, aad adhered to whatever was right, in the principles and conduct ef those among whom he had been bred * r and no man was more instrumental than he in removing the well meant though weak scruples of such as rejected communion with the church of Eng- land, or had a more tender regard for true liberty of conscience.. 254 JOHN TILLOTSON, conscience, when serious persuasion, and the forc< argument, could not operate conviction of the truth. He loved the persons of the non-conformists after he ceased to have any predilection for their principles ; and for some of them, who had been connected with him by the early ties of duty or of friendship, he retained an affectionate regard, that nothing could dissolve ; but he chiefly sought his associates, after he had settled his own mind, among the most eminent divines of our establish- ment ; and between him and Dr. John Wilkins, the fu- ture bishop of Chester, there was an intimacy, and an unreserved exchange of opinions, which contributed to their mutual improvement. Tillotson, having left the university, about 1656, was engaged as tutor to the son of Edward Prideaux, esq. attorney-general to Cromwell, in which situation he spent some time. The time when he entered into holy orders cannot now be ascertained ; but it appears that his first employment in the church was that of a curate at Cheshunt in Hertfordshire. Here the young divine began to display those mild and gentle manners, that persuasive and impressive eloquence, which laid the foundation of his fortune and his fame. Being now settled in the vicinity of the metropolis, he was not unfrequently invited to mount the pulpit there ; for his reputation as a sacred orator, and the elegance of his compositions, made him peculiarly acceptable to such as were capable of appreciating merit and abilities. Dis- gusted with the pulpit eloquence of the times, he struck out a style and manner of his own, which have been justly esteemed a model for succeeding ages. Deeply acquainted with theological subjects, possessed of a sound judgment and a purity of taste, of which there were few examples among the preachers of that day, he soon attracted so much deserved notice, that in 1662 he was offered the parish of St* Mary, Alderrnanbury ; the patronage ARCHBISHOP OP CANTERBURY. 255 patronage of which was vested in the parishioners. For some reasons, now unknown, he declined this benefice, but was soon presented to the rectory of Keddington, in Suffolk ; in which, however, he was scarcely settled, before the society of Lincoln's-inn appointed him their preacher. But so strongly were even the courts of law tainted with fanaticism, and so accustomed to the cant of those times, that at first the rational piety of Tillot- son was disliked, and complaints were sometimes heard against what is now allowed to constitute the principal beauty of his discourses. This, however, was tempo- rary: by degrees abetter taste began to prevail ; and our excellent divine not only overcame the prejudices of the society, but, being chosen lecturer of St. Lawrence, Jewry, he was followed by a numerous audience for in- struction, and by many of his own profession for im- provement. Faithful in the discharge of his sacred function, he set himself to oppose the two growing evils of Charles the Second's reign, atheism and popery : he not only com- bated them in the pulpit, but, from time to time, he pub- lished such tracts or sermons as were calculated for a mere extensive effect ; and his laudable and pious inten- tions did not lose their reward. In 1666, he proceeded doctor in divinity ; and, having married Elizabeth French, niece to Oliver Cromwell, and connected by affinity with his friend Dr. John Wilkins, he was appointed to preach the consecration sermon of that prelate to the see of Chester. Averse to solicitation himself, he found inJthe zeal of his friends an antidote against neglect ; for, in 1670, he was made prebendary of Canterbury, and two years afterwards dean of that church, having previously obtained a stall in St. Paul's. Dr. Tillotson had been seven years on the list of chaplains to Charles II. but the zeal which, on all occa- sions, 156 JOHN TILLOTSON, sions, he had displayed against popery and irreligiony rendered him no favourite with that monarch; and he was rather pushed on by the interest of friends, who knew his value, than cordially loved by the court. He therefore contented himself with discharging the duty of his station, without indulging future hopes ;■ and ne- ver obtruded himself to notice, except when the. interests of religion, or the welfare of the establishment, were at stake. When a declaration for liberty of conscience was published, which, under the mask of moderation, had a view to the indulgence of papists, the dignified clergy took the alarm, and the king complained to the primate, ' Sheldon, of their refractory conduct. The archbishop- called some of them together, and begged their advice. Here the wisdom and firmness of Tillotson were emi- nently conspicuous. He suggested, " that since the king professed the protestant religion, it would be a. thing unprecedented to forbid the clergy to preach in defence of it." The sentiment was so just, and the ar- gument so conclusive, that it was unanswerable; and the clergy seem to have acquiesced in his opinion, should it be necessary to defend their conduct. Never- theless, Dr.' Tillotson was such a friend to moderation, that, early in 1668, he joined in a treaty tor the com- prehension of such protestant dissenters as could be brought within the pale of the church, by making mu- tual concessions; but the violence of the intemperate rendered this plan abortive. Meanwhile, his preaching and his writings equally tended to preserve the establishment from the encroach- ments of popery; and his private exertions in the same cause were remarkably successful. He had the happi- ness to convert the earl of Shrewsbury to the protes- tant faith ; and he lived to see his noble proselyte raised to a dukedom, and made secretary of state to king Williaxru ht ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. 257 In proportion as those labours raised him in the esti- mation of the people, it alienated the affection of the court, which was then suspected of an inclination to popery. But Tillotson did not shrink from his duty ; and the press was continually teeming with some work of his which had for its object to exalt pure religion, or to reclaim the wandering from the delusions of vice and error. On the discovery of the Rye-house plot, a melan- choly scene was disclosed, which affedted the tenderest sensibility of Tillotson. His virtuous and illustrious friend, lord William Russell, being deeply implicated in this charge, and afterwards brought to the block ; our divine attended on that noble personage with the most affectionate assiduity: he armed him with the con- solations of religion, and supported his afHicted family with every lenitive that the hopes of a better existence can bestow. Nor was this the only amiable part of his character. In 1685, he gave the most exemplary proof of his chris- tian temper. The revocation of the edict of Nantz having driven thousands of the Hugonots to this coun- try, many of them settled at Canterbury, where their posterity still continue. The king having granted briefs to collect alms for their relief, Tillotson was peculiarly active m promoting their success; and, When Dr. Beve- ridge, one of the prebendaries of Canterbury, refused to tfead the briefs, as being contrary to the rubric, he was silenced by the dean with this energetic reply, " Doctor, doctor, charity is above rubrics. " Such was the high character of dean Tillotson, that, when the settlement of the crown on king William for life was agitated in parliament, the princess Anne of Denmark, who had been advised by the Jacobites to oppose it, as prejudicial to her own interest, consulted him on this momentous occasion ; and, from a regard to 258 JOHN TILLOTSON^ to his persuasions, she is said to have relinquished her prior claim. On the accession of William and Mary, to whose advancement he had been zealously attached, he was admitted into high favour and confidence at court, and made clerk of the closet. Still, however, the ambition of Tillotson led him no farther than to solicit an exchange of his deanery for that of St. Paul's, vacant by the promotion of Stilling- fleet to the see of Worcester. This moderate wish, which, in fac% tended to a diminution of his income, was readily granted; but his majesty had higher pro- motion in view for this amiable and disinterested divine. Archbishop Sancroft having refused to take the oaths of allegiance to William and Mary, after their title had been recognized by parliament, his suspension became necessary ; and, if he continued refractory, his removal also. The king entertained such an exalted opinion of Tillotson, that he immediately thought of r> a king him ' primate. The reluctance with which our divine fell into his majesty's views, is forcibly expreseed in a letter to lady Russell. He had already refused a mitre; and, of all things, his ambition seems to have been least di- rected to the primacy. But the earnest representations of the king, and a zeal for his service, at last overcame his resolution ; and he was consecrated archbishop of Canterbury, in May, 1691. Immediately after, he was sworn of the privy-council ; and set about the duties of his high office with the same religious zeal, tempered with moderation, as had adorned his former life. When Dr. Tillotson refused the archbishopric, he had wisely appreciated the difficulties of the station, ajid the obloquy to which it would expose him. He foresaw that the successor of Sancroft, whoever he might be, would be aimtt for all the virulence and malice of the nonjurors ; and it was not long after his promotion be- fore he felt his apprehension verified, He AKCH3ISH0P OF CANTERBURY. 25(J , . was insulted by the most incendiary letters, by the ssest libels, by the keenest invectives; yet his chris- tian temper never forsook him. Ke interceded for those who had been convicted of the most bitter calumnies against him ; and on a bundle of papers, found after his death, was this inscription : "These are libels; I v God forgive the writers, as I do." That a man whose blameless life, whose exalted me- rit, had been so long known and allowed by the public, should at once become the object of the most unmerited detraction, can only be accounted for from the enmity of political opposition, and that envy which must ever attend high station. His^mild inoffensive manners, too, t possibly provoke the injuries of the base. Among those who are destitute of magnanimity themselves, forbearance gives confidence to insult. How often does malice shoot its arrows at the patient spirit, while daring guilt escapes its attack ! The gentle sheep is the prey of the most contemptible animals ; but the lordly lion dares the approach of an. aggressor. Though the ungenerous treatment which this truly dignified character received from his enemies probably disturbed his internal quiet, it had no influence on his exterior conduct. He pursued the suggestions of reli- gion and virtue, and soared above the petty malice of the despicable. He shewed no pride in his elevation, no al- teration in his way of thinking or of acting ; and, as if he meant to read an impressive lesson to all posterity, and to correct that false estimate of life which places happiness in grandeur, he left among his papers the subsequent rejections upon rank. " One would be apt to wonder," says this amiable prelate, " that Nehemiah should reckon a huge bill of fare, and a vast number of promiscuous guests, among his virtues and good deeds, for which he desires God to remember him , but, upon better consi- deration, besides the bounty, and sometimes chanty, of a great 200 JOHN TILLOTS02C. a great table, provided there be nothing of vanity or ostentation in it, there may be exercised two very con- siderable virtues; one in temperance, and the other self- denial; in a man's being contented, for the sake of the public, to deny himself so much, as to sit down every day to a feast, and to eat continually in .a crowd, and al- most never to be alone, especially when, as it often hap- pens, a great part of the company that a man must have, is the company that a man would not have., I doubt it will prove but a melancholy business when a man comes to die, to have made a great noise and bustle in the world/and to have been known far and near; but all this while to have been hid and concealed from himself. It is a very odd and fantastical sort of a life, for a man to be continually from home, and most of all a stranger at his own house. It is surely an uneasy thing to sit always in a frame, and to be perpetually upon a man's guard; not to be able to speak a careless word, or to use a negligent posture, without observation and censure. Men are apt to think that they who are in the highest places, and have the most power, have most liberty to say and do what they please ; but it is quite otherwise, for they have the least liberty, because they are most observed. It is not mine own observation; a much- wiser man, I mean Tully, says, * In maxima quaque for- tuna minimum licere;' that is, they that are in the high- est and greatest conditions have, of all others, the least liberty. All these, and many more, are the evils which attend on greatness ; and the envy that pursue s it, is the result of ignorance and vanity. " From his first advancement to the primacy, Dr. Til- lotson had be 2am to conceive the most enlarged designs for the welfare of the church and the interest of religion ; and in these noble views he received every encourage- ment and support from the throne; but Providence in its infinite wisdom called him from this sublunary state bef ARCHBISHOP OP CANTERBURY. 20 I before he had a full opportunity of employing the powers, with which he was invested, to the best pur- poses for which they were given. He did not survive his advancement much more than three years, a term too limited to effectuate important changes, which should, always be gradual and almost imperceptible. While attending divine service at Whitehall, on Sunday, November 18, 1 >94, he was seized with the dead palsy. The fit was slow in its advances, but fatal in its effects. His articulation became indistinct, but his soul shone se- rene and calm amid the conflict. In broken words he thanked his Maker that he felt his conscience at ease, and that he had nothing farther to do but to wait the will of heaven. Much as Dr. Tillotson had been traduced during life by the disaffected and the depraved, the minds of men underwent such a sudden conversion, that his death created universal sorrow. Never was a subject more sincerely lamented, or a funeral more numerously, at- tended. All ranks came voluntarily forward to pay the memory of this good man, whose virtues and station no longer excited envy, the homage of their tears; and to assist at the last solemnity! He was buried at the church of St. Lawrence, Jewry, where he had formerly displayed his eloquence, and attracted the attention of the public. Not only malice subsided, or was ashamed of the en- mity which it had borne him, but all descriptions of men joined in his eulogy; and well did he deserve the loudest plaudits of gratitude and virtue. His whole life was exemplary. In his domestic relations, in his friendships, and his whole commerce with the world, he was easy and humble, frank and open, humane and bountiful. He distributed his charity with such a liberal hand, and despised the accumulation of money to such a degree, that he left nothing for his family, after the liquidation 262 JOHN LOCKE. liquidation of his debts, except the copy-right of his sermons, which was sold for 2,500 guineas. As a theologist, archbishop Tillotson ranks very high, even in the opinion of foreign nations. His sermons have been frequently committed to the press, and will always be read with pleasure and improvement, so long as regard shall be paid to sound divinity, adorned by good sense. They have been translated into several languages, and received this deserved and apposite pa- negyric from the able and critical Le Clerc. " The merit of Tillotson," says ' he, "is above any commen- dation in my power to bestow ; it is formed on the union of an extraordinary clearness of conception, a great pe- netration, an exquisite talent of reasoning, a profound , knowledge of true divinity, a solid piety, a most singular perspicuity, and an unaffected elegance of style, with every other quality that was decorous in a man of his cider. His pulpit harangues are for the most part exact dissertations, and are capable of bearing the test of the most rigorous examination.'' JOHN LOCKE. Born 1632— Died 1704. Fr&m Jt/i Charles I, to 2d Anne, A PHILOSOPHER will ever attract veneration in proportion to the solidity of his principles, and the conformity that his practice bears to his doctrines. Locke, " who made the whole internal world his own," who scanned our perceptions and our powers with in- tuitive clearness, who fixed civil liberty on the basis of reason, and made religion appear amiable by his life and conversation, will live to the latest ages, in the grate- ful JOHN LOCKE. 263 Ful memory of his country and of mankind, whom he enlightened and improved. This celebrated philosopher was descended from a genteel family in Somersetshire, but which had been con- siderably reduced. His father was originally bred to the profession of the law, but, on the breaking cut of the civil wars, took up arms in the service of the parlia- ment, and rose to be a captain. The son was born at . Wrington near Bristol ; and, from his tenderest infancy, experienced the happy effects of paternal solicitude and attention to his improvement. In due time he was sent to Westminster school, where he remained till the age of nineteen, and was then entered of Christ-church ; , where he soon distinguished himself by the promptness of his ingenuity, and the variety and extent of his ac- quirements. Having taken his degree in arts, he commenced the study of physic as a profession; and, after going through the preparatory courses, resolved to practise at Oxford. The strength of his constitution, however, being found unequal to the fatigues of the profession, and his success probably not being very great, he gladly accepted an offer of being secretary to Sir William Swan, who was appointed envoy to the court of Brandenburg in 1664. This employ was of no long duration, but it was not without its advantages. It gave Mr. Locke an insight ipnto men and business, and paved the way to his better reception afterwards in the world. Resuming his professional studies at Oxford, he began to distinguish himself also by his contempt of the scho- lastic jargon, and his general progress in sound philo- sophy. While thus laudably employed, an incident happened that changed the complexion of his fortune, and gave greater scope to the energies of his mind. He | had still wanted a patron, without which genius and 5 merit 2t64 JOHN LOCKE. merit seldom rise : and he found one, without expecting it, Jn, lord Ashley, afterwards the celebrated earl of Shaftesbury. His lordship, having an abscess in his breast, was ad- vised to drink the waters of Astrop, near Banbury, and seat to a physician at Oxford to provide him some against his arrival in that city. This gentleman, being called away by other business, delegated his commission to Mr. Locke, who soon made such an impression on lord Ashley by the urbanity ©f his manners and the strength of his understanding, that he was invited to ac- company his lordship to Astrop; and having, "by his medical advice, been instrumental in saving his patron's life, was afterwards taken into his house, and introduced to the acquaintance of "other noble and distinguished persons. His lordship indeed was so partial to Mr. Locke, that he would not allow him to submit to trie drudgery of practising physic out of his own family,' ex- cepting among a few particular friends. In this situation of elegance and refinement, he corn- tinued several years with little intermission, and sketch- ed his grand work, the " Essay on Human UunderstanJ- ing;" but was prevented from making any consider-' able progress in it, by being appointed secretary of pre- sentations, when his patron was raised to the dignity of' lord chancellor. When lord Shaftesbury was deprived of the seals, Mr. Locke, who had enjoyed his most unreserved confidences! fell into disgrace with him. However, his lordship be- ing still president of the board of trade, he was appoint- . ed secretary, which he held till the commission was dis- solved in 1671, when his public employments were at] an end. # Like a man who wisely had a view to the instability] of fortune, he still retained his studentship at Christ-| church, whither he occasionally resorted, allured by booksJ I .JOHN LOCKE. 265 books, literary conversation, and a pure air. Here he took his degrees of bachelor in medicine, in 167 o ;• and, feeling a hectic tendency the same year, he visited Mont- pelier ; at which place he made some stay, and con- tracted several valuable friendships. Though he did not intermit an attention to his profession,, in which he had acquired considerable reputation with the intelli- gent, it seems his thoughts were chiefly directed to his " Essay ;" but this work as yet remained in embryo. In 1679, his noble patron, being again called into of- fice, sent for Mr. Locke ; but, being disgraced and im« prisoned in a few months, he had no opportunity of .serving his friend ; and, flying into Holland to avoid prosecution, was immediately followed by his client. Involved in the disgrace, and implicated in the charges brought against Lord Shaftesbury, Mr. Locke became so obnoxious to the court, that he was removed from h^ ^udentship by a stretch of royal authority; a proc^^, ov-jnW 1 ' ne thought very irregular and un- just. After this specimen i)f what he had to expect: from government, our philosopher thought it prudent to re- main in exile, till the accession of James II. when, by the friendly interference of Sir Wi-lliam Penn, he was offered a pardon, which, with the spirit of a man con- scious of innocence/he refused ; alledging, that the ac- ceptance of a pardon would be a tacit confession that he had been guilty of some crime. On the duke of Monmouth's invasion he was again £he object of jealousy, and the English envoy at the Hague demanded him to be delivered up. Having in- telligence of this, he absconded, and employed himself on his " Essay, " till the suspicion against him appeared to be wholly groundless ; when he again returned. In 1687, he became a member of the literary society at Amsterdam, composed of Limbroch, Le Clerc, and M others, 1266 JOHN LOCKE. others, who met weekly to discourse on subjects of uni- versal learning ; and the same year he finished his great work, which had, at intervals, engaged his attention for the long space of nine years. Soon after, he published an abridgment of it in French, as if to feel the pulse of the public ; and finding that the expectation which he wished to raise was confirmed, he put the entire work to press, on his arrival in England with the princess of Orange, in February, 1689. Justly regarded as a sufferer on revolution principles, as well as a man of worth and extraordinary abilities, he had considerable pretensions to the notice of govern- ment, and it is said might have obtained a post of im- portance ; but such was the mediocrity of his ambition, that he declined a public mission to any court most ac- ceptable to himself, and was satisfied with the place of commissioner of appeals, worth about two hundred pounds a year. The state of his health, which wr^lieve. /ery good, being at this time extremely indifferent, he had the hap- piness to attract the notice of Sir Francis Masham and his lady, who kindly offered him an apartment at Oates, in Essex. This tender he accepted ; and here he spent almost the whole remainder of his days, in a society to which he was endeared and endearing, with a tranquil- lity suiting the philosopher, and a felicity which rarely falls even to a philosopher's lot. In this social retirement, he pursued his studies with- out interruption : and the first fruits of them was his famous treatise " on Government ;" one of the best on that subject which any language can afford. His let- ters " on Toleration," too, which appeared at intervals, Together with a variety of controversial, political, and religious pieces, gained him an increasing celebrity ; which the puny efforts of literary opponents served only l& raise. King JOHN L(|CKE. 2(tf King William, in 169.5, as 1 compliment to his public talents, made him one of the corafnissioners of trade and plantations, which office he retained live years ; but now, feeling an asthma, whicrf had long afflicted him, beginning to subdue his vital powers, he resigned his place, and fixed himself wholly at Gates ; where he employed die remains of life in studying the Scrip- tures, which had ever been the rule of hi^ conduct, ;<; J now were the solace of his declining days. His dissolution approaching by sensible, though slow, advances, he prepared himself for the last conflict, with the arms which Christianity supply, and with the calm- ness of a true philosopher. The day before his death, while lady Masham was sitting b) his bed-side, he ex- ported her to regard this world only as a state of prepay ration for a better ; adding, that he had lived long enough, and expressed his gratitude to God for the hap- piness which had fallen to his lot. He expired, with- out a groan, on the 28th of October, 1701, and was interred in the church of Oates, where a monument is erected to his memory, with a modest inscription written by himself. He died sincerely lamented by the goo(i ;md wise ; and his fame has suifered no diminution from the lapse of nearly an hundred years. His character, his manners, and sentiments, are briefly conveyed in the subsequent abstract, taken from an ac- count of this great man, by a person who knew him well. It advantageously supplies the place of any ori- ginal reflections, and furnishes a model for imitation. " Mr. Locke had great knowledge of the world, and of its business. He won esteem b^his probity. His wisdom, his experience, his gentle and obliging man* ners, gained him the respect of his inferiors, the esteem of his equals, the friendship and confidence of the most exalted ranks. At first he was free of good advice ; but experience of the unfavourable manner in which ir M2 h "2-68 SIR JOHN HOLT. is generally received, made him afterwards more re- served. " In conversation, he was inclined to the solid and serious ; but when occasion naturally offered, he gave in to the free and facetious, with pleasure and grace- He was no enemy to delicate and innocent raillery, or to anecdote aptly introduced, and naturally told. " He loved to talk with mechanics, and used to say, * that the knowledge of the arts contained more true philosophy than learned hypotheses.' By putting ques- tions to artificers, he would sometimes discover a se- cret, not welf understood, and assist to give them views entirely new, for their own profit, when earned into practice. " He was so far from affecting a studied gravity, that he frequently turned it into ridicule ; and admired and quoted on such occasions the famous maxim of Roche- foucault, * that gravity is a mystery of the body, in or- der to conceal the defects of the mind.' " In every thing he delighted to employ his reason- ing faculty : nor was any thing useful, beneath his care ; so that he appeared capable of small things as well as great. It was a common observation with him, ' that there was an art in every thing ;' and the manner in which he set about the most trifling object gave a con- I firmation to his remark." SIR JOHN H O LT, LORD CHIEF JUSTICE OF THE KING'S BENCH. Born 1642— Died 1709. From \*Jth Charles J. to fth Anne. IT has been said by a celebrated poet, that " an ho-8 nest man's the noblest work of God." — However J this sentiment in its abstract acceptation may be contro- verted SIR JOHN HOLT. 2(X) verted on substantial grounds, as simple honesty is ra- ther, perhaps, a passive than an active virtue, yet it will not be disputed, " that an honest and able lawyer is one of the most valuable members of society. " Both- honesty and ability, however, without the concurrence of fortune, are frequently lost to the world ; but it was the happier lot of Holt to fill a station which developed and emblazoned his virtues and his talents. He was characterized by the Tatler under the glorious title of Verus ; by his profession he has ever been considered as a luminary of the first order ; and by his country, as a spotless patriot. r Thame, in Oxfordshire, had the honour of producing this great ornament of the law. He was the son of Sir Thomas Holt, who flourished in the same profession during the reign of Charles II. and became recorder of Abingdon ; whither he afterwards removed with his family. At the grammar-school of that borougli young. Holt received the rudiments of his education, and was nearly distinguished for a vivacity of disposition, and a precocity of attainments. In due course he became gentleman-commoner of Oriel college, Oxford, under the tuition of Mr. Francis Barry. What progress he made at the university is uncertain : it seems probable* that he was more distinguished for sprightliness than application ; but he did not remain here long ; for in the seventeenth year of his age, he entered himself of Gray's inn, where his assiduity soon became as conspi- cuous as his abilities. He studied the common law- with indefatigable industry, and speedily gained the re- putation of an able hamster. In the reign of James II. he was made recorder of London by the king's letters-patent, the city having lost the privilege of electing its own officers ; which was not restored till the revolution. In this capacity he dis- M 3 charged. 2/0 SIR JTOHNOHOLT. charged liis duty with high applause, and received tfie honour of knighthood ; but, refusing to set his hand to the abolition of the test, and to sanction the dispensing power of the king, he gave such offence at court, that he was removed from his place, - But he did not lose the fruits of his firm and honest conduct. A good man may be degraded, but cannot be disgraced, From this time Holt filled a larger space in the public eye ; and his integrity marked him out for due reward-, when u happier era should commence. He was chosen a member of the convention parlia- ment, in 1688, and appointed one of the managers on the part of the commons at the conferences holden with the upper house, respecting the abdication of James fcr.d the vacancy of the throne. Here he had an ample Held h\ which to display his legal talents, and the most ' glorious opportunity that ever man enjoyed of shewing his attachment to the principles of the constitution, which are equally remote from despotic power and de« mocratical controuL His judicious and patriotic behaviour on this occa- sion was the probable means of his advancement on the happy accession of William and Mary. Next year he was constituted lord chief justice of the king's bench, and sworn a member of the privy-council. Though still a young man for such an important station, his contem- poraries allow that he filled it with signal honour to himself, '*ind benefit to his country. Attached to civil liberty, he suffered no bias of gratitude, no influence, however great, to divert him from the line of duty ; and in some very remarkable causes, intimately affecting the life and liberty of the subject, he decided with that purity and independence which ought ever to direct a minister of justice* Forcible and perspicuous in his definitions, and pos- sessing: SIR JOHN HOLT. %?% sessJng a discriminating judgment, which stript off the glosses of chicane, his inferences had all the weight of authority, because they bore the seal" of truth, In the famous Banbury case, he exhibited an illustri- ous instance of public spirit and indexible rectitude. Lord Banbury was indicted by the name of Charles Knoliys, esq. for the murder of his brother-in-law, cap- tain Lawson. The house ci lords had previously dis- allowed his peerage ; but, on his demurring to their decision and claiming trial by his peers, lord chief jus- tice Holt, after the case had been solemnly and repeat- edly argued by the crown lawyers and the counsel for defendant, declared in favour of lord Banbury ; and proved, by the most incontrovertible arguments, that a supreme court, in the last resort, has no jurisdiction in an original case. " The house of peers," said he, M has jurisdiction over its own members, and is a suj rerae court : but it is the law which has invested them with such ample authorities ; and therefore, it is no diminu- tion of their power to say, that they ought to observe those limits which the law has prescribed to them, r^nd which, in other respects has made them so great." As to the law of parliament which had been talked of, he did not know of any such law ; for every law that binds the subjects of this realm, ought either to be the common law and usage of the realm, or an act of par- liament. What had been said by the king's counsel re- specting the law of parliament, he considered as only intended to frighten the judges, but that he did not re- gard it ; for though he had all respect and deference for that honourable body, yet he sat there to administer justice according to the laws of the land, and accord- ing to his oath - f and that he. should regard nothing but the discharge of his duty. In consequence of this spirited resolution, lord chief justice Holt was afterwards summoned to give his rea- M * son» 4 272 SIR JOHN HOLT. sons for this judgment before a committee of the House of peers ; but he disdained to comply with extrajudi- cial proceedings, and maintained the independence of the bench. Some of the lords were so much irritated at his manly firmness, that they threatened to send him to the Tower ; but the more dispassionate f and sensible part of the house saw the danger of proceeding to such extremities : and as they were determined not to recog- nise lord Banbury's title, the business dropt, both with regard to his lordship and judge Holt. ' When lord chancellor Somers resigned the great seal, in 1700, king William pressed lord chief justice Holt to accept it 5 but his lordship who had no ambition to quit his present honourable station, replied, " that he never had had but one chancery suit in his life, which he lost, and consequently could not think himself qualified for so great a trust.' ' In the second year of queen Anne a very important cause was agitated by the judges, relative to the right of returning officers to refuse a legal vote in the election of members for parliament. This, after being decided' at the assizes in favour of the plaintiff, who had been rejected, was removed into the court of king's bench, and attracted much notice, from being the first question of the kind that had been tried there. Three of the judges were of opinion, that no injury was done to the plaintiff, or at least none that required legal redress, and were for reversing the sentence for damages ; but Holt, with an acumen which did him honour, and a love of liberty that ought to endear him to the latest poste- rity, maintained, " that if the plaintiff hud a right, he must, of necessity, have a means to vindicate and sup- port it, and a remedy, if he is injured in the exercise or enjoyment of it : ; and it was a vain thing to imagine a right without a remedy ; for want of right, and want .of remedy were reciprocal." Thii SIR JOHN HOLT. 2J3 This opinion involved him with the commons, as the Banbury case had with the lords ; but he came off su- perior in the conflict, and gained the highest applause and credit with "his countrymen. The two houses at last became warm in the dispute, and the queen saw no other alternative to allay the ferment, than by dissolv- ing the parliament. On every occasion, Holt strenuously defended the constitutional liberties of the subject, and shewed the utmost aversion to the exercise of military power, un- der pretence of assisting the civil. A riot happening in; Holborn, on account of young persons, of both sexes, being trepanned and confined in a certain house, till they could be shipped off to the plantations, a party of the guards were commanded to march to the spot : but an officer was first dispatched to the lord chief justice, requesting him to send some of his people ; in order to give this affair a better appearance. " Suppose," said the judge to the officer, " the populace will not disperse, what are you to do then ?" " Sir," answered he, " we have orders to fire on them." " Have you so," returned his lordship ;" " then take notice of what I say : if there be one man killed, and you be tried before me, I will take care that you, and every soldier of your party, shall be hanged." Having dismissed the officer, with. a reprimand for his employers, he ordered his tipstaves with a few constables, to attend him ; and, proceeding to the scene of tumult, expostulated with the mob, as-^ sured them of justice, and pacified them to such a de- gree that they quietly dispersed- This upright judge, having filled the chief seat of justice for the space of twenty-one years, with the highest credit to himself, and utility to the public, was carried off by a lingering illness,, in the sixty-eighth year of his age. His body was interred in the church of Redgrave, in die county of Suffolk ; where a sumptuous monu- M 5 jnent 274 SIR JOHN HOLT. ment was ere&ed to his memory. By his lady, a daugh- ter of Sir John Cropley, he left no issue. A judicious biographer has thus summed up the cha- racter of lord chief justice Holt, which, from an impar- tial review of his life, appears to be perfedly just. " He was/' says this writer, « one of the ablest and most up- right judges, that ever presided in a court of justice. He was a perfect master of the common law, and ap- plied himself with great assiduity to the fun&ions of his important office. Possessed of uncommon clearness of understanding, and great solidity of judgment, such was the integrity and firmness of his mind, that he could never be brought to swerve, in the least, from what he esteemed law and justice- He was remarkably strenu- ous in nobly asserting, and as rigorously supporting, the rights ani liberties of the subject, to which he paid the greatest regard ; and would not eyen suffer a re- flection, tending to depreciate them, to pass uncensured, or without a severe reprimand.'" As a legal writer he was less distinguished, than as a dispenser of law. The duties of his station left him but little leisure ; yet he is not unknown to students by his works. In 1708, he published Sir John Keyling's Re- ports, with some annotations of his own, and three modern cases which had attracted great notoriety. Some juvenile frolics are generally ascribed to Holt, but we vouch not for their authenticity ; yet as they convey the only existing traits of his private character, we shall briefly recite an anecdote of this kind, which, whether true or false, can reflect but little disgrace upon Ins memory. Being once out on a party of pleasure with some young men, and their money being all spent, it was agreed to part company, and try their fortunes sepa- rately. Holt put up, with a bold face, at the first ina that came in his way ; and, seeing the only daughter of the Sill JOHN HOLT, 175 the family, who was then about thirteen years old, shi- vering under a fit of the ague, he immediately con- ceived an idea how this circumstance might be turned to account. Interrogating the mother, he discovered that the girl had long laboured under this complaint, and that the art of medicine had been tried in vain. On thiS'he shook his head at the doctors, and bade her take courage, for that she should never have another fit. He then wrote an unintelligible scrawl in court hand on a. bit of parchment^ and ordered it to be bound round the daughter's wrist. It happened that the charm took effect ; and Holt, without a penny in his pocket, at the end of the* week called for his bill ; but found the gra- titude of the family, for his skill and service, precluded them from making any demand. He was even consi- dered as a benefactor of the first order, and they parted with mutual good-will. In the course of many years, when raised to be a judge, he went the circuit in the same county ; and among other criminals at the assizes, was an old wo- man accused of witchcraft. She was indicted for hav- ing a spell, by which she could citre such cattle as were sick, or destroy such as were well ; and this magical charm, being seized upon her, was ready to be produced in court. Holt ordered it to be shewn him ; and hav- ing divested it of numerous coverings, found it to con-* sist of that identical piece of parchment which he had used to cure the girl of an ague. He immediately re- collected the incident, and, with a magnanimity which exalted his character,, confessed the trick which he had played. The jury, of course, acquitted the culprit: the people blushed at the folly and cruelty of their zeal ; and judge Holt's, landlady was the last that ever was tried in those parts for the nonsensical crime of witch- craft. Mtf GILBERT ( 176 ) GILBERT BURNET, BISHOP OF SALISBURY. Born 1643— Died 1715. From 18//; Charles 7. to 2d George I. THERE are some men who appear great only while the splendor of rank, or the bustle of station, daz- zles the eyes of the spectators; others become magnified as they recede from the public view, and are seen like stars in a distant sky. Of this last description is bishop Burnet; a man too much implicated in die various po- litical convulsions, which agitated his time, to escape censure, but whose memory is generally allowed to be clear from any considerable stain. Gilbert Burnet was descended from an ancient family in Aberdeenshire. His father was a lawyer; and, as a' reward for his constant attachment to the royal party, at the restoration was appointed one of the lords of session. His mother was sister to the famous Sir Alexander Johnston, and an enthusiast for the theological tenets of Calvin. During the interregnum, Mr. Burnet, having refused to acknowledge Cromwell's authority, had no other em- ployment than the instruction of his son, which he at- tended to with the most patient industry; and at ten years of age sent him to the university of Aberdeen, whi- ther he also removed himself, to assist in superintend- ing his education. This was so strictly pursued, that the youth was obliged to rise at four in the morning; a practice which became habitual to him, and gave him more time for study and a larger enjoyment of life than fall to the share of most men. Whatever is stolen from sleep, is certainly added to existence j and though late hours, BISHOP BURNET. 277 hours aTe justly deemed injurious to health, early rising is at once conducive to pleasure and to profit. Burnet's original destination was the church; yet he was so much attached to the study of civil and feudel law, that nothing could divert his attention from it; and from this source he often declared that he had deduced juster principles of civil society and government, than many of his profession would allow him to possess. Having satisfied his mind on those subjects, he applied to divinity with equal ardour; and, as a relaxation, perused a prodigious number of books on subjects of general knowledge ; so that he was master of a vast fund of learning before he reached his eighteenth year. Being admitted a probationer preacher,he declined a be- nefice which was offered him ; and having lost his fa- ther in 1663, lie visited Oxford and Cambridge, where he staid about six months. Next year lie made the tour to Holland and France, and perfected himself in Hebrew, by the assistance of a rabbi at Amsterdam. Here likewise he became ac- quainted with the most distinguished divines of the va- rious sects, which toleration had united iivfriendly inter- course ; and, having such a lovely pattern before his eyes, he became fixed in a strong principle of universal charity, and an invincible abhorrence of all intolerance in religion. On his return to Scotland, he was admitted into holy- orders, and presented to the living of Saltoun. His abi- lities would not suffer him to be inactive or useless. He meditated between the episcopalians and the presby- terians with considerable eifect, but rendered himself obnoxious to the zealots of both parties. Such is too frequency the only reward of candour and liberality of sentiment. Being promoted to the divinity chair of Glasgow, he filled 1 278 BISHOP BURNET. filled that station upwards of four years, and made him- self very acceptable to the duchess of Hamilton ; which was the basis of his future promotion. The earl of Lauderdale invited him to London, where he had the choice of four Scottish bishoprics, offered him, but he declined them all. On his return to Glasgow, he espoused lady Margaret Kennedy, daughter of the earl of Cassilis, and shewed the most generous disinterested- ness by the manner in which he disposed of her fortune* His merit and abilities had for some time pointed him out as a proper person to wear the mitre, but he .still de- clined promotion in Scotland. However, on the king's own nomination, he was made chaplain in ordinary ; but on giving some disgust to the court, his name was soon after erased from the list. Finding his enemies beginning to prevail he relin* quished his professor's chair at Glasgow, and resolved to settle in London. His reputation as a sacred writer and divine was so great, that, notwithstanding the oppo- sition of the court, he was appointed preacher at the Rolls chapel, and soon after chosen lecturer of St. Cle- ments. His fame being fully established, and his popularity increasing, in 1679 he published the first volume of hi* History of the reformation; for which he obtained the thanks of parliament. About this time he was acci- dentally introduced to the acquaintance of the dissolute earl of Rochester; and had such a happy influence on his mind, that the earl in consequence became a sincere penitent, and a convert to Christianity. Burnet, though odious to the court, was highly re- spected by the people, and for some time this was his shield of defence ; but, having given fresh provocation by his amiable solicitude for lord William Russel, he re- tired to France^ where the most flattering distinctions were BISHOr BURNET. 279 were paid him: but, resuming his clerical functions in London, he inveighed with so much asperity against popery, that he was silenced by royal authority. On the accession of James, he retired from the king- dom, and travelled into Italy. Pope Innocent II. vo- luntarily offered him a private audience, that the cere- mony of kissing the slipper might he dispensed with : but Burnet waved this polite advance in the most civil manner that he could. He, however, visited some of the cardinals without reserve, and made no disguise of his sentiments. This freedom could not long be tolerat- ed, and he received an intimation from prince Borghese r that it would be prudent to withdraw. However com- mendable it is to be zealous for the truth, there surely can be no merit in that intemperate ardoui* which over- looks the decorums of time and place. To dispute 15 not to convince : and Burnet, on this occasion, seems to have forgot what was due to the prejudices or institu- tions of a country in which he had no interest, and whose government he was bound to respect, so long as he remained under its protection. After travelling through Italy and Switzerland, he arrived at Utrecht, with a design of taking up his resi- dence in the United Provinces. The prince and princess it Orange, to whom he had been recommended by their party in England, hearing of his arrival, gave him a very pressing invitation to the Hague, which he ac- cepted ; and soon was admitted into the most intimate confidence of those illustrious personages. He advised the equipment of such a fleet as would be sufficient to support their designs, and to encourage their friends at once to declare in their favour. Meanwhile, he facili- tated their reception, by publishing an account of his travels, in which he represented popery and tyranny as inseparable, with a view to alienate the affections of the people from James j and by some other caustic reflec- 2 tions 280 BISHOP BURNET. tions on the conduct of government, actively circulated in loose sheets, gave such umbrage to the king, that he earnestly desired Burnet might be forbid the court of the prince and princess. This was complied with in ap- pearance, not in reality ; and, soon after paying his ad- dresses to a Miss Scot, a Dutch lady of fortune, birth, and accomplishments, he obtained an act of naturaliza- tion in that country ; which incensed James to such a violent degree, that the court proceeded against him in a charge. of high treason, and a sentence of outlawry was passed upon him. Burnet, however, now secure under the protection of the States, to which he had transferred his allegiance, rather irritated than soothed his enemies ; and being im- periously demanded by James, it was urged that he had become a subject of the United States, and that if he had committed any crime, he was amenable only to their courts. This put an end to all farther application; and Bur- net, in forwarding tne views of the prince of Orange, must have now considered himself not only as employed in securing the liberties of his country, but in redressing his own private wrongs. It is ever dangerous and im- politic to injure or neglect: a man of genius and talents; for his resentment is commonly as keen as his gratitude for favours is warm. The deliverer of this country, the illustrious prince of Orange, having made all due preparations for his ex- pedition, was attended by Burnet in quality of chaplain ; who, by his pulpit eloquence, and the papers which he drew up as an exposition of the prince's sentiments and intentions, was eminently instrumental in rendering the revolution as bloodless as it was glorious. Such signal services did not long pass without their reward. William had not been many days on the throne before Dr. Burnet was promoted to the see of Salis- bury. BISHOP EUKXKT, 281 bnry. In parliament he distinguished himself by de- claring for lenient measures towards stick of the clergy as refused to take the oaths to William and Mary; and ted his best abilities in promoting a legal toleration of the dissenters. So far his conduct: exposed him to no obloquy ; but having incautiously admitted some words into his first pastoral letter* in which he seemed to ground the title of William on the right of conquest, both housses of parliament, to shew, their detestation of such a false doctrine, ordered it to be burned by the hands of the common hangman. Burnet, however, did not suffer politics to absorb all his attention. Having the felicity to see the govern- ment settled on the firm foundation of rational liberty, lie constantly secluded himself from its concerns as soon as the business of parliament was over ; and, retiring to his diocese, by the most indefatigable zeal discharged the duties of his function ; visiting, confirming, ordain- ing, and superintending, with a vigilance and assiduity very uncommon, and truly meritorious. To pluralities he was a declared enemy, except when the value of the livings was small, and their conti- guity convenient. With regard to residence, he was peremptory and strict ; and this he inforced by his own example as much as by ..episcopal authority; for even when the king expressed his desire, during absence, that he would attend and counsel the queen on contin- gencies, this conscientious prelate would not accept of lodgings at Whitehall, but hired a house at Windsor, that he might still be within the limits of his diocese and yet able to attend at court, as occasion required. Though his integrity and duty sometimes carried him beyond the bounds of courtly politeness, and the king felt the blunt freedom of his speech, yet he was holden in the highest estimation during the whole of that reign; and, as the strongest proof of the exalted opinion his majesty 2St BISHOP BURNET. majesty entertained of htm, when it became necessary to settle the houshold of the young Duke of Gloucester, Dr. Burnet was earnestly solicited to undertake the office of his preceptor ; and honourable as the appoint- ment was, with great reluctance he complied, lest it should withdraw him from the care of his diocese. In- deed, when he could excuse himself no longer, he pressed the resignation of his bishopric ; but, on the refusal of this request, he stipulated that the duke should reside at Windsor during summer, and that he should be allowed ten weeks annually to discharge his pastoral office. Under the tuition of such an able and judicious mas- ter, the young prince made a rapid progress ; but a pre- mature death rendered all the labours of Burnet ineffec- tual, and clouded the prospects cf the nation. In 1699, the bishop published his famous Exposition of the thirty-nine Articles of the Church of England ; a work which exposed him to public and private attacks ; but the numerous editions through which it has run, shew the approving sense posterity entertains of its merits* Having lost his second wife by the small-pox, he mar* ried a widow lady of great knowledge, piety, and vir- tue, and who supplied the place to his children of the natural parent which they had been deprived of. During the reign of queen Anne, he was less a fa- vourite at court ; but her majesty ever treated him with due respect, and encouraged him to speak his mind freely on national affairs. He shewed himself on all occasions worthy of this confidence; and strenuously ex- erted himself in seating the present illustrious family on the throne ; an event which he had the felicity to see accomplished before he was called from the stage of^ life. After various ineffectual endeavours to better the situ- ation of the clergy^ he had the satisfaction at last to find BISHOP Btrr.NET. 2S3 Vis project for augmenting small livings carried into execution. The operation of queen Anne's bounty, as it is called, has certainly relieved much clerical distress; yet what a forlorn prospect have the ministers of religion before them, when a governor of this charity informs them that it will be three hundred years before every living in England and Wales is raised to the poor pit- tance of 1001. per annum! That government is bound to adopt some more efficacious remedy in favour of the poorer clergy, will scarcely be disputed by any one who allows the utility and influence of the sacerdotal order; or thinks that religion is the balm of life, and the pass- port to a happy immortality. Bishop Burnet, towards the close of life, became, in some measure, abstracted from that world which he was about to leave. When he had attained his seventy- second year, he was attacked with a cold which, dege- nerating to a pleuritic fever, baffled all the aids of me- dicine, and speedily brought him to the grave. His senses were clear to the last ; and exercises of devotion and affectionate advice to his family, occupied his chief concern and attention. To him death appeared strip- ped of every terror : he hailed its approaches with joy. He was buried in the church of St. James, Clerkenwell, where a handsome monument was erected to his me- mory. " The History of his own Times," a work of various knowledge, but not exempt from symptoms of party virulence, was published after his decease, according to his express directions, without alteration or abridgment; and will still be read with pleasure as a picture of a very interesting epoch in our history. Asa theologist, and a controversial writer, he has likewise left many proofs of acuteness and diligence, of profound learning and extensive observation. From his celebrated character, by the illustrious mar- quis 284 BISHOP BURNET. quis of Halifax, we subjoin a few extracts. It was writ- ten by a contemporary, and lias been allowed, by impar- tial judges, to be appropriate and fair. " Dr. Burnet/' says this noble writer, " like all men who are above the ordinary level, is seldom spoken cf in a mean way ; he must either be railed at or admired. He has a swiftness of imagination, that no other man comes up to. His first thoughts may sometimes require more digestion, not from a defevfl in his judgment, but from the abundance of his fancy, which furnishes mat- ter too fast for him. His friends love hirn too well to heed small faults ; or, if they do, think that his greater talents give him a privilege of straying from the strict rules of caution, and exempt him from the ordinary rules of censure. He is not quicker in discerning other men's faults, than he is in forgiving them ; so ready, or rather glad, to acknowledge his own, that from ble- mishes they became ornaments. All the repeated pro- vocations of his indecent adversaries have had no other effect than the setting his good-nature in so much a better light, since his anger never yet went farther than to pity them. That heat, which in most other men raises sharpness and satire, in him glows into warmth for his friends, and compassion for those in want and misery. " He makes many enemies by setting an ill-natured example of living, which they are not inclined to follow. His indifference for preferment ; his contempt, not only of splendour, but of all unnecessary plenty ; his degrad- ing himself into the lowest and most painful duties of his calling; — are such unprelatical qualities, that, let" him be never so orthodox in other tilings, in these he- must be a dissenter. Virtues of such a stamp are so many heresies, in the opinion of those divines who have softened the primitive injunctions, so as to make them suit better with the present frailty of mankind.* No wonder WILLIAM PENN. 285 wonder then if they are angry, since it is in their own defence ; or that, from a principle of self-preservation, they should endeavour to suppress a man whose parts are a shame, and whose life is a scandal, to them/' WILLIAM PENN, FOUNDER OF PENNSYLVANIA. Born 1644— Died 1718. Frojn 19M Charles I. to 4M George 7. TO confine all merit to a particular religious per* suasion, is certainly the property of a little mind ; of a mind neither illumined by reason, nor influenced by Christianity. The bigot looks at principles alone, and condemns without mercy those that do not exactly tally with his own. The man of virtue and understand- ing makes a candid allowance for the prejudices of edu- cation, or the fallibility of human judgment; and in right practices, from whatever source they spring, sees much to love and to adnu're. The former, in his nar- row zeal, disregards good actions, the only incontestable proof of good principles ; the latter, without suffering any improper bias to mislead him, judges of the tree according to its fruit. Had Penn, of whom we here present some brief no- tices, lived in the age of Solon or Lycurgus, his name would have been sure to float down the stream of time with theirs. As a legislator, it is impossible to deny him the tribute of unmixed applause, and in this light we shall principally consider him : as a religionist, he rigidly adhered to the dictates of conscience, regardless of fortune or of fame, and therefore is entitled to respect and 285 WILLIAM PENX. and veneration from such as may not, however, approve his particular tenets. This extraordinary man, one of the original bulwarks of the society called quakers, and the founder and legis- lator of Pennsylvania, was the son of admiral Sir Wil- liam Penn, the fortunate conqueror of Jamaica. He was born in London, and was partly educated under a domestic tutor, and partly at a school at Chigwell in Essex. He appears to have had early and deep impres- sions of religion on his mind, and to have experienced, or fancied, divine communications, between the twelftk and fifteenth year of his age. About this period too, it seems probable that he had been a hearer of one Thomas Loe, a quaker, who- afterwards fixed him in the principles of that sect ; and that the impression which he then received was never afterwards effaced from his heart. The ductile mind of youth, like the warm wax, is susceptible of any form ; and first prin- ciples and prepossessions are well known to be with difficulty eradicated. This was strongly exemplified in Penn, who, in 1660, was admitted a gentleman commoner of Christ-church, Oxford; but, soon withdrawing from the national wor- ship, and performing religious exercises in private with some other students of a serious disposition, he was first fined for nonconformity, though then but sixteen years of age, and afterwards expelled. His father was so much incensec\ at this conduct* which he considered as a bar to his future preferment r that, when expostulation proved ineffectual to alter his sentiments, he turned him out of doors. Relenting, however, on mature reflection, he tried the effects of a journey to the continent; in hopes that the peculiar re- ligious notions of the young man would yield to the attractions of company, and a more enlarged knowledge of the world. After a considerable stay in France, young WILLIAM FENN. 287 young Perm returned the accomplished gentleman, and was received with joy by his father, whose affection for him appears to have been ardent and sincere- It is said, that during his residence in Paris, being assaulted one evening in the streets, by a person with a drawn sword, he was so well skilled in fencing, that he disarmed his antagonist. This barbarous practice, however, he strongly reprobates in his writings ; and, to mark its absurdity, puts in the balance a trifling insult, with tha probable loss of life and the crime of murder. In the twenty-second year of his age, his father com- mitted to his superintendance a considerable estate in Ireland. Here he accidentally found the same Thomas Loe, whose preaching had made such an early and last- ing impression on his tender mind ; and joining the so* ciety of quakers, who were then under persecution, he was committed to prison with some others, but soon re- leased by the interposition of his father. Being ordered back to England, paternal regard was again excited to reclaim him, but in vain. He felt the strongest principles of duty to a fond parent ; but his opinions were now so rooted, that he was absolutely in- flexible to all remonstrances. In consequence, he was again cast on the wide world; and, taking up the voca- tion of a public preacher among the quakers, he suffered various persecutions, with a firmness and patience which claim our admiration, The cause for which he suffered became endeared to him by every trial that he under- went. Opposition has sometimes made as many mar- tyrs as conscience ! The admiral again attempted to compromise matters with his son. He requested only that he would consent to be uncovered in presence of the king and the duke of York. Even this external mark of respect, as it violated one of the principles which he had adopted, was waved as inconsistent with his duty. His father, at last, finding his 288 \> r ILLXAM PEXN. his perseverance in the tenets of qnakerism to he the .ef- fect of pure though mistaken principle, received him into the bosom of his family without any concessions ; and departing this life soon after, bequeathed him with his benediction a plentiful fortune. Notwithstanding the opposition which he had given to his son's religious conduct, with his dying breath he adjured him to do nothing contrary to his conscience. — " So will you keep peace at home, which will be a comfort in the day of trouble." After enduring another imprisonment for attending a quaker meeting, he visited Holland and Germany, and met 'with a very flattering reception from the princess Elizabeth of Bohemia, daughter of James I. His writ- ings, his labours, and his sufferings, for some years, were various; but we now come to an epoch in his life which changed the complexion of his fortune, and gave a full display to his wisdom and his virtues. Charles II. in 1681, as a compensation for services and sums due to his deceased father, conferred by pa- tent, on Mr. Penn and his heirs, the province of Pennsyl- vania ; so called from the name of the subordinate gran- tee. The proprietor immediately drew up an impar- tial account of the climate and produce, and proposed ' very easy terms to settlers. But, considering the royal grant as conferring a title, not a right, he wrote, in the most affectionate terms to the Indians, explaining his peaceable intentions, and expressing his wish to hold the lands which had been ceded him, not only by the king's patent, but also by their consent and love. Com- missioners were accordingly named to carry his just and benevolent views into execution ; while the natives un- . accustomed to be treated like men, listened with plea- sure to the proposals made them, conceived a high opinion of him, and entered into an amicable treaty, which was never broken. The WILLIAM PENtf. 289 The disqualifications under which some sects laboured in England at this period, and the persecution of others, served to people the new colony. The city of Phila- delphia was laid out according to a judicious and regu- lar plan, and rapidly increased. Penn himself drew up the fundamental constitution of his province in twenty-four articles; and in the following year, the frame of its government. Had he never WTitten any- thing besides, this would have sufficed to render his fame immortal. In his code, he not only displayed the soundest wisdom, but also the most amiable modera- tion and warm philanthropy. Though persecuted for his own religion, he shews his detestation of intolerance, not only from its moral turpitude, but his inherent love cf justice. All persons, who acknowledged a supreme Governor of the universe, and who held themselves obliged in conscience to live peaceably and justly ia civil society, were in no wise to be molested nor preju- diced for their religious opinions. The same amiable disposition was displayed in settling the civil govern- ment, and establishing courts of justice. To prevent expensive law-suits, he ordered three peace-makers to be chosen by ev^ry county-court, in quality of common ar- bitrators. /In short, during the two years that he re- sided in his province, he settled its government on the firmest basis of justice; he ingratiated himself with the Indians to an extraordinary degree ; and taught his people by example, as well as precept, the advantage of diligence and economy, and the happiness of sobriety and order. He left Pennsylvania in 1684, with the affection of the settlers, and the veneration of the Indians ; and returned to England with his wife and family. On the accession of James II. he was treated with much distinction at court, and therefore lay under the imputation of an attachment to popery, from which he fully exonerated himself; but on the revolution he was N arrested 2Q0 WILLIAM -fENN. arrested, an suspicion of corresponding with the abdi- cated king, examined before the council, and obliged to give security for his appearance the first day of term* Again and again he underwent this vexation from false allegations, which induced him at last to abscond ; but after some time, being permitted to appear before the king and council, he vindicated his innocence with such spirit and effect, that his calumniators shrunk from the charge. After various peregrinations as a public preach- er, in 1699, he revisitedPennsylvania, with his wife and family; where, it is said, he intended to spend the re- mainder of his days : but, in 1701, he was recalled, to defend his proprietary right, which had been attacked in his absence. However, he supported his legal claims ; and was highly respected by queen Anne, whose court he often visited. Here persecution closed; and here his active labours ceased. Age advancing, with its concomitant infirmities, he quitted the vicinity of London, and settled at Ruscombe, in Berkshire, where he gradually declined; and at length quitted this sublunary scene, in the seventy-fourth year of his age. As a writer, he evinced great good sense, except where it was obscured by mysticismj or the peculiarity of his religious creed. As a mild and beneficent man, of the purest virtue, integrity, and conscience, he is an honour to any religious society; as a legislator, he is an honour to the country that produced him. Though possessed of an ample fortune, it was re- duced by his "charity to his brethren, by the impositions which he suffered from ill-disposed persons, and the dis- interestedness which he shewed in raising a revenue from his province. When offered an impost by the colonists on certain goods, he returned thanks for this mark of affection, but declined its acceptance. He seemed to consider the settlers as his children, 2nd thought MR. ADDISON. 2Qt thought it unbecoming a father to fleece them of their property. At times, his affairs were so deranged, that he was afraid of his creditors. A pleasant anecdote is recorded on an occasion of this nature. He had contrived an aperture, at his house in Norfolk-street, by which he could see without being seen. A creditor, having sent in his name, waited a long time for admission. " Will not thy master see me i" said he, at last, to the servant. " Friend," replied the servant, " he has seen thee, but does not like thee." JOSEPH ADDISON, SECRETARY OF STATE* Born 1672— Died 1719. From 23d Charles II. to hth George /• TO select the brightest luminaries from the literary constellation which has gilded the British hori- ' son, is both a difficult and an invidious task. Our li- i mits admit only a few at best ; and those, to come within our plan, mnst possess pre-eminence of genius, or have been signally favoured by fortune. Many have gained the height of renown in the republic of letters ; but scanty is the number of those who, like Addison, have risen principally by literature, to an exalted station in I the state. His life therefore, independent of its own -excellence, will convey many a moral lesson. It is cal- ; culated to inspire hope and emulation by the proof that eminent desert will frequently be crowned with reward ; it is also calculated to repress the vain ambition o£ shining in every sphere, when it is evident that Addison ^either increased his fame, nor his happiness, by the elevated public rank which he acquired. N 2 This 202 MB. ADDISOX. This inimitable writer was son to the dean of Litch- field; and first saw the light "at Milston, near Ambres- bury, in Wilts, of which place his father was also rector. When he came into the w r orld, his stay in it was likely to be so very short, that he was instantly baptized : in- deed, some say, that he was laid out for dead as soon as born* The first rudiments of education he received under a clergyman, at the place of his nativity. He was then successively removed to Salisbury, Litchfield, and the Charter-house schools. At the last excellent seminary of classical learning, he pursued his juvenile studies with extraordinary success ; and here he contracted an inti- macy with Sir Richard Steele, which the similarity of taste and pursuits rendered almost as durable as their lives. It is one great advantage, indeed, which public schools possess over private, that youths of merit have a chance of contracting some valuable friendships, or of exhibiting, at an early period, those energies of mind, which lay the foundation of their future fortune. But the future destination ought to decide the preference of a public or private education: the latter is, perhaps, best adapted to the common business of life. Addison was scarcely fifteen years of age, when he was sent to Queen's college, Oxford. Here his appli- cation to classical learning continued without intermis- sion. He had already acquired an elegant Latin style ; and some of his verses in that language falling into the hands of Dr. Lancaster of Magdalen college, he enter- tained such a high ophiion of the writer's genius, that he procured Addison admission into his own. college, where our accomplished youth proceeded bachelor and master of arts ; and is still considered as one of tjie most illustrious characters which that respectable society has §ent forth. His reputation for Latin poetry, which* however, is rathe i MR. ADDISON*. 293 rather calculated to shew the classical scholar than the man of genius, soon spread over the university ; and many elegant specimens of his performances in this way are still extant in the Musarilm Anglicanarum Analcdta, Notwithstanding the acknowledged purity of his.Eng- lish style, he is said to have been twenty-two years old before he made himself conspicuous by any composition in the vernacular tongue. No sooner, however, had he attempted English poetry, than his reputation was con- siderably increased, as more were qualified to estimate his merits in that province. He attracted the notice of Dryde% and the friendship of Sacheverell, by his writ- ings; but what led to more important consequences was his poem on one of king William's campaigns, addressed to the lord keeper Somers. This great statesman re- ceived our author's advances with great politeness, and took him under his immediate and entire protection. Addison had only intimated that the patronage of So- mers would be acceptable, and. it was his good fortune to obtain it. By his favour, and that of Mr. Montague, chancellor of the exchequer,, who both discerned his fine genius, "and wished to give it the last polish, 1 he received an annual pension of 3001. on which he was enabled to make the fashionable tour through the different coun- tries of Europe. It appears that Addison had been pressingly solicited by his college friends to enter into holy orders; but his political patrons diverted him from this intention, and he set out on his travels in 1699. After staying a year at Blois, to master the French language, he proceeded to Italy; which he travelled through, and afterwards described with the eye and the fancy of a poet. His poetical epistle to Montague, lord Halifax, from that country, is one of the most finished productions of Ad^ di son's genius, and its multifarious beauties have occa- sioned its translation into several languages. While it N 3 breathes '2QA MR. ADDISON. breathes the spirit of independent gratitude, it evinces his classical genius and love of liberty, and is equally honourable to the poet and his patron. Mr. Addison returned in 1703, and his friends being either removed or in disgrace, his pension was vith- holden, and his prospects for a time seemed to be cloud- ed. Fortune, however, took him up at this crisis, and his abilities secured the vantage ground which she gave fiirh. The victory at Blenheim had justly spread triumph ~ and confidence over the nation, but it had not yet been celebrated by a poet worthy of such a lofty theme. Lord Godolphin was lamenting this to lord Halifax, with a wish that the latter, who was a poet himself, would recommend some genius qualified for doing jus- tice to the subject. Halifax immediately recollected his friend Addison, commended his merit and ingenuity, and gave lord Godolphin so effectually the impression which he intended, that our poet was solicited to engage in this task, and executed it so much to the satisfaction of his nr' , j employer, that he was made commissioner cf appeals. Next year his Travels were published, and dedicated to lord Somers. At first they met with, an indifferent reception : the classical allusions and quotations were too frequent for common readers ; irat real judges were not long in recognizing their merits, and in a short time it would have appeared unfashionable not to ad- mire them. . About the same time, Mr. Addison attended lord Halifax to Hanover; and in 1706 was made under se- cretary of state, in which capacity he officiated both under Sir Charles Hedges and his successor the earl of Sunderland. The votaries of the opera now importuned Addison to try whether sense and sound under his auspices might not 1 MR. ADJHSOtf. 2^5 not be rendered compatible. To oblige them, he com- posed his inimitable " Rosamond," which was dedicated to the duchess of Marlborough ; but so strongly was the public prejudiced in favour of die Italian operas, that the genius of Addison, and the pure taste of a few distinguished judges, could not banish the absurdity of listening to a language which, to this day, not one in twenty understands, and to a species of music which fewer, though taught by habit to commend, can really feel. When the marquis of Wharton was appointed lord- lieutenant of Ireland in 1709, he made Mr. Addison his secretary, and the queen was graciously pleased to con- fer on him the office of keeper of the records in that kingdom, with an increase of salary- Soon after, Steele commenced the Tatler; and Addi- son, having discerned his early friend in the author, voluntarily lent his assistance. His communications, indeed, were so valuable, that Steele candidly confessed, " he fared like a distressed prince who calls in a power- ful auxiliary." The superiority of Addison's genius and his taste in fine prose writing were so supreme, that Steele, f though the ^original projector of that immortal work, shrank to a secondary object. The change of ministry, which afterwards took place, again left our author more at liberty .to cultivate ele- gant literature ; and no sooner was the Tatler laid down, than, m concert with Steele, he brought out that match- less periodical paper the Spectator, the most capital and popular of all his works ; and which, though too much taken up with political and temporary allusions and de- tails, is still read with pleasure and advantage, and will continue to instruct and improve as long as the English language exists. The Guardian, another periodical production in the same taste, followed the Spectator 5 in which the papers N 4 written 296 MR. ADDISON. Written by Mr. Addison were particularly admired. He wrote a few other fugitive essays about this time ; but a principal effort of his genius was the tragedy of Cato, which he produced in 1713. The plan of this masterly performance he had formed some years before, and had written a great part of it during his travels ; but his friends thinking it might be serviceable to the cause of liberty to bring it forth about this time, he set about fitting it for the stage, and its success was almost unique in the history of dramatic exhibitions. It was played for thirty-five nights succes- sively, with the loudest plaudits of the most opposite parties ; it was quickly translated into other languages, and has gained the highest celebrity for its exquisite poetry, and the interest which it excites in every breast not callous to the pleas of patriotism and the voice of liberty. Queen Anne was so charmed with -the per- formance, that she intimated her desire of seeing it de- dicated to her; but Addison, as it is said, being pre. engaged in this respect, avoided violating either his duty or his honour, and sent it into the world without any dedication. On the demise of the queen, which happened soon after, this zealous champion of liberty was made secre- tary to the lords justices, in whose hands the regency was vested till the arrival of George I. In virtue of this office he was to announce the queen's death, and the va- cancy of the throne, to the court of Hanover. To a man of less genius this would have been an easy task ; hut Addison was so distracted by choice of expression, and balancing the niceties of language, that the lords justices lost all patience, and ordered a clerk to dispatch the message ; which he, following common forms, easily executed. Addison, however, employed his pen to great advantage in defence of the established govern- ment, in a paper untitled the Freeholder ; and the court was MR. ADDISON. 2Q7 was so sensible of his virtuous and able exertions, that he was made one of the lords of Irade. In 1716, he espoused the countess dowager of War- wick, after a long and anxious courtship ; but he found no accession to his happiness in this splendid alliance ; Non bene conveniunt, ncc in una sede morantur Majeslas et amor. The countess, it is said, presuming on her high rank, treated her husband with little respect ; and he, conscU ous of a dignity which neither wealth nor power could confer, must have felt this vain insolence with peculiar poignancy. However, next year he was made secretary of state; but this as little added to his felicity or his credit. He soon felt himself utterly unfit for the weighty duties of the place. He could neither speak in defence of a public measure without hesitation, nor dictate a dispatch without the confusion of modest doubt. The accomplished scholar and the minister are often oppo- site characters ; it is no degradation to Addison, to say that he did not possess a versatility of genius which qualified him for every station. He saw .his defects, and solicited leave to resign, which was granted him, with a. pension of 1500/. per annum. He now retired from the bustle of business 5 and wisely consulting his ease and health, began to plan lite- rary occupations for the remainder of his days. Among other schemes which Addison had devised to charm the tedium of retirement, was a tragedy on the death of So* crates, and an English dictionary. The former appears to allow little scope for stage effect, and on the latter, fortunately, he did not waste that time which could be more valuably employed. He engaged, however, in a noble design? of which he left a part executed, in the * Evidences of Christianity." Politics he had entirely discarded, yet he was drawn into the vortex "cmce more N 5 whea 2()8 MR. ADDISON* when near his end, and had for his antagonist Sir Richard Steele. The subject of dispute was the " Peer- age Bill," introduced by the earl of Sunderland. The contest was agitated with great vehemence, though it was not of sufficient consequence to create animosity between two indifferent private persons, much less be-- tween two friends, whose names will descend conjointly to the latest posterity with honour and applause. Steele* in the controversy, did not forget the gentleman or the former friend ; but Addison made use of sarcasm, if not contempt for his opponent, to whom he gave the appellation of " Little Dicky." It is painful for a generous mind to reflect, that those illustrious writers, after so many years of confidence and endearment, of conformity of opinion, and fellow- ship in study, should at last part in acrimonious oppo- sition on dissension about a trifle. But political animosity, and even die more meritori- ©us energies of a virtuous mind, were about to cease in- Addison. He had long been subject to an asthma ; which, now becoming aggravated by a dropsy, gave him the sure presage of inevitable dissolution. With this prospect before him, he summoned up all his resolu- tion, and prepared to die in conformity to the precepts- which, he had taught/ and the principles which had di- rected his conduct.. He forgave such as had injured ium, and requested the forgiveness. of those whom he had wronged by word or deed. Concerning the manner of. Addison's death, we have some account by Dr. Young.. It is the best comment #n his life, and worth a thousand cold reflections. After, a long ^nd patient, but vain. struggle with his mortal disorder, he dismissed hrs physic ians* and, with them, all hopes of life ;., bet his* regard for the living was still as warm as in the gayest and happiest of his hours. The young earl of. Warwick, his son-in-law, was hurried 5 away DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 209 away by youthful passions ; and Addison had tried in vain, by the most affectionate arguments to reclaim him. He sent for him when the flame of life was just glimmering in the socket. The earl came ; and, after a decent pause, said, " Dear Sir> you sent forme; I believe and hope you have some commands : I shall hold them most sacred." Forcibly grasping his hand, the dying philosopher softly replied, " See in what peace a christian can die." He articulated this with difficulty : his pulse forgot to beat, and he expired. Mr. Tickell had the charge of publishing his posthuv mous works ; which, with those that appeared in his life-time, are too numerous to particularize here, but are all excellent. Of Addison it has been justly observed, that he employed wit on the side of religion, restored virtue to its dignity, and taught innocence not to be ashamed. This is an elevation of literary character " above all Greek, above all Roman fame." No greater felicity can genius obtain than that of having purified intellectual pleasures, separated mirth from indecency, and wit from licentiousness ; of having taught a suc- cession of writers to bring elegance and gaiety to the aid of goodness, and of having, converted many from, vice and the error of their ways. JOHN CHURCHILL, DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH^ AND PRINCE OF THE HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE* Bom 1650— Died 1722. From 2d Charles 27. to8:/i George L Immortal chief ! of Albion's isle the pride, By martial deeds to greatest names allied 5 Ilenowri'd for valour, as for mercy lov'd, The highest pitch of human bliss you prov'dj N 6 Gakftl 300 JOHN CHURCHILL. GainM the bright meed, without the conscious staifl, And wore the laurel unalloyed with pain. Unlike those pests, who fought for fame alone, To 'slave a nation, or to mount a throne ; You drew the sword, the injurM to defend, To aid the helpless, and the proud to bend . Be this your fame— nor could the favouring Nine •Grace with a praise more noble, more divine. Blenheim, a Poem. OF this illustrious ornament and bulwark of his country and of Europe, it is almost impossible to Speak but in the language of enthusiasm. Equally fit- ted for the cabinet and the field ; formed to shine at the levee, and to spread the terror of his arms over hos- tile nations : in whatever light we contemplate the cha- racter of Churchill, he will appear one of those few inen whom nature has gifted with extraordinary endow- ments, and fortune propitiously indulged with an op- portunity of displaying them. His achievements, how- ever, fill such an ample space, that we can only glance at his career with a rapidity emblematic of his success, but far unworthy of his deserts, did his fame rest on the present attempt to do him justice. Yet the most superficial sketch of his life can scarcely fail to inspire those ardent emotions of glory and of heroism, whose flame it is our object to fan. This great man was the second son of Sir Winston Churchill, of Dorsetshire, a gentleman of approved loyalty^ for which he greatly suffered. His mother was a daughter of Sir John Drake, of Ashe, in Devonshire, at whose seat this hero was born, who lived to verify the prediction of the prince de Vaudemont, in 1661, u that he would attain the highest pitch of honour to which any subject could be exalted." He received the first rudiments of his education under a clergyman in the vicinity ; but, his elder brother dy- ing, his father, who enjoyed considerable posts at court 4 under DUKE OF MAULEOBOUGH. 301 under Charles II. judged it expedient to introduce his son early into life ; and at twelve years of age he was made page of honour to the Duke of York, by whom he was much caressed and zealously patronized. About 1666, he received a pair of colours in the guards ; and never was the bent of genius more happily consulted, than by indulging his early bias for the pro- fession of arms. This soon proved, to be his delight and his glory. Having obtained leave to serve at Tan- gier, then besieged by the Moors, he signalized himself in various skirmishes with that nation, and on his re- turn to court was equally a favourite with Charles and the Duke of York. In 1672, when the Duke of Monmouth commanded a body of auxiliaries, in the service of France, Mr. Churchill attended him, and was promoted to a cap- taincy of grenadiers in his Grace's own regiment. In all the actions of that famous campaign, against the Dutch, he had itus full share of danger and of glory, and was particularly distinguished by Marshal Turenne, w^ho gave him the appellation of " the handsome Eng- lishman;" a title which he long retained among the French. Here his military talents began to display themselves ; and, on the reduction of Maestricht, his most Christian Majesty personally thanked him at the head of the line, and promised to acquaint his own sove- reign with his merits. The duke of Monmouth, too, was eager to second this honourable testimony of his cou- rage and conduct ; and, the road to preferment being once opened, his worth, prudence and accomplishments, secured the rest. It is however deserving of remark, that Churchill was considerably indebted for his original reputation and success to the recommendations of a monarch whom he afterwards humbled in the severest manner. Such are the vicissitudes of life* and the caprices of fortune, that 302 JOHN CHURCHILL, that no one can predict final events from secondary causes, or tell into what situation he may be thrown. The patriotism of Churchill, in the sequel, obliged him to desert his warm benefactor, the duke of York, and t® combat that nation in whose service he had gathered some of his first laurels. He speedily rose to the rank of lieutenant-colonel, was appointed gentleman of the bed-chamber to the duke of York, and master of the robes. From the po- litical squabbles of the times, he prudently kept himself at a distance ; but when his master was obliged to re- tire for a time, he attended him in all his peregrina- tions, till a calm permitted him to return. While he waited on the duke in Scotland, he was- complimented with a regiment of dragoons ; and soon after married Miss Sarah Jennings, of Sandridge, in Hertfordshire, one of the most beautiful and accom- plished ladies of the court, and w r ho was in the house- hold of the princess Anne, in whose service she long continued, and acted a very conspicuous part in the subsequent scenes of her reign. . In a short time after he had strengthened his influ- ence by this connection, he was raised to the dignity of the peerage, by the title of Lord Churchill of Eymouth, in Scotland. On the accession of James, whose una- bated favour he enjoyed, his lordship was sent ambas- sador to France, to notify this event, and was continued in all his posts. On his return, he assisted at the coro- nation ; and, as a farther pledge of royal regard, was created a peer of England, in May 1685, by the title of baron Churchill of Sandridge. . A'month after this new accession of honour, being then brigadier-general of his majesty's forces, he was sent into the west, under the earl of Feversham, to sup- press the duke of Monmouth's rebellion. This business he accomplished with celerity and success, and his re- ceptios DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 303 ception at court was in proportion to the service which he had performed. There is good reason for supposing that lord Churchill from this time saw the intention of the deluded James to awe the nation tyy a standing force, and to subvert their dearest liberties; but neither grati- tude to an indulgent master, nor the allegiance to his sovereign, could overcome the paramount duty which he owed to his country. Though it is probable that the struggle between the partial attachment to his mas- ter, and the higher obligations of conscience, was long and severe, his lordship was guilty of no mean compli- ances; and when he saw too plainly that his devoted master was rushing to ruin, notwithstanding the remon- strances of his best friends, he joined in the memorial transmitted to the prince and princess of Orange; which invited them to rescue the British nation from popery and slavery. James, however, continued to place such confidence rn lord Churchill, that, on the landing of the prince of Orange, he gave him the command of a brigade of 5000 men ; nor would he listen to any insinuations against his favourite, though the earl of Feversham had drop- ped an intimation of the suspected disaffection of his mind. In this dilemma, in which a wise man would hesitate and a good man feel some difficulty how to act, lord- Churchill acquitted himself with his usual prudence and address. Animated by the'' purest patriotism, though with all the honourable feelings of personal attachment to James 5 he singly went over to the prince of Orange, and trans-> mitted a letter to the king, which shews the conflict v.hich he had undergone between his love an4 : his duty. In this he paint3 the necessity that his consciense im- posed on him of acting contrary to his visible interest and his former allegiance ; and, with a delicate hand* points 304 JOHN" CHURCHILL points to the causes which had led to this important catastrophe. . That lord Churchill was actuated solely by a sense of duty, and entertained the highest ideas of honour, is ap- parent from this circumstance : he betrayed no trust, he carried oif no troops, and gave notice of his allegi- ance being dissolved, before he entered on a new service. William appreciated his merits as they deserved, and received him with open arms. He invested him with the rank of lieutenant-general; and not only was he in- debted to the military services of this accomplished officer, in the reduction of Cork and Kinsale, but in a Tcry essential degree to his influence, and that of his Jady with the prince and princess of Denmark, who had also revolted from the standard of tyranny, and hailed the banners of liberty. As soon as the government was settled on a new basis, lord Churchill was sworn of the privy-council, made^ one of the gentlemen of the bed-chamber, and created earl of Marlborough. Soon after the coronation, his Majesty being obliged to fight for the support of his crown in Ireland, ap- pointed the earl of Marlborough commander in chief of the English forces in Holland. In the battle of WaL- court, fought August 15, 1689, he gave such extraor- dinary proofs of military genius, that the prince of WaL deck publicly declared " he saw more into the art of war in a single day, than some generals in many years." Cn this occasion he laid the solid foundation of his fame among foreigners, which he afterwards spread to the confines of the globe. King William, a warrior also himself, and an excellent judge of merit, was pleased to compliment him by saying, ** that he knew no man so fit for a general who had seen so few campaigns." Yet, notwithstanding his shining talents and his re-* scent services, it was his fate to experience the v ersatility of DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 305 of a court. In 1691, he was suddenly stript of all his employments ; and some vile conspirators taking advan- tage of his disgrace, on a false charge of treason he was committed to the Tower, with several x)ther noblemen. This allegation was so palpably false, that he was quick- ly liberated, and the miscreants who had advanced it were, in the sequel, condemned to the pillory ; but his lordship still remained under a cloud, though no proba- ble reason can now be assigned for it, unless it was in- teresting himself too warmly in favour of the princess Anne, whom their majesties wished to keep in a state of dependence. After the death of queen Mary, King William and the princess entertained more amicable sentiments for each other, and the earl of Marlborough was not only recalled to the privy council, but appointed governor to the young duke of Gloucester, with this high compliment from the king, " Make him but what you are, and my nephew will be all I wish to see him." In this honour- able office the earl acquitted himself to the entire satis- faction of all parties ; but the young prince being cut off ill the eleventh year of his age, in him ended all hopes of seeing a protestant successor in the family of Stuarts : and by the act of succession the crown reverted, after the death of his mother, to the'illustrious house of Hanover. * The earl of Marlborough was soon after called to a more public employ, being appointed commander in chief of the English forces in Holland, and ambassador extraordinary to the United States. The scene now be- gan to open which displayed his talents in their full lustre, and crowned him with never-fading laurels. Philip, a grandson of the house of France, united to the Interest, directed by the policy, and supported by the arms of that crown, was placed on the throne of Spain. Kin^ William beheld this formidable coalition of two 305 JOHN CHURCHILL, great, and once rival, monarchies, with jealous appr^ hension. " At the close of a life spent in supporting the liberties of Europe, he saw them in the greatest danger; and provided for their security in the most effectual manner, by recommending the earl of Marlborough to the princess Anne, as the most proper person to command the army which was to support the balance of power, and prevent the fetters of slavery from being ri vetted on Europe. After concerting measures with the States, who also appointed him captain-general of their forces, with a liberal salary, war was declared on the 4th of May, 1702: and the earrof Marlborough opened the cam- paign. To detail the illustrious aftions of this great general during the space of ten years, would be to write the his- tory of Europe for that period; and no summary can convey any adequate idea of their importance. History has recorded the triumphs of Marlborough in indelible characters, and the consequences resulting from the terrors which his arms inspired are, perhaps,- felt at this very day; they vie with those of Alexander and Caesar; but as their objects were very different, so is their praise more glorious. As an earnest of gratitude for his transcendent ser- vices, he was, in 1702, created Marquis of Blandford, and duke of Marlborough ; and after the battle, of Blen- heim, which was fought with unparalleled bravery and success, on the 2d of August, 1704, the queen, with the concurrence of parliament, granted him the manor of Woodstock with all its appurtenant royalties, to be far ever'holden by the tenure of tendering to the queen, her heirs and successors, on the anniversary of the day on which the vi&pry was achieved, at the castle of Windsor, 46 a standard with three fleurs-de-lys painted thereon. 5 ' Orders were likewise issued to the comptroller of the v# queen'* DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 307 queen's works to erect a magnificent palace for the duke, which received the appellation of Blenheim, and which remains a splendid memorial of national gratitude and munificence to the hero who had dejf jrved so well of his country. But, though the actions of the duke of Marlborough, performed in the compass of a few years, were sufficient to ad urn the annals of ages ; though by him the glory of Britain was raised to such a height as might for ever have secured his own, he experienced, in the end, that opposition at home which rendered his situation irk- some, and paid the tax in full, which envy and malice are sure to lay on exalted worth. His most glorious exploits, his best views and designs, were misrepresented by a faction, who wished, at any rate, to supersede his influ- ence ; and who at last succeeded in dispossessing the duke's friends of that controul in the administration which was necessary to confirm his operations, and sup- port the glory which he had acquired. The people, too, intoxicated with victory, became languid in support of the war, and by degrees grew cla- morous for peace. Negociations were set on foot more than once; but the enemy, though bleeding at every pore, and seeing their very vitals in danger, trusted to discordant councils in the British cabinet for better terms, and on the removal of the duke from his high command, for a change of fortune. The private pique and the mercenary aims of a party co-operated with the wishes of the French court, and gave confi- dence to their hopes. A treaty of pacification was ! begun on a basis which the duke of Marlborough could ; not approve ; as neither promising permanent security ; nor advantages proportionate to our victories : he nobly avowed his sentiments to her majesty, adding, that, as he could not concur in the measures of those who nor directed her councils, he would not distract them by a * fruitless SOS JOHN CHUCIIILI^ fruitless opposition ; but being attacked in the house of lords on the charge of having protracted the war from interested motives, he vindicated his conduct with such dignity and spirit, such pathos and energy, that admi- nistration strained every nerve to procure his dismission from all his employments, which in the sequel they ef- fected, to their own disgrace, and the essential injury of of the country. Abandoned by the queen, assailed by the clamours of the populace, and traduced by hired libellers, who are ready to espouse the cause of any ministry, and to insult where they can escape with impunity, his Grace thought proper to retire, and to gratify his enemies by a volun- tary exile. So little dependance can be placed on popu- lar applause, so little is the highest merit regarded when the fluctuating tide of opinion begins to change, that a bad man may meet with acclamations where he deserves censure, and a good man hisses where he is entitled to praise. The duke of Marlborough was too well ac- quainted with life to expect unalloyed satisfaction or unvarying favour in a public station. He knew that in proportion to a person's exaltation will be the pro- bability of his future depression; and that the more signally he is distinguished, the more he will be envied or traduced. He quitted the scene of contention and of temporary ingratitude, with the same heroic firmness which he had displayed when combating the enemies of his country, and landing at Ostend, was received every where, both in Germany and Flanders, with the loudest plaudits, and every honour due to his rank and character. On this occasion he visited the principality of Mindelheim, which had been conferred on him by the emperor, but was afterwards restored to the elector of Bavaria, by the treaty of Rastadt. . His most virulent opponents being now freed from apprehension by his absence, gradually lost their fury, .• v and DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. 30Q and softened into candour. The peace which had been concluded was far from restoring harmony among the queen's servants, and it is said, that part of them enter- ed into negotiations with the duke to induce his return, in hopes of benefiting by his assistance in extricating them from the difficulties in which they were involved. Certain it is, that his Grace, having spent nearly two years on the continent, entered London, three days after the queen's demise, and was received with all possible demonstrations of joy. On the arrival of King George I, he was distinguished in a manner equal to his high deserts, and the. munifi- cence of a sovereign who knew how to appreciate them. He was restored to all the principal commands with which he had at any time been invested, and his counsel was of most essential value in crushing the rebellion of 1715. This was the. last effort of his Grace's talents in public affairs. Broken by the fatigues of a laborious military life, and bending under the infirmities natural to declining years, he quitted the busy scene, and spent the remainder of his days in the tranquillity of rural re- tirement. He departed this life at Windsor-lodge, in the seventy- third year of his age, and was interred with the highest solemnities in Westminster abbey; whence his remains were afterwards removed, and deposited in the chapel at Blenheim, where a noble monument by Rysbrack is erected to his memory and that of his duchess. His Grace had the misfortune to lose his son, the marquis of Blandford, while a student at Cambridge. He left, however, four daughters, w T ho intermarried with the best families in the kingdom; and his estates and honours being entailed, by a<5t of parliament on the female line in succession, they are now vested in the descendants of the earl of Sunderland, who married the second daughter, Oa 310 SIR ISAAC NEWTON. On the pedestal of a stately pillar, raised to the ho- nour of his Grace, in Blenheim-park, is a masterly de- lineation of his character and achievements, supposed to be drawn by lord Bolingbroke. We subjoin an ex- tract, as elegant as just. His life indeed, has never been written in a manner which his services demanded, and posterity had a right to expect:. John, duke of Marlborough, The hero, not only of his nation, but his age: Whose glory was equal in the council, and in the field ; Who by wisdom, justice, candour and address, Reconciled various, and even opposite interests, acquired an influence Which no rank, no authority, can give, Nor any force, but that of superior virtue 5 Became the fixed, important centre, Which united, in one common cause, The principal. states of Europe; "Who by military knowledge, and irresistible valou* In a long series of uninterrupted triumphs, Broke the power of France, When raised the highest, when exalted the most : Rescued the Empire from desolation 5 Asserted, and confirmed, the liberties of Europe. SIR ISAAC NEWTON, THE PHILOSOPHER OF THE UNIVERSE. Born 1642— Died 1726. From Ijt/i Charles I. t 12th George JF. Alt. intellectual eye, our polar round First gazing thro% he by the blended power Of gravitation and projection, saw The whole in silent harmony revolve ; From unassisted vision hid, the moons To cheei remoter planets numerous formM, By him in all their mingled tracts were seen. He also fixM our wandering queen of night, Whether §he wanes into a scanty orb, Or, SIR. ISAAC NEWTON. Or, waxing broad, with her pale shadowy light, In a (Soft deluge, overflows the sky. Her every motion clear discerning, he Adjusted to the mutual main, and 'taught Why now the mighty mass of water swells. Resistless, heaving on the broken rocks, And the full river turning, till again The tide revertive, unattracted, leaves A yellow waste of idle sands behind. Then .breaking hence, he took his ardent flight Thro' the blue infinite; and every star, Which the clear concave of a winter's night Pours on the eye, or astronomic tube, Far-stretching, snatches from the dark abyss ; Or such as farther in successive skies To fancy shine alone, at his approach Blaz'd into suns, the living centre each Of an harmonious system, all combinM, And rul\l unerring by that single power Which draws the stone projected to the ground He, first of men, with awful wing pursu'd The comet thro" the long elliptic curve, As round innumerous worlds he wound his way, Till, to the forehead of our evening sky Returned, the blazing wonder glares anew, And o'er the trembling nations shakes dismay. TrT aerial flow of sound was known to him, From whence it first in wavy circles breaks, Till thetouchM organ takes the message in. Nor could the darting beam of speed immense Escape his swift pursuit and measuring eye. Even light itself, which every thing displays, Shone undiscoverM, till his brighter mind Untwisted all the shining robe of day; And, from the whitening, undistinguished blaze, Collecting every ray into his kind, To the charmM eye educM the gorgeous train Of parent colours. First the flaming red Sprung vivid forth; the tawny orange next ; And next delicious yellow 5 by whose side Fell 312 SIR ISAAC NEWTON. Fell the kind beams of all-refreshing green: Then the pure blue, that swells autumnal skies, Etheieal play'd ; and then, of sadder hue, EmergM the deepened indigo, as when The heavy-skirted evening droops with frost; While the' last gleamings of refraded light Died in the fading violet away. These, when the clouds distil the rosy shower, Shine outdistind adown the wat'ry bow, While o'er our heads the dewy vision bends .Delightful, melting on the fields beneath. Thomson's Foemon the death of Newton OF a man whose discoveries embrace nothing less than the universe itself, it cannot be expected of us to give an adequate account. The poet Thomson has, in the most precise terms, and in the fewest words, enumerated his principal, philosophical labours; and we must content ourselves with a rapid sketch of his life and character. If his genius soars above all competition, his amiable qualities invite respect and imitation: we are at once enlightened by his talents and amended by his virtues. Isaac Newton, one of the greatest philosophers and mathematicians that the world ever produced, was de- scended from an ancient family, which had been seated for nearly three centuries on the manor of Wolsthorpe, near Grantham, in Lincolnshire, where this prodigy of science, was born on Christmas-day, 1642. He lost his father while in his infancy 5 but his mother's brother, a clergyman in the vicinity, directed the affairs of the fa- mily for some time, and put the young philosopher to school at Grantham. Having gone through grammati- cal institution, his mother* who was alive, took him home, intending that he should be brought up to occu- py his paternal estate ©f about 1201. per annum, as his an- cestors had done for ages. But fortunately for the world, the peculiar genius of Newtoa began even at this SIR ISAAC NEWTON T . 313 this early age to discover itself. His uncle accidentally found him in a hay-loft working a mathematical pro- blem ; he perceived the impulse of die boy's mind for learning, and judiciously resolved that it should not be diverted from its object. Newton was sent to Trinity college, Cambridge, where the penetrating eye of Dr. Isaac Barrow soon discovered the vast genius of the stu- dent, and their acquaintance ripened into a friendship which was propitious to his progress and his fame. Euclid, who bounds the mathematical attainments of most learners, was scarcely the study of a week to New- ton. With an intuitive clearness of intellect, he un- derstood the deepest problems of that author, almost be- fore he read them. He advanced at once into the • higher regions of geometry ; and it is no less astonishing than true that he had laid the foundation of his two im- mortal works, the Principia and Optics, before he had completed the twenty-fourth year of his age. But such was the steady judgment of Newton, and ^ his amiable diffidence of his own powers, that he was buoyed up by no vanity, nor did he wish to obtrude his discoveries on the public. Satisfied with academic ho- nours, and the applause of a few judges on a subject in which those few were competent to decide, he waved all pretensions to public fame, and examined every part of liis theories with rigorous severity, before he could be induced to submit them to the world. On the resignation of his patron and friend, Dr. Bar- row, he was chosen to fill the mathematical chair, in 1 669, before which period he had discovered the doctrine of fluxions; a doctrine that facilitated his acquaintance with the most sublime parts of geometry. The same year he read a course of optical lectures ; and soon after we find him in correspondence ^with the Royal Society, :to which he communicated some curious observations. The most capital -discoveries have as frequently, been O the 314 SIR ISAAC NEWTON. the result of fortuitous thought, as of patient investiga- tion. A happy incident gives rise to an original idea, and genius pursues it to its remotest consequences, and through all its ramifications. The theory of the uni- verse, which Newton solidly demonstrated, is said to have been suggested by a very trivial circumstance. As the philosopher was sitting alone in a garden, the fall- ing of some apples from a tree led him into a specula- tion on the power of gravity ; that as this power is not sensibly diminished at the remotest distance from the centre of the earth, to which we can rise, it appeared reasonable to conclude the extension of the principle through all matter. By pursuing this train of ideas, and comparing the periods of the several planets with their distances from the sun, he found that, if any power resembling gravity held them in their courses, its - strength must decrease in the duplicate proportion of the increased distance* This enquiry, which afterwards produced the most sublime discoveries, was resumed again and again ; and .every experiment which he tried, and every appearance in nature confirming his theories, in 1687 his "Mathe- matical Principles of Natural Philosophy" were com- pleted and published, under the auspices of the Royal Society. So great was Newton's modesty, that he did not chuse to risque a publication of such high import, without the concurrence of the most learned men in the kingdom; and the event justified hii prudence. The book, at first, was far from meeting with that universal applause which it was one day destined to receive. The pleasing but visionary hypothesis of Des Cartes had then obtained full possession of the world, and Newton's theories were too sublime to be comprehended at once, even by the acutest minds. But no sooner were his prin- ciples understood, than they extorted general assent to their truth j and the voice ;of applause rolled with in- creased SIR ISAAC NEWTON. 315 creased energy and volume over every country where genuine science was diffused. The very same year in which this grand work made its appearance, he proved himself one of the most zea- lous defenders of his alma mater, against the unconsti- tutional attacks of James II. ; and, soon after, was chosen one of its members in the convention parliament. In 1696, by the interest of Mr. Montague, chancellor of the exchequer, who loved and patronised genius, he was appointed warden of the mint ; and, three years after, was raised to be master, which office he retained to the end of his life ; and in which situation he- was of signal service to his country, particularly in the then de- preciated state of the coinage. He now appointed Mr. Whiston his deputy in the professor's chair of ma- thematics at Cambridge, with the full salary ; and soon after -resigned wholly in favour of that able but impru- dent man. In 1703, he was chosen president of the Royal Soci- ety ; and without introducing the slightest reflection on present or past times, it may be affirmed, diat this office was never so respectably filled. He had previously been .elected a member of the Royal Academy of Sciences at Paris ; for the French, notwithstanding the predilection natural to every nation in favour of its own heroes and philosophers, soon relinquished the fanciful philosophy -of their countryman, Des Cartes, for the solid principles of Newton. Since he had first discovered the heterogeneous mix- ture of light, and the production of colours arising thence, much of his time had been employed in perfect- ing, and ascertaining, the theory on which his discovery was founded. In fact, this seems to have been his fa* vourite invention, and he spent no less than thirty years in verifying his own experiments. At last, his " Optics" O 2 appeared 3 1 6 SIR TSA.AC NEWTON. appeared in 1704 ; and, in this science, he stands alto- gether unrivalled and alone. In his fluxions* and his principle of gravity, as applied to the solar system, there had been some •bscure hints from others ; but in dis- secting a ray of light into its primary constituent parti- cles, which then admitted of no farther separation ; in the discovery of the different refrangibility of these par- ticles when thus separated ; and, in short, in the whole arcana of optics which he developed, he was at once the original inventor and the finisher. Together with his " Optics," he published his "Fluxions," which had also long engaged his attention ; and, in fact,. from his aver- sion to literary disputes, he concealed this discovery so long, that Leibnitz attempted to claim the merit of the original invention; but in this he was completely foiled by the zeal and industry of Newton's friends. - Queen Anne, as a testimony of her approbation of his exalted merit, conferred the honour of knighthood on Newton, in 1705 ; and during the reign of George I. lie received the most flattering attentions from Caroline, princess of Wales : who, having a taste for philosophi- cal inquiries, courted his conversation with amiable con- descension, and was often heard to declare, that she congratulated herself on being born in the same age with Sir Isaac Newton. This princess obtained from him a copy of a chrono- logical work, which he had drawn up for his own amuse- ment, but with no design of committing to the press. Probably with a view to the extension of his fame, she allowed a transcript to be taken in confidence ; but the person who had got this treasure surreptitiously printed it in France, and involved our philosopher in some dis- putes, which it had been the whole study of his life to shun. Yet even Newton could not expect the felicity of extinguishing envy before the grave; he felt himself attacked SIR ISAAC NEWTON. 31? attacked more than once ; but the shafts which had beefi aimed at him- generally recoiled on the assailant, or fell pointless to the ground. After enjoying a settled and uniform state of health, the result of temperance and regularity, to the age of eighty, Sir Isaac began to be afflicted with an inconti- nence of urine. This was afterwards found to be in- curable, and the paroxysms of the disorder were some- times so violent, that large drops of sweat followed each other down his face. Under these afflicting circum- stances, the philosopher and the christian were equally conspicuous. Not a murmur escaped his lips : he di- senabled the acutest feelings of pain ; and, in the intervals of ease, displayed all the cheerfulness and good humour which had ever been the constant residents of his br Nature being at last worn out, Sir Isaac resigned his breath in the eighty-fifth year of his age ; and was ho- noured with a splendid funeral, and a monument in Westminster-abbey. The Latin inscription is a model of classic elegance arM nervous precision. It appears that Sir Isaac Newton was of a middling stature, and, towards the decline of life, disposed to cor- pulency. His countenance was venerably pleasing, but discovered little of that penetrating sagacity which marked his compositions. He never had occasion to use spectacles ; and it is said, that he lost only one tooth during his life. In contemplating the various excellencies of his pro- found genius; sagacity, penetration, energy of mind, and diligence, seem to vie with each other, so that it is difficult to say, for which of those endowments he was most conspicuous ; yet, with unaffected modesty, he dis- claimed all singular pretensions to superior talents ; and observed to one of his friends, who was complimenting him on his sublime discoveries, that, if he had done any thing in. science worthy of notice, it was owing to pa- 3 tient 33 8 SIR ISAAC NEWTON. tient industry of thinking rather than to extraordinary sagacity above other men. " I keep," said he, " the subject constantly before me, and wait till the first dawn- Ings open slowly, by little and little, into a full and clear light," Unvarying and unwearied attention, indeed, to any object will in time accomplish great things; but no perseverance, without an uncommon share of origi- nal genius, could form a Newton. His temper is said to have been remarkably mild and equable, and incapable of being ruffted by ordinary ac- cidents. He was such a lover of peace, that he regret- ted whatever disturbed it as the greatest calamity that could befall him. When some objections were started to his theory of light and colours, we find him thus ex- pressing his concern : " I blamed my own imprudence in parting with so real a blessing as my .quiet, to run after a shadow." In short, his magnanimity was such, that he would rather have lost the credit of the most sublime discoveries ever made by man, than have xisqued that tranquillity of mind, which, to a philoso- pher, is certainly the highest charm of life. He spent the prime of his days in those abstruse hv vestigations, which have immortalized his name, under the shade of academic bowsers ; but so little was he tinc- tured with peculiarity of taste or manners, that no sooner was he removed to the mint, than he devoted his chief attention to the duties of his station, and thenceforward regarded mathematics and philosophy only as secondary objects. Happily, however, for his country and man- kind, he had nearly exhausted the subjects of his research, by. what he had previously performed ; and he therefore turned to new avocations with less reluctance. His unaffected modesty was one of the most remark- able traits in his extraordinary character \ and seldom do we find eminent worth or genius without a consider- able share of this fascinating quality. He put himself on SIR ISAAC NEWTON. 3 1 Q on a level with every company. No singularities, na- tural or affected, distinguished him from other men y and the sharp eye of censoriousness could never charge him with the vanity of presumed superiority. Though attached tQ the church of England, he was averse to persecution of any kind. In his correct and enlightened sentiments, the schismatics were the vicious and die profane. Yet this liberal mode of thinking did not arise from any predilection' for natural religion: oa the contrary, he was deeply and seriously impressed with the truth of revelation, and he studied the Bible longer, and with more intense application, than any 7 other book. Sir Isaac was economical and frugal from principle,. but he was^guilty of no meanness in accumulating wealth ; nor are there wanting instances of his genero- sity, when fortune had put it in his power to be liberal* When circumstances required it, he indulged in expence with a good grace 5 but he had no taste for that osten- tatious sort of magnificence, which little minds think indicative of importance. He wanted no external shew to set offhh solid merit ; and his character being really great, he had no affectation of appearing wiser or bet- ter than other men. Sir Isaac Newton never entered into the matrimonial state ; nor, perhaps, had he leisure to think of love , During the prime of his years, he was immersed in those abstracted speculations in which the passions have little share ; and he was afterwards engaged in an important employment, and sufficiently taken up with company ; so that he appears scarcely to have felt the want of do- mestic endearments. Indeed, a person who would pur- sue his studies, on occasions, three hours after his dinner was on the table, or sit for as long a time half undressed on going to bed or getting up in the morning, his mind wholly absorbed in speculation, would have found ma- O 4f trimony 820 • SIR ROBERT WALPOLE. trimony an incumbrance. In fact, it has been said, that his exemption from the entanglements of love, and from a taste for wine, was the great secondary means of his successful attainments in knowledge. SIR ROBERT WALPOLE, EARL OP ORFORD. Born 16.7£— Died 1745. From 2bth Charles 11. to 18th' George IT. THEPvE must surely be some latent fascination hi power, " to vulgar souls unknown ;" else, where is the man who would be ambitious to support the of- fice of prime minister for the space of twenty years ; harassed by its duties, absorbed in political intrigues, exposed to the malignity of opponents, and often tra- duced by -his country for perhaps 'really prudent and meritorious services ? The subject of the following pages made a conspicuous figure in the councils of two sove- reigns, and long directed the machine of state ,~ he ap- pears, however, neither to deserve all the panegyric that has been lavished- on him by his friends, nor all the ob- loquy that has been aimed at him by his enemies. The family of Robert Walpole had flourished for ages in the county of Norfolk, and was of considerable note; but he increased its honours with many splendid addi- tions. He was born at Houghton, and educated on the foundation at Eton ; whence he was elected to King's college, Cambridge. We have no memorials of his ju- venile days that deserve enumeration : he appears to have been as much indebted to his good fortune, as to his extraordinary talents, for the distinctions which he acquired. In the twenty-sixth year of his age, he was returned to SIR ROBERT WALPOLE. 311 to parliament for King's Lynn,* in Norfolk, and repre- sented that borough for a number of years. He had not been long a member of the house of commons, be- fore his popular and plausible species of eloquence at- tracted notice ; for we find that in 1705 he was appoint- ed one of the council to his royal highness George, prince of Denmark, lord high admiral of England ; and afterwards made successively secretary at war, and trea- surer of the navy. When an impeachment gave Dr. Sacheverel a degree of celebrity which his talents would never have acquired, Walpole was chosen one of the managers to make good the articles against him ; and among the rest he received the thanks of the house for his services. A change of administration taking place in 1710, he was removed from all his posts ; and next year, on ac- count of his attachment to the great duke of Marlbo- rough, and his opposition to the tory ministry, he was charged with corrupt practices while secretary of Avar, voted guilty of a high breach of trust, expelled the house, and committed to the Tower. The object of his enemies, however, in passing this sentence on him, was more probably to disgrace Walpole in the eyes of the nation, than to secure the ends of public justice. The whigs considered him as a martyr in their cause, the borough of Lynn re-elected him, and persisted in its choice. The more he was depressed, the more popu- lar he became ; and he exerted his eloquence on some important occasions in such a manner as to rivet tho affections of the people. On the death of the queen, the whig party trmmpietf, and the known zeal of Walpole in favour of the Hano- verian succession, added to his abilities as a speaker, pointed him out to the regard of George I. immediately on his accession. Accordingly he was made paymastci to the army, and sworn a privy-counsellor. 5 When 322 SIR ROBERT WALPOLE. When a new parliament was convened, the conduct of the last ministry was one of the first objects of animad- version. A committee of secrecy was chosen, of which Walpole was constituted chairman; and, under his ma* nagement, articles of impeachment were voted by the commons against Oxford, BolingbrOke, Ormond, and Strafford, who had been the chief promoters of a peace, which the nation considered as very inadequate in its terms to the brilliant successes of the war. Walpole's services in this affair, which savoured, however, pretty strongly of party spleen, were so generally acceptable, that he soon rose to be first lord of the treasury and chancellor of the exchequer. Notwithstanding the peacemakers had been removed from their stations, and Bolingbroke, reputed the most eminent in talents, had fled to avoid the storm, unani- mity did not long prevail in the new councils. The in- fluence of secretary Stanhope and his adherents appear- ed to preponderate over that of Walpole, and the weight of the latter was gradually decreasing in the scale of ad- ministration. He felt the slippery ground on which he stood, and began to look about him with the crafty vi- gilance of a courtier. In April, 1717* Mr. Secretary Stanhope delivered a royal message to the house of commons, demanding an extraordinary supply, the object of which was obviously to secure some new purchases in Germany from the at- tacks of Charles Xli. of Sweden, out of whose hands they had originally been wrested. The secretary having moved that this supply should be granted, a long and impassioned debate took place, in which Walpole was observed to keep a profound silence. He knew that the country or independent members considered this pro- ceeding as contrary to the act of settlement, and by ta- citly joining with the strongest side, he hoped to gain the ascendancy over his rivals in office, without actually offending SIR ROBERT WALPOLE; 323 offending his majesty. This temporizing policy, how- ever, he was not permitted to observe. In the course of the debate some of the members, who were hostile to the supply, noticed the apparent division among his ma- jesty's ministers. Walpole felt himself committed, and spoke in favour of the motion, which at last was carried by a majority of only four votes* A man, less versed in the intrigues of courts than Walpole, must have now foreseen, that with so slender a majority,, no British ministry could stand its ground- He therefore took the wisest alternative, and resigned, that he might retain some credit with the popular party ; but merely, as it afterwards appeared, with the view of -being restored with greater plenitude of power. Fac- tious movements, like these, are not unfrequent ; yet in every age, how many dupes, are there to such deceptions t~ On the very day of his resignation, Walpole brought in the famous sinking-fund bill, which has since been so often perverted to purposes different from its original destination* that till within these few years it has proved a nuisance rather than a benefit to the nation*. Under the auspices of Mr. Pitt, it bids fair to redeem this country from a load of debts and taxes, and will be a splendid monument of his abilities and perseverance, to which posterity will look with veneration* In the debates on this bill, tjie contest became so warm between Walpole and Stanhope, that on some severe ex- pressions from the latter, the former lost his usual happy command of temper, and retorted with great warmth* The ^acrimony on both sides betrayed circumstances which it would have been for the credit of each to con- ceal ; on i /hkh a member,' with poignant irony, observed* <* that he was sorry to see those two great men fall foul ©Fone another; however," said he, " since they have* by mischance, discovered their nakedness, we ought, ac- O 6 cording 324 SIR ROBERT WALPOLE. cording" to the custom of the east, to conceal it, by turn- ing our backs upon them." In the next session of parliament, Walpole affected to be the flaming patriot, and was the determined opposer of administration in every thing. He could see no me- rit in any measure that militated against his own ambi- tion for place; and, as the ministry had stood longer than he imagined, he now exerted all his powers of eloquence to render himself formidable, or to effect their fall. The lure of office, however, being holden out to his view, he softened his tone, and the courtier began to un- mask his real character. Walpole was again, appointed paymaster of the forces, and several of his friends were likewise promoted. His conversion was now sincere, and henceforward he pleaded as strongly in defence of ministerial measures as he had formerly impugned them. His new-born zeal facilitated his accession to the high- est summit of power. He was again appointed first lord of the treasury and chancellor of the exchequer; and when the king visited the continent in 1723, he was nominated one of the lords justices, and sworn sole se- cretary of state. About this time too he deceived ano- ther mark of royal favour, in the elevation of his son to a peerage, while he himself was made knight of the bath, and soon after knight of the garter ! Such an" accumulation of honour and emolument upon one family, with a rapidity almost unexampled, naturally excited envy or dissatisfaction ; and, as the measures of Sir Robert's administration were often no- vel and bold, the press teemed with violent invectives against him. But the equanimity of his mind preserved him from feeling their envenomed force, and the well- disciplined parliamentary phalanx, by which he was supported, maintained him, in spite of all opposition, in SIR ROBERT WALPOLE. 325 in the office of premier, through a period, of which, in point of duration, our annals furnish few parallel exam- ples. To enter into the principles of his conduct, and to ap- preciate his merits and defects, for the space of twenty years, cannot be expected in any limited work. To impartial history be it left, to discern truth through the exaggerations of political friendship, and the misrepre- sentations of political enmity. Sir Robert Walpoie has been branded as the father of corruption. That he was the first minister who exer- cised undue influence, cannot he allowed; but he, per- haps, deserves the censure of rearing and reducing it into a system. When there is so little pure virtue in private life, why, alas! should we expect it in public, where the temptations are so much greater and more numerous ? Far be it from us to advocate, as some have done with the grossest effrontery, the cause of political venality and corruption ; yet we would not willingly think every man who serves his country for emolument, wholly lpst to the calls of a generous patriotism, or like- ly to sacrifice its interest to a pension, a place, or a bribe, if any momentous and eventful crisis should take place. After long directing the helm cf state, Sir Robert Walpoie was at last driven from power, by intrigues not more deep, but more powerful than his own. In 174*2, finding that he was no longer able to carry a ma- jority in the house of commons, he resigned all his places, and fled for shelter behind the throne. After much difficulty and opposition, the commons agreed that a committee should be appointed to enquire into the conduct of the fallen minister ; but the investigation, to which this was intended to lead, was rejected by the house of lords : and the two houses being at variance on this account, his majesty, in order to screen his old servant, was obliged to prorogue the parliament. Meanwhile 326 SIH ROBERT WALPOLE. ^ Meanwhile he was created earl of Orford, and receiv- ed a pension of 40001. a year, in consideration of his long and faithful services. The people, however, con- tinued loud in their cry for vengeance ; and an ineffectual attempt was made next session of parliament, to revive the proceedings against him. At last the ferment sub- sided : and Orford retired to domestic privacy and peace, which, from the serenity of his natural temper, he seem- ed eminently qualified to enjoy. Whatever objections may have been alleged against his ministerial conduct, his private character was universally allowed to be re- plete with amiable and benevolent qualities. He was the fond indulgent parent, the kind master, the benefi- cent patron, the firm friend, and the agreeable compa- nion. It was impossible not to love the man, however the premier might be censured and reprobated - % and yet we do not conceive that he was more culpable in his public character, than many other great men, who have: since steered the vessel of state. The compliment which Pope pays this celebrated, statesman in reply to one of his friends, who bids him go? and see Sir Robert, will be more durable than the monu- mental brass, and shews his estimable private worth; Seen him 1 have, hut in his happier hour Of social pleasure, ill exchanged for pow'r j Seen him,, uncumbex'd with the venal tribe,, Smile without art, and win without a bribe.. Lord Orford did not long survive his resignation* Mankind in general look forward to the calm of? declin- ing life with complacency and satisfaction ; but the am* bitious mind, inured to the bustle of business or intrigue* is seldom happy in the shade. The creatures, of habit* we pine for the gratifications which we have lost ; and at the close of our days we find it too late to form new connections, and to cater for new pursuits* When life is once planned into method, and established in principle, every EARL OF STAIR. 32/ every deviation gives us pain, and every change, how- ever much it may flatter in prospect, is sure to disappoint us in possession. Happy is he who can early sit down content, nor ever heaves a sigh for change ! JOHN DALRYMPLE, EARL OF STAIR. Bora 1673— Died 1747. From 24 ^ Charles II. to 20th George T. SOME men dazzle for a time by a specious lustre, but suddenly glide like an unsubstantial meteor from our sight. Others, with qualities fitted to adorn the highest stations, being cramped in their energies and confined to a narrow sphere, cast, like the glow-worm, a feeble light, which is noticed only by near observers. It was, however, the happier fortune of lord Stair to possess those talents and virtues which are honourable and useful to his kind, and to be called to the discharge of duties which made them appear to the best advan- tage. Born to high rank, and invested with great com- mands, he reflected more honour on place and title than he received ; and v/as not only the idol of his own times, but will be a theme of applause to all posterity. As a hero, a politician, and a man, he exhibited an example of all that is great and good; so that he may safely be holden up as a model of imitation to future ages, as well as the ©rnament of his own. This accomplished ncbleman was the eldest son of the first earl of Stair. Even when an infant he displayed his ruling passion, the love of military glory. He mus- tered a regiment of boys of his own age, which he called by his own name; and in a short time he rendered them so perfect in such evolutions as suited his youthful fancy, that his future heroism and success might even 7 then 328 JOHN BALRYMPLE, then have been presaged by a penetrating eye. Warm- ed with the enthusiasm of virtue, and possessing a mag- nanimity beyond his years, he shewed his aversion to whatever was dastardly or mean in his associates, and encouraged in them whatever was manly and decorous. By the age often he had made astonishing progress in the learned languages, under a private tutor ; the French of course became an easy acquisition. At four- teen years of age he had run through the usual routine of academic studies at the university of Edinburgh ; and was equally distinguished for his natural and ac- quired accomplishments. But although his predilection for a military life had displayed itself so early, his father at first intended him for the law; and this affords a strong example of the strange inattention in parents to the bias of their chil- dren's minds. There are many indeed, who may, with- out violence, be put to any profession, because they have no particular aptitude or inclination for one rather than another: but, when the genius seems to have an original and honourable direction, it is worse than folly to attempt an alteration. The earl of Stair, however, was not one of those parents who will not recede from a preconceived idea : he at once yielded to the importunity of his son, and sent him, while still a boy, into Holland, where he initiated himself in the study of arms, under that excellent commander, William, prince of Orange ; who testified for the young hero both the respect due to his promising talents and the affectionate tenderness of a father. Here he made a rapid progress in fortification and gunnery, and in various modern languages, which he afterwards spoke with purity and fluency. Here, too, he inhaled that spirit of liberty and independence, which he afterwards breathed in every air, and displayed in every action. About EARL OF STAIR. 32() About the era of our glorious Revolution, he returned to his native country ; and, through his eloquence and his address, drew over numbers tothe cause of William, by his pathetic representation of what the protestants. suffered on the continent, and the dangerous ambition of the house of Bourbon, All were charmed with his manners and his sentiments ; a»d almost all who heard or beheld him, became converts to his principles. William was not unmindful of his youthful zeal ; he took him in his service to Ireland, where he displayed the greatest personal resolution ; and, in the beginning of 1691, he accompanied his royal master to Holland. The reception which Dalrymple found here was flat- tering in the extreme ; he was caressed by all ranks : and soon after received a colonel's commission; nor was it long before he had an opportunity of particularly dis- tinguishing himself in the glorious but unsuccessful bat- tle of Steenkirk, fought in 1692. All the officers be- haved well, but Dalrymple performed prodigies of va- lour. He rallied his regiment, after the ranks had been broken by the enemy's artillery, and stopped their pur- suit, till the rest of the brigade had time to form. From this time nothing remarkable occurs in the life of colonel Dalrymple till 1702, when he^appeared again at the head of his regiment, in Flanders, under the victo- rious duke of Marlborough; he served in most of his Grace's campaigns, and by his military genius, his un- shaken fortitude, and amiable manners, won the regard and esteem of that great commander. It is impossible to do justice to the achievements of Dalrymple, in a long series of the most brilliant actions and successes, crowded into so narrow a space of time. Suffice it to say, that scarcely any memorable affair took place in which he did not participate, and bear away his full share of glory. When the duke of Marlborough returned home, m 1709, 330 JOHN DALRYMPLE, 1709, he introduced colonel Dalrymple to her majesty, with the most liberal encomiums on his services : and his father dying soon after, the queen, as a reward for his military services, and a trial of his political talents, sent the young earl of Stair ambassador-extraordinary to Augustus II. king of Poland ; who, charmed at least, if not influenced by his lordship's amiable ' qualities, heartily entered into all die measures of the allies, which the ambassador was commissioned to recommend and enforce. After residing four years at the Polish court, with honour to himself and advantage to his country, he was recalled ; and the political friends, with whom he was connected by every tie of gratitude and esteem, being displaced, he was involved in their fate. On this occa- sion, his native integrity was proved beyond a doubt ; so little had he regarded his individual interest, that he had contracted a considerable debt ; and his plate and equipage would have been seized, had it not been for the generous interference of his countryman, lieutenant Lawson, who offered him a sum of money to redeem them. The gratitude of the earl of Stair to this gentle- man ever after, was as honourable as the friendship which he had experienced. He now retired to a country life, but was not long doomed to inglorious inactivity. On the accession of George I. he was appointed one of the lords of the bed- chamber, sworn of the privy-council, and soon after made commander-in-chief of the forces in North Britain. His influence in his native country was so great, that he rendered the highest service to the ministry in the re- turns to the new parliament that met in 1715, and was himself elected one of the sixteen peers. At this crisis, an ambassador of genius, fortitude, penetration, and ad- dress, was peculiarly wanted at the court of Versailles, and the earl of Stair was pitched on as the person who possessed EARL OF STAIR.. 331 possessed all those qualities in an eminent degree; and, indeed, the high expe<5tations entertained of him were amply gratified. Though lord Stair had to counteract the policy of the most intriguing court on earth, he de- veloped its latent designs with so much sagacity, and contended for the interests of his country with so little fear, that he was no less respected than dreaded by the French government. He dived into the deepest councils ©f jLouis and the Pretender, and frustrated their designs, in general, before they were ripe for execution. On the death of the king of France, he intimidated the regent to such a degree by a very spirited memorial, that the latter reludtantly withdrew the promised assistance to the Pretender; and the puny efforts to excite a rebellion in Scotland came to nothing. As a negociator the earl of Stair attracted a deserved notice, and shone unrivalled in his day. His disinte- rested character gave force to his remonstrances, and his high spirit would not brook chicanery or delay. He supported the honour and dignity of his country with a boldness that, in ordinary men, would have been deemed insolence or rashness. When the duke of Orleans, regent of France, came in great state to visit him, and had set one foot on the ground, but kept the other fixed on the step of the coach, lord Stair, who advanced, observing this posture, halted, and demanded of the at- tendants on his highness, M if his master came to visit him as his Britannic majesty's ambassador, or as earl of Stair !" Receiving no answer, he added, " if he comes to see lord Stair, 1 shall reckon it my greatest honour ta receive any officer of the crown, much more the duke regent, at the door of his coach ; but, if he comes to visit the ambassador of my august and royal master, 1 should deem myself unworthy of the trust reposed in me f if I went a step farther than I have done." This being reported to die regent, he drove away, and 332 JOHN DALRYMPLE, and caused it to be notified to his excellency, that hi* appearance at court would be dispensed with. For some months this coolness continued ; but the earl hear- ing of some naval equipments, which could not be looked at with indifference, forced his way to an audi- ence ; and argued with so much spirit, and shewed such „ an intimate knowledge of the most secret designs in the different courts of the continent, that the regent was forced into a confession of some very deep and extensive machinations against the tranquillity of-Britain. In short, his abilities had such an ascendancy over the regent before he left France, that his highness -being once publicly asked, what part he would take in the troubles of the north, answered, " just what the British ambassador pleases." Nor was he less acceptable to the people in general ; he was benevolent and charita- ble, and endeared to the lower ranks by his splendor and hospitality. Indeed the honour of his country had ever been the ruling motive of the earl of Stair. He had involved himself considerably in debt, in supporting his high character at the French court ; and, being unwilling to contract the scale of his magnificenee, he solicited and obtained his recall. The king, however was so well pleased with the conduct of his ambassador, that he de- clared he would have created him a duke, had not the law of the union opposed it, and evinced such' a sense of his fidelity that no eulogium could go beyond it. The people on the other hand, echoed back the praises of their sovereign, and every voice resounded with ap- plause., The favour of George I. remained unabated to the last ; and, on his late majesty's ascending the throne, he was received into the same confidence. In .addition to the other honourable posts which he held, he was made lord admiral of Scotland in 1730 ; but no blandishments could divert him from what he consi- dered EARL OF STAIR. 333 dered as his duty to his country : and, when the plan of an excise was first brought into parliament by Sir Robert Walpole, he was one of those who opposed it on the purest principles ; and soon after, resigned all his places. Yet he shewed no hostility against the mi- nister : and on every occasion behaved with a modera- tion suitable to the dignity of his character. Disencumbered of office, his lordship now betook himself to the practice of agriculture ; and by the im- provements which he introduced, was no less beneficial to his country than when in his proudest exaltation. He was still visited and caressed by all who were esti- mable in worth, celebrated for talents, or dignified by rank. In urbanity, and colloquial fascination, he had no equal ; and the excellent qualities of his heart were correspondent to the brightest display of his acquired accomplishments. While employed in rural pursuits, a change of minis- try took place ; a war was on the eve of breaking out, and his lordship was again invited into the service of his country. With the approbation of every good sub- ject, and of every true Briton, he was, in 174??* made field-marshal of his majesty's forces, and ambassador- ex traordinary and plenipotentiary to the States-general. The king now, emancipated from the councils of Wal- pole, received him with a degree of tenderness and af- fection, which convinced every spectator how much he esteemed him : and soon afterwards sent him to Hol- land, where his eloquence and arguments had so much weight with their High Mightinesses, that they were not tardy in adopting the views of the British court. To enumerate every praise-worthy action of this great general and .politician, would swell this article to an improper length. At the successful battie.qf Dettingen, where he commanded in chief, he shewed the same un- shaken courage, spirit, and intrepidity, as had adorned 2 ' his 334 EARL OF STAIH. his youthful years ; but finding active service too heavy at this season of life, he petitioned soon after to resign, and resumed his rural occupations with fresh delight. However, on the breaking out of the rebellion in 1745, he repaired to court, and made a tender of his services, which were gladly accepted. He accompanied the duke of Cumberland to Edinburgh, and assisted his operations. This was the last public service which he was able to perform. His health gradually gave way, or, rather, age asserted its sovereign sway over his con- stitution, and in May, 1747, he breathed his last. The patrician youth, whose bosom beats high for glory, and who view's her temple within his reach, will contemplate the character of field-marshal the earl of Stair w r ith emulation and delight ; while those whose prospects are more limited, may copy this illustrious pattern in all the virtues of his heart, with pleasure and advantage. Equally fitted for camps or courts, he shone in both with distinguished lustre. His honour was unimpeached, and his veracity would admit no compromise with deception. He was great without pride, just without rigour, and bountiful without osten- tation. His soul melted at distress, and his hand was ever open to relieve merit, or his favour to raise and cherish it. In a word, he possessed accomplishments and virtues which dignify human nature, exalted his country, and benefited his king. In person, he was above the ordinary stature, but graceful and handsome to an uncommon degree. His inien inspired respect ; and on his countenance was im- printed the soft smile of benignity, the emanation of a humane and virtuous heart. Indeed, all the graces of his person were but so many indications of the superior beauties of his mind ; and the love and admiration which he attracted were less paid as compliments to his exalted rank and station, than as a just tribute to his genuine worth and merit. ( 335 ) SIR HANS SLOAN E, Born 1660— Died 1752. From Uth Charles II. to 2btk George II. THOSE who smooth the road to science or lite- rature, and facilitate its acquisition to others, are often more permanently useful than such as are super- eminently learned themselves. The greatest personal or mental acquirements die with the possessors : but those who labour that others may be wise, are a benefit to all posterity. The founders of schools, of colleges, of lectures, and libraries, are^ therefore, entitled to no mean praise ; and their fame deserves to live in the ge- nius which they have excited, the patronage which they have bestowed, and the facilities which , they have af- forded to learning and to knowledge. As an author, Sloane was distinguished for one work only ; " The Natural History of Jamaica ;" as a natu- ralist and physician, he had equals, if not superiors ; but, as the founder of "that noble institution, the British Museum, he claims a niche in the temple of British wor- thies ; nor will we refuse him our humble tribute of ap- plause. Hans Sloane was a native of Killileagh, in the north of Ireland, but of Scotch extraction. The first dawn- ings of intellect discovered a strong propensity to re- searches into the mysteries of nature and the curiosities of art.; and his parents, with a judgment which merits praise, enoourged his taste by a suitable education. Na- tural history was his delight, and by an easy transition, the medical art was adopted as a profession. To per- fect himself in this he repaired to London, the general repository and mart of knowledge, where he attended the public lectures in every branch of science, connected with Jais favourite pursuits* 336 . SIR HANS SLOANE. Though so young a man, and without the recom- mendation of great alliances, he had the felicity to at- tract the notice of the amiable Boyle, and the inquisitive Ray ; the former, one of the greatest experimental phi- losophers that ever lived, the latter, the best naturalist; and botanist of his age. Under the auspices of those gentlemen, Sloane improved his natural abilities, and cultivated his particular taste to a high degree. A si- milarity of pursuits made them friends ; and the young student was not ungrateful for the patronage that he received. Having spent four years in London with unremitted attention to his favourite studies, he was advised to tra- vel for further improvement. The university of Paris, at that time, was distinguished for its eminent profes- sors in every branch of ihe healing art ; and there Sloane determined to become a pupil. Meanwhile he frequented the public hospitals, contradled an acquain- tance with the most distinguished physicians, and every where experienced that reception which is due to sci- ence and to talents. As a candidate for a solid reputation in the first ranks ef his profession, he omitted no opportunity of acquir- ing knowledge; he thought no pains too great that opened a new field of improvement. From Paris he -went, with warm and ample recommendations, to the most illustrious physicians and naturalists at Montpe- lier, a situation peculiarly favourable for botanical re- searches ; and here he spent a whole year in the capti- vating investigation of nature's spontaneous produc- tions. About the close of 1684, Sloane returned to London, where he resolved to settle, and practise as a physician. His fame had preceded him ; and the immortal Syden- ham, a man too great to be tinftured with the meanness of professional jealousy, took him not only under his patronage, SIR RANS SLOANE. 337 patronage, bat his roof, and introduced him with the wannest zeal to his friends. Thus, in superior minds we find a generosity of sentiment which disdains all sel- fish considerations, while grovelling souls are absorbed in private views, and hate tryit excellence which they cannot reach. The compliment paid by Sydenham to the young physician was, no doubt, justly due to his skill and accomplishments; but how few are so fortu- nate as to have their worth allowed, much less blazoned to the world, by professional rivals for honour and emo- lument ! Having transmitted to his friend Ray, a great va- riety of seeds and plants from France, by the influence of that sedulous enquirer into nature, he was proposed as a member of the Royal Society, and received with very flattering tokens of respect. The following year he was elected a fellow of the Royal College of Physi- cians ; and his reputation was now so firmly established, that he might have realized any expectation which h:r. most sanguine wishes could have formed. The ruling passion, however, overcame the love of ease, and the accumulation of riches. The duke of Al- bemarle, who had just been appointed governor of Ja- maica, made overtures to Sloane C accompany him in quality of his physician. This opened a new field to his inquisitive mind : nature had not yet been unveiled in the West Indies, and he panted to be the handmaid of her charms, and to rifle her sweets without a rival. No representations of his friends could prevail on him to relinquish his design of accepting the offer that had beeti made him ; and during the space of fifteen months' residence in Jamaica, his industry in collecting plants was so indefatigable, that he accumulated more than the best botanists of the time imagined to be indigenous in that climate, or, indeed, in both the Indies. The curiosity of Sloane being now fully gratified, and 338 SIR HANS SLOANE. and his reputation crowned with new accessions, he re- turned to London, and resumed his practice ; which was soon as extensive as his abilities were great. Being chosen physician of Christ hospital, he gave an illustri- ous proof of his philanthropy and disinterestedness, by applying the whole amount of his salary to the relief of the most indigent and miserable among the patients of the house. For restoring health to the poor, he thought it mean to reap emolument. Of this beneficent and noble disposition, we find many other instances among the disciples of iEsculapius ; but few occur in any other profession. Being elected secretary of the Royal Society, in 1693, he had the honour of reviving the publication of the *' Philosophical Transactions," which had for some time been intermitted, and greatly enriched the volumes, for many years, with his own original contributions. But an attention to this department of literature did not limit his pursuits. For some years he had employed his vacant hours, if a liberal and cultivated mind can be said to have them, in collecting whatever was rare and curious in nature or art ; and his cabinet was so well filled, that it soon merited the inspection of the learned. Among others who'visited this repository, and respected its ingenious author, was Mr. Couston, a gentleman of fortune, who had spent his time, and a liberal share of his income, in the same pursuits. A congeniality of mind and taste devoted him to Dr. Sloane. Anxious that his own collection, and his name, should be perpe- tuated, he thought he could not better provide for both, than by adding his museum to that of Sloane, and ac- cordingly he bequeathed him the whole. The Slonean cabinet thus became one of the first in Europe ; and the learning, skill, industry, and public spirit of the proprietor seemed to claim some distin- guished honour. Foreigners had duly estimated Dr. Sloane's SIR HANS SLOANE. 33Q Sloane's high merit as a professional man, and a natu- ralist ; and his sovereign was ready to reward it. About J 720, George I. to whom he had been first physician for some time, raised him to the dignity of a baronet. He was likewise appointed president of the college of physicians, and filled the president's chair in the Royal Society, as successor of the immortal Newton. These honours at home were allowed by other nations to be well earned ; Sir Hans Sloane was elected a member of the Royal Academy of Paris ; and his correspondence was courted by almost every learned society in Europe. From this period, Sloane and Mead were the only' two physicians of distinguished reputation in the metro- polis ; and such was the extent of their practice, that they are said to have cleared each about 60001. a year. The one as we have seen, was introduced by Sydenham, and the other by _Radcli£fe ; who, during their own time, divided the iEsculapian honours in the capital. Borne down by weight of years, and laden with ho- nours and opulence, Sir Hans Sloane, in 174-9, retired to Chelsea, to enjoy in peaceful tranquillity, the few- moments of life that were yet to run. He did not, how- ever, court solitude, but only an exemption from the toils of business. He was daily visited by persons of high rank and distinguished literary attainments, whe- ther natives or foreigners. A day was set apart, weekly, for a gratuitous'exhibition cf his museum, and another day was devoted to the relief of the sick poor, to whom Sir Hans was a liberal beuefa&oj during a long and well spent life. From the age of sixteen, this valuable man had been subject to pulmonary complaints, and occasional hy- moptesis ; but by temperance and medicine he over- came this radical infirmity, and reached an uncommon degree of longevity. In January, 1?52, he expired with- out a groan, in the ninety-first year of his age ; posse- F 2 * sei 340 SIR HANS SLOANE. sed of all his faculties to the last, and crowned with ho- nour and glory. In person, Sir Hans was full and well proportioned ; in manners, polished and captivating ; in conversation, sprightly and facetious. As a physician he was remark- ably successful, and deserves great credit for being the first who introduced the free use of that valuable spe- cific, the Jesuit's bark, tried by him, and found effica- cious in a variety of complaints, to which, before his time, it had never been administered. But the best part of his character was his genuine charity and philanthropy. As his abilities to do good increased, so did his disposition. He was a governor of almost every hospital in London, and, besides his post- humous benefactions, he was a generous patron to them during life. He first laid the plan of a dispensatory, where the poor might be supplied with medicines at prime cost ; he presented the apothecary's company with their botanical garden at Chelsea, in the centre of which stands his statue by Rysbrack ; he promoted the .establishment of a foundling hospital, and communi- cated the best instructions for the nutrition of the chil- dren. These are some of his good deeds, which will speak his praise when the marble monument shall moulder into dust, and the statue no longer bear the similitude of a man. Nor was this all ; his library and cabinet, which he had been at so much pains to form and collect, he bequeathed to the public, on condition that the sum of 20,0001. should be paid his family. Large as this sum may appear, it was not half the value of the deposit, and scarcely more than the intrinsic value of the precious metals, stones, and ores, of which the fciuseum alone consisted. This noble collection of curiosities, added to his library of 50,000 volumes, laid the foundation of the British museum ; and parliament, with a liberality which GENERAL WOLFE. 341 which reflects the highest honour on the nation, by sub- sequent purchases, gifts, and bequests, has been enabled to complete the establishment of an institution, whose utility will remain to latest times, and ibrm one of the proudest monuments to British taste and science. MAJOR - GENERAL JAMES WOLFE. Born 1726— Killed 1759. From 12th George I. to 32d George IT. THE energy of a sovereign, or the virtue of a'mi- nister, is easily communicated to a whole nation. Like the electric shock, it is felt to the extremity of the . ie. Each person in contact starts from the torpor of inactivity, and is inspired with resolution to emulate the qualities which he sees honoured and -admired. When talents and virtues are sure of promotion, com- petitors for the prize will never be wanting. Encourage- ment kindles the flame of genius, and the ardour of mi- litary enterprize. The immortal and revered William Pitt, whose eloquence flashed indignation on the cor- rupt and degenerate, and whose plaudits were ever paid to virtue, whose capacious mind embraced every object, and whose spirit proved the shield of his country and the terror of her foes, by his vigorous measures waked a race of heroes into being, and fostered them with pa- ternal care. He sought for merit wherever to be found ; he discovered it sometimes under the cloud of neglect, and sometimes in the shade of obscurity. He called it into action for the honour and service of the public, and reaped a harvest of glory from its success. Among; others whom this penetrating and sagacious statesman armed with the thunders of Britain, was the illustrious subject of the subsequent brief memorial. Sorry we ara that the span of life allowed him was toe short to fur- dish 342 GENERAL WOLFE. nish more numerous incidents ; but all its passages are replete with glory. James Wolfe was the son of a military officer of rank, who had gathered laurels under the duke of Marlbo- rough. He was born at Westerham, in Kent ; but, not- withstanding the brilliant part which he played on the theatre of life, not a circumstance is preserved that can afford the least insight into the habits of his early years. With pleasiire should we have traced the future hero in the pastimes of the boy ; and marked the dawnings of superior intellect in the rude essays of untutored fancy. That Wolfe received a military education, and was destined for the profession of arms, almost from his infancy, can admit of no dispute. Honourable mention is made of his conduct and bravery at the battle of La Feldt, which was fought when he was only in the twen- tieth year of his age. His royal highness the duke of Cumberland recognised his promising talents, and re- warded them by promotion ; but the gradations of his rise are not ascertained. We only lSarn, that during the whole war he went on without interruption, advanc- ing his military character, and carrying off laurels from every contest. Even when he might have reposed in the lap of peace, he disdained ignoble ease, and cultivated the arts of war. He had the honour of introducing, by his example and perseverance, rather than by the exercise of severity, such a perfect discipline into his own corps, that as long as the plains of Minden are remembered, so long will Kingsley^s be mentioned with applause. Of that regi- ment he continued lieutenant-colonel till new hostilities broke forth. He was endeared to his men no less by his affectionate concern for their welfare, than by his personal courage, which had never received the slightest imputation of dishonour. They obeyed his commands item. a higher principle than duty : and little does that officer GENERAL WOLFE. 343 officer consult his glory, or his interest, who trusts to the influence of authority alone. The man may be ruled by force, but the mind can only be gained by respect and love. In 1756, war was- formally declared against France. Its commencement was an uninterrupted series of dis- graces and disappointments, till Mr. Pitt was called to the helm of state. He immediately began his virtuous career by bringing forward men of the most enterpris- ing and active genius, and the tide of success was soon turned by their talents. Wolfe, whose youthful ex- ploits had not been forgotten, and could not be over- looked by a statesman like Pitt, was raised to the rank cf brigadier-general, and put under the command of general Amherst. They were sent against Louisbourg; and Wolfe was employed to cover the debarkation of the troops ; which he effected, amidst a storm of fire from the enemies' batteries, and an impetuous surf, which dashed some of the boats to pieces. Calm and collected, he displayed an energy equal to the occasion : and the conquest of the place was, in a great measure, ascribed to his judgment and his fortitude. Scarcely had he returned from this expedition, when the honourable share which he had borne in it pointed him out as worthy of a higher command.. He was raised to the rank of major-general, and sent to reduce Quebec. The generals who served under him were all young men, whom a less sagacious minister than Pitt would have hesitated to trust ; but he wisely measured abili- ties by another standard than years. Age may inspire prudence, but it is apt to cool enthusiasm, The vete- ran general is more solicitous to prevent disgrace, than to hazard enterprize. Wolfe and his associates, on the other hand, saw glory before them, and they overcame almost insurmountable impediments to pay her the ho- mage of their respects, P4 Here 344 GENERAL WOLFE. Here the abilities and courage of Wolfe shone forth in the fullest lustre. Undaunted by difficulties which would have cooled the ardour of an ordinary man, dis- regarding the strength of situation and superiority of numbers, and even refusing nature the respite which she solicited, as he was suffering under a fever and a flux, he persevered with unwearied judgment and attention to open the way to victory. His military council desponded at the contemplation of their prospects, and the general himself would have been justified in yielding to the pres- sure of unfortunate circumstances ; but he, singly and alone in opinion, projected the plan which was to anni- hilate the French power in America. He did more : he executed it with a success on which the most san- guine could scarcely have presumed. Having gained the heights of Abraham, on which side the city of Quebec was most exposed, he hastened to give the enemy battle, who advanced to the charge with much superior numbers, and in good order. The gallant Wolfe sta- tioned himself in the front of the line, in the hottest point of action. He was early wounded in the wrist, but nei- ther pain nor danger could prevail on him to desert the post of glory. He wrapped a handkerchief round the wound, and continued to give his orders without emo- tion. Advancing at the head of his grenadiers, with bayonets fixed, a ball pierced him through the breast ; and he fell at the moment when the enemy began to give way, and the British arms became triumphant. He was instantly carried to a small distance in the rear : the tide of life was ebbing fast, when he was roused in the agonies of death by the cry, " They run ! they run !"■ Catching the sound, he eagerly asked, u Who run i ,p He had the satisfaction to hear it was the French. In a faultering voice he exclaimed ; " Then, I thank God, I die content :''' and with these words expired. uch was the lamented end of general Wolfe, one -of the GENERAL WOLFE. 345 the most enterprizing and accomplished officers which this nation ever produced. He lived to be the conque- ror of Canada, for the event of that day sealed its fate; but he died too early for his country: and the joy cf conquest was embittered by a reflection, on the dearness of its purchase. A mixture of every passion, that can agitatethe generous heart, attended thisnational triumph. Mr. Pitt, in the house of commons, pronounced the eu- logy of the deceased in such strains of affecting elo- quence, as drew tears from every eye. The minister was absorbed in the better feelings of the man, and he wept at the immortality which he had given. When the body of General Wolfe was brought to Portsmouth, the scene was impressively solemn. Mi- nute guns were fired from the men-of-war at Spithead, from the time the corpse was taken from the ship to its slow landing at the Point. Bodies of military marched down to receive it. It was put into -a herse, and pro* ceeded in funeral pomp through the garrison under arms. During this awful procession, the colours on the fort were struck half flag-staff; the bells were muffled, and toiled in solemn concert with the dead march ; mi* nute guns were fired from the platform, and troops, with armsreversed, preceded and followed the herse. The body was afterwards privately deposited in the family vault at Greenwich church; and a superb national mo- nument was erected to his memory in Westminster-ab- bey, at the expence of four thousand guineas. These were some of the unavailing honours paid to the con- queror of Canada, still a faithful appendage to Great Britain. His name still continues to inspire martial en- thusiasm in the youthful bosom, and to lure the aspiring to the field of glory. But while his public character serves to excite emulation, his private also is entitled to our warm esteem. He seems to have been formed by nature for military P 5 greatness: 340 LORD ANSON. greatness : his constitutional courage was not only uni- form arid daring, but he possessed that higher species of courage, that strength, steadiness, and activity of • mind, which no difficulties could vanquish, nti dangers deter from the pursuit of his own and his country's glory. With a vivacity of disposition, almost bordering on impetuosity, he was subject to no unguarded sallies of passion; and, with a generous independence of mind, he was free from pride. His bounty almost bordered on profusion, and he despised the little arts of gain. It was. his highest gratification to. assist the deserving soldier ; and even the inferior officer in distress has frequently experienced his liberality.. In his attachments he was constant and discriminating ; gentle,, kind, and concili- ating, in his manners. It was the peculiar good fortune of general Wolfe, not only to enjoy a large share of the friendship, but al- most the nniversal good-will, of mankind. He was one of those, who appears to have vanquished envy by the. indisputable superiority of professional talents, and the acknowledged excellence of his heart. This is the most exalted compliment that can be paid to man ; for that cha- racter must be sublime indeed, which Envy and Malice will not venture to attack ! ■ Diram qui contudit hydram, Comperit invidiam supremo fine doniari. Hgh GEORGE, LORD ANSON. Bom 1697— Died 1762. From St/i William III. to 2d George II L A FATALITY attends the best concerted plans of some able men, while a mediocrity of talents, without energy, and almost without effort, not unfre- quently carries away the prize. The prudent must of- ten LORD ANSON. 347 ten combat combined difficulties, which no foresight can avoid ; while the rash and unreflecting escape the dangers which they seem to provoke. But patient for- titude, united to skill and enterprise, will generally • prevail at last ; and fortune, weary of buffet ting- the- brave, will leave them near the haven*. Whoever has read the history of Anson's voyage round the world, will be able to apply some of those, reflections to the particular case of this eminent officer^ who, amidst the most forlorn prospects, did not despond, and whose perseverance and courage were ultimately crowned with proportionate reward. George Anson was the younger son of a very re- spectable family in Staffordshire, and was born at Shuck- borough, in that county. The bias of , his inclination.. led h»m to the naval profession, and his father gave him ■ an education suitable to hm -views- It was his greatest delight to read the. narrations -of voyages, and the illus- trious actions of' admirals, from his earliest years; and thus his genius could not be mistaken, and fortunately, ft was not thwarted.- By the voluntary studies and predominant inclination of children their propensities and genius may be best discovered. Abilities will always perform the-task pre- scribed, whether it be suitable to the taste or not ; but the employment :of the vacant hour should be watched as a sort of the key to the mind ; and parents and tu- tors, with a - moderate "degree of pains, will be enabled, to unlock: the secret of native -predilections. . Of the exploits of Anson, while in the lower rai of naval service,, we know nothing. Wher2 he was stationed, or under whom he served, has -not been trans- mitted to us. That he went through the subordinate stations in the royal navy with credit, and had rendered himself, by his diligenoe, perfectly master of his profes- sion, may be- inferred from this, that in the twenty-fifth, P 6 ' year 348 LORD ANSON. year of his age he was promoted to the command of the Weasel sloop, and soon after obtained the Scarbo- rough man-of-war, in which ship he displayed great in- trepidity and judgment. A long interval of silence, as to his subseqaent destinies, succeeds : a military officer has always the best chance of being noticed when en- gaged in his proper element, a war. About the close of the year 1731, a rupture with 8pain appearing inevitable, government rightly consi- dered that the most effectual step to distress, the enemy was to attack them in their American settlements, and thus cut off their supplies of money, the principle sinew of war. . This plan, so politic, and apparently so very ,praclU cable, suffered various shameful and unaccountable* delays, before it was carried into execution; and, at last, it was attempted on such a contracted scale, and with such an inadequate force, that the marine mi- nisters of that period can in no wise be acquitted, both of negligence and treachery ; notwithstanding which, they were never called to any account for their unpardonable mismanagement. George Anson, esq. then captain of the Centurion, was appointed commodore of a squadron of five ships, destined for the South Seas. The spirit and the diligence of the commander deserved more prompt and efficacious measures, on the part of govern- ment, for the equipment of his fleet ; but ten months elapsed from his appointment oefore he was ready to put to sea, and at last he had the mortification to find, that the small land force with which he was entrusted was fitter for an hospital or a garrison than to be em- ployed in a distant and dangerous expedition, where the vigour of health, added to the experience of arms, was essentially requisite. Nor was this the only disadvan- tage which attended the outset. By the most criminal delays, the enemy were fully apprized of the nature and object LORD Axsoisr. 34Q . :t of tins expedition ; and the season of the year was, oi'all others, the most unpropitiotis for a navigation so little known, and so replete with dangers. commodore, however, though he might be cha- grined, was not dispirited. He set sale on the 18th of September,^ 17^0, in his flag-ship, the Centurion of sixty- guns, with the Severn and Gloucester of fifty guns each, the Pearl of forty guns, the Wager storeship, and the Tryal sloop ; and arrived in the latitude of Cape Horn about the vernal equinox, when the weather in that dreary climate is dreadfully tempestuous. His career was now obstructed by accumulating difficulties, but his resolution was undaunted. With extreme hazard he doubled; that stormy cape in company with the Glou- cester and the sloop. The Severn and Pearl, after va* rious attempts, were under the absolute necessity of put- ting back, and the Wager was lost; which gave rise to Byron's very interesting narrative, a proper appendage to the commodore's voyage. The scurvy also began to make excessive ravages among the ships that were left f but, having refreshed his men and repaired his damages at the fertile but desolate island of Juan Fernandez, with this inconsiderable force he kept the whole coast of Mexico and Peru in continual alarm for eight months, made some considerable prizes, and with great conduct and resolution took possession of the town of Paita; which he, however, afterwards sacked and burned. The humane conduct of Anson to his prisoners made an in- delible impressiQn on the minds of the Spaniards, and he became at once the object of their terror for burn- ing Paita, and or respect for his generous treatment of his prisoners. At length, having lost all his other ships, with the Centurion alone he traversed the immense Pacific Ocean ; and in the course of this long navigation his crew was so much farther reduced, that with the utmost difficulty he 350 LORD ANSON. he reached the isle of Tinian, which had been deserted by the Spaniards a little before, and is described in the history of this voyage as a terrestrial elysium. Amidst the happy sequestered groves of this delightful spot, he refreshed his crew, and fitted them for fresh en- terprizes. But an accident happened here, wnich had nearly put an end to his interesting voyage. The an- chorage being but indifferent on the coast, and a furious storm arising, the Centurion, with only a few hands on board, was driven out to sea, and it was nineteen days before the harassed crew could regain their station. Their companions on shore, indeed, had given them up for lost; and this, certainly, may be considered as one of the most miraculous escapes, in an expedition which was pregnant with disasters as well as wonderful turns ©f good fortune. About the middle of October, 174-2, the commodore again put to sea, and after a variety of adventures ar- rived at Macao in China, where he resisted the exactions of that mercenary people, with a spirit that did honour to his sovereign and the British flag. Here the Centurion being completely refitted, Anson,., concealing his design, steered back as far as the Phillip*, pine islands, with a view of intercepting the annxal* Acapulco ships, and herein fortune at last, was propitious to his views. After encountering a series of disasters, in a voyage ■•- cf nearly three years' duration, relieved only by gleams- of partial success, on the 20th of June, 174-3, one of the wished-for ships was descried; and, aftera vigorous con- test, in which British spirit and conduct prevailed over numbers and strength, the prize was carried, and consi- derably upwards of half a million sterling was -the re- ward of victory. With this capital prize he proceeded >. to Canton, where having put the treasure en board his own ship, he disposed of the Spaniards .and their gal-, kon, and directed his course to England. m LORD ANSON. 351 No occurrence particularly memorable attended his voyage, till he entered the Channel ; but here he had another proof of that superintendence which had rescued him from so many antecedent perils : a French fleet was cruizing in this latitude, and he passsed through the midst of it, unnoticed, in a fog. In short, during his circumnavigation of the globe, which took up the space of three years and nine months, he repeatedly confirmed by his own experience and conduct, the policy of Teu- cer's maxim, " Nil desperandum ;" which, with pecu- liar propriety, he afterwards assumed as. his motto. The treasures taken by the Centurion were conveyed in a number of waggons, decorated with Spanish flags, through the streets of London to the Tower, amidst the loudest acclamations of the populace ; and the commo- dore was laden with honours and congratulation. After this, Anson rapidly rose to the highest ranks in his profession, was returned to parliament, and made one of the lords of the admiralty. In 174«7> being ap- pointed to the command of a squadron, he had the good fortune to fall in with a French fleet off Cape Finisterre ; and, notwithstanding a spirited resistance on the part of the enemy, took six men of war, and four of the India- men which they were convoying. The elegant compli- ment which M. de la Jonquiere, the French admiral, paid the victor, on presenting his sword, deserves to be remembered. Pointing to two of his ships, whose names gave all its beauty and force to the expression, he said, " Monsieur, vous avez vaincu & Invincible , et La Gloire vous suit." Sir, you have vanquished the Invincible, and Glory follows you. It has long been a sage policy, to confer distinguished iionour on those naval heroes who have successfully sup- ported the glory of the British flag. To a man of ho- nour, who devotes his life to maritime or military pur- suits, the ambition of pecuniary gratification is but a secondary 352 LORD ANSOKV secondary object ; he toils for distinction, and it should be paid him with no niggardly hand. This gallant of- ficer, as a reward of his merit, received a peerage, by the title of lord Anson, baron of Soberton in Hants ; and the same year succeeded to the high rank of vice admiral of England, He had, likewise, the honour to be select- ed to convoy his majesty, George II. to and from the continent on several occasions ; and, when our present excellent queen was chosen by his successor to grace his throne, lord Anson was appointed to conduct her ma- jesty to England. In 1751, his lordship had been made first lord of the admiralty, a post which he was admirably qualified to fill, being an excellent judge of merit, and" which he held, with little intermission, to the time of his death. His services, however, by sea, were not discontinued when his country required his bravery and skill. In 1758, he sailed from Spithead with a formidable fleet, having under his command the gallant Sir Edward Hawke, and materially contributed to facilitate the descents made at St. Maloe's, and other places on the enemy's coast. At last he was appointed admiral and commander in chief of his majesty's fleets; and his professional honours could rise no higher. The fatigues incident to a seafaring life had gradu- ally sapped his lordship's constitution ; and, for many months before his death, he had been in a very languish- ing state of health. At last, he found business insup- portable, and company too fatiguing to his spirits, and retired to his seat at Moor-park, in Hertfordshire, where he suddenly died, without any. actual confinement to his room or his bed. His lordship had married the honour- able Miss York, eldest daughter of the earl of Hard- wicke, lord high chancellor of Great Britain, but left no children ; and thus the title became extinct. As an officer, lord Anson was distinguished for in- flexible LORD ANSOST. 353 flexible perseverance, and a command of temper which rendered him intrepid in the midst of danger, and sedate in every change of fortune. In private lifer, he was ho- nest and unsuspecting, and thus became the dupe of gamblers and sharpers. An unfortunate attachment to gaming, the tricks of which he did not understand, and had too much integrity to practise, exposed him to losses and misfortunes which greatly diminished his dear- earned wealth, and made him the ridicule of his more knowing associates. It was often remarked of him, " that he had been round the world, but never in it." He was too sincere to be fashionably polished, too inge- nuous to profess what- he did not feel : the artful preyed on his simplicity, and the conqueror of his enemies was frequently vanquished by his pretended friends. When the baneful infatuation of play gains an ascen- dancy over the mind of a good man, he is in the direct road to ruin ; when it seizes the unprincipled, he soon becomes a finished villain. Harsh as the term may seem, that man is the worst of villains, who, by his su- perior skill in an art where honour and virtue would scorn proficiency, practises on the unsuspecting, involves the helpless and innocent in distress, and braves the detection of the honest, by the plunder which he has acquired. There are two vices, which, when they have once laid full hold upon the heart, seem not only to be incurable,. but to gain strength with years. Need we name the love of gaming, and the love of wine ; the epitome of all ills, the aggregate of infamy and ruin ? May these serious reflections have the effect which the writer intends, on the youthful and uncorrupted breast ! If only one is warned by them to avoid these two grand sinks of fortune and of fame, of health and peace, this •veil-meant page will not have been penned in vain. PHILIP ( 354 ) PHILIP YORK, EARL OF HARDWICKE, LORD CHANCELLOR OF ENGLAND. Born 1691— Died 1764. From 2d William III. to 4M George III. THAT the law, above all other professions, opens a scene for the display of superior abilities, has been remarked on a former occasion. That its practice, how- ever, sometimes cramps the energies of independence, and leads the ambitious to sacrifice the love of virtue to the love of gain, is also to be lamented, but cannot be denied. The study of the legal science naturally teaches prudence and reflection : it forbids the mind to pursue the blandishments of fancy, and fixes it in the empire of reason. Reason recommends what is expedient, rather than right ; and its decisions are commonly proper, though the motives which influence them may not al- ways be pure. These observations, however, are not to be taken in their utmost latitude of interpretation ; as they have no particular application to the distinguished subject of the following memoirs. Philip York was born in London, of a respectable, rather than an opulent family ; but, whatever might be the rank or situation of his ancestors, his own merit cer- tainly paved the way to what he afterwards became. This is the highest praise that can be paid to his memo- ry, that he rose to distinction by his talents alone ; and thus reflected honour on the patronage which he ac- quired, and the titles which he bore, and transmitted to his posterity. • His education must have been well conducted ; but he unquestionably owed more to genius and application ; without which, opportunities of improvement are of little EARL OF HARDWICKE. 355 little avail. Being designed for an attorney, at a proper age lie was articled to a gentleman eminent in that branch of the profession, and served his clerkship with credit : but he felt that he was not in his element, when confined to the drudgery of an office ; and no sooner was he his own master, than he entered himself of the society of Lincoln's-inn. In due time he was called to the bar ; and, while a very young man, acquired such high reputation as a pleader, that, in 17^0, he was raised to the office of so- licitor-general. In three years more, he became attor- ney-general ; and, in this capacity, which frequently admits and requires the utmost extent of legal know- ledge, he displayed an astonishing eloquence, a profound . and intimate acquaintance with English jurisprudence, and was universally allowed to be the first lawyer of his day. Thus gifted, and placed on a vantage ground, where full scope was given to his powers, and their exercise could not be unnoticed, it would surely have been extra- ordinary had his elevation been less rapid than it was. When no more than forty-two years of age, he was con- stituted chief justice of the court of king's-bench ; and four years after, he attained the highest rank that the law c y an confer on her most distinguished votaries, by being raised to the supreme seat of equity. For the high and dignified office of lord chancellor, it was universally allowed at the time, that the kingdom could not furnish a more proper person. His elevation, therefore, was free from envy ; it was even grateful to his brethren at the bar. The title of baron Hardwicke was conferred on him at the same time, and the nation re-echoed the approbation of their sovereign in this choice of the keeper of his conscience. To detail the various instances of assiduity, and the very impartial administration of justice, conspicuous in. thi$ 350 KARL OP HARDWICKE. this great lawyer, for the long period of twenty years, during which he held the seals, would be incompatible with our plan. The equality of his temper, the strength of his judgment, and his intuitive sagacity, were alike confessed and admired. When the noble but infatuated partizans of rebellion in Scotland were brought to trial, Hardwicke was ap- pointed lord high steward of England. This furnished him with a fresh opportunity of displaying his consum- mate powers of oratory ; and the speech which he deli- vered when passing sentence on the rebel lords, is de- servedly ranked among the finest specimens of elo- quence that modern times have produced. In 1754, the chancellor was raised to the dignity of earl of Hardwicke ; but two years after, when the illus- trious William Pitt, afterwards earl of Chatham, was called to the helm, his lordship was obliged to resign- That great statesman, however he might respect lord Hardwicke's legal abilties, considered him as a weak politician; and besides, he was aware of his influence in the cabinet, which, in numerous instances, had rather been exerted to aggrandize his family, or particular friends, than directed to the public welfare. It war Hardwicke's object to strengthen his own interest, and to advance the fortunes of his connections. He seems to .have adopted a common but mistaken policy, of recom- mending weak and ill qualified persons, to fill important places, that they might be more subservient to his con- troul. This stratagem appears serviceable for a moment, but proves delusive in the end. A man of talents will feel the tie of honour and of gratitude, with a force which ignoble and uncultivated minds can never know* Abilities reflect back the credit of patronage ; Hut igno- rance and incapacity are the shame of their supporters. After his resignation, the earl of Hardwicke retired from public life, but he did not long enjoy the cahn of ' ease. EABL OF HARDWICKE. 357 ease. In 1764, he was called to pay the debt of nature; and, what must have shed consolation on his departing hours, he was able to declare on his death bed, " that he had never wronged any man to increase his fortune, nor acquired a single acre of land which he could not, in his last moments, reflect upon with tranquillity." To feel the consciousness of integrity, when sublunary joys are failing, is the sweetest satisfaction; and to ensure it* should be the first study of human life. That lord Hardwicke was both an able and an up- right judge, admits of no dispute. Though many ap- peals were brought to the bar of the house of lords from his decrees, not one of them was reversed. That he was a most eloquent speaker, and a good moral man, his "worst enemies are ready to confess. The great stain on his private character was, a mercenary and craving disposition. To provide for a family which he had raised to the most honourable distinction, was not only fair, but praise-worthy; yet to direct every favour, which his interest could command, into one channel, though it may be palliated, cannot be excused. It is said, his royal master, who had been abundantly gene- rous and indulgent to him, at last gave him a severe check, when he found that his reiterated applications had on6 object alone in view. A man of elevated rank, and extensive influence, should be the patron of unpro- tected worth, though unconnected by natural ties; nor suffer either partiality or prejudice to -bias his judgment and intercept his bounty. As a politician, lord Hardwicke was unfortunate in fiis prepossessions, and very confined in his principles. He opposed the militia bill on the futile grounds of danger in arming the people ; and even when it had passed into a law, he is said to have exerted himself, wherever he had influence, to prevent its effect. He also had a principal share in promoting the existing 7 marriage 358 SIK JOHN BERNARD. marriage a<£l: which, though not wholly destitute of utility, is supposed to militate against those leading principles which have ever been the guide of free com- munities. To encourage matrimony is to encourage virtue, and consequently adds to the stability of govern- ments ; to clog it with restraints which have a tendency to violate the strongest affections of the heart, may soothe the pride of unimpassioned avarice, but can nei- ther increase domestic happiness nor public security. In a word, lord Hardwicke was rather a great lawyer, than a great man: had he shunned the region of poli- tics, his fame would have raised him above almost every person of his age ; but his views were too limited for a statesman, and almost every measure in which he en- gaged, rendered him unpopular, or evinced his narrow prejudices. Yet let it not be supposed that we wish to detract: from his real merits. Universal excellence is not a common attribute of man. The illustrious qua- lities which he possessed and practised for many years, at the bar and on the bench, justify his claim to the gra- titude of Englishmen as a shining ornament of his coun- try. - SIR JOHN BARNARD, Knt. Born 1685— Died 1766. From 1st James II to 5th George 1IT. UTILITY is not confined to particular pursuits, nor are worth and merit the peculiar growth of any soil. On a plebeian base many a pillar of our country has been reared, while many have been found prouder to erect trophies of their own, than to boast the reflected honours of ancestry. In every station, laurels may be earned, and a solid reputation may be acquired. In the senate, at the bar, in the pulpit or the schools, in the SIR JOHN BARNARD - 33() the field or on the ocean, in mercantile engagments or mechanical pursuits, in the peaceful shade of philo- sophic retirement, nay, even in the lowest occupations of agriculture and the arts, a man may be honourably and usefully employed, and discharge his duty to his conscience and his country. To xronfme the praise of merit to a particular rank or profession, is the property of a narrow and an illiberal mind. Superior worth sometimes shines forth at once with every advantage that fortune can bestow; while at other times it surmounts the impediments of situation by its native strength ; — it diffused a glory round the head of Barnard. This upright and patriotic citizen was born at Read- ing, in Berkshire. His parents were among the re- spectable society of quakers, and he was educated at one of their seminaries ; but it is said, he derived very little benefit from early instruction, in classical and po- lite literature j this deficiency, however, his native good sense, and love of knowledge, induced him to supply by such auxiliaries as fell afterwards within his reach. Translations gave him an intimate acquaintance with the substance of ancient learning; and, though no lin- guist, he became extremely well informed in books. Inquisitive and penetrating, he sought for truth un- biassed by early prejudices; and, quitting the society of quakers when very young, received the rite of bap- tism from the hands of Compton, bishop of London, in Fulham chapel. His father carried on the business of a wine merchant ; and by him he was brought up to the same trade, in which he afterwards successfully engaged on his own ac- count in the city of London. His abilities, his general knowledge, and the integrity of his conduct, soon rendered him conspicuous among his fellow-citizens; and such was the opinion they en- tertained $60 SIR JOHN BARNARD. X tertained of him, he was elected one of their representa- tives in 1722. In this honourable situation he remained during seven successive parliaments ; and, amidst all the revolutions that tdok place both in city and public po- litics, was so firmlv established in the esteem of his con- stituents, that his name always appeared at the head of the list in every new election; and, with whatever op* position others had to contend, none of any consequence was ever attempted against this favourite member. In- deed, the zeal, the diligence, and the capacity which he displayed in the discharge of this important trust, were so eminent, as to merit and receive unqualified applause ; and he is justly considered as one of the most spirited, able, and independent members ever delegated to the house of commons by the metropolis of the British em- pire. The senate was the theatre on which he particularly shone, and his conduct here laid the basis_of his fame. His judgment might be erroneous, but his vote was never venal. If he was generally in opposition to ad- ministration, it was not from the love of dissent, or from an interested view of supplanting them in office, but from the purest conviction, that their proceedings mili- tated against the public welfare, or the individual inte- rests of that great commercial city which he repre- sented. When a bill was brought into parliament, in 1725, €i for regulating Elections within the City of London, and for preserving the Peace, good Order, and Govern- ment of the said City •" Barnard strenuously opposed it, as an infringement of the city's rights, and contrary to its charter; particularly in depriving numbers of their elective franchise, which they had enjoyed from time immemorial. The citizens were heard by council at the bar of the house; crowds, who thought themselves injured or af- fetfed SIR JOHN BARNARD. 36) fecled by the clauses of this bill, tumultuously assrmbled everyday at Westminster; the complaints were loud and menacing, and government thought it necessary to double the guards. After much opposition, how- ever, the bill passed, with various modifications ; and Sir John Barnard received thanks from the court of common council, for the active part which he had taken in asserting the liberties of his fellow citizens. Not long after, this virtuous representative was chosen alderman^ of Dowgate ward, and omitted no oppor- tunity in hk double capacity of magistrate and senator to promote the honour and welfare of the metropolis, and, indeed, of the British empire. He prepared a bill, in 1729, for the better encouragement and regu- lation of sailors in the merchant-service; which he car- ried through the house with great credit: and the same sessions gave a signal proof of his humane and benevo- lent disposition, in exerting himself to redress the scan- dalous enormities that had been committed in the Meet and other prisons. The warden In that receptacle of unfortunate debtors had dared to put several persons in irons ; and by his gross venality had suffered others to escape. •The indignation of our worthy citizen was roused to the highest pitch; he made a pathetic representation to the house of the various abuses which he had detected in that prison, and was not only instrumental in bring- ing the iniquitous warden and his agents to justice, but also in procuring an act of insolvency, and in framing such regulations as would prevent arbitrary and illegal practices by the keepers of that prison in future. When Sir Robert Walpole, in the plenitude of minis- terial influence, brought in his famous excise scheme m 1733, the attention of every member, who wished well to the liberties of the subject, was called to a measure, which, however advantageous in a financial point of . Q view, 3^)2 SIR JOHN BARNARD. view, certainly appeared fraught with die most dange- rous consequences to the genuine principles of our con- stitution. Sir John Barnard took a leading part in the spirited debate which was maintained on this bill; he contended that the proposed scheme would deprive a number of persons of their ancient birthright, the trial by jury, the last unimpaired privilege of liberty that re- mained to Englishmen; that thoughts majesty should never make a bad use of the power intended to be given him, his successors might; and that a slave, who has the good fortune to meet with a humane master, is ne- vertheless a slave. " Our liberties are too valuable, " added he, " were purchased at too dear a price, to be sported with, or wantonly given up to the best of kings. I hope we have the same regard for them that our an- cestors had, and if so, we shall certainly use all peaceable means to preserve them ; and, if such should prove in- effectual, I trust there is no Englishman but would use those methods his ancestors had done, in transmitting his liberties to his posterity in the same glorious condi- tion he found them, and not sacrifice the constitution to the poor pretence of suppressing a few frauds in the col- lection of the public revenue." While this business was in agitation, the avenues to the house of commons were filled with multitudes of people, the ministerial members were grossly insulted, and Sir Robert Walpole himself, in a paroxysm of pas- sion, to which, however, he was little subject, having applied the term sturdy beggars to the clamorous peti- tioners at the door, met with a very severe retort from Sir John Barnard, and was only saved from the fury of the mob, by the resolution of a Mr. Cunningham, who protected him with a drawn sword. So obnoxious was this scheme to the great body of the people, and so jealous were they now become of any encroachment on their liberties, that ministers thought proper SIR JOHN BARNARD. 363 proper to abandon it at that time; on which event pub- lic rejoicings took place, as if some signal victory had been gained over a foreign enemy. Sir John Barnard had acquired such reputation as a public speaker, and such influence from the tried inte- grity and independence of his character, that he was al- ways heard with respect, and his plans for the public good were not unfrequently adopted. Though he gain- ed the greatest share of his popularity in opposing some favourite plans of the minister, he was as ready to sup- port him, whenever his conscience and a sense of duty would permit. Attached to no party, but a zealous friend to constitutional liberty and the interests of his country, his vote was always the freewill offering of a virtuous mind ; and the part which he* took in public affairs, was stained with no bias to sinister views of pri- vate interest. He boldly contended for settling such an annual income on Frederic, prince of Wales, as would render him independent of a minister ; and declared his opinion, that the heir-apparent, or any other prince of the royal family, ought to have such a certain revenue, as was consistent with his own dignity and that of the nation. He was likewise very instrumental in lowering the interest of the public debt, by taking advantage of the facility with which money might be raised, without the smallest violation of public credit, as the stockholder was to be paid at par, or voluntarily to accept the re- duction of interest proposed. To particularize every patriotic effort of this distin- guished citizen, however useful his example might 'be to such as aspire to the honours which he received, would extend this article too far. In 1738, he served the office of lord mayor, and discharged the duties of this impor- tant station with the same assiduity, firmness, and im- partiality, which had marked his former life. As, a magistrate, indeed, his conduct was a perfect model for Q 2 imitation* 364 LORD LYTTELTOISr. imitation. He was governor of several hospitals and other public charities ; and was ever vigilant, active, and disinterested in the discharge of those important trusts. In 17^9, he became father of the city; but, at length, the infirmities of age suspended his honourable and useful services. He requested leave to resign -his alderman's gown. The solemn thanks, given him by the city of London on this occasion, was the best testi- mony of his merit, and will remain a lasting eulogy on his character. Among other qualities becoming a ma- gistrate and a man, he was thanked u for his wise, vigi- lant, and impartial administration of justice; his un- wearied zeal for the honour, safety, and prosperity of his fellow-citizens ; his inviolable attachment to the laws and liberties of his country; and for the noble example which he had set, of a long and uninterrupted course of virtue, in private as well as public life." With this enviable character, Sir John Barnard retired to his country-seat at Clapham, where he expired, full of days and honour, in the eighty-fifth year of his age. As a further proof of the high sense which his fellow- citizens entertained of his signal services, his statue was erected in his lifetime, on the Royal Exchange, in his robes of magistracy. GEORGE, LORD LYTTELTON. Born 1 70S— Died 1773. From 6t/i Anne to ISlh George III. Wealth, power, and titles, — pageants of a day, UngracYt with merit, shed a feeble ray. Soon sinks the fame not raisM on true desert, And ali the praise that lives not ia the heart ; Soon sinks the pride from ancestry that flows: — . The splendid villains are but public shows : Awhile LORD LYTTELTON. 3©3 Awhile' they blaze, and catch the simple eye, Then melt in air, like meteors in the sky ! Not thus nobility with worth conjoin'*!, Its lustre spreads, and leaves a track behind. The gifts of fortune, in a good man's power, Are but the needy wretch's pertain dower; They raise the languid, wipe affliction's tear, To some give fame, in Ljtteltoii endear. THIS illustrious and excellent man claimed descent from a very ancient family, which had been seat- ed for centuries in Worcestershire, and had produced several distinguished characters at different periods ; among others, Judge Lyttelton, who flourished in the reign of Henry IV. He was the eldest son of Sir Tho- mas Lyttelton, by a sister of lord viscount Cobharji, and. was born at Hagley, which he found, when he came to his inheritance, prepared by nature for the elysium to which his delicate taste converted it. His birth is said to have been premature, arul, in con- sequence, he was with difficulty reared; but gradually gaining a tolerable strength of constitution, he was sent to Eton school, where he soon attracted the notice of his masters by the superior manner in which his exercises were finished, and early discovered a taste for the beau- ties of poetical composition ; an almost infallible index of a refined and elegant mind. At that seminary he wrote his pastorals, and some other pieces, which would have given him a considerable rank in the train of the Muses, independently of those advantages to which he was born, and which set off his natural endowments in the most conspicuous light. Having removed to Christ-church, in the university of Oxford, he pursued his academical studies with un- usual avidity, and with a success correspondent to his application. Nor was he satisfied with the routine of ex- peeled duty ; his genius prompted him to court fame as Q 3 a writer*? 366 LORD LYTTELTON. a writer, and his " Blenheim," if it did not much en- hance his reputation as a poet among real judges, cer- tainly, from the popularity of the subject and the great man who was the hero of it, rendered him better known, and the object of more general admiration. On the banks of Isis, too, he sketched his Persian Letters, one of the most original of all his works, and which, for purity of language, arid the knowledge of life and man- ners which it displays, gained him a reputation not tem- porary, but permanent. It' may be considered as a classical English production, and will always be read with improvement and delight. After a short stay at the university, he commenced his travels. At Paris he became acquainted with the British ambassador, Mr. Poyntz, who was so struck with the uncommon capacity of Lyttelton, that he warmly patronized him, and employed him in some political negotiations, which he dispatched in such a manner as confirmed the high opinion that had been formed of his talents and his address. When Lyttelton set out on his travels, he had formed a proper estimate of the useful purposes to which they might be applied, and he determined to reap all the be- nefit and improvement from them which an extensive intercourse with mankind is capable of conferring. He did not post through a country like a courier, nor did he indulge in the dissipation or frivolities of the people among whom he sojourned. On the contrary, he asso- ciated only with men of rank, in the political or literary world, from whom lie enlarged the native stores of his mind ; or, by observation and inquiry, traced the advan- tages and defects of public institutions, or the various modes of private life. In order to connect him, too, more strongly with the country which was still dearest to him, and in which he had left some valuable friends, he kept up a regular private correspondence, and a poetical, 1 LORD LYTTELTON. 307 poetical, in two epistles to Br. Ayscough and Mr. Pope, which are not unworthy to be classed even with Addi- son's celebrated letter from Italy. Under the friendly and affectionate auspices of Mr. Povntz, who seems to have loved him as a son, he re- mained for some time at Paris. At Turin, he was re- ceived in the most, condescending and flattering manner by his Sardinian majesty. In the capital towns of Italy, particularly at Rome, he applied himself to the study of the fine arts; and such was the correctness and purity of his taste, that he was justly esteemed an excellent Ige of tir u t though so young a man. His letters to his father, during his peregrination, which are still extant, evince his filial piety, and are mo- dels of dutiful affection. This trait of character should not be overlooked; it stamps the amiable bias of his soul. He who is deficient in duty to his parents, may possess great, but can never be entitled to the praise of good qualities. Pie is not formed to relish the most solid satisfaction, or to know the ecstacies of reciprocal endearment. He can neither be happy himself, nor communicate happiness to others". Returning from his travels, fraught with the most va- luable attainments, he obtained a seat for the borough " of Okehampton, for which he served in several parlia- ments, and soon entered the lists of opposition against Walpole. His abilities as a public speaker were very considerable, and he was not averse to display his ta- lents; no important debate arose in which he did not take a share. As he had espoused what was called the patriotic party, though patriotism certainly allows no- party, he was speedily introduced to the favour of Fre- deric, prince of Wales ; : and, in 1737> became principal secretary to his Royal Plighness, in which capacity he served him with integrity and zeal. IJiit though Lyttleton, was now confessedly a politi- co 4 cian^ - S6'8 LORD LYTTELTON. '. i.ui, the irradiations of his genius could not be obscured • by the dense air in which he was enveloped. Indeed, he had now a fresh cause of inspiration. Miss Lucy Fortescue, a young lady of uncommon beauty and me- rit, had taught, bun to feelthe tenderest pangs, of love ; and he breathed his attachment to her in some of the most delicate and elegant verses that ever poet penned to his mistress. The amiability of his own disposition in- spired him with the sincerest regard for kindred qualities ; and, in 1742, he was united to the objeft of his fondest affe&Ipn, and was happy enough to find in the wife, all that he had loved and admired in the mistress. No cold Bjestions of interest had joined them ; and their con- 1 felicity knew no interruption till the moment it closed for ever. In four short years, this faultless :lel of domestic virtue was called to another world ; h\g a disconsolate husband, with an infant son and .■hter, the pledges of their mutual affection. The grief which Mr. Lyttelton felt on this occasion was equal to the loss which he had sustained. His beautiful mo- nody to the memory of his lady will eternize her name and his own conjugal affection. It is one of the most pathetic pieces in, the English language. The inscrip- tion on her tomb in the church of Hagley, was also a tribute of Iiis ardent affeclion. It paints a woman of fashion as she ought. to be. It delineates a character, which to know is to admire- and love. Happy the wife who deserves it ! happy, thrice happy the husband, who. can apply it to the partner of his life ! Made to engage all hearts, and charm all eyes ; Though meek, magnanimous 5 though witty, wise ; Polite, as all her life in courts had been *, Yet g<»od, as she the world had never seen ; The- noble fire of an exalted mind, With gentlest female Jenderness c >mbin\d : Her speech was the melodious voice of Love, Her song the warbling of the vernal grove ; I lei , LORD LYTTELTOX. oOv) Her eloquence was sweeter than her song, Soft as her heartj and as her reason strong ; Iler form each beauty of her mind e>:;n Her mind was Virtue by- the Graces dress 1 *!* Two years before this lamented separation, Mr. Lyt- felton had been appointed one of the- lords of the trea- sury ; and, inspired with the flame of genius himself, he no sooner possessed the ability, than he became the patron of genius in others. Fielding, Thomson, Mallet*,. Young, Hammond, West, and Pope,* either tasted his bounty, or were honoured by his countenance. His ge- nerous regard to Thomson did not die with the object of it. He revised his orphan tragedy of Coriolanus for -the benefit of the deceased poets relations ; and wrote such an affecting prologue, that the- celebrated Quia burst into tears as he recited it, while the audience melted in sympathetic feeling with the actoiv But, though Lyttelton was now become a public man' and a patron, he did inot suffer the avocations of busi- ness, or the increase of worldly favour, to lure him from more serious concerns. In the sprightliness of juvenile confidence, in the vanity of conceit and affectation, he had been led away by doubts respecting the. authenticity of revelation ; he felt the pangs of incertitude on such a- momentous subject 4 he diligently applied himself to search the scriptures ; and, in. result, their internal evi- dence to his honest and unprejudiced mind afforded a luminous conviction of their truth. Anxious to remove that veil from others which had dimmed his own prospects, he published, soon after the death of his lady, a season of melancholy and reflection* " Observations on the Conversion and Apostleship of St. Paul." The incidents attending this part of Scrip- ture history had appeared so striking as to effect .his own entire conversion to the belief of Christianity ; infidelity itself has never been able to fabricate even a Q. 5 specious 370 f LORD LYTTELTON. specious reply to his judicious and able defence of our holy religion. It had the happiest effect on the times in which it was produced ; and as often as it is read with seriousness and candour, it will either convince or confound the sceptic. Notwithstanding the violence of Lyttelton's grief for the loss of his lady, Jie judged it expedient to enter again into the bands of, marriage ; and he fixed on a daughter of Sir Robert Rich. In the heart that has once loved tenderly and truly, perhaps the enthusiasm of affection can never be a second time renewed ; and wedlock, even when contracted under the happiest omens, is so much influenced by minute circumstances, by temper, habit, and a congenial or contradictory dis- position, that we need not wonder if his second union did not produce alb the felicity which he had once tasted, or which he fondly hoped to enjoy. In 1751 his father died, when he succeeded to the ba- ronetage and the family estate at Hagley. The latter he did not augment, but was careful to adorn ; and by the embellishments of design, superadded to the beau- ties of art, made his domain one of the most delightful spots in the kingdom. By a diligent discharge of his parliamentary duty, and powers of eloquence which commanded attention, he gradually rose to some of the highest offices of the state. When violent clamours were raised against the bill which had been passed for 'the naturalization of the- Jews, Lyttelton made a speech in favour of its repeal, which for elegance and spirit, propriety of sentiment, and soundness of principle, may be thought a rival to the purest models of antiquity, and certainly equals any thing that modern times have produced. After reprobating the arguments whieh had been urged against the existing bill, he considered its probable effects in the present temper of the nation, ably discri- minated > iJORD LYTTELTON. 371 mmated between steadiness in essentials, and a compli- ance with harmless, though, perhaps, rnistaken^opinions, and gave unanswerable reasons for the simple repeal of the atf ; beyond which he thought all concession to popular clamour would be weak and dangerous in the extreme. " It would open," said the animated orator, " a door to the wildest enthusiasm, and the most mis- chievous attacks of political disaffection working on that enthusiasm. If you encourage and authorize it to fall on the synagogue, it will go from thence to the meet- ing-houses, and in the end to the palace'.. The more zealous we are to support Christianity, the more vigilant should we be in maintaining toleration. If we bring back persecution, we bring back the anti-christian spirit of popery ; and when the spirit is here, the whole system will soon follow. Toleration is the basis of all public quiet. It is- a character of freedom given to the mind,, more valuable, I think, than that which secures our persons and estates. Indeed, they are inseparably con- nected together ; for where the mind is not free, where the conscience is enthralled, there is no freedom. " Such distinguished abilities^ accompanied by the best virtues of the heart, it might have been supposed would have perpetuated the political influence of Lyttelton ; but the fact seems to be, literature engrossed most of, his attention,, and he was more anxious to discover mo- ral truth than to guard against political intrigue. At intervals he favoured the world with his celebrated *< Dialogues of the Dead," and his elaborate " History of Henry II," dividing his time between the duties of his public functions, the pursuits of elegant literature, and the society of the learned and the great ; till a change of ministry taking place, in 1757, he was raised to a peerage, and retired from the agitation of state affairs. From that period, lord Lyttelton was only known as a statesman by occasional speeches in his par- Q 6 liamentary 372 LGRD LYTTELTON". liamentary capacity: he lived chiefly at his beautiful seat of Hagley, endeared to his neighbours and to man- kind by the exercise of every humane quality, arid the practice of every virtue. Lord Lyttelton had never an athletic appearance ; his frame was slender and uncompacted, and his face was meagre and pale. Yet he reached the sixty-fourth year of his age, exempt from much corporeal infirmity*, when he was seized with his last illness, and resigned his breath with the hope and confidence of immortality. A little before his death, when all hopes of life were ex- tinguished, he thus addressed himself to his physician, " Doctor," said he, " you shall be my confessor. When I first set out in the world, I had friends who endea- voured to shake my belief in the Christian religion. I saw difficulties which staggered me ; but I kept my mind open to conviction. The evidences and doctrines of Christianity, studied with attention, made me a most firm and persuaded believer of its truth. I have made it the rule of my life, and it is now the ground of my hopes. In politics and public life, I have made the public good the rule of my conduct. I never gave counsels which I did not think the best at the time. I have seen that 1 was sometimes in the wrong ; but I . aid not err designedly. I have endeavoured, in private- life, to do all the good in my power ; and never for a. moment could indulge malicious or unjust designs upon any person whatsoever.'* When the last mortal struggle approached, he gave lord and lady Valentia, his daughter, who came to see him, his solemn » benediction ; adding, " Be good, be virtuous, my lord, you must come to this." In fine, his dying moments were the best comment on a well- spent life : they evinced unaffected magnanimity, pious resignation, and Christian hope. To the last, his under- standing was unimpaired : his closing hour exhibited 2 -die LORD CLITR 3/3 the brightest pattern of the Christian's triumph over, death. Whoever copies this virtuous and amiable ex- ample, may his exit be the same.. ROBERT, LORD CLIVE, OFPLASSEY. Born 1725— Died 1774. From I \tk George I. to X&ih George III. WHEN the love of glory stimulates to enterprise? when ambition aspires to honourable distinc- tion, and juvenile ardour prompts to reap laurels, wealth, or fame in distant climes ; the subsequent no- tices of a man who felt all those passions in their pro* gress and gratification, will serve as an additional jstU mulus or antidote, as an example or a warning 'to youth. Far be it from us to repress the generous panting for celebrity in honourable pursuits ; but if happiness be the prize proposed, it is neither confined to place nor sta* tion. It may soothe the breast of the peasant, in his thatched cottage ; it may shun the grasp of the most successful adventurer in the captivating regions of for- tune and of fame. Robert Clive, to whom the immortal Chatham gave the epithet of " a heaven-born general," was the son of a gentleman of ancient family, but moderate estate, re- sident at Styche, near Market Drayton, in Salop. At a very early period he was sent to a private school, at Lostock in Cheshire, under the tuition of Dr. Eaton, who predicted the future greatness of the man, from the superior courage and resources of the boy. " If this lad," he used to say, " lives to arrive at maturity, and has a proper opportunity of displaying his talents, few names will be greater than his." The prognostication of the master was verified, and his sagacity confirmed by 374 LORD CLIVE. by the event. Under this preceptor he continued only till his eleventh year, when he was removed to a school at Market Drayton. The church of that place stands on a high hill ; and from nearly the top of its lofty steeple an old stone spout projefts, in the form of a dra- gon's head : on this young Clive was one day found seated, to the terror and astonishment of his master and school-fellows. Even at that early age, he wished to signalize himself by hazardous exploits ; and gave suf- ficient indications of the direction of his genius. From Market Drayton, his father again removed him to mer- chant-taylor's school in London ; and from this respec- table seminary to one at Hemelhempstead, in Hertford- shire. What could induce his father to be so very fickle in the choice of schools, it is impossible to say ; but, as might naturally be expected, his son was more indebted to his natural capacity, than to any learning which he could acquire under such a desultory plan of education* The policy of often removing a boy from one seminary tc another, without forcible reasons, is very questionable ; his proficiency will generally be in the inverse ratio g of this frequency. It may, however, be imagined, that a boy of Clive's daring disposition was not the most desirable for a scholar ; and accordingly he gained more credit from his masters for his intrepidity, which they did not admire, than for the qualities that were suited to his- age and situation. , If his father, however, was culpable in not training such a youth at a public school, where his associates would have done more to reclaim his eccentricities, than the authority of a master, he certainly deserves great praise for fixing his future destination. A spirit, so ac- tive and undaunted, had only to be launched on the world to make its way in it. Having procured the ap- pointment of writer, in the service of the East-India Company, young Clive embarked for that country, and arrived, LORD CLIVE, 375 arrived at Madras, -in the nineteenth year of his age. Of the numerous adventurers, who go in quest of fame or fortune to that quarter of the globe, many either fall martyrs to the climate, or return without the indepen- dence for which they sigh; yet a few splendid instances of success still stimulate adventure, and each fresh comer hopes to draw one of the capital prizes in the lottery of life. The fascinating illusions, conjured up by youthful fancy, invite pursuit to the ends of the earth, and still dance before the enraptured eye, and still shuii the grasp. The business of a writer was as disagreeable to Clive, as the restraint of a school ; and it was not long before he unluckily involved himself with his superiors. On one occasion he had insulted the secretary; and, the business being reported to the governor, he was desired to ask pardon. This forced submission he made in terms of indignant contempt ; but the secretary, willing to admit it, invited the young gentleman to dinner: u No, Sir," replied Clive, " the Governor did not com- mand me to dine with you." Two years after he had been in the Indies, Madras surrendered to the French, and the officers of the com- pany, civil and military, became prisoners on their pa- role. The capitulation being violated, the English con- ceived themselves released from their engagements, and made their escape as opportunity served The ingenious resources of Clive enabled him to reach St. David's, a fortress about twenty-one miles south of Madras. At this place, being engaged at cards, two ensigns of the party were detected in cheating. The losers at first refused to pay, but were all intimidated by their mili- tary companions, except Clive, who accepted a chal- lenge from the boldest champion of gaming depreda- tion; and fired the first pistol without effect. His anta- gonist, a disgrace to the honourable name of officer, quitting 37^'' LORD CLIVE. quitting his station, presented his pistol at Clive's head,' . and insisted on his asking his life. With this he reluc- tantly complied ; but, when he was further required to recant the expressions which he had used, fie perempto- rily refused; and when menaced with instant destruc- tion, dared his opponent to fire, repeating, " I said you cheated, I say so still, and I will never pay you." This , firmness so daunted the gambling hero, he threw away mVpistolj-and called him a madman. When Clive was complimented on his resolution in this disagreeable af- fair, with a genuine spirit of honour, he replied ; " The man has given me my life, and I have no right in future to mention his behaviour at the card-table; but I will' neither pay him, nor keep him company." Civil engagements being interrupted by the flames of war, in 174*7 Clive obtained an ensigncy; and, at the siege of Pondicherry, shewed that lie was now in his proper sphere.- The young officer displayed the utmost ' gallantry in defence of the advanced trench, and re- ceived one shot through his hat, and another through' his coat, while some of his companions were falling, without ever 5 flinching from his post, or indicating the slightest symptoms of alarm. On his return to St,. David's,- after the siege was rais- ed, he had an a flair of honour with an officer, who had * unjustly reflected on his-- character, in an' instance for which lie deserved the highest praise.' His resolute tetn- per again brought him off with credit; and his defamer, to avoid the infamy to which he had exposed himself u by his illiberality and his -cowardice, was obliged to re- - sign his commission. To enter into a detail of India politics, and the mili- : tary operations which took place in consequence of- . them between the rival nations of England and France, - who espoused the different interests of the native powers, would carry us into too wide a field. Clive was daily, rising LORD CL1TE. 377 vising in glory; and at the reduction of Devi Cotah, under major Lawrence, his courage shone with superior lustre. Though then only possessing the rank of- lieu- tenant, he solicited the command of the forlorn hope,* which, with some hesitation, was granted him. A practicable breach was supposed to be made, and Give," with thirty-four British soldiers, and seven hundred se- poys, attempted to storm the place. The sepoys were soon intimidated, and halted ; but the British advancing, fell into an ambuscade, and twenty-six of them were killed. Give had the good fortune to escape a stroke that was aimed at him by a horseman in passing ; and, with three others, providentially, -rejoined the sepoys* The commander, observing the disaster, ordered all the Europeans to advance. Give advanced in the first division, and was again attacked by the enemy's horse; but the bravery of the English at length prevailed, and the garrison, intimidated at the fury of the assailants, abandoned the town ; when the rajah made overtures of peace, which were accepted on terms highly favour- able to the Company. The war being at last terminated, Give, who still panted for fresh laurels, was obliged to resume his civil appointment ; but with the office of commissary to the British troops, procured him by the friendship of major Lawrence. He had not, however, been long settled at Madras, before he was seized with a fever of the ner- vous kind, which had a baneful effect on his constitu- tion and spirits, and from the effects of which he never seems to have perfectly recovered. Unless when roused by active exertions, from this period he seems to have- been subject to temporary dejections of mind, which poisoned the enjoyment of life, and made him prefer the most hazardous enterprizes, for which his genius was adapted, to the tranquil scenes of peaceful retirement. The French, though frustrated in their immediate views, 378 LOPvD CLIVE. views, employed the interval of peace in fomenting new disturbances, and strengthening their connection with the country powers. They gradually formed such projects of aggrandizement as reduced the English to the utmost perplexity and danger; and Clive once more resumed his military character, with the rank of captain. At the head of two hundred and ten Europeans, and five hun- dred Sepoys, he entered the province of Arcot with such /promptitude and secrecy, that he had taken its capital before the enemy were apprized of his motions. The inhabitants expected to be plundered, and offered a li- beral ransom ; but Clive displayed the generosity of a British conqueror, in relieving them from apprehension respecting either their persons or their property; and only required that they should furnish him with provi- sions, for which they were punctually paid. This ho- nest policy conciliated the affections of the natives in an extraordinary degree; and Clive felt the good effects of his moderation on some important occasions, which soon after presented themselves. In almost every subsequent action of consequence^ captain Clive bore away fresh laurels;- the prodigies of valour which he performed are recorded in the annals of history; and, after a series of important services, he returned to England, when the East-India Company treated him with flattering distinction, and voted him a present of an elegant diamond-hilted sword; which, with the most honourable feeling of friendship, he de* clined accepting till they paid colonel Lawrence, under whose auspices he had risen, the same compliment. Returning to India, with the rank of lieutenant colo- nel in the royal service, and the appointment of gover- nor of St. David's, with the right of succession to that of Madras, he employed the interval of peace between the French and the English, in attacking Geriah, the altnost impregnable capital of the pirate Angria's domi* nionsj LORD CLIVE. 3/9 nions, who had committed galling depredations on the trade of the English in those seas. By the assistance of the fleet, he succeeded in this dangerous enterprise ; an im- mense quantity of stores and effects fell into his hands, with the wife, children, and mother of Angria, to whom he extended the most generous protection. War again being declared against the French, whose turbulence and insidious politics no treaties could re- strain, Clive, who had now the principal command of the forces in India, by an unbroken series of triumphs, humbled iheir arrogance, and reduced their partizans to despair. At the battle of Plassey, against the subah of the Decan, with only a handful of men, opposed to a formidable army, he obtained a complete victory; one of the most shining indeed in the annals of Orien- tal warfare. In a word, as a sensible writer observes, " whoever contemplates the forlorn situation of the English East-India Company, when Clive first arrived at Calcutta, in 1756, and considers the degree of opu- lence and power they possessed when he finally left that place in 1767 y will be convinced that the history of the world has rarely afforded an instance of so rapid and improbable a change." As some honourable acknowledgment for his impor-. tant services, he was raised to the dignity of an Irish peer, by the title of lord Clive, baron of Plassey, and made a knight of the bath. But the favour of .his sove- reign and of the India company, with his own signal ex- ploits, could not screen him from those attacks to which even purer virtue is frequently obliged to submit. The suspicions, real or pretended, that had long lain dor- mant, broke out in the house of commons in 1773, when a motion was made to resolve, " that in the acquisition of his wealth, lord Clive had abused the powers with which he had been entrusted." This stroke was aimed both at his fortune and his fame. He repelled the alle- gations with the spirit of a man who knew he had de-» 3S0 LORD CLIVE. served better of his country, and descanted on the cruel* ty of suffering a charge to hang over his head for six- teen years before it was brought to issue; concluding, " that if the motion should pass he might be made poor, but he could still be happy." The house, how- ever, so far from acceding to the terms of \ the proposed motion, resolved, " that- lord Give had rendered great and meritorious services to his country." ' Lord Clive was certainly one of the most original mi- litary geniuses that modern times have produced. He owed nothing to others, but all to himself. Prompt and vigorous in execution, secret and sagacious in planning, his energies were like lightning ; they were felt before they were perceived. If he amassed a large fortune, he employed it in acts of munificence, which could have done no discredit to the liberality of a prince. To the invalid servants of the East-India Company, he made, atone time, a present of 70,000.'. ■; nor were his private charities less commendable, or less discriminating. And should envy still tax his opulence, or malice condemn it, let it be known, that others enjoyed it more than him- self. In consequence of that severe illness, with which he had been attacked many years before, and a long ex- posure to the fatigues of his station, in a climate which, of itself, is sufficient to destroy the vigour of health, he was unhappy unless when busily engaged, and often discovered anxieties of mind, from which "no lenitives of friendship, no medicines could relieve him. Surround- ed with splendor, it did not often elevate him to joy, unless among his intimate friends, by whom he was sin- cerely beloved. In every domestic relation, indeed, he was not only blameless but praise-worthy; and his so- cial virtues commanded as much applause, as his he- roism had gained admiration. Why did not felicity as well as fortune shine upon him? Why did not the re- trospect of a life, useful to his country, soothe him in the WILLIAM PITT. 381 the shade of tranquillity ? Why did not religion arm him with resolution to endure what Providence was pleased to lay upon him ? The ways of Heaven are dark and intricate. Some possess a taste for enjoyment, but want the means ; while we see others, as if it were intend- ed to repress our murmurs at the dispensations of Pro- vidence, gradually lose relish for life, when every grati- fication is within their reach, and invites them to par- take it ! WILLIAM PITT. EARL OF CHATHAM. Born 1707— Died 1778. From bth Q. Anne to \%tk Geo. III. *< *T DID not intend to make a public declaration of the JL respect I bear lord Chatham ;but I am called upon to deliver my opinion, and even the pen of Junius shall contribute to reward him. Recorded honours shall ga- ther round his monument, and thicken over him. It is a solid fabric, and will support the laurels that adorn it. I am not conversant with the language of panegyric. — These praises'are extorted from me ; but they will wear well, as they have been dearly earned." j Such was the elegant eulogy paid by the celebrated Junius to the earl of Chatham, before the curtain had dropped on the statesman's labours, and his part in the drama was completed. But firmness and consistency -were characteristic of William Pitt ; and from his pre- ceding life, the able and penetrating writer whom we have quoted might well predict that the close would be in unison witk it. William Pitt, who filled such a wide and honourable space in the public eye, whose glories are still fresh in the memory of his countrymen- and of Europe, and whose 382 WILLIAM PITT, whose well-earned fame will be commensurate with time itself, was the son of Robert Pitt, esq. of Bocon- nock, in Cornwall. This family was, originally of Dor- setshire, where it had long been respectably established ; but no ancestors could reflect additional lustre on a man so truly great. Eton, which has produced so many illustrious names, had the honour of his classical institution. Thence he was removed to Trinity college, Oxford, which may well be proud of such an eleve : -————Nor thou refuse This humble present of no partial muse, From that calm bower which riursM thy thoughtful youth In the pure precepts of Athenian truth ; Where first the form of British Liberty EcamM in full radiance on thy musing eye. Wharton. Mr. Pitt has left some testimonies of his homage to the Muses; and, that he possessed a poetic imagination the fervid pathos and imagery of his eloquence will place beyond a doubt. General literature, however, absorbed his principal attention : and, by a singular ref- lation of causes and effects, what seemed the greatest misfortune of his life, very probably led to its most ex- alted splendor. Scarcely had he reached the sixteenth year of his age, when he became a martyr to an heredi- tary gout. A delicacy of constitution, and the restraints which it imposes, are generally propitious to study and reflection. Pitt had neither taste, nor strength of frame, to engage deep in dissipation ; and his genius soared above the vulgar allurements of vicious pleasure.' He devoted the leisure and confinement of indisposition to the acquirement of a vast fund of premature and useful knowledge, which in due time he brought forward, at once to astonish and confound. After receiving a liberal education, he procured a cor- net cy EARL OF CHATHAM. 383 netcy of horse; but die senate, not the camp, was the scene where he was best qualified to shine. His friends, among whom, Sarah, duchess of Marlborough, was the most zealous, forming a due estimate of his talents, ac- cordingly brought him into parliament for the borough of Old Sarum, in 1735; and on this splendid theatre he early distinguished himself in the ranks of opposition. Popularity, indeed, is too commonly the first objecl of public men ; and place and profit are the natural con- sequence. The minister, Sir Robert Walpole, was alarmed and thunderstruck at the very sound of his -voice and the lightning of his eye; but when he witnessed the impetu- ous torrent of his eloquence, he is said to have told his friends that he should be glad, at any rate, " to muzzle that terrible cornet of horse. 5 ' Pitt, however, had chosen his side, and knew his powers : enamoured of virtue and public spirit, no military prospects, nor ministerial honors, ccnld divert him from the cause which he deem- ed honorable; and, when he lost his commission in con- i sequence of his spirited behaviour in parliament, Lyt- telton paid him the following elegant compliment, which at the same time conveys a bitter ironical sarcasm on the premier : Long had thy virtue markM thee out for fame, Far, far superior to a cornet's name; This generous Walpole saw, and grievM to find So mean a post disgrace that noble mind ; t The servile standard from thy free-born hand He took, and bade thee lead the patriot band. To particularize every instance of the nervous, daz- zling eloquence of Pitt, even during his noviciate, would be to write the parliamentary history of several years. In the debate on the bill for registering seamen, which Mr. Pitt represented as arbitrary and unjust, Mr. Ho- ratio Walpole having sarcastically remarked on his youth and animated gesture, met with acutting retort, 5 which 384 WILLIAM PITT, ^/hich'we are sorry we cannot transcribe at length, as a specimen of that glowing and impassioned language which was characteristic of the speaker. " I will not un- dertake/ ' said he, " to determine, whether youth can justly be imputed to any man as a reproach; but I will affirm, that the wretch, who, after having seen the con- sequence of repeated errors, continues still to blunder, and whose age has only added obstinacy to stupidity, is, surely, the object either of abhorrence or contempt, and deserves not that his grey hairs should secure hirn from insult. Much more is he to be abhorred, who, as he has advanced in age, has receded from virtue, and becomes more wicked with less temptation ; who prosti- tutes himself for money which he cannot enjoy, and spends the remains of his life in the ruin of his coun- try." Frederick, prince of Wales, who had long'been the rallying point of opposition, and who, consistently with his noble sentiments, took men of genius, talents, and honesty under his protection, appointed Mr. Pitt a groom of the. bed-chamber, which office he held till 17 '4-5 ; and for his firm adherence to the patriotic side, he experi- enced about the same time an exalted proof, though not the only one, of the estimation in which he was holden by the public. The duchess of Marlborough, who to a masculine understanding united a zeal to be distinguished as a politician, having, from his first en- trance into life, supported Mr. Pitt by her patronage, now left him a very honourable testimony of her regard, in a legacy of 10,000/. ; expressly, as she declared, " for defending the laws of his country, and warding off its ruin." But abilities such as his, could not in in useless opposition. He was of his country, and to direc- affairs were conducted in a i .\. ; EARL OF CHATHAM. S85 to participate in its administration without any derelic- tion of principle, in 17^6, he accepted the office of joint- treasurer of Ireland ; and the same year became trea- surer and pay-master of the army, and was sworn a privy- oouncilior. But, though now engaged to the court by interest, he did not sacrifice the independence of his - vote to any partial views. He knew the unpopularity attached to continental connections, his better sense saw their destructive tendency, his patriotism led him to op- pose them ; and, in consequence, he made a temporary resignation of all his places. It was not long, however, that he remained unem- ployed. In December, 1756, he was appointed secre- tary of state for the southern department, with un- bounded public applause ; but in a short time he dis- cerned that he could not be acceptable to his sovereign, without deserting the interests of the people ; and to a man, who placed his glory in patriotic, upright conduct, the alternative was easily decided. The love and con- fidence of the nation had contributed to make him what he was : he foresaw that they might be alienated by indif- ference, they might be lost by presumption ; but s$ well was he fixed in the public opinion, that while he studied by honourable means to retain it, he knew it would accompany him. In a short time after his resig- nation, his hopes were realized ; the voice of the people was so loudly expressed in his favour* and their affection seemed so strongly rivetted to his interest, that it was deemed politic to recal him to the cabinet, with a large accession of power. In June, 1757, he was again ap- pointed secretary of state, with the full authority of prime minister. His colleagues were either men of his own principles, or wholly subservient to his more en- larged views. The preceding ministry had been both unfortunate and unpopular, the war, in which the na- tion had been engaged, was carried on without spirit R- - and 386 WILLIAM PITT, and without success. But no sooner was Mr. Pitt placed at the helm, than his active genius pervaded every department of the state ; his spirit animated a whole nation. His plans were conceived with ability, and executed with a vigour and promptitude that asto- nished both friends and enemies. The whole fortune of the war was changed, and victory attended the arms of Britain, wherever her military operations were di- rected. Europe, Asia, America, felt and acknowledged the influence of this able minister. The French were defeated in every quarter of the globe ; their navy, their commerce, and their finances, in the space of a very few years, were brought to the verge of ruin. " Meanwhile," to adopt the words of an elegant writer, u the glory of Mr. Pitt advanced like a regular fabric. Gradual in its commencement, it, however, discovered to the discerning eye a grandeur of design, and pro- mised the most magnificent effects. By degrees it dis- closed, beauty, utility, and majesty ; it outstretched the eye of the spectator, and hid its head among the clouds." Amidst the brilliant career of success which might fairly be ascribed, under Providence, to the virtuous energies of one man, his majesty George II. departed this life. About this period the French had succeeded in .obtaining the co-operation of Spain -by secret manoeu- vres : which, however, did not elude the vigilance or escape the penetration of Mr. Pitt. He had procured private, though certain intelligence of the Bourbon com- pact ; and with his usual vigour of decision, was for striking the first blow against Spain. He proposed in council, that war should be immediately declared against that power, and orders instantly sent to capture her vessels ; urging with the utmost energy, the impo- licy of suffering her to put herself in a posture of de- fence, and to secure her treasure before she threw off £ the EARL OP CHATHAM, 387 the mask. Other sentiments now influenced the cabi* net than when Mr. Pitt began his career. He found tlv members disposed to temporize, and to pause, be- fore they created a new enemy. " I will not give them leave to think, " replied the indignant minister ; " this is the time, let us crush the whole house of Bourbon. But if the members of this board are of a different opi- nion, i r time I shall ever mix in its councils. I was called into the ministry by the voice of the people, and to them I hold myself responsible. I am to thank the ministry of the late king for their support; I have served my country with fidelity and some success ; but I will not be answerable for the conduct: of the war any longer than 1 retain the direction of it." Cramped in his energies by the growing influence of the earl of Bute, perhaps too proud to brook controul, certainly too honest to change his principles, and dis- daining to be only the nominal head of a cabinet over which he had presided with honour to himself and ad- vantage to his country, he resigned his places ; and a few months more justified the wisdom of the measure which he had recommended, when it was too late to retrieve the error that had occasioned its rejection. Whether with a design to lessen his popularity, or in- tended as a testimony of gratitude for his eminent and meritorious services, he was offered and he accepted a pension for three lives, and the title of a baroness for his lady. . The fallen minister is frequently insulted, a?d at best soon forgotten ; but William Pitt carried the confidence and respect of the nation with him into his retirement,, and received very flattering testimonies of approbation from the most respectable individuals and communi- ties. The impetus which he had given to the machine of state was felt for some time after he had withdrawn from its direction ; and the illustrious commanders, who R 2 had 388 WILLIAM PITT, had risen under his auspices, did not suffer the national glory to sink. New victories were gained, and in the prosperity of the empire the people consoled themselves for the loss of a favourj^ minister. At last the preliminaries of peace were submitted to parliament, and Mr. Pitt, though labouring under a severe fit of the gout, attended the house, and spoke for three hours in the debate; giving the most unanswer- able reasons for his opposition to the terms of the treaty, as being inadequate to our conquests, and the expendi- ture of public money w T hich they had cost. The love of peace is natural to man: he sighs for it amidst the most successful war : the definitive treaty was therefore ratified, but the ministry who had concluded it, felt themselves unable to maintain their ground in the pub- lic opinion, and a spirit of opposition began to shew it- self against the general measures of government, which has ever since continued to distract the public mind, and is felt in its tendencies and effects to this very day. Mr. Pitt, however, observed a dignified moderation. His opposition was neither petulant nor undiscriminating, and he appeared on the stage only when occasions pre- sented themselves worthy of his powers. When the im- portant question of general warrants was discussed, his love of rational liberty broke forth in strains to which a Tully or a Demosthenes would have listened with eager satisfaction. He declared them repugnant to every principle of freedom. Were they tolerated, the most in- nocent could not be secure. " By the British constitu- tion/' continued he, " every man's house is his castle; not that it is surrounded by walls and battlements ;— it may be a straw-built shed ; — every wind of heaven may whistle round it ; — all the elements of heaven may enter it; — but the king cannot — the king dare not." When those impolitic measures had been proposed, idjick unfortunately terminated io the separation of America, EARL OF CHATHAM. 38Q America, Mr. Pitt strenuously opposed them in the se- nate, and exerted his wonderful powers to heal the wound that had been given, by promoting the repeal of the stamp-act. This was carried ; and a new ministry having been formed, Mr. Pitt was made lord privy s^ and created earl of Chatham. A short tirjM|rt5eforJJ Sir William Pynsent, of Burton Pynsent, in Soi^fe|^- i shire, a man of considerable property, without any very near relatives, made Mr. Pitt his heir. To this he was actuated solely by an enthusiastic admiration of Mr. Pitt's public character ; and we need adduce no stronger proof of the singular estimation in which he was hoi- den, than that he received greater remunerations for his- services from private zeal, than from the emoluments of public office. Whatever accession of honour a peerage gave him, the great commoner, as he used emphatically to be call- ed, was now obscured in dividing his honours with others- In the house of commons he stood unrivalled and alone ; but in the house of peers he had less oppor-* tunity for exerting his talents, and he lost, at least for a time, in popularity, what he gained in rank. In two years he resigned the office of lord privy seal; and be- ing now sixty years of age, and debilitated by frequent attacks of the gout, he courted retirement, and aban- doned all ambition of ever more taking an active part in administration. Nevertheless, when the commotions broke out in America, he gave a decided opposition to the fatal mea- sures which the ministry were pursuing ; but when he found them lulled in security, or infatuated by folly to persevere, till repeated defeats and disgraces at last opened their eyes ; when he saw France interfere in the contest, and the independence of America about to be recognised, by the weak and deluded administration that had hitherto contended for unconditional submission; R3 he 3Q0 WILLIAM PITT, he summoned up all the energy of his soul, and poured forth his eloquence against a measure so inglorious, and so fraught with ruin in its consequences, to his country - and to mankind. ^NSThe duke of Richmond replied, and combated his ar- gumerfcHnj The mind of Chatham seemed labouring with a desire to give vent to the further dictates of his soul on this momentous subject. He attempted to rise as his grace sat- down, but his emotions proved too strong for his debilitated frame. He suddenly pressed his hand on his stomach, and fell into convulsions. The house was electrified by this melancholy circumstance, and every one anxiously strove to procure relief. But the scene of mortal existence was about to close for ever* This was the last public effort of the immortal minister, senator, and patriot, William Pitt; and he might be said to breathe his last in the se.rvice of his country. He died in about a month after; and the enthusiastic re- spect which was paid to his memory, shewed how de- servedly dear he was to the public, and how sensible every true-born Briton was of his loss. A public fune- ral was voted him by the legislature, and a monument in Westminster abbey, with a liberal pension to his heirs, to whom the title should descend. All ranks were zealous to testify their sincere regret and admiration, and he is still universally allowed to have been as profound a politician, as able a senator, and as upright a minister, as this country ever produced, Sagacity, promptitude, and energy, were the predo- minating traits of lord Chatham's character., His ruU ing passion was an ambitious love of glory, but it was of an honourable and virtuous kind ; he practised no meanness to obtain it, and his private life was unsullied by any vice. He was conscious of his virtues and ta- lents, and therefore appeared impatient of contradiction in public affairs; but in society he could unbend to all companies, EARL OF CHATHAM. 3()l panics, and possessed such a fund of intelligence and versatility of wit, that he could adapt himself to all circumstances and occasions. In the higher parts of oratory he had no competitor, and stood alone the rival of antiquity. His eloquence was of every kind, and lie excelled in the argumentative as well as the declamatory species. But his invectives were terrible, and uttered with such energy of diction, and such dignity of action and countenance, that he in- timidated those who were the most willing and the best able to encounter him. Their arms fell from their hands, and they shrunk under the ascendant which his genius had gained over theirs. The fluent Murray has fault ered, and Fox, lord Holland, shrunk back ap- palled, from an adversary " fraught with fire unquench- able," if the expression may be permitted. " He could adapt himself to every topic, but dignity was the character of his oratory, and his personal great- ness gave weight to the style he assumed. His asser- tions rose into proof, his foresight became prophecy. No clue was necessary to the labyrinth illumined by his ge- nius. Truth came forth at his bidding, and realized the wish of the philosopher 5 she was seen and beloved." Such are the panegyrics paid to this great man's in- tellectual and expressive powers by some who were wit- nesses of their effects, and judges of their merits. On a character so'highly respected, and endeared to Englishmen, it would be grateful to -enlarge; but we can add nothing new to what has" been advanced in his commendation by the ablest writers; and silent admi- ration on such a favourite subject is, perhaps, the most eloquent and efficient praise ! R*. DAVID ( 302 ) DAVID GARRICK, Esq, Born 1719— Died 1779. From h!h George J. to \§tk George II L The grace of action, the adapted mien, Faithful as nature to the varied scene; Th' expressive glance, whose subtle comment draws Entranced attention, and a mute applause ; Gesture that marks, with force and feeling fraught, A sense in silence, and a will in thought ; Harmonious speech, whose pure and liquid tone Gives verse a music scarce confessed its own ; (As light from gems assumes a brighter ray, And clothM with orient hues transcends the day) : Passion's wild break, and frown that awes the sense, And every charm of gentler eloquence; — All perishable, like th'ele&ric fire, But strike the frame, and as they strike expire : Incense too choice a bodied flame to bear, Its fragrance charms the sense, and blends with air, Monopy to the menwry n/ Garrick. THE poet lives in his lays, the painter on his can- vas ; all the imitative arts, except the scenic, leavesome memorials to illustrate the fame of proficients ; but the transient beauties of dramatic acting have no " local habitation;" they blaze, and expire in an in- stant. The spectator can scarcely fix them in his me- mory ; and posterity can form no idea of them, except from the effects which they are recorded to- have pro- duced. The candidates for theatric fame are neverthe* less numerous; as it frequently happens^ that specious talents are more encouraged than real, and because the clap of applause is more gratifying to many minds, than the lasting plaudits of the world, which, perhaps, are not paid on this side the grave. Yet surely this consi- deration ought to have much weight with the young and inexperienced, " that a mediocrity of scenic excel- lence will never gain either praise or reward, and that the DAVID GARRICK. 3Q3 the highest attainments in the art are perishable as the frame that produces them." Even Garrick, who reach- ed the acme of his profession, could not embody his ex- cellencies; and no description of the voice or pen can do them justice. This great actor was descended from a French family*, which the revocation of the edict of Nantz had expatri- ated. His father obtained a captain's commission in the British army, and generally resided at Litchfield. Our actor, however, was born at Hereford, and seems to have received the early part of his education there ; but at ten years of age was removed to the grammar-school of - Litchfield. His proficiency in scholastic learning was not great, because his application was small. He pos- sessed a vivacity of temper, which disqualified him for attention to books ; and the love of theatric representa- tion seems to have been interwoven with, his very con- stitution. In his eleventh year, he formed the project ©f getting up the Recruiting Officer , and having pre- viously trained his youthful associates, they performed in a barn, with general applause. The young hero of the stage particularly distinguished himself in the cha- racter of Sergeant Kite, and the plaudits which he re- ceived on this occasion served to fan the predominant passion of his breast, which, however, was not suffered to burst into a flame, till it had acquired strength to support a steady blaze. Soon after, on the invitation of an uncle, who was engaged in the wine -trade at Lis- bon, young Garrick visited that city; but his taste was totally incompatible with the pursuits of commerce, and the frolicksome vivacity of the nephew did not comport with the grave formality of the merchant. In conse- quence they soon parted, yet not before Garrick had made himself agreeable to the gay part of the English factory by his turn for sportiveness and mimicry, which are pleasing in the boy, though often dangerous to future man, R '5 3Q4 DAVID GARRICK; Returning to Litchfield, he was placed for some little time under his illustrious townsman, Samuel Johnson : but the master, however well qualified to instruct, had no great partiality for the profession which he had chosen; and Garrick was as little disposed to learn. Both being soon weary of their situation, in 1737 they set out together to try their fortunes in the great metro- polis ; Garrick being then about eighteen years of age. Soon after his arrival in London, he entered himself of the Temple, with a design, as it should seem, to study the law as a profession; but being now sensible of his little improvement in learning, and feeling the necessity of bestowing a more attentive application; he put him- self under the instruction of Mr. Colson, an eminent ma- thematician at Rochester, and for some time pursued his studies with diligence and success. It was not long,, however, before his uncle died, and left him a legacy of 1000/.. Unsettled in his mind, and desultory in his pur- suits, because his filial affection kept him from indulg- ing his fixed and unconquerable propensity to the stage* he entered soon after into partnership with his brother Peter, a wine-merchant in London. This union was also of short duration. The tempers and habits of the- two brothers were diametrically opposite ; and, to avoid the unpleasantness of daily altercation, they parted by mutual consent. In this interval his mother had departed life ; and,. being now emancipated from a restraint which his duty had imposed on him, he gave a loose to bis darling pas- sion for the stage; and associated chiefly with those from whom he could derive dramatic improvement or pleasure. In the company of the most celebrated actors he tried his powers, and frequented the theatre as- a school where he was to learn the principles of his art; Garrick, however, though enthusiastic in his pursuit, wa? not one of those inconsiderate votaries foi*. dramatic. fame*. DAVID GARRICK. 3Q5 fame, who risk success by crude and abortive attempts. He formed a proper estimate of his native powers, and he did not expose them before they gained maturity. At once to make a debut on the London stage, he con- sidered as too hazardous, and therefore he passed his noviciate at Ipswich, under Mess. Gerard and Dunstall, in the summer of 1741. The first character in which he appeared was that of Aboan, in Oroonoko, under the adopted name of Lyddal; and the applause which he gained did credit to the taste of his provincial judges. In quick succession he performed several capital parts, both in tragedy and comedy ; even to excel in the feats of harlequin was not beneath his ambition. In every essay, and in every character, he met with the loudest plaudits; and, having now gained confidence by suc- cess, he appeared next winter on the stage at 'Good- jnan's-fields. The first character which he represented to an admiring London audience, was that of Richard III. and the most eminent connoisseurs of dramatic excel- lence in the great world confirmed the decisions of Ips- wich. In a short time, Drury-lane and Covent-garden were almost deserted. It was unfashionable not to see Garrick, and as unfashionable not to admire him. He was universally acknowledged by the, most competent judges to be a rising prodigy on the stage ; and alone, but in vain, did the interested part of his profession en^ deavour to depreciate his worth. Quin could not con- ceal his chagrin ; and, being told of his unbounded suc- cess, observed with pointed irony, " that Garrick's was a new religion ; Whitfield was followed for a time, but that people would soon return to church again." This bon mot being reported to the young actor, with a pecu- liar felicity of epigrammatic point lie wrote the follow- ing lines : Pope Quin, \vho"damns all churches but his own,. "Complains -that heresy corrupts the town. R 6 Schism, 396 DAVID GARRICK. Schism, he cries, has turnM a nation's brain 5 But eyes will open ; and to church again ! Then, great infallible ! forbear to roar; Thy bulls and errors are reverM no more. When doctrines meet with general approbation, It is not heresy — but reformation. But if Garrick was a match for his jealous opponents at the pen, he found himself inferior in influence. Hav- ing been admitted to a moiety of the profits at Good- man's-fields, the patentees of the other theatres saw they must subvert his empire to preserve their own. An act of parliament was obtained to confine dramatic exhibi- tions to Drury-lane and Co vent-garden ; and Garrick entered into an agreement with the manager of the for- mer, on the salary of 500/. a year. He had previously made himself known as a dramatic writer by his " Lying Valet," and " Lethe;" and now he began to obtain the appellation of the English Roscius, and to be courted by the elegant, and patronized by the great. Such was his celebrity, that Ireland early expressed a desire to witness his powers ; and, having obtained very lucrative terms, he performed in Dublin, during the summer of 1742, with such uncommon eclat, and to such crowded houses, that an epidemical mortal fever broke out, which went by the name of Garrick's disor- der. His reception in that hospitable country was the most flattering that any ador ever experienced, either before or since. In the winter he resumed his station at Drury-lane, and was now irrevocably fixed in the theatrical profes- sion. His name in a play-bill operated like a charm ; he never appeared but he attracted full houses : and, his fame being now completely established, he continued, for a long series of years, the admiration of the public, and the idol of his friends ; among whom he could enu- merate the most distinguished in rank, consequence, and talents. DAVID GARRICK. 3()7 His services were found so essential to the support of the theatre, that, in 174\T> he became joint patentee of Drury-lane, with Mr. Lacy. In this capacity he exert- ed himself to introduce order, decency, and decorum ; and his own example co-operated to give success to his endeavours. He rendered his very profession more re- spectable than it had ever been before, not only by his superior accomplishments, but by his conduct as a man. In two years after he became a manager, he entered into the nuptial state with Mademoiselle VToiette, a young lady of great personal beauty and elegant accom- plishments, who proved a mo3t affectionate .partner. Easy in his circumstances* happy in his connections, ad- mired wherever he was known, and blazoned by fame over Europe; after some years* assiduous application, he determined to visit the continent, both with a view to the improvement of his health, and the extension of his knowledge. Accordingly, In 1763, he set out on his travels, and was every where received with a respect due to his extraordinary talents as an actor, which he readily exhibited when properly requested. Indeed, vanity seems to have been a predominant part of his character; and he inhaled the incense of applause with as much rapture as if he had not been accustomed to enjoy it. His company was eagerly coveted by the great and the learned in France and Italy; and to entertain them, he would go through the whole circle of theatric evolutions^ with a rapidity unexampled, with an impressive force that nothing could resist. Without the least prepara- tion, he could assume any character, and seize on any passion. From the deepest tragedy to the extremes of comic levity he passed in an instant, and agitated every spectator with the passion he meant to inspire. He exhibited the famous dagger soliloquy from Mac- beth before the duke of Parma ; and had several friendly contests with the celebrated Mademoiselle Clairon, at 2 Paris, 308 DAVID GARRICK. Paris, for the entertainment of their mutual friends. But Garrick was not satisfied with the fame he justly received for animated and correct expression of the pas- sions from plays ; he convinced his auditors, that even in dumb show he could melt the heart. Having been an eye-witness of an unhappy father in France, fondling his child at an open window, when it sprang from his arms, and was dashed to pieces in the street; he recited this affecting incident, and threw himself into the distracted attitude of the parent, at the instant his darling appeared irrecoverably lost, with such natural expression of un- utterable woe, that he filled every breast with sympa- thetic horror, and drew forth a shower of tears. Even Clairon was so much affected and charmed, that, when she was a little recovered, by an involuntary impulse of applause, she caught Garrick in her arms and kissed him. After spending about a year and an half on the con- tinent, our great Roscius returned to his native land ; and, having derived much of his reputation from exhi- biting the impassioned scenes of Shakspeare, in honour of that immortal painter of the passions he projected a jubilee at Stratford, which drew together such a con- course of polite spectators as was scarcely ever known before. On this occasion, the first actor paid the homage of respect to the first dramatic writer that ever Britain produced. By the death of Mr. Lacy, in 1773, Garrick became sole manager of Drury-lane ; but age now creeping on, and the gout and stone frequently afflicting him, he sold his share of the patent three years after, and bade a final adieu to the stage. The two or three weeks before he retired, he ran through some of his principal characters, with undiminished spirit, and rivetted the reputation he had gained. The last part he performed was Felix, in the Wonder. When the play was ended, he stept for* ward, under apparently extreme emotion, and, after a. short DAVID GARKICK. 3QQ short struggle of nature, addressed the audience in such pathetic terms, as drew tears from every eye, as well as his own. " This," said he, " is to me a very awful mo- ment ; it is no less than parting for ever with those from whom I have received the greatest kindness and favours, and upon the spot where that kindness and those favours were enjoyed," Having concluded his impassioned parting harangue, in which every heart sympathized, he made a profound obeisance, the curtain dropt, and he retired amidst the regret and acclamations of the most brilliant audience that had ever been collected in an En- glish theatre. During the Christmas holidays of 1778, being on a visit with Mrs. Garrick, at the country seat of earl Spen- cer, he was seized with a disorder, from which having* partially recovered, he returned to his house in. the Adel- phi ; but next day he was alarmed with a stoppage of the urinary discharge, and the arts of medicine proving* ineffectual to relieve him, a stupor came on, and in- creased till the moment of his dissolution, which hap- pened four days after, without a groan. Many ©f the faculty attended him with affectionate assiduity,, but knew not what name to apply to his disorder. The day before he quitted the mortal stage,, seeing a number of gentlemen in his chamber, he asked who they were, Being told they were physicians, he shook his head, and repeated from Horatio, in the Fair Penitent, Another and another still- succeeds; And the last fool is welcome as the former. Considered as a dramatic writer, his fame is only sub- ordinate. His compositions of every kind are rather the temporary effusions of an elegant, playful mind,, than finished productions. But universal excellence is not the lot of man. He reached the summit of excel- lence as an actor ; and, what, is more to his credit, he performed 400 CAPTAIN COOK, performed his part with respectability in private life* He was greedy of money and of praise ; of the former he, however, made a charitable use, and the latter was justly due to his supereminent abilities. Courted and flattered as he was, he must have been somewhat more than man to be absolutely devoid of vanity. It has been said of Garrick, " that he was only natural on the stage ;" yet his private friends loved him well, and have paid many honourable testimonies to his social worth. CAPTAIN JAMES COOK. Born 1728— Killed 1779. From 1st Gear ere II. to 19t/i George III,. F^ OR the present reign the glory was reserved of carrying the spirit of maritime enterprize to its ut^. most extent, and of directing it to its noblest ends — the enlargement of science, and the civilization of man* kind ; nor can the patriotic sovereign, who patronized, be ever viewed in this honourable light, without reflect* ing a lustre on the able servant who executed his designs; Distinguished as this country is for its illustrious naviga- tors, it certainly derives no small accession of fame from producing such a man as Cook, who, by dint of perser. vering diligence, and the exercise of useful talents, burst through the impediments of original indigence and ob- scurity, gained the palm of deserved celebrity, and now ranks high among the benefactors of mankind. This respectable and beloved commander was bora at Marton, in Cleveland, about four miles from Great Ay- ton, in Yorkshire. His father, who lived in the humble capacity of a farmer's servant, married a woman in the same sphere of life with himself. Botft were noted for honesty, sobriety, and industry, qualities which are esti- mable CAPTAIN COOK. 401 mable in the lowest station ; and when our navigator was very young, his father's good character procured him the place of a bailiff to a gentleman at Great Ay- ton, whither the family removed. The son followed the same servile employment as far as his tender years would permit, and thus laid the foundation of that har- diness of constitution, which enabled him to fulfil his fu- ture destinies with comfort and satisfaction to himself. The early education of Cook seems to have been very slender; however, it was not wholly neglected. At the age of thirteen he was placed under the care of a writing- master, with whom he learned the rudiments of arith- metic and book-keeping ; and is said to have shewn a re- markable facility in acquiring the science of numbers. Having reached his seventeenth year, his father bound him apprentice to a grocer, at Snaith, a considerable fish- ing town. But, as he evinced a strong partiality for a maritime life, for which his predilection was probably confirmed by the situation of the place, and the prevail- ing taste of its inhabitants, after eighteen months' servi- tude he obtained a release from his engagements, and determined to follow the bent of his genius. Accordingly, in 174-6, he became an apprentice for three years to Messrs. Walker, of Whitby, who were en- gaged chiefly in the coal-trade ; and served the full term to the entire satisfaction of his masters. After perform- ing some voyages to the Baltic in the capacity of a com- mon sailor, Messrs. Walker, who had penetration enough to discover his talents and worth, appointed him mate to one of their ships ; and after some time made him an offer of the place of captain, which, fortunately for his country, he declined. Hostilities commencing between Great Britain and France, in 1755, Cook lying then in the river Thames, and finding press-warrants were issued, with the spirit of a man who disdained to be compelled %p serve his king* 402 CAPTAIN COOK* king, adopted the resolution of entering as a volunteer in the royal navy; " having a mind," as he expressed himself,. " to try his fortune in that way." The first ship in which he served was the Eagle; and captain, afterwards Sir Hugh Pttlliser, being appointed to the command, soon recognized the diligence and at- tention of Cook, and granted him every encouragement compatible with his humble station. His friends and connexions, likewise, in his native county, finding his conduct deserving their patronage, generously interfered in his behalf* and, by the assistance of Mr. Osbaldes- ton, member for Scarborough, and the warm encomiums of his captain, at last procured a master's warrant to the Mercury, in which he sailed, under Sir Charles Saun- ders, to assist in the reduction of Quebec. The professional merit, the skill, and intrepidity of Cook, were now sufficiently blazoned ; and he was ap- pointed to take the soundings of the river St. Lawrence, directly opposite to the French camp ; a service as ha- zardous as important, but which he performed to the entire satisfaction of his employers'. • There is little reason to believe, that before this period Cook had used a pencil, or was acquainted with the principles of drawing; but such was the vigour of his mind, and his aptitude for the acquisition of knowledge, that he speedily mastered every object to which he ap- plied. Under every disadvantage, he furnished the ad» miral with a complete draught of the channel and its soundings ; and at once established his reputation as a surveyor. After the conquest of Canada, so honourable to every person who bore a part in it, he was appointed master of the Northumberland, under lord Colville, on the Nova Scotia station; where he ingratiated himself with his noble commander to a high degree. Sensible that he was now in the roa«d to promotion, he redoubled his ardour CAPTAIN COOK. 403 ardour to quality himself for adorning every station to which he might be raised. He devoted his leisure hours to the .study of such branches of knowledge as add Utility to, or reflect a lustre on, naval life. He read Eu- clid's elements, and studied astronomy; and, by ap- plication and perseverance, overcame every obstacle of situation, and made a progress, which a man of less genius could never have attained, under much superior advantages. In April, 1760, he received his lieutenant's commis- sion, and daily advanced in the career of glory. Sti- mulated by the success that had attended his past la- bours, and animated by the.hopes of future promotion, he diligently applied himself to acquire a knowledge of the North American coast, and to facilitate its navi- gation. His abilities, as an accurate draughtsman, were now so well known, that he was employed by different commanders to make charts and surveys ; and the una- nimous voice of the best judges confirms his merit in this respect. Towards the close of 1762, he returned to England, and espoused a young lady of the name of Batts, whom he tenderly loved, and who had every claim to his warmest affection and esteem. It has been said, that Cook stood as her godfather, and had declared at that time his wish for their future union. If this anecdote be true, it shews the firmness of his character, and the strength of his attachment in a very amiable and con- spicuous point of view. His situation in life, however, and the high and important services to which he was called, did not long suffer him to enjoy connubial bliss; for we find him variously engaged in North America and the West Indies during some of the subsequent years. That our navigator had made a considerable profici- ency in practical astronomy before 1766, is evident from 4(M CAPTAIN COOK. an " observation of an eclipse of the sun at the island of Newfoundland," taken that year, " with the longi- tude deduced from it.". This was published in the Phi- losophical Transactions ; and lieutenant Cook now ac- quired reputation for his scientific, as he had formerly for his professional skill. But we are now come to a period of Cook's life that requires little illustration from our pen: his services are well known to Europe and the world ; and in this place can only be summed up in a very cursory manner. The history of his voyages, which details his achieve- mentSj will be read and remembered as long as curiosity is an active principle of the human mind. We have traced the progressive steps by which this great nauti- cal character rose ; and it cannot fail to be consolatory to those, who, like him, aspire by merit to distinction, that the path is still open, and that honour and fame await the brave, the enterprizing, and the meritorious. The Royal Society having resolved, that it would be beneficial to science to send proper persons into the South Seas, to observe the expected transit of Venus over the sun's disk, lieutenant Cook, whose abilities as an astronomer were now well known, was not only ap- pointed to the command of a vessel, liberally fitted out by government for this purpose, but also constituted joint astronomer with Mr. Charles Green. The present illustrious Sir Joseph Banks also volunteered his ser- vices on this occasion, and Dr. Solander, a disciple of Linnaeus, added to the scientific attendants of the voy- age. Cook with the rank of captain, sailed down the river Thames, on the 30th of July, 1768, on an expe- dition the most honourable to his country. Seldom have distant regions been explored by authority, unless for the purposes of avarice or ambition; on this occa- sion, however, the thirst of knowledge was the grand stimulus to adventure. In the course, of the voyage*. captain CAPTAIN COOK. 405 captain Cook visited the Society islands; determined the insularity of New Zealand; sailed through the straits which separate two islands, now called after his name, and made a complete survey of both. He after- wards explored the eastern coast of New Holland, hitherto unknown, and thus added an extent of more than two thousand miles to our geographical knowledge of the terraqueous globe. In this voyage, which lasted nearly three years, captain Cook, besides effecting the immediate object of his mission, made discoveries equal in number and importance to all the navigators of his own, or any other country, collectively, from the time of Columbus to the present. Soon after his return, it was determined to equip two ships to complete the discovery of the southern hemi- sphere. It had long been a prevaiftng idea among geo- graphers, that the unexplored part contained another continent, and captain Cook was again employed to ascertain this important point. Accordingly he sailed from Deptford in the Resolution, accompanied by the Adventure, on April 9, 1772, and effectually resolved the problem of a southern continent; having traversed that hemispliere in such a manner as not to leave a pos- sibility of its existence, unless near the pole, and out of the reach of navigation. During this expedition he dis- covered New Caledonia, one of the largest islands in the South Pacific Ocean, the island of South Georgia, and Sandwich-land, the Thule of the southern hemi- sphere; and having twice visited the tropical seas, he settled the positions of the former, and made several fresh discoveries. So many services performed by one man, might have been an honourable acquittance from further toils, and his country considered it in this light; but captain Cook, animated by the love of true glory, wished to complete the geography of die globe; and, having been consulted •J 00 CAPTAIN COOK, consulted respecting the appointment of a proper officer to conduct a voyage of further discovery, to determine the practicability of a north-west passage, he immedi- ately tendered his own services, which were accepted with all possible gratitude and acknowledgment. On this third, and, unhappily, his last voyage, he sailed in July, 1776; and besides several islands in the Southern Pacific, he discovered, to the north of the equinoctial line, the group called the Sandwich islands; which, from their situation and produces, bid fair to be- come an object of consequence in the system of Euro- pean navigation and commerce. After this, he proceed- ed on the grand object of his expedition, and explored what had hitherto remained unknown of the western coast of America, containing an extent of three thousand five hundred miles ; ascertained the proximity of die two great continents of Asia and America, passed the straits that divide them, and surveyed the coast on each side, to such a height of northern latitude, as fully de- monstrated the impracticability of a passage, in that he- misphere, from the Atlantic into the Pacific Ocean, either by an eastern or western course. After having achieved so much, it is painful to reflect that he did not live to enjoy the honours which would have been paid to his successful and meritorious labours. On his return, he was unfortunately cut off, in an affray with the natives of O'whyhee, one of the Sandwich islands, part of the fruits of his discoveries, and the scene of his meloncholy death. The loss of this estimable man was sincerely lamented, not only by Britain, but by every nation which loved science, or was capable of appreciating useful talents and services. The most ho- nourable eulogies have been paid to his memory, by some whose slightest praise is fame; but no panegyric can exceed his deserts, nor are monuments necessary to perpetuate his remembrance: — those he erected with his own hands will be eternal. CAPTAIN COOK. 40/ His character is thus drawn by his amiable coadjutor captain King : — s% The constitution of his body was ro- bust, inured to labour, and capable of undergoing the severest hardships. His stomach bore, without diffi- culty, the coarsest and most ungrateful food. Indeed, temperance in him was scarcely a virtue; so great was the indifference with which. he submitted to any kind of self-denial. The qualities of his mind were of the same hardy, vigorous kind with those of his body. His cou- rage was cool and determined, and accompanied with an admirable presence of mind In the moment of dan- ger. His manners were plain and unaffected. His temper might, perhaps, have been justly blamed as to hastiness and passion, had not these been disarmed by a disposition the most benevolent and humane. But the distinguishing feature of his character was unremitting perseverance in the pursuit of his object, which was not only superior to the opposition of dangers, and the pres- sure of hardships, but even exempt from the want of or- dinary relaxation." As a commander, his benevolent attention to the health of his men, and the .success which attended it, forms a dis- tinguished part of his praise. By the judicious methods he pursued, he has shewn the world, that the longest voyages, through every climate, may be performed with as little risque of life from natural causes, as under our native sky, and surrounded with every comfort. He has proved, that the scurvy, which has so frequently been the pest of nautical expeditions, may be avoided, or its ravages repelled. 1 or his easy and practicable means of securing the health of seamen, which he communi- cated to the Royal Society, the gold medal was voted to him, with an appropriate speech by the president, after his departure on his last voyage. This testimony of gratitude never reached his ears ; but for the services which obtained it, his name will descend to future ages f among the friends and benefactors of mankind- ( 408 ) SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. JUDGE OF THE COURT OF COMMON PLEAS. Born 1723— Died 1780, From $t/i George J. to 20th George III, TO be able to produce flowers in a path confessedly rugged, to render the driest subject not only instruc- tive, but inviting, implies no small share of genius and talents; and was reserved for Sir William Blackstone to perform. Before bis time, jurisprudence was stu- died only as qualifying for a profession, but his labours rendered it a classical pursuit. The illustrious Bacon had the glory to bring down philosophy to the level of common understandings, and to render her captivating ; Blackstone made the legal polity of his country amiable and popular, by the simple neatness in which he clothed it; and medicine in the same manner has been stripped of its mysterious jargon, by men to whom posterity will do justice, when envy sleeps with them in the grave. This elegant lawyer was a native of London, and born in Cheapside. His father was a very respectable citizen, but died before the birth of this his fourth son; his mother was of a genteel family in Wilts; but she too departed this life, before he could be duly sensible ofiiis loss. The care of his education, therefore devolv- ed on his maternal uncle, who placed him early at the Charter-house; and he was afterwards admitted on that excellent and liberal foundation. In this seminary he pursued his classical studies with uncommon assiduity and success, and gave indications of those talents and that industry which shone in his future life. When only fifteen years of age, he was found properly qualified to be removed to the university; and accordingly was entered a commoner of Pembroke college, Oxford, with a €harter* SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 40C) a Charter-house exhibition. But being at the head of the school, and deservedly favoured by his master, he was permitted to continue some months longer a scholar at the Charter-house, that he might have the honour and emolument of speaking the usual oration on the anniversary commemoration of the founder* About the same time, he obtained Mr. Benson's gold medal for verses on Milton; and was considered by all who knew him, as a very promising genius. Pursuing his academical studies with unremitted ar- dour, he soon became as much admired at the university as he had been at school. The Greek and Latin poets were his favourites ; but they did not engross all his at- tention. Logic, mathematics, and other sciences, were cultivated by the young student with diligence and ala- crity; and, possessing a mind formed for acute investi- gation, and a taste for extracting the sweets of every subject he studied, he converted the most dry into an amusement, the most abstruse he stript of its veil and its asperity. He evinced a particular passion for archi- tecture ; and when no more than twenty years of age, drew up the elements of that science for his own use only; but which was considered by judges as a presage of his future celebrity* Hitherto, however, he had been studying for orna- ment, or for private gratification. It now was requisite to determine on some profession in life, in which he might render his talents subservient to his advancement. Accordingly, he quitted the flowery paths of polite lite- rature, in which he had strayed with the highest intel- lectual delight; and, devoting himself to the study of the law, entered himself of die Middle Temple, in No- vember, 1741. On this occasion he wrote a very beau- tiful ode, entitled, " The Lawyer's Farewel to his Muse." We cannot resist the temptation of making an extract from this classical piece; and we regret that our limits do not permit us to transcribe the whole, S As 410 SIR WILLIAM ELACKSTONE. As by some tyrant's stern command, A wretch forsakes his native land, In foreign climes condemn'd to roam, An endless exile from his home ; Pensive he treads the destnn'd way, And dreads to go, nor dares to stay ; Till on some neighboring mountain's brow He stops, and turns his eyes below j There, melting at the well-known view, Drops a last tear, and bids adieu : So I, thus doom'd from thee to part, Gay queen of fancy and of art, Reluctant move, with doubtful mind, Oft stop, and often look behind. STiakspeare, no more, thy svlvan son, Nor all the art of Addison, Pope's heav'n-strung lyre, nor Waller's ease, Nor Milton's mighty self, must please : Instead of these, a formal band, In furs and coifs around me stand ; With sounds uncouth, and accents dry, That grate the soul of harmony, Each pedant sage unlocks his, store. Of mystic, dark, discordant lore; And points, with tottering hand, the ways That lead me to the thorny maze. There, in a winding close retreat, Is Justice doonfd to fix her seat ; There, fencM by bulwarks of the law, She keeps the wondVing world in awe ; And there, from vulgar sight retir'd, Like Eastern queens, is more admired. O let me pierce the secret shade, Where dwells the venerable maid ! There humbly mark, with rev Vent awe, The guardian of Britannia's law 5 Unfold with joy her sacred page, Th' united boast of many an age, Where mix'd, yet uniform appears, The wisdom of a thousand years-, In that pure spring the bottom view, Clear, deep, and regularly true, And SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 4 1 1 And other doctrines thence imbibe Than lurk within the sordid scribe $ a. Observe how parts with parts unite In one harmonious rule of right ; See countless wheels distinctly tend, By various laws to one great end ! While mighty Alfred's piercing soul Pervades and regulates the whole. In 1744, Mr. Blackstone was elected a fellow of All Souls; and from this period divided his time between the college and the Temple. To the former, he per- formed some very essential services, and was entrusted with the management of its most valuable concerns. In Michaelmas term, 1746, he was called to the bar; bat possessing neither a confident eloquence, nor a prompt delivery, he did not make any considerable figure there. However, with his abilities, a patron alone was wanting to secure his success. His real merits were only known to a few : although both' solid and striking, they required, notwithstanding, to be set off by extrinsic circumstances. After attending the courts for seven years, and, perhaps, with as deep a knowledge of the laws of his country- as any counsel of his age, he found that, with all his diligence, and with all his merit, he could not open the way to fame; and having previously been elected recorder of Wallingford, and taken the de- gree of doctor in civil law, he resolved to give up the contest at .Westminster, and to retire to an academic lite, and the limited practice of a provincial counsel. Blackstone is not the only great lawyer who has found the difficulty of rising in early distinction. In all the professions, a young adventurer requires some adventi- tious helps — some lucky incident to develop e talents, or powerful friends to force them into notice. It was, however, fortunate for his fame, and we may add for his country, that he gained the learned leisure which Oxford allowed him. Having for some years planned his le&ures on the laws of England, he now be- S 2 gan 412 SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. gan to execute this immortal work. In 1754*, lie pub- lished his " Analysis/* which increased his fame as a legal scholar; and four years after, being elected Vine- rian professor of the common law, he read his celebrated introductory lecture, which to the purest elegance of diction united the most recondite knowledge of English jurisprudence. Every succeeding lecture increased his reputation ; and he became the deserved object of admi- ration among the legal students, and was considered as an ornament to the university in general. Being now generally known as a man of talents, in 1759 he purchased chambers in the Temple, and made another effort at the bar. He, how r ever, continued to read his lectures at Oxford with the highest eclat; and they became so much talked of, that it is said the gover- nor of a great personage requested a copy of them for the use o£ his royal pupil. Be this as it may, it is cer- tain Dr. Blackstone was now daily advancing in fortune and fame. In 1761 he was returned to parliament, and appointed king's counsel, after refusing the office of chief justice of the court of common pleas in Ireland* The same year he married a daughter v of James Clithe- roe, esq. of Boston-house, in Middlesex, by whom he left several children ; and vacating his fellowship, the chancellor of the university appointed him principal of New-Inn-hall. The following year he was made solici- tor-general to the queen, and chosen a bencher of the Middle Temple. The celebrated " Commentaries on the Laws of England" began to be published in 1765, and were completed in the four succeeding years. The reputation he gained by this work was unbounded; and, In consequence, it was minutely criticised by such as en- vied his fame, or disliked some principles he had laid down. In a work of such a multifarious nature, it was impossible for tire most acute and impartial to be wholly exempt from error. Some passages, which had occa- sioned much animadversion, he softened in subsequent editfons; SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 413 editions ; and others which had been objected to, as ini- mical to constitutional liberty, he left to defend them- selves. Mr. Christian, who has published an edition of this classical and standard book, points cut several in- accuracies; but the basis, and indeed the general execu- tion, must be as durable as the British constitution, of which it treats ; and let us add- — may both be perpetual ! In May, 1770, Dr. Blackstone was knighted, and ap- pointed a judge in the court of king's bench; and the following month removed to the same station in the common pleas. Having now obtained the summit of his wishes, he resigned all his other appointments, and fixed himself wholly in London. Though never c' guished as a very fluent speaker, he was justly esteemed an able and upright judge, and did honour to the bench. But he did not confine his talents entirely to his voca- tion: whenever his leisure permitted, he was employed in some plan of public utility, either enlarging the bounds of legal knowledge, or promoting the interest and welfare of society. A life devoted to intense study early brought upon him the infirmities of age. His constitution was broken by the gout, and nervous complaints, the effect of seden- tary pursuits. About Christmas, 1779, he was seized with an asthma, which was rendered more dangerous by obesity. This was partially removed ; but a stupor and drowsiness supervening, he. ceased to breathe about six weeks after, in the fifty-sixth year of his age, and was buried in the family vault at Wallingford. As a lawyer, the character and abilities of Sir Wil- liam Blackstone must be estimated from his works; and to the breasts'of the impartial we may safely commit his fame. " Every Englishman," says a writer who controverted some of his principles, " is under obliga- tions to him for the pains he has taken to render the laws of his country intelligible; and the philosopher will, thank him for rendering the study of them easy and en- gaging." S 3 414 DR. JOHNSON. In private life he was truly amiable ; beloved by his friends for the amenity of his manners, and endeared to his family by the suavity of his disposition. He was a remarkable economist of time ; and as he disliked squan- dering away his own, so he was averse to waste that of others. In reading his lectures, it could not be remem- bered that he ever made his audience wait even a few minutes beyond the time appointed. " Melancthon," observes his biographer, " could not have been more rigid in observing the hour and minute of an appoint- ment. Indeed, punctuality, in his opinion, was so much a virtue, that he could not bring himself to think per- iectly well of any one who was notoriously defective in its practice." DOCTOR SAMUEL JOHNSON. Born 1709— Died 1784. From 1th Anne to ^Aih George III. OF this literary luminary of the eighteenth century, who was confessedly at the head of general lite- rature in a country where knowledge is very widely dif- fused, so much already has been written by friends and foes, by panegyrists and detractors, with such an ampli- tude of remark, and diligence of research, that the most industrious cannot glean a new anecdote, nor even throw an air of novelty on the hacknied theme. We shall therefore content ourselves with selecting some short biographical notices, and characteristic traits, of this profound writer, and truly good man; happy if we can litre the young to the study of his inestimable productions; happier still, if we can engage them to practise his virtues. The life of Johnson was a perpe- tual comment on the precepts he promulgated; in his writings we read the man, naked and exposed to the most BR. JOHNSON. 4\~) most incurious eye. Dignified in his mind, he scorned to conceal his genuine sentiments, or to wrap them in the veil of mystery. He spoke and wrote from his own impressions alone, whether right or wrong; he conceded nothing through complaisance, and palliated nothing through fear. Litchfield had the high honour of producing this prodigy in the literary world. His father was a book- seller there ; a profession formerly, and even now, ac- companied by no mean talents, and which affords con- siderable facilities of cultivating them. Johnson's sire seems neither to have been destitute of intelligence nor discernment; but fortune diet not smile upon his exer- tions, and he lost by scheming what he gained by his regular trade. Either from his parents, or a nurse, Johnson derived an unhappy scrophulotts taint, which disfigured his features, and affected the senses of hearing and seeing ; it gave, perhaps, a melancholy tinge to his mind, and even influenced his whole character. For this malady he was actually touched by queen Anne ; for being of a jacobitical family (and the son imbibed their principles), his parents had great faith in that supersti- tious rite. After acquiring the rudiments of reading under an old school-mistress, and an English master, who, accord- ing to his pupil, * published a spelling-book, and dedi- cated it to the universe," he was sent to the grammar- school at his native city, and had for his associates, Dr. James, the physician, Dr. Taylor, rector of Ashbourne,, and Mr. Hector, surgeon in Birmingham, with whom he contracted a particular intimacy. At school he is said to have been averse to study, but possessed of such strength of genius as rendered his tasks easy, without much application. Some of his exercises have acciden- tally been preserved, and justified the opinion of his father, who thought that literature was his forie y and. resolved to encourage it, notwithstanding the narrow- S A ness- 410 DR. JOHNSON, ness of his own circumstances, To complete his clas- sical studies he was afterwards removed to Stourbridge, where he seems to have acted in the double capacity of usher and scholar. His progress at the grammar-school he thus described ; " At the first I learnt much in the school,, but little from the master ; at the last I learnt much from the master, but little in the school.' 3 Having left school, he passed two years at home in desultory study, when he was entered as a commoner of Pembroke college : and, according to the testimony of Dr. Adams, his fellow-collegian, was the best quali- fied young man he had ever known admitted. He had not been long at the university before he had an oppor- tunity of displaying his poetical genius, in a Latin trans- lation of Pope's Messiah, which at once established his fame as a classical scholar 5 and for which he was com- plimented by the great poet on whom he had conferred this favour. But, amidst his growing reputation as a scholar, he . felt the penury of his circumstances insupportable. Humiliating as it must have been to a person of John- son's independent and elevated mind, his finances did not even enable him to make a decent appearance in dress, much less to defray the expence of academic insti- tution or elegant society. At last the insolvency of his fa- ther completed his distress : and he relinquished his prospects at the university, after a short interrupted re- sidence of three years. Returning to Litchfield, for some time he was depen- dent on the hospitality of benevolent friends, among whom was Gilbert Walmsley, whom he has immor- talized by his Celebration. At this period the " morbid melancholy" of his constitution, exacerbated by his for- lorn circumstances, made him fancy he was approach- ing to insanity, and he actually consulted a physician on this subject ; who found that his imagination and spirits alone were affected, and that his judgment was never more DR. JOHNSON. 417 more sound and vigorous. From this malady he never was perfectly relieved ; and all his amusements and his studies were only so many temporary alleviations of its influence. Without permanent protection or provision, he gladly accepted the offer of the place of usher at a school at Market Bosworth, immediately after his father's death ; and his final inheritance of 20/. was the only portion which fell to his share. This situation he soon found intolerable, from the tyrannical behaviour of a patron, in whose house he lodged. His prospects were now worse than ever ; and he was obliged to the friendship of Mr. Hector, his former companion, who was now set- tled at Birmingham, for a temporary shelter from the storm. At this place he commenced his career as an author, in the service of the editor of a newspaper ; and here his translation of Lobo's Voyage to Abyssinia was published, for which he received five guineas. This first prosaic production of his pen, contains none of that characteristic style which he afterwards formed, and which is peculiarly his own. - Johnson had been early sensible of the influence of female charms, and, after a transient passion for Miss Lucy Porter,- paid his addresses to her mother, the wi- dow of a mercer in Birmingham, which were accepted ; and, in 1735, she made him happy with her hand, and a portion of 800/. The object of his choice was nearly double his age, and not the most amiable in person or manners ; yet Johnson said " it was a love-match on both sides ;" and on his part, he seems to have enter- tained a sincero affection for her, which did not termi- nate with her life. Being now in a state of comparative independence, he attempted to establish a boarding-school at Edial, near Litchfield ; but this scheme proved abortive for want of encouragement : and, in 1737, he thought of trying his fortune in London, the grand mart of genius S 5 and 418 DK. JOHNSON. and industry, and where talents of every kind have the amplest scope and encouragement. Accordingly he set out, in company with Garrick, who had been his pupil, and now became his fellow ad- venturer. That two men, who afterwards rose to such celebrity, should be launched into life at one and the same time, and should not only be townsmen but friends, is rather a singular circumstance in the history of man- kind. The prospects of Johnson were certainly the most uninviting ; he had been already broken by disappoint- ments, and, besides, was a married man. The gay fan- cies of hope danced before the other, and his fine flow of animal spirits enabled him to view with unconcern what would have overwhelmed his associate. How Johnson at first employed-his talents, has not been distinctly ascertained ; it appears, however, that he had been in previous correspondence with Mr. Cave, the proprietor of the Gentleman's Magazine, and for some years after he settled in the metropolis, he derived his principal support from the part he took in that pub- lication. After a few months trial, in which he might pbssibly feel his strength and enlarge his connections, he returned to Litchfield for a short space ; and having now finished his tragedy of Irene, which had long em- ployed his attention, he finally fixed himself in London with his wife, who had hitherto been left in the coun- try. The poor pittances that can be allowed to a mere contributor to a periodical work, however respectable, cannot be supposed adequate to supply the wants of an individual, much less those of a family. Johnson laboured under the utmost pecuniary distress ; and meeting with Savage, a man of genius, equally unfor- tunate, the tie of common misery endeared them to each other. He offered his tragedy to the stage, but it was rejected ; his exquisite poem, entitled " London," imi- tated from Juvenal, with difficulty he could get accept- ed DR. JOHNSON. 41 Q ed for publication. No sooner, however, was it read than admired ; and if it was not a source of greaf emo- lument, it certainly made Johnson known as an author by profession, and facilitated the acceptance of other performances with which, in the sequel, he favoured the world. Still his generous mind revolted at the idea of a pre- carious dependence on the profits of authorship ; and he endeavoured, but in vain, to obtain the mastership of the grammar-school of Appleby, in Leicestershire.. Pope, unknown and unsolicited, wished to serve him in this affair ; but the qualifying degree could not be ob- tained, and the business was dropped. Again he made another effort to be admitted at Doctors' Commons ; but here too a degree was indispensable; and being thus frustrated in every attempt at meliorating his situ- ation, he began to acquiesce in the drudgery of author- ship, and seems to have adopted the resolution of at- tempting to write himself into notice, by an attack upon government. His " Marmor Norfolscience" was- published to vent his spleen against the Brunswick suc- cession, and the adherents and ministers of that illus- trious family. Ir gratified his own political prejudices* . and gained him the favour of men of similar prin- ciples ; but, according to one of his biographers, ex-* him to the danger of a prosecution. Passing over that checquered scene of his4ife, in which he may be designated as the stipendiary of Cave, we come to a period when he soared to a higher flight in literature ; and fully confident of his own powers, which had gradually been developed and slowly rewarded, assumed the rank in the republic of letters* to which he. had long been eminently entitled. In 174-9, we find him engaged as a critic and com- mentator on Shakspeare, (who. like Homer, has given sustenance to numbers); and publishing the plan of his- great English di&icnary, addressed to Lord Chester- S 6 field,- 420 BR. JOHNSON. field, in a strain of dignified compliment. The original hint of this great work is said to have been suggested by Dodsley; and that respectable literary character and bookseller, with several others of the profession, con- tracted for its execution, at the price of 1500 guineas. His friend Garrick, by his transcendent theatrical abi- lities, had now raised himself to the situation of joint patentee and manager of Drury-lane theatre ; and under his patronage, the long dormant tragedy of Irene was brought upon the stage. But the pompous phraseology and brilliant sentiments of Johnson were not colloquial enough for the drama. He displayed more art than na- ture, more description than pathos, and, -consequently, his tragedy was but coolly received by the public. The author, however, had sense enough to perceive that his talents did not lie this way : he acquiesced in the deci- sion of the public, and ceased to waste his time and la- bour on a species of composition for which nature had not adapted him. During the time that he was engaged on his diction- ary, to relieve the tedium of uniform attention to one object, he brought out his Rambler ; a work which con- tains the purest morals and justest sentiments, and on which alone his reputation as a fine writer and a good man may safely be rested. At first, however, it was far from being popular; but Johnson persevered with a laudable fortitude, conscious of its merits; and he had afterwards the felicity to see it run through many edi- tions, and even to be translated into foreign languages^ Soon after those excellent essays were closed, he lost h's wife; an event which threw him into the greatest affliction. His friends, in general, from the character and behaviour of the woman, were not a little disposed to ridicule what in many would have been deemed a feigned sorrow : but that Johnson felt all the poignancy of sincere grief is evident from his commemorating the day of her death, till his own, as a kind of religious fast. His DR. JOHNSON". 421 His dictionary was now about to appear; and lord Chesterfield, sensible of neglecting the person who had, in the first instance, claimed the honour of his patronage, paved the way for its favourable reception with the pub- lic, by two essays in the " World,*' expressly devoted to its praise. His lordship, no doubt, expected that launching those " two little cock-boats," as Johnson contemptuously termed them, to assist him when he was now in port, would obliterate the remembrance of past neglect, and procure him the immortal honour of a de- dication. But the dignified lexicographer saw through the artifice; and in a letter, couched in terms respectful in form but cutting in their essence, rejected the ad- vances of his 'lordship; and thereby afforded a noble lesson to ungracious patrons and insulted authors. After some expressions of general acknowledgment, Johnson proceeds in this sarcastic strain : " Seven years, my lord, have now passed since I waited in your outward rooms, or was repulsed from your door ; during which time I have been pushing on my work through difficulties of which it is useless to complain, and have brought it at last to the verge of publication, without one ad of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one smile of favour. Such treatment I did not expect, for I never had a patron before. " Is not a patron, my lord, one who looks with uncon- cern on a man struggling for his life in the water, and when he has reached ground, encumbers him with help? The notice which you have been pleased to take of my labours, had it been early, would have been kind; but it has been delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot en- joy it ; till I am solitary, and cannot impart it ; till I am known, and do not want it. I hope, therefore, it is* no very cynical asperity, not to confess obligations where no benefit has been received, or to be unwilling that the public should consider me as owing that to a patron, which Providence has enabled me to do for myself. 5 ' This 422 DR. JOHNSON. This stupendous monument of labour, talents, and genius was published in May, 1755; and his amiable friend, Mr. Warton, procured him the degree of master of arts to grace the title-page. Notwithstanding a few risible blunders, which Johnson had anticipated, might exist, it was instantly received with gratitude and con- gratulation ; and though the labour of an individual, it was deservedly compared with the united efforts of the forty French academicians, who had produced a similar work. To this, his friend Garrick alludes in a compli- mentary epigram which concludes with this couplet : And Johnson well arnVd, like a hero of yore, Has beat forty French, and will beat forty more ! But, though Johnson had now reared his fame on an adamantine base, and was flattered by the great, and listened to by the learned, he was not able to emerge from poverty and dependence. It is upon record, that he was arrested for a paltry debt of five guineas in the following year, and obliged to his friend Mr. Samuel Richardson for his emancipation. By the labours of his pen he was barely able " to provide for the day that was passing over his head." His Idler produced him a. temporary supply; and Rasselas, which he composed with unexampled rapidity, to discharge some debts left by his mother, who died in extreme old age, sold for 100/. At last, in 1762, royal munificence raised him above the drudgery of an author by profession, and fixed him in the enjoyment of learned ease, or voluntary labour. He received a pension of 300/. a year, as a reward for his past productions, which had been so honourable to his country, and useful to mankind ; without the least stipulation in regard to the future application of his pen or his talents. For this patronage he was indebted to a family for whom he had shewn no affection ; and to the generous recommendation of two men %& whose country he had contracted a singular antipathy. The present lord DR. JOHNSON. 423 lord Loughborough, lord high chancellor of Great Bri- tain, and lord Bute, were the organs and the origin of his Majesty's bounty. Against lord Bute, in particular, he had joined in the popular cry of indiscriminating in- vective ; and thus even-handed justice compelled him to an awkward, though not unpleasant penance, for in- dulging in a splenetic prejudice, equally unworthy of a scholar and a gentleman. On becoming a pensioner, a word which he had en- deavoured to render odious, by the explanation affixed to it, he was exposed, as may naturally be imagined, to the invective or the raillery of his literary opponents; but it must be allowed that a pension was never better bestowed; nor did the future conduct: of Johnson dis- grace his former principles. He did, indeed, on several subsequent occasions espouse the cause of government as a party writer, but it was only when the subject cor- responded with his political creed, or when his natural and unbiassed sentiments of right drew him into the field of contest. Being now in possession of fame and a moderate inde- pendence, he gave full scope to the natural philanthropy of his heart, and extended his beneficence to the less favoured, and the less fortunate. The circle of his ac- quaintances was enlarged, and he toook peculiar delight in, " the literary club," which he had contributed to establish, and which met weekly at the Turk's Head, in Gerrard Street, Soho. The year 1765 brought him several honours and ad- vantages. The university of Dublin complimented him with the degree of Doctor of Laws ; and he had the felicity, about the same time, to contract an acquaintance with the family of Mr. Thrale, in which he afterwards spent the happiest hours of his life. The same year he had the honour of an interview with his majesty, in the queen's library. The king asked him, H if he intended to publish any more works?" Johnson modestly answer- ed. 424 BR. JOHNSON'. ed, "that he thought he had written enough.'' " And so should I too," replied the king, " if you had not written so well." No author ever received ajuster compliment from royalty, and Dr. Johnson seems to have been duly sen- sible of it. But compliment now was the natural incensa which he expected; and for many years before his death, he received that unqualified praise from the world, which is seldom paid before the grave. His fame was too well established in the public opinion to be shaken by obloquy, or sharedby a rival ; his company was uni- versally courted ; his peculiarities were overlooked or forgotten in the admiration of his superior talents : and his foibles lost in the blaze of virtues. His views ex- panding with his situation, it is said, that he had the ambition even of procuring a seat in parliament: but in this he failed, and perhaps justly; for, it is probable, N he would have been too dogmatical in the senate, and> too impatient of contradiction, to observe the. decorum of debate. In autumn, 1773> he made a tour into Scotland, in: company with his friend Mr. Boswell : and his observa- tions, which he published soon after, evinced great strength of mind, great knowledge of mankind, and no inconsiderable share of that prejudice which he had in- dulged against the Scotch, till it had become involun- tary. His remarks on Ossian involved him in an angry dispute with Mr. Macpiierson, to whom he addressed a letter in the warmest style of contemptuous hauteur. " Any violence offered to me," said the indignant John- son, " I shall do my best to repel; and what I cannot do for myself, the lav/ shall for me. I hope I shall never be deterred from detecting what I think a cheat, by the menaces of a ruffian." The personal prowess, indeed, of Johnson had not been small. On a former occasion he knocked down Qsborne the bookseller, who had been insolent to him; and DR. JOHNSON. 42*9 and he now provided himself with an oak plant, which might have served as the rafter of a house, to protect himself from the expected fury of the translator of Ossian. In 1775, he visited France in company with Mr. and Mrs. Thrale. The natives, it seems, were lost in asto- nishment at the contemplation of his figure, his manners, and his dress, which probably reminded them of an an- cient cynic philosopher risen from his grave. The same year his Alma Mater conferred on him the degree of doctor of laws, by diploma, the highest honorary com- pliment which she can bestow. In 1777, he undertook the lives of the English poefs, which he completed in 1781. H Some time in March," says he in his meditations, " I finished the lives of the poets, which I wrote in my usual way, dilatorily and hastily ; unwilling to work, but working with vigour and haste. " Though now upwards of seventy years of age, in this last great work, which is a most correct spe- cimen of literary biography, he betrays no decline of powers, no deficiency of spirit. If his criticisms are not always strictly just, if his strictures appear some- times tinged with dogmatism and prejudice, justice must allow, that he has performed much which demands un- qualified praise. The palsy, asthma, and incipient dropsy, soon after began to shew that he was verging to his dissolution. Though truly religious, though the Scriptures had been his study and the rule of his conduct, he contemplated his end with fear and apprehension ; hut, when the last struggle approached, he summoned up the resolution of a Christian, and on the 13th of December, 1784, died, full of hope, and strong in faith. His remains were in- terred in Westminster abbey; and a monument has since been erected to his memory in St. Paul's cathedral, with an appropriate Latin inscription, by the learned Dr. Parr. His collected works were published in eleven vo- lumes, &25 BISHOP LOWTHi lumes, octavo, by his friend Sir John Hawkins ; and another and more perfect edition, in twelve volumes, by Arthur Murphy, esq. o ROBERT LOWTH, BISHOP OFLONDON, Born 1710— Died 1787. From 8tA of Anne to 27 th George III. FTEN has the mitre of the see of London been placed on unsullied brows, but seldom has it fallen to the lot of a man, whom delicacy permits us now to name, that united so rare an assemblage of all that was good in the Christian, and great in the scholar, as Ro- bert Lowth. This illustrious prelate was the son of William Lowth* prebendary of Winchester; and was born in that city* in 1710. His father was eminent as a scholar, but still more distinguished as a pious and worthy man ; so that the virtues and talents of his offspring might well be considered as hereditary ; only that a double portion of the father's spirit rested on the son. At the celebrated seminary of Winchester, founded by William of Wykeham, he received his grammatical edu- cation; and, some time before he left school, he dis- played his genius and taste by some beautiful compo- sitions. His poem on the " Genealogy of Christ," as painted on the window of Winchester college chapel, first made him known in the train of the Muses ; and this was followed by another on " Catherine Hill," the scene of youthful pastime to the Wykehamites I a sub- ject, which must have been endeared to Lowth by the recollection of many a happy hour spent there, devoid of ambition and of care. His scholastic attainments, however, were not con- fined bishop lowth: 427 fined to poetry. Though the relief of severer studies, to which purpose the greatest and the best of men have frequently employed it, his attention was not diverted from those more serious pursuits which are requisite to complete the character of the scholar. He not only ac- quired a critical knowledge of the Latin and Greek classics, but he superadded an uncommon acquaintance with Oriental literature; which, opening the treasures of sacred lore, attracted, and fixed his attention on bibli- cal criticism, in which he afterwards shone with un- rivalled lustre. From Winchester he removed to New-college, Ox- ford ; and in due course became a fellow upon that foundation, which he vacated, in the twenty-second year of his age, by marrying a lady of Christ-church, in Hampshire. Such an early engagement, interrupting the course of academic studies too soon, might have been fatal to the prospects of a man whose attainments were less ma- ture, and whose manners were less calculated to attract admiration and gain patronage. To the highest lite- rary accomplishments he joined those amiable external graces which adorn the character of the gentleman, and the duke of Devonshire had the good sense to recog- nize and reward them, by appointing him tutor to die marquis of Harrington ; with whom he made the tour of Europe, and discharged the important function in such a manner, as secured him the future pi'otection of that noble family. Having taken the degree of master of arts in 1737, he was appointed professor of Hebrew in the university of Oxford four years afterwards; when he delivered his admirable lectures on the sacred poetry of the He- brews ; which place him in the first rank of eminence as a sacred critic. It was the good fortune of Lowth to obtain the pa* tronage ofHoadly, bishop of Winchester, at an early period 428 BISHOP LOWTH. period of his life ; and to this amiable and able prelate he was indebted for his first preferment, the rectory of Overton, and afterwards of East Woodhay, both in Hampshire. The same zealous patron also appointed him archdeacon of Winchester in 1750: and, being now in the high road to preferment by the kindness of Providence and the regard of his friends, his own me- rit rendered his future promotion neither doubtful nor distant. In 1754, he obtained the degree of doctor in divinity by diploma, from his Alma Mater; and the following year, on the appointment of his noble pupil, the marquis of Hartington, to the lord lieutenancy of Ireland, Dr. Lowth, in quality of first chaplain, accompanied him-; and soon after was offered the bishopric of Limerick. But the attractions of a mitre in the sister kingdom were at that time less powerful than the endearments of family connections, and literary pursuits, in his' native country ; and Tie exchanged the see for a prebend o£ Durham, and the rectory of Sedgefield in that diocese. In 1758, Dr. Lowth preached a visitation-sermon be- fore the bishop of Durham, which was afterwards print- ed, and has been much admired for the liberal spirit which it breathes. A few short extracts, as developing the sentiments of such an eminent man at that period of his life, cannot be improperly introduced. - " Christia- nity," observes this eloquent preacher, " was published to the world in the most enlightened age ; it invited and challenged the examination of the ablest judges, and stood the test of the severest scrutiny ; the more it is brought to the light, to the greater advantage will it appear. When, on the other hand, the dark ages of barbarism came on, as every art and science was almost extinguished, so w r as- Christianity in proportion oppress- ed and overwhelmed by error and superitition, and they that pretended to defend it from the assaults of its ene- mies, by prohibiting examination and free inquiry, 7 took BISHOP LOWTH, 42Q took the surest method of cutting off all hopes of its re- covery. Again, when letters revived, and reason re- gained her liberty ; when a spirit of inquiry began to prevail, and was kept up and promoted by a happy in- vention, by which the communication of knowledge was wonderfully facilitated ; Christianity immediately emerged out ofldarkness, and was, in a manner, repub- lished to the world in its native simplicity. It has al- ways flourished or decayed together with learning and liberty: it will ever stand or fall with them. Let no man be alarmed at the attempts of atheists or infidels ; let them produce their cause; let them bring forth their strong reasons, to their own confusion; afford them not the advantage of restraint, the only advantage which their cause permits of; let them not boast the false cre- dit of supposed arguments, and pretended demonstra- tions, which they are forced to suppress. What has been the consequence of all that licentious contradiction, with which the gospel has been received in these our times, and in this nation? Hath it not given birth to such irrefragable apologies, and convincing illustrations of our most holy religion, as no other age or nation ever produced? — Where freedom of inquiry is maintained and exercised under the direction of the sincere word of God, falsehood may, perhaps, triumph for a day, but to-morrow truth will certainly prevail, and every suc- ceeding day will confirm her superiority." To controvert the opinions of such an eminent divine, may appear arrogance ; but we cannot help observing, that an unlimited right of discussion in vernacular lan- guage, is not, perhaps, unattended with danger. Where the genuine love of truth is the object of pursuit, God forbid that the liberty of the press should ever be re- strained; but where cavils are raised merely to entrap the ignorant, and objections, a thousand times refuted, are vamped up anew to poison the unreflecting ; a wise man will pause before he gives his assent to unrestrain- ed 430 BISHOP BOWTH. ed discussion, a good man will hesitate to indulge it. The fame of Dr. Lowth, as an elegant writer, and a biblical critic, was now supreme. Utility or ornament were conspicuous in all his publications, from his " Lec- tures on the Sacred Poetry, of the Hebrews," to his " Short Introduction to English Grammar ;" and truth was adorned with all the embellishments of diction, and all the force of argument. His " Life of William of Wykeham," the founder of the college in which he had received his education may be considered as a tribute of gratitude to the memory of that beneficent patron of literature, and will exalt the character of the person, who paid it, in the estimation of every man of moral senti- ment. His controversy with Warburton, bishop of Gloucester, was carried on with liberality and some smart raillery on his part; but Warburton, though a strenuous and real defender of Christianity, could never dispute without indulging a spirit of acrimony. Dr. Lowth was raised to the mitre in 1766, and was consecrated bishop of St. David's ^ but a few months after was translated to the see of Oxford, and, in 1777t to that of London, his last remove, except to eternity. The year after he entered on the bishopric of London, he published his " New Translation of Isaiah," with a preliminary dissertation, and a variety of learned notes. No person then existing was better qualified for this ar- duous task, and no one could have executed that task better. His previous acquirements, great as they were, undoubtedly were all called into action on this occasion ; and the learned from every part of Europe have re- echoed the applauses of his countrymen, on the execu- tion of this elaborate work, which will transmit his name with honour to remote posterity. Amidst the unclouded sunshine of prosperity, the best qualities of the heart are frequently obscured. It is affliction that tries our faith* and improves our virtues. After bishop Lowth had risen to deserved preferment, and, BISHOP fcoWTH: 431 and, In point of temporal good, could have no more to ask, it pleased the Supreme Dispense^ of all, to exercise his patience by some of the severest trials that human nature can undergo. As he advanced in years, he was harassed by a cruel and incurable disorder, and to aggra- vate his calamity he suffered some of the most afflictive dispensations of Providence. Hrs eldest daughter, of whom he was passionately fond, had been carried off by a premature fate, and on her tomb he engraved his affection. The classical scholar will read these very beautiful Latin lines with a plaintive pleasure ; the English reader will not be displeased with the transla- tion subjoined, though far inferior to the graces of the original : Cara, vale ! ingenio prsstans, pietate, pudore, Etplusquam natac nomine cara, vale! Cara Maria, vale ! at veniet felicius asvum, Quando tierum tecum, sim modo dignus, ero. "Cara, redi 5" laita turn dicam voce, " paternos €i Eja age in amplexus, cara Maria ! redi." Dearer than daughter, parallePd by few In genius, goodness, modesty— adieu ! Adieu ! Maria, till that day more blest, When, if deserving, I with thee shall rest. the prosecution of this design, let not. my conduct be un- candidly imputed to rashness or enthusiasm, but to a serious, deliberate conviction, that I am pursuing the path of duty ; and to a sincere desire of being made an- instrument of more extensive usefulness to my fellow- creatures, than could be expected in the narrow circle of- retired lite." The ^vent which his- mind seemed to pre- sage,, and for which he had prepared himself, by depre- cating invidious reflections, actually took place. Having; spent some time at Cherson, a new Russian settlement, where the malignity of disease had cut off thousands of that nation, as much from ignorance and neglect, as from the natural insalubrity of the place, his benevolence prompted him to visit a young lady, who lay danger- ously ill of an epidemic fever, in order to administer some medicines for her relief: he caught the distemper, and soon became the victim of his own humanity ! Prince Potemkin, hearing of his illness, sent his own physician to attend him ; but all in vain: the days of his life were numbered, the measure of his labours was complete, and he died on the twelfth day. He was buried in the garden ,of a French gentleman in the neighbourhood ; and, barbarous as was the country in which he made his exit, the grave of our virtuous philanthropist was not unwatered by a tear. In Britain, his death was known with the sincerest regret: it was announced in the Lon- don Gazette, a compliment which no private subject ever received before ; and all ranks were eager to testify their regard to the memory of a man who had merited so well of human nature in general, and who will ever be an ornament to the country that produced him. The abstemiousness of Mr. Howard was very great ; and to this cause the prolongation of his life, amidst in- fection and disease, may in a great measure be ascribed. He totally avoided the use of animal food; and at one time lived almost wholly on potatoes ; at another, on tea, bread, and butter. No convivial invitations, how- £ 4 ever 440 JOHN HOWARD. ever honourable, were accepted by him : his only de- delight consisted in visiting the abodes of misery, that he might be the happy instrument of alleviating its op- pression. His monument in St. Paul's cathedral is at once a proof of national genius and national gratitude. * The inscription tells us, with truth, " that he trod an open, but unfrequented path to immortality, in the ardent ancj unremitted exercise of Christian charity." And con- cludes, " May this tribute to his fame excite an emula- tion of his truly honourable actions !" N. B. This third Edition, besides the Frontispiece, is em* Idiishtd viih four Plates^ containing outline Portraits of TJFENTY-FOUR of the illustrious Persons xchofe Memoirs are contained in the Work-, a£pen- APPENDIX: CONTAINING A BRIEF CHRONOLOGICAL VIEW OF ENGLISH HISTORY; From the time cf Egbert to the reign of George III. and intended as a Companion to the British Nepos. - EGBERT, seventeenth king of the West Saxons, be- gan his reign in. 799. He conquered Kent, and laid the foundation of the sole monarchy of England in 823, which put an end to the Saxon Heptarchy, and was so- lemnly crowned at Winchester, when, by his edict, in S27> he ordered all the south of the island to be called England. He died Feb. 4, 837, and was buried at Winchester; ETHELWOLF, eldest son of Egbert, succeeded his i father, notwithstanding, at the time of Egbert's death, he was bishop of Winchester. In 84«6 he ordained tythes to be-, collected, and exempted the clergy from regal tributes. He visited Rome in 84>7, confirmed the grant of Peter- pence, and agreed to pay Rome 300 marks per annum. His son Ethelbald obliged him to divide the sovereignty with him, 856. . He died Jan. 13, 857> and was buried at Winchester. ETHELBALD II. eldest son of Ethelwolf, succeeded m 857. He. died Dec. 20, 860, and was buried at Sher- borne, but removed to Salisbury. ETHELBERT II. second son of Ethehvolf, succeeded in 860, and was greatly harassed by the Danes, who were repulsed and vanquished. He died in 866, was buried at Sherborne, and was succeeded by ETHELRED I. third son of Ethewolf, began his reign in S66, when the Danes again harassed his kingdom. In 870, they. destroyed the monasteries of Bradney, Crow- land, Peterborough, Ely, and Huntingdon, when the nuns of Coldingham defaced themselves to avoid: pollution ; and in East Anglia they murdered Edmund, at Edmunds- bury, in Suffolk. Ethelred overthrew the Danes, 871, at Assendon. He fought nine battles with the Lanes in one year, was wounded at Wittineham, which occasioned his _ 442 APPENDIX. death, April 27, 872, and was buried at. Winborne, in Dorsetshire. ALFRED, the fourth son of Ethelwolf, succeeded in 872, in the 2 c 2d year of his age; was crowned at Winches- ter, and is distinguished by the title of Alfred the Great. He was born at Wantage, in Berkshire, 84:9, and obliged to take the field against the Danes within one month after his coronation, at Wilton, in Oxfordshire. He fought seven battles with them in 876. In 877 another succour of Danes arrived, and Alfred was obliged to disguise him- self in the habit of a shepherd, in the isle of Aldersey, in the county of Somerset; till, in 878, collecting his scatter- ed friends, he attacked and defeated them, in 879, when he obliged the greatest part of their army to quit the island: in 897 they went up the river Lea, and built a fortress at Wear, where king Alfred turned ofF the course of the river, and left their ships dry, which obliged the Danes to remove. He died Oct. 28, 899. He formed a body of laws, afterwards made use of by Edward the Con- fessor, which was the groundwork of the present. He divided his kingdoms into shires, hundreds, and tithings; -and obliged his nobles to bring up their children in learning t and, to induce them thereto, admitted none into office unless they were learned; and, to enable them to procure that learning, he is said to have founded the uni- versity of Oxford. He was buried at Winchester. EDWARD the Elder, his son, succeeded him, and was crowned at Kingston upon Thames, in 899. In 911, Llewellyn, prince of Wales, did homage to Edward for his principality. He died at Farringdon, in Berkshire, in 924, and was buried at Winchester. ATHELSTAN, his eldest son, succeeded him, and was crowned, with far greater magnificence than usual, at Kingston upon Thames, in 929. In 937 he defeated two Welsh princes; but soon after, on their making submis- sion, he restored their estates to them. He escaped being •assassinated in his tent, 938, which he revenged by attack- ing his enemy; when five petty sovereigns, 12 dukes, and an army who came to the assistance of Analf , king of Ire- land, were slain in a battle fought near Dunbar, in Scot- land. He made the princes of Wales tributary, 939; and did Oft. 17, 940, at Gloucester. EDMUND I. the fifth son of Edward the Elder, suc- ceeded at the age of 18 1 and was crowned king, at King- APPENDIX. 443 stem upon Thames, in 940. On May 26, 947, in endea- vouring to separate two persons who were quarrelling, he received a wound, of which he bled to death, and was bu- ried at Glastonbury, ED RED, his brother, aged 23, succeeded in 947, and was crowned at Kingston upon Thames, the 17th of Aug. He died in 9/55, and was buried at Winchester. EDWY, the eldest son of Edmund, succeeded, and was crowned at Kingston upon Thames, in 955. He had great dissensions with the clergy, and banished Dunstan, their ringleader; which occasions little credit to be given to his character as drawn by the priests. He died of grief in 959, after a turbulent reign of four years, and was buried at Winchester. EDGAR, at the age of 16, succeeded his brother, and was crowned at Kingston upon Thames, in 959, and again at Bath, in 972. He imposed on the princes of Wales a tribute of wolves heads, that, for three years, amounted to 300 each year. Tie obliged eight tributary princes to row him in a barge on the river Dee, in 974. He died July 1, 975, and was buried at Glastonbury. EDWARD the Martyr, his eldest son, succeeded him, being but 16 years of age ; was crowned by Dunstan, at Kingston upon Thames, in 973. He was stabbed, by the instructions of his mother-in-law, as he was drinking, at Corfe-casde, in the isle of Purbeck, in Dorsetshire, on March 18, 979. He was first buried at Wareham, with- out any ceremony, but removed three years after, in great pomp, to Shaftesbury, ETHELRED II. succeeded his half-brother, and was crowned at Kingston upon Thames on April 14, 979. In 982 his palace, with great part of London, was destroyed by a great fire. England was ravaged by the Danes, who, 999, received at one payment about 16,003/. raised by a land-tax called Danegelt. A general massacre of the Danes on Nov. 13, 1002. Swain revenged his country- men's deaths 100 5, and did not quit the kingdom till Ethelred had paid him 36,000/. which he the year follow- ing demanded as an annual tribute. In the spring of 10', )3 they subdued great part of the kingdom. To stop their progress, it was agreed in 1012 to pay the Danes 48,000/. to quit the kingdom. In the space of 20 years they received 469,687/. sterling. Soon after, Swain en- tered the Humber again; when Ethelred retired to the isle T6 444 APPENDIX. of Wight, and sent his sons, with their mother Emma, into Normandy, to her brother; and Swain took posses- sion of the whole kingdom in 1013. SWAIN was proclaimed king of England in 1013, and no person disputed his title. His first act of sovereignty was an insupportable tax, which he did not live to see col- lected. He died Feb. 3, 1014, at Thetford in Norfolk. CANUTE, his son, was proclaimed March 1014, and endeavouring to gain the affections of his English subjects, but without success, retired to Denmark. ETHELRED returned, at the invitation of his subjects. Canute returned 1015, soon after he had left England, and landed at Sandwich. Ethelred retired to the north ; but by avoiding a battle with the Danes he lost the affections of his subjects, and, retiring to London, expired in 1016. EDMUND IRONSIDE, his son, was crowned at Kingston upon Thames, April 1016 ; but from a dis- agreement among the nobility, Canute was likewise crowned at Southampton. In June following, Canute totally routed Edmund, at Assendon in Essex, who soon after met Canute in the isle of Alderney, . in the Severn, where a peace was concluded, and the kingdom divided between them. Edmund did not survive above a month after, being murdered at Oxford, before he had reigned a year. He left two sons and two daughters ; from one of the daughters James I. of England was descended, and from him George III. CANUTE was established 1017: he made an alliance with Normandy, and married Emma, Ethelred's widow, 1018: made a voyage to Denmark, attacked Norway, and took possession of the crown, 1028; died at Shaftsbury, 1036; and was buried at Winchester. HAROLD I. his son, began his reign 1036; died April 14, 1039, and was succeeded by his younger brother, HARDICANUTE, king of Denmark, who died at Lambeth 1041 ; was buried at New Winchester, and suc- ceeded by a son of queen Emma, by her first husband, Ethelred II. EDWARD the Confessor was born at Islip, Oxford- shire, and began his reign in the 40th year of his age. He was crowned at Winchester 1042; married Editha, daugh- ter of Godwin earl of Kent, 1043; remitted the tax of Danegelt, and was the first king of England that touched for the king's-evil, 1058 $ died Jan. 5, 1066, aged 65) was APPENDIX. 445 buried in Westminster-abbey, which he rebuilt, where his bones were enshrined in gold, and set with jewels, in 1206. Emma, his mother, died 1052. He was succeeded by HAROLD II. son of the earl of Kent, began his reign 1066; defeated by his brother Tosti, and the Ling of Nor- way, who had invaded his dominions at Stamford, Sept. 25, 1066; killed by the Normans, under William, at Hastings, Oct. 14- following. WILLIAM I. duke of Normandy, a descendant of Ca- nute, born 1027; paid a visit to Edward the Confessor, in England. 1051 ; betrothed his daughter to Harold II. 1058; made a claim of the crown of England 1066; in- vaded England, landed at Pevensey in Sussex, the same year; defeated the English troops at Hastings on Oct. 14, 1066, when Harold was slain, and William assumed the title of Conqueror. He was crowned at Westminster, Dec. 29, 1066; invaded Scotland 1072; subverted the English constitution 1 074 ; refused to swear fealty to the Pope for the crown of England; wounded by his son Ro- bert, at Gerberot in Normandy, 1079; invaded France 1086 ; soon after fell from his horse, and contracted a rup- ture; died at Hermentrude, near Rouen in Normandy, 1087; buried at Caen ; succeeded in Normandy by his el- dest son Robert, and in England by his second son, WILLIAM II. born 1057; crowned at Westminster Sept. 27, 1087; invaded Normandy with success 1090; killed by accident as he was hunting in the New Forest, by Sir Walter Tyrrel, Aug. 1100, aged 43; buried at Winchester, and succeeded by his brother, HENRY I. born 1068, crowned August 5, 1 100; mar- ried Matilda, daughter of Malcolm king of Scots, Nov. 11 following; made peace with his brother Robert 1101 ; in- vaded Normandy 1105; attacked by Robert, whom he defeated, took prisoner, and sent to England, in 1107; betrothed his daughter Maude to the emperor of Germa- ny 1109; challenged by Lewis of France 1117; his eldest son and two others of his children shipwrecked and lost, with 180 of his nobility, in coming from Normandy, 1120; in quiet possession of Normandy, 1129; surfeited himself with eating lampreys, at Lyons, near Rouen in Normandy, and died Y)qc. 1, 1135, aged 68 ; his body was brought over to England, and buried at Reading. He was suc- ceeded by his nephew Stephen,, third son of his sister Adela by the earl of Biois. He left 100,000/. in cash, besides plate and jewels to an immense value. 446 APPENDIX. STEPHEN, born 1105 ; crowned Dec. % 1135 ; taken prisoner at Lincoln by the earl of Gloucester, Maude's half-brother, Feb. 1141, and put in irons, at Bristol, but released in exchange for the earl of Gloucester, taken at Winchester ; made peace with Henry, Maude's son, 1153; died of the piles, Ocl. 25, 1154, aged 50; was buried at Feversham, and succeeded by Henry, son of Maude. HENRY II. grandson of Henry I. born 1133, began his reign in 1151- ; arrived in England, Dec. 8, and. was, with his queen Eleanor, crowned at London, the 19th of the same month; crowned at Lincoln, 1158; again at Worcester, 1159: quelled the rebellion in Maine, 1166 ; had his son Henry crowned king of England 1170; in- vaded Ireland, and took possession of it, 1 172 ; imprisoned his queen on account of Rosamond, his concubine, 1173 ; did penance at Becket's tomb, July 8, 1171 ; took the king of Scotland prisoner,-and obliged him to give up the inde- pendency of his crown, 1175 ; named his son, John, Lord of Ireland, 1 176 ; had, the same year, an amour with Alice, of France, the intended princess of his son Richard, 1181 ; lost his eldest son Henry, June 11, 11 83 ; his son Richard rebelled, 1185; his son J cilery trodden under foot, and killed, at a tournament at Paris, 1186 ; made a convention with Philip of France to go to the holy war, 1188 ;• died with grief at the altar, cursing his sons, July 6, 1 189, aged 56 ; was buried at Fonteverard, in France, and succeeded by his son Richard. RICHARD I. was born at Oxford, 1157, crowned at London, Sept. 3, 1189 ; set out on the crusade, and joined Philip of France, on the plains of Vezelay, June 29, 1190 ; :ook Messina the latter end of the year ; married Beren- jera, daughter of the king of Navarre, May 12, 1 191 ; de- bated the Cyprians, 1191 ; taken prisoner near Vienna, )n his return home, by the duke of Austria, Dec. 29, 1 192 ; -ansomed for 40,000/. and set at liberty, 1193 ; returned o England, March 20, following; wounded with an ar- •ow, at Chaluz, near Limoges, in Normandy, and died \pril 6, 1199 ; buried at Fonteverard, and was succeeded >y his brother JOHN, the youngest son of Henry II. born at Oxford, Dec. 24, 1166 ; was crowned May 27, 1199 ; divorced his ?ife Avisa, and married Isabella, daughter of the Count f Angolesme; went to Paris, 1200; besieged the castle Jf Mirable, and took his nephew Arthur prisoner, Aug. 1, 202, whom he murdered ; the same year he was expel- APPENDIX. 44/ led the French provinces, and re-crowned in England ; im- prisoned his queen, 1208 ; banished all the clergy in his dominions, 1208 ; was excommunicated, 1209; landed in Ireland, June 8, 1210; surrendered his crown to Pandolf, the Pope's legate, May 25, 1213; absolved, July 20, fol- lowing ; obliged by his barons to confirm Magna Charta, 1215 ; lost his treasure and baggage in passing the marshes of Lynn, 1216; died at Newark, Otf. 18, 1216; was bu- ried at Worcester, and succeeded by his son HENRY III. born Oct. I, 1207; crowned at Glou- cester, Oct. 28, 1216, received homage from Alexander of Scotland, at Northampton, 1218 ; crowned again at West- minster, after Christmas, 1219 ; married Eleanor, daugh- ter of the count of Provence, Jan 14, 1236; pledged his crown and jewels for money, when he married his daugh- ter Margaret to the king of Scots, 1242 ; obliged by his nobles to resign the power of a Sovereign ; and sell Nor- mandy and Anjou to the French, 12,58 ; shut himself up in the Tower of London, for fear of his nobles, 1261; taken prisoner at Lewes, May 11, 1264; wounded at the battle of Evesham, 1265; died of old age at St. Edmons- bury, Nov. 16? 1272; and was succeeded by his son EDWARD I. born June 16, 1239 ; married Eleanor, princess of Castile, 1253; succeeded to the crown, Nov. 16, 1272; wounded in the Holy Land with a poisoned dagger ; recovered, and landedjn England, July 25, 1274 : crowned at Westminster, Aug. 19 following, with his queen ; went to France, and did homage to the French king, 1279; reduced the Welsh princes, 1282; Eleanor. his queen, died of a fever on her journey to Scotland, at Horneby, in Lincolnshire, 1296, and was conveyed tc Westminster, (when elegant stone crosses were ejected at each place where the corpse rested) ; married Margaret, sister to the king of France, Sept. 12, 1299; conquered Scotland, 1299, and brought to England their coronation chair, &c. and died of a flux at Burgh upon the sands ir Cumberland, July 7, 1307 ; was buried at Westminster where on May 2, 1774, some antiquarians, by consent c: the Chapter, examined his tomb, when they found hi< corpse unconsumed, though buried 466 years. He v/ai succeeded by his fourth son EDWARD II. born at Caernarvon, in Wales, April 25 1284 ; was the first king of England's eldest son that hac the title of Prince of Wales, wito which he was invested ij 448 APPENDIX, 1284. He ascended the throne, July 7, 130.7 ; married Isabella, daughter of the French king, 1308; obliged by his barons to invest the government of the kingdom in twenty-one persons, March 16, 1310; went on a pilgri- mage to Boulogne, December 13, 1313; declared his queen and all her adherents enemies to the kingdom, 1325; dethroned Jan. 13, 1327; succeeded by his eldest son, Edward III. murdered at Berkeley castle, Sept. 21, fol- lowing, and buried at Gloucester. EDWARD III. born at Windsor, Nov. 15, 1312; sue, ceeded to the crown, Jan. 13, 1327 ; crowned at Westmin- ster, Feb. 1, following ; married Philippa, daughter of the earl of Hainau.lt, Jan. 24, 1327; claimed the crown of France, 1329; confined his mother Isabella, and caused her favourite, earl Mortimer, to be hanged, Nov. 23, 1330; defeated the Scots at Halidown, 1339; invaded France, and pawned his crown and Jewels for 50,000 florins, 1340 ; quartered the arms of England and France, 1341; made the first distinction between the Lords and Commons, 15342 ; defeated the French atCressy, 30,000 slain, among ivhom was the king of Bohemia, 1346 ; his queen took the dng of Scotland prisoner and slew 20,000 Scots the same r r ear ; Calais besieged and taken, Aug. 16, 1347 ; and St. Stephen's chapel, now the House of Commons, built 1347 r he Order of the Garter instituted 1349; the French de- bated at Poidtiers, their king and prince taken, and the . :ing of Navarre imprisoned 1356 ; the king of Scotland ansomed for 100,000/. 1357 ; in which year Edward lost lis eldest son, Edward the black prince, of a consumption; . he king of France ransomed for 300,000 ; . 1359; four ings entertained at the Lord Mayor's feast, viz. of Eng- ine!, France, Scotland, and Cyprus 1364; Philippa his. ueen, died at Windsor Aug. 16, 1369, and was buried t Westminster ; Edward died at Richmond, June 21,, 377, and was succeeded by his grandson RICHARD II. born at Bourdeaux Jan. 6, 1367 ; had., vo royal godfathers, the kings of Navarre and Majorca ; lade guardian of the kingdom Aug. 30, 1372; created rince of Wales 1376, succeeded his grandfather, Edward , [I. June 21, 1377? when not seven years old ; the rebel- on of Wat Tyler and Jack Straw 1378 ; married Anne, ster to the emperor of Germany, and king of Bohemia, tn. 1382, who died without issue, at Shene, and was bu- ed in Westminster Abbey, August, 3, 1395 j married APPENDIX. 449 Isabella, daughter to the king of France, 1396. He was taken prisoner by Henry duke of Lancaster, Iris cousin, and sent to the Tower Sept. I, 1399; resigned his crown Sept. 29 following, and was succeded by Henry IV. Richard was murdered in Pomfret Castle, Jan. 1400. and buried at Langley, but afterwards removed to West- minster. HENRY IV. duke of Lancaster, grandson of Edward III. born 1367; married Mary, the daughter of the earl of Hereford, who died 1391, before he obtained the crown ; fought with the duke of Norfolk 1397, and banished ; re- turned to England in arms against Richard II. who re- signed his kingdom, and Henry was crowned, Oct. 13, 1399, when he instituted the order of the Bath, and created 47 knights; conspired against, Jan. 1400; defeated by' the Welsh 1402 ; married a second queen, Joan of Na- varre, widow of the duke of Bretagne 1403; she was crowned with great magni licence the 26th of January fol- lowing, and died in 1437 ; in 1403 the rebellion of the Percies began, suppressed July following. He died of an apoplexy in Westminster, March 20, 1413, was buried at Canterbury, and succeeded by his son HENRY V. who was born in 1388, and in 1412, when prince of Wales, was committed to prison for insulting one of the judges ; crowned at Westminster April 9, 1413; claimed the crown of France 1414; gained the battle of Agincourt Oct. 24, 1415 ; pledged his regalia for 20,000/. to extend his conquests, 1416. The emperor Sigismund paid a visit to Henry, and was installed knight of the garter, 1416. He invaded Normandy with an army of 26,000 men, 1417 ; declared regent and married Catharine of France on June 3, 1420. She was crowned at Westmin- ster the February following; out-lived Henry, and was married afterwards to Owen Tudor, grandfather of Henry VII. Henry died of a pleurisy at Rouen, Aug. 31, 1422, aged 34, was buried at Westminster, and succeeded by HENRY VI. born at Windsor Dec. 6, 1421 ; ascended the throne on Aug. 31, 1422 ; proclaimed king of France the same year; crowned at Westminster, Nov. 6, 1429; crowned at Paris, Dec. 17, 1430; married to Margaret, daughter of the duke of Anjou, April 12, 1445; Jack Cade 7 s insurrection 1446 ; Henry taken prisoner at St. Alban's 1455 ; but regained his liberty 1461 ; and deposed March 5 following, by his fourth cousin Edward VI.; fled into 450 APPENDIX. into Scotland and taken prisoner in Lancashire 1463; re* stored to his throne 1470; taken prisoner again by Ed- ward, April 11, 1471 ; queen Margaret and her son taken prisoners at Tewkesbury by Edward, May 4; the prince killed in cold blood, May 21 ; and Henry murdered in the Tower, June 20 following, and buried at Chertsey, aged 49. EDWARD IV. born at Rouen April 29, 1443 ; descend- ed from the third son of Edward III. elected king, March 5, 1461 ; and on March 1 3, before his coronation, was obliged to fight the battle of Towton, in which 35,781 Englishmen were killed, and only the earl of Devonshire taken pri- soner ! was crowned at Westminster, June 28, 1461 ; sat publicly with the judges in Westminster-hall, 1463 ; mar- ried lady Elizabeth Grey, widow of Sir John Grey, of Groby, March 1, 1464. who was crowned the 26th follow- ing. Edward was taken prisoner by the earl of Warwick in Yorkshire, from whence he was brought to London, with his legs tied under his horse's belly, 1467 ; escaped, but was expelled the kingdom, 1470 ; returned March 25, 1471, restored, and caused his brother, the duke of Cla- rence, who had joined the earl of Warwick, to be drowned in a butt of Malmsey wine, 1478 ; died of an ague at Westminster, April 9, 1483 ; and was buried at Windsor, where his corpse was discovered undecayed on March 1 1 , 1789, and his dress nearly perfect, as were the lineaments of his face. He was succeeded by his infant son EDWARD V. born Nov. 4, 1470: conveyed to the Tower, May 1483 ; deposed June 20 following, and with the duke of York his brother, smothered soon after by or- der of their uncle, PvICHARD III. duke of Gloucester, brother to Edward IV. born 1 453 5 took prince Edward, son of Henry IV. pri- soner at Tewkesbury, and murdered him in cold blood, 1471 ; drowned the duke of Clarence, brother to Edward VI. in a butt of Malmsey wine, 1478 ; made protector of England May 27, 1483, elected king, June 20, and crowned July 6 following ; ditto at York Sept. 8 ; slain in battle, at Bosworth, Aug. 22, 1485, aged 32; buried in Leices- ter, and sue ceded bv HENRY VII. born 1455 ; who landed at Miiford Haven, 1485; defeated Richard III. in Bosworth-field, and was elected King, 1485 ; crowned October 30, 1485; married Elizabeth, daughter of Edward IV. Jan. 18, IIS;, who was crowned in November following ; defeated I APPENDIX. 451 bert Simnel, the Impostor, June 16, 1487; received of the French king, as a compromise for his claim on that crown, 186,2.501. besides 25,000 crowns yearly, 1492; prince Ar- thur, his eldest son, died April 2, 1502 ; queen Elizabeth .died in childbed, February 11 following, and was buried at Westminster. Mary, his third daughter, married Louis XII. of France, by whom she was left without issue, and she re-married Charles Brandon, duke of Suffolk, by whom she had issue, and died 1533, and was buried at St Ed- mondsbury, where her corpse was discovered, September 6, 17$4, in a perfect state. She was grandmother of the unfortunate lady Jane Grey. Henry married his daughter Margaret, to James IV. of Scotland, 1504; died of a consumption, at Richmond, April 22, 1509, aged 51, buried at Westminster, and succeeded bvhis son HENRY VIII. born June 28, ' 1491, married Ca- therine, Infanta of Spain, widow of his brother Arthur, June 3, 1509; crowned June 24 following; received the title of defender of the faith, 1521 ; styled head of the church, 1531; divorced queen Catherine, and married Anne Bulleyne, May 23, 1533; Anne crowned, June 1, 1533; he was excommunicated by Pope Paul, Aug. 30, 1535; Catherine, his first queen, died at Kimbolton, Jan. 8 , 1536, aged 50; he put Anne, his second queen, to death, and married Jane Seymour, May 20, 1536, who died in childbed, Oct. 12, 1537 ; he dissolved the religious foun- dations in England, 1539: married Anne of Cleves, Jan. 6, 1540; divorced her, July 10, 1540; married Catharine Howard, his fifth wife, Aug. 8 following, and beheaded heron Tower-hill, with lady Rochford, Feb. 12, 1542; married Catharine Parr, his sixth wife, July 12, 1543. He died of a fever and an ulcerated leg, at Westminster, Jan. 28, 1547 ; was buried at Windsor, and succeeded by his only son EDWARD VI. born October 12, 1537 ; crowned Sun- day, Feb. 20, 1547; who died of a consumption at Green- wich, July 6, 1553; was buried at Westminster, and was succeeded, agreeably to his will, by his cousin MARY, born Feb. 11, 1516; proclaimed JulylP, 15-53 ; and crowned Oct. 1 following ; married Philip of Spair July 25, 1554; died of a dropsy, Nov. 17, 1558; was buried at Westminster, and succeeded by her half-sister. ELIZABETH, born Sept. 7, 1533; "sent prisoner to the Tower, 1554 ; began to re ; gn, Nov. 17, 1553; crown- 452 APPENDIX. ed at Westminster, Jan. 15, 1559; Mary queen of Scots fled to England, May 16, 1568, and was imprisoned in Tut- bury castle, Jan. 1569 ; Elizabeth relieved the protestants in the Netherlands with above 200,000 crowns, besides stores, 1569; a marriage proposed to the queen by the duke of Alencon, 1571; but finally rejected, 1581 ; cru- elly beheaded Mary queen of Scots, at Fotheringhay cas- tle, February 8, 1587? aged 44; destroyed the Spanish Armada, 1588 Tyrone's rebellion in Ireland, 1599; Essex, the queen's favourite, beheaded, Feb. 25, 1602 ; the queen died at Richmond, March 24, 1603; was buried at Westminster, and succeeded by the son of Mary queen of Scots, then James VI. of Scotland. JAMES I. born at Edinburgh, June 19, 1566; was crowned king of Scotland, July 22, 1567 ; married Anne, princess of Denmark, Aug. 10, 1589; succeeded to the crown of England, March 24,1603; first styled king of Great Britain 1604 ; arrived at London, May 7 following ; lost his eldest son, Henry prince of Wales, Nov. 6, 1612; aged 18; married his daughter Elizabeth, to the prince Palatine of the Rhine, 1612; from whom his present Ma- jesty George III. is descended; went to Scotland March 4, 1617 ; returned Sept. 14, 1618; lost his queen, March 1619; died of an ague, March 27, 1625; was buried at Westminster, and was succeeded by CHARLES I. born Nov, 19, 1600 ; visited Madrid on a ' matrimonial scheme, Mar. 7, 1623 ; succeeded tothe crown, March 27, 1625; married Henrietta, daughter of the king of France, the same year ; crowned Feb. 2, 1626; crown- ed at Edinburgh 1633; went to Scotland, August 1641 ; returned Nov. 25 following ; went to the House of Com- mons, and demanded the five members, Jan. 1641-2; re- tired to York, March 1642; raised his standard at Not- tingham, Aug. 25 following ; travelled in the disguise of a servant, and put himself into the hands of the Scots, at Newark, May 5, 1646; sold by the Scots for 200,0001. Aug. 8 following; siezed by Col. Joice, at Holmby, June 3, 1647; escaped from Flampton-court, and retreated to the Isle of Wight, July 29, 1643 ; closely confined in Hurst castle, Dec. 1 following; removed to Windsor-castle, Dec. 23; to St. James's house, Jan. 19, 1649; brought to trial the next day, condemned the 27th, beheaded at Whitehall the 30th, aged 48, andburiedin St. George's-chapel, Wind- sor. His queen, Henrietta, died at Paris, Aug. 10, 1669. OLIVER APPENDIX. 453 OLIVER CROMWELL, the Usurper, was born at Huntingdon, April 25, 1599 ; chosen member of parlia- ment for Huntingdon, 1628 ; raised to the rank of colonel 161-3: went over to Ireland with his army, July 1649; re- turned, May, 1650; made Protector for life, Dec. 12, 1653; re-admitted the Jews into England, in 1656, after their ex- pulsion 365 years; refused the title of king, May 8, 1657; died at Whitehall, Sept. 3, 1658, and succeeded by his son RICHARD CROMWELL, proclaimed protector, Sept. 4, 1658; deposed April 22, 1659; died at Cheshunt, in Hertfordshire, July 2, 1712, aged 82. CHARLES II. 'born May 29, 1630; escaped from St. James's April 23, 1618; landed in Scotland, 1650: crown- ed at Scone Jan. 1, IS51 ; defeated at the battle of Wor- cester 1651 ; landed at Dover, May 20, 1660, and restored to the throne; crowned, April 13, 1661 ; married Catha- rine infanta of Portugal, May 21, 1662; accepted the city freedom, Dec. 18, 1674-; died Feb. 6, 1G85, aged 51, of an apoplexy, was buried at Westminster, and was suc- ceeded by his brother James. Catharine his queen, died, Dec. 21, '1705. JAMES II born Oct. 15, 1633; married Ann Hyde, Sept. 1660, who died 1671; married the princess of Mo- dena, Nov. 21, 1673; s cceeded to the throne, Feb. 6, 1635; Monmouth, nature son to Charles II. landed in England, June 11, 16-5; pi ^claimed king at Taunton, in Somersetshire, June 20 following; defeated near Bridge- water, July 5; beheaded on Tower-hill July 15, following, aged 35; James's queen had a son born June 10, 16S8. Fled from his palace, Dec. 12, 1688; was seized soon after at Feversham and brought back to Whitehall ; left England Dec. 23 following; landed at Kinsale, in Ireland March 12, 1-689; returned to France, July 1690; died at St. Germain's, Aue. 6, 1701. WILLIAM lit Prince of Orange, born Nov. 4, 1650; created Stadtholder, July 3, 1672; married the Princess Mary of England, Nov. 4, 1677; landed at Torbay, in England, with an army, Nov. 4, 1688; declared king of England, Feb. 13, 1689; crowned with the queen, April 11,' 1689; landed at Carrickfergus, June 14, 1690, and de- feated James II. at the battle of the Bovne, July 1 follow- ing ; a plot laid for assassinating him Feb. 1696 : fell from his horse, and broke his collar bone, Feb. 21, ±702; died March 8, aged 51 ; was buried April 12 following, and left his sister-in-law, Anne, his successor to the crowr. 454 APPENDIX, ANNE, born Feb. 6, 1665: married to Prince George of Denmark, July 28, 1683; by whom she had 13 chil- dren, all of whom died young; she came to the crown, March 8, 1702; crowned April 13 following; lost her son, George, Duke of Gloucester, by a fever, July 29, 1700, aged 11: lost her husband, who died of an asthma and dropsy, Oct. 28, 1708, aged 55; the queen died of an apo- plexy, Aug. 1, 17 14, aged 49; was buried at Westminster and succeeded by GEORGE I. Elector of Hanover, duke of Brunswick- Lunenburgh, born May 28, I860; created duke of Cambridge, &c. Oct. 5, 1706. Princess Sophia, his mother died June 8, 1714, aged 83. He was proclaim- ed, Aug. 1, 1714; landed at Greenwich, Sept. 18 follow- ing; died on his journey to Hanover, at Osnaburgh, Sun- day, June 11, 1727, of a paralytic disorder, aged 67, and was succeeded by his eldest son GEORGE II. bora Od. 30, 1683; created Prince of Wales, Oct 4, 1714; married the princess Wilhelmina- Carolina-Dorothea, of Brandenburg-Anspach 1704; as- cended the throne, June 11, 1727; lost his queen, Nov. 20 1737, aged 54; suppressed a rebellion 1745; died sud- denly at Kensington, Oct. 25, 17-60, aged 77, and was succeeded by his grandson, GEORGE III. eldest son of Frederick, late prince of Wales, born June 4, 1738; created prince of -Wales, 3 751; succeeded his grandfather, Oct. 25, 1760; pro- claimed the next day; married Charlotte-Sophia, princess of Mecklenburg- Strelitz, Sept. S, 1761, who was born May 19, 1744. Both were crowned Sept. 22, 1761, whom God preserve! , , , , , , # § , ,,*,***'**< ''"S^-^-w^ J T. Gillet, Printer, S.ililfeury*fquare. T 19 9 6 V X> ' ^ s "^ <^ /- ^ ^ ^** „ ■$>