tered on deck, and directed his chaplain to read the Thanksgiving, in which they were exhorted by the gallant admiral to join, as having such reason to be thankful; but (as Dundas told a friend of mine), just before the fleet got into action, having given all the necessary orders, he retired into his cabin, and offered up an earnest prayer to God to support him in his approaching trying hour, and to bless his arms with victory.' Burke many thought greatly inferior to Pitt and Fox, if we judge of him by his speeches as he delivered them, but greatly superior to both, if we are to judge of him by his speeches as he published them.2 The moment of Fox's grandeur was when, after he had stated the argument of his adversary with much greater strength than the adversary had done, and with much greater than any of his friends thought possible, he seized it with the strength of a giant, and tore, and trampled on it to destruction." It was an observation of the reporters in the gallery, that it required great exertion to follow Mr. Fox while he was speaking, none to remember what he had said;-that it was easy and delightful to follow Mr. Pitt, not so easy to recollect what had delighted them.* In familiar conversation the three great men excelled; but the most intimate friends of Mr. Fox 1 Wilb. Mem. v. 248. 2 C. Butler (Reminiscences). complained of his too frequent ruminating silence. Mr. Pitt talked, and his talk was fascinating. A good judge said of him, that he was the only person he had known who possessed the talent of condescension. Yet his loftiness never forsook him; still one might be sooner seduced to take liberties with him, than with Mr. Fox. With each the bâton du Général was in sight; but Mr. Pitt's animation and playfulness frequently made it unobserved. This was not so often the case with Mr. Fox. Mr. Burke's conversation was rambling, but splendid,— rich and instructive beyond expression.' Magnanimity to conceive, and patience to execute the most arduous designs, without being checked either by the prejudices of education or the clamours of the multitude. In the field he infused his own intrepid spirit into the troops, whom he conducted with the abilities of a consummate general; and to his abilities, rather than to his fortune, we may ascribe the signal victories which he obtained over the foreign and domestic foes of the state: he loved glory as the reward, perhaps the motive, of his actions.2 On his bald visage middle age Had slightly press'd its signet sage; Forward and frolic glee was there, THE WILL TO DO-THE SOUL TO DARE. 1 C. Butler (Reminiscences). 3 Scott (Lady of the Lake). 2 Gibbon. Lord Liverpool gave me an account of the commissioners' interview with Buonaparte when his doom of St. Helena was announced. Throughout the whole, he preserved the most calm and dignified composure; once, only, being at all agitated, when, in speaking of the Regent, he said that posterity would be the judge of his conduct towards him. At that moment a quivering in his upper lip, and his eyes filling, spoke an emotion that betrayed itself at no other time during the conference.' His (Lord Mansfield's) countenance was indescribably beautiful; it was an assemblage of genius, dignity, and good nature. In all he said and did, there was a happy mixture of good-nature, goodhumour, elegance, ease, and dignity. His eye was an eye of fire, his voice, till it was affected by the years which passed over him, was perhaps unrivalled in the sweetness and the mellifluous variety of its tones.2 Perhaps the most perfect model of judicial eloquence was that of Sir William Grant . . . in decompounding and analysing an immense mass of confused and contradictory matter, and forming clear and unquestionable results, the sight of his mind was infinite. His exposition of facts, and of the consequences deducible from them; his discussion of former decisions, and showing their legitimate weight and authority, and their real bearings Sir Thomas Lawrence (Life, ii. 86.). 2 C. Butler (Reminiscences). upon the case in question, were beyond praise, but the whole was done with such admirable ease and simplicity, that, while real judges felt its supreme excellence, the herd of hearers believed that they should have done the same. Never was the merit of Dr. Johnson's definition of a perfect style, "proper words in proper places," more sensibly felt than by those who listened to Sir William Grant.' Lady Mary Wortley Montague is one of the most shining women in the world, but shines like a comet; she is all irregularity, and always wandering; the most wise, most imprudent, loveliest, most disagreeable, best-natured, cruellest woman in the world. She told me she was determined upon two points from the first; to be married to somebody, and not to be married to the man her father advised her to have.2 She (Princess Charlotte) was always thinking of others, not of herself. No one so little selfish; always looking out for comfort for others. She had been for hours, for many hours, in great pain. She was in that situation where selfishness must act, if it exist, when good people will be selfish, because pain makes them So, and my Charlotte was not-any grief could not make her so.3 How often have I seen her (the late Princess Charlotte) entering the room (constantly on his 1 C. Butler (Reminiscences). 2 See Life of Spence, prefixed to his "Anecdotes." arm) with slow, but firm step, always erect, and the small but elegant proportion of her head to her figure. Her features beautifully cut, her clear blue eye so open, so like the fearless purity of truth, that the most experienced parasite might have turned from it when he dared to lie.1 The Prince (Leopold) was looking exceedingly pale, but he received me with calm firmness, and that low subdued voice that you know to be the effort of composure. . . . During a short pause, I spoke of the impression her character had made on "Yes, she had a clear, fine understanding, and very quick. She was candid, she was open, and not suspecting; but she saw characters at the glance, she read them so true."2 me. They (the emigrants) were nearly all English, and had had a long winter passage out; but it was wonderful to see how clean the children had been kept, and how untiring in their love and selfdenial all the poor parents were. Cant as we may, and as we shall to the end of all things, it is much harder for the poor to be virtuous than it is for the rich; and the good that is in them shines the brighter for it. Bring the rich man here, upon this crowded deck, strip from his fair young wife her silken dress and jewels, unbind her braided hair; stamp early wrinkles on her brow, pinch her pale cheek with care, work and privation; let there be nothing but 1 Sir Thomas Lawrence (Life). 2 Id. ibid. |