William King of Oxford

Henry Brougham, Review of King, Memoirs; Edinburgh Review 32 (July 1819) 74-88.

From the Revolution to the accession of his present Majesty, with the exception of a very few years, the Tories were in active and steady opposition not only to the ministers of the Crown, but in reality also to the individuals who had been called to wear it. At the same time, when we consider them as a party, whatever we may think of their principles, we must allow their conduct to have been, generally speaking, able, honourable and steady; nor did the slavish nature of their doctrines at all engender, as long as they were kept out of place, that paltry and timeserving spirit which has too uniformly distinguished their demeanour, since the termination of the disputes respecting the succession restored them to their natural situation. The learned person whose posthumous work now lies before us, was a Tory of the old school, having passed his whole life exactly in the evil days of exclusion from office; for he was born in 1685, and died in 1763. The liberality and independent feelings which appear in many of his remarks, are probably to be traced to this source; but they are not the less deserving of praise from us, and of attention from the partisans of the same school, who now combine with Toryism the mean propensities of mere place- hunters, which the older Tories despised. "At no time of my life, either in England or Ireland, either from the present or any former government, have I asked, or endeavoured by any means to obtain, a place, pension, or employment of all kind. I could assign many reasons for my conduct; but one answer I have always ready: I inherited a patrimony, which I found sufficient to supply all my wants, and to leave me at liberty to pursue those liberal studies which afforded me the most solid pleasures in my youth, and are the delight and enjoyment of my old age. Besides, I always conceived a secret horror of' a state of servility and dependence: and I never yet saw a placeman or a courtier, whether in a higher or lower class, whether a priest or a layman, who was his own master." Advert. ix. x.

We are informed that the manuscript from which this work is printed, has been compared with the unquestionable handwriting of the Doctor, in the account-books of his College; that it was in the possession of two ladies, his relations; and that "from some minute additions and corrections of the language," (and the editor might have added, from the existence of a preface), little doubt can be entertained of the author having intended it for publication. The preface is written in his seventy-sixth year, and informs us, that the anecdotes were set down during hours of confinement from the infirmities of old age; that most of them were within his own knowledge, and the rest derived from sources to which he could trust. They are related in an easy and agreeable manner, and follow each other like a table-talk, without any regard to order, or merely with that kind of connexion which arises from one story suggesting another.

The first anecdote in the volume relates to Bishop Atterbury, of whom, from similarity of principles, our author is a great admirer; and the reader will immediately detect a slight inaccuracy in it.

"In 1715 I dined with the DUKE of ORMONDE at Richmond. We were fourteen at table. There was my Lord MARR, my Lord JERSEY, my Lord ARRAN, my Lord LANDSDOWN, Sir WILLIAM WYNDUAM, Sir REDMOND EVERARD, and ATTERBURY Bishop of Rochester. The rest of the company I do not exactly remember. During the dinner there was a jocular dispute (I forget how it was introduced) concerning short prayers. Sir WILLIAM WYNDHAM told us, that the shortest prayer he had ever heard was the prayer of a common soldier just before the battle of Blenheim, 'O God, if there he a God, save my soul, if I have a soul!" This was followed by a general laugh. I immediately reflected that such a treatment of the subject was too ludicrous, at least very improper, where a learned and religious prelate was one of the company. But I had soon an opportunity of making a different reflection. ATTERBURY, seeming to join in the conversation, and applying himself to Sir WILLIAM WYNDHAM, said, 'Your prayer, Sir WILLIAM, is indeed very short: but I remember another as short, but much better, offered up likewise by a poor soldier in the same circumstances, 'O God, if in the day of battle I forget thee, do thou not, forget me!' This, as ATTERBURY pronounced it, with his usual grace and dignity, was a very gentle and polite reproof, and was immediately felt by the whole company. And the Duke of ORMONDE, who was the best bred man of his age, suddenly turned the discourse to another subject." pp. 7-9.

Now, the second prayer was not "one offered up by a poor soldier" without a name, but by Lord Astley, a distinguished cavalier, before he charged at the battle of Edgehill; and the words of the prayer, as given by Hume, after Warwick, are materially different. "O Lord! thou knowest how busy I must be this day. If I forget thee," &c. Upon this the freethinking historian remarks, with his accustomed naivete, "there were certainly much longer prayers in the Parliamentary army; but I doubt if there was so good a one."

The good Doctor having always been a water-drinker himself, is extremely severe upon any indulgence in strong liquors; and we cannot help thinking, that this austerity has made him greatly exaggerate what he terms "the pernicious habit of drinking drams," which he plainly insinuates that Pope had contracted. The following is the anecdote which he couples with he remark.

"POPE and I, with my Lord ORRERY and Sir HARRY BEDINGFIELD dined with the late Earl of BURLINGTON. After the first course, POPE grew sick, and went out of the room. When dinner was ended, and the cloth removed, my Lord BURLINGTON said he would go out, and see what was become of POPE. And soon after they returned together. But POPE, who had been casting up his dinner, looked very pale, and complained much. My Lord asked him if he would have some mulled wine or a glass of old sack, which POPE refused. I told my Lord BURLINGTON that he wanted a dram. Upon which the little man expressed some resentment against me, and said he would not taste any spirits, and that he abhorred drams as much as I did. However I persisted, and assured my Lord BURLINGTON that he could not oblige our friend more at that instant than by ordering a large glass of cherry-brandy to be set before him. This was done, and in less than half an hour, while my Lord was acquainting us with an affair which engaged our attention, POPE had sipped up all the brandy. POPE'S frame of body did not promise long life; but he certainly hastened his death by feeding much on high-seasoned dishes, and drinking spirits." pp. 12, 13. — He also blames Swift for drinking too much wine, although he allows that he did not exceed a pint of claret.

It may easily he imagined that our author's pen is dipped in gall when he speaks of Sir Robert Walpole; yet the only specifick charge which he makes against him, is the old one of governing by corruption, and injuring publick morality by his undisguised manner of deriding all publick virtue. That these things are founded in fact, we apprehend must now be admitted; yet there seems hardly any doubt that this able and most useful statesman only differed from his predecessors, and his immediate successors, in the greater frankness with which he avowed practices common to them all, from the time when the plan of ruling by parliamentary influence was substituted for the older scheme of government by prerogative. He recounts a whimsical instance of the plain and downright manner in which the grossest bribery was practised in those clumsy times. "I am here" (he says, after speaking of Aeolus having been bribed by Juno with a nymph, to which present he makes no allusion in his reply), "I am here put in mind of something similar, which happened in Sir ROBERT WALPOLE'S administration. He wanted to carry a question in the House of Commons, to which he knew there would he great opposition, and which was disliked by some of his own dependants. As he was passing through the Court of Requests, he met a member of the contrary party, whose avarice he imagined would not reject a large bribe. He took him aside, and said, 'Such a question comes on this day; give me your vote, and here is a bank bill of 2000' — which he put into his hands. The member made him this answer. 'Sir ROBERT, you have lately served some of my particular friends; and when my wife was last at court, the King was very gracious to her, which must have happened at your instance. I should therefore think myself very ungrateful (putting the bank bill into his pocket) if I were to refuse the favour you are now pleased to ask me.'" pp. 27, 28.

The rash saying ascribed so currently to Walpole, that every man had his price, is brought home to him upon very satisfactory evidence, in one instance at least, by Dr. King, who had it from William Leveson, Lord Gower's brother. Leveson happened to be standing next Sir Robert in the House of Lords during a warm debate; when the latter observed — "You see with what zeal and vehemence these gentlemen oppose, and yet I know the price of every man in this House except three, and your brother is one of them." Our author adds, that Lord Gower afterwards showed he was quite unworthy of a place in this triumvirate — and gives a very bitter account of his well known defection, to the consequences of which he unhesitatingly ascribes his death. The bitterness which ever and anon breaks out against the Whigs, makes an amusing part of these anecdotes. He is inveighing, for instance, against avarice, and he gives his examples; but almost all from that party. Thus, Lord Hardwicke, "who is said to be worth 800,000, sets the same value on half a crown now as he did when he was worth only one hundred." — And then he runs on with more great Whig worthies of that age.

That great captain, the DUKE of MARLBOROUGH, when he was in the last stage of life, and very infirm, would walk from the public rooms in Bath to his lodgings, in a cold dark night, to save sixpence in chair hire. If the Duke, who left at his death more than a million and a half sterling, could have foreseen that all his wealth and honours were to be inherited by a grandson of my lord Trevor's, who had been one of his enemies, would he have been so careful to save sixpence for the sake of his heir? Not for the sake of his heir; but he would always have saved a sixpence. Sir JAMES LOWTHER, after changing a piece of silver in George's coffee-house, and paying twopence for his dish of coffee, was helped into his chariot (for he was then very lame and infirm), and went home: Some little time after, he returned to the same coffee-house on purpose to acquaint the woman who kept it that she had given him a bad halfpenny, and demanded another in exchange for it. Sir JAMES had about 40,000 per annum, and was at a loss whom to appoint his heir." — pp. 101-103.

He gives a long dissertation on men mistaking their talents; and his first example is Addison, with whom he is somewhat wroth, upon the old score of the tye-wig. "If he had entered into holy orders, (and he had made divinity his chief study), he might have placed himself as high as he pleased on the bench of Bishops." Instead of which, he tried to be Secretary of State; and, failing, was obliged to retire upon a Tellership. After an instance of a similar mistake (we presume among the Tories, for it was Lord Marr's brother) in a Lord of Session, who would go into the House of Commons to discourse of "multiplepoinding," he indulges in the following sally, which has more than the learned author's usual proportion of drollery. The noble person principally mentioned, is of course the Duke of Newcastle.

"It is indeed the peculiar happiness of this country, that all who have any share in the administration of public affairs, are equally fit for all employment. His Grace of N. was first Chamberlain, then Secretary of State, and is now First Commissioner of the Treasury and Chancellor of Cambridge; and all these high employments he hath executed with equal capacity and judgment, without being indebted to age or experience for the least improvement; and if he had been pleased to accept the Archbishopric of Canterbury, when was lately vacant, he would have proved himself as great an orator in the pulpit as he is in the senate, and as able a divine as he is a politician. As often as I hear this nobleman named, he puts me in mind of a certain Irish baronet, a man of some interest in his country, who, when the Duke of ORMONDE was appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland in the beginning of queen ANNE'S reign, desired his Grace to give him a bishopric, or a regiment of horse, or to make him Lord Chief Justice of the King's Bench." pp. 115-117. — So very clear-sighted were the Tories, when they enjoyed the leisure of retirement, and could calmly, and from the convenient shade, look upon the qualifications of men for the offices which Court favour bestowed, and parliamentary management retained! Are there no personages in the present day, who, without even the slender pretensions to high office which unquestionably belonged to the head of the Pelhams, — the highest rank, and most profuse expenditure of a princely fortune, — have nevertheless contrived to lead long lives of place, patronage, honours and emoluments — nay, to pass through every one o the most exalted, if not the most powerful stations under each successive administration, with one exception, during the last forty years? We believe there are few readers whose memory at once answer this question.

The extraordinary tenderness towards the national Establishment manifested by the Tories of the present day, is matter of hourly observation. So far, indeed, is this carried, that they will suffer none but themselves to take any care of its interests. They exhibit signs of disquiet, and even uneasiness, if any one else presumes to defend it; and if they perceive that any one entertains that sincere good will to it, which is shown by endeavours to correct its abuses, or to free it from the dangerous contamination of unworthy members, forthwith they sound the alarm — they cry out that the Church is attacked — is in jeopardy, — their maxim in reality being, that there can be nothing like an abuse connected with it, and that its members never can do wrong. We shall be told, that this doctrine never has been held; and we believe that it has never been avowed in terms; but it is the deeply-rooted feeling which actuates those of whom we are speaking: And they would hate much less (though they might more openly express their detestation) the man who should at once attack the fundamentals of the orthodox faith, or even raise a question about the right to tithe, than him who should unadvisedly call for the correction of some practical abuse, the removal of an admitted corruption, or the reformation of some particular in the private life or official conduct of any portion of its dignitaries. Nothing, it seems, must ever be admitted to be wrong, either in the theory or in the practice of any part of the established order of things. All must be taken for perfect in the system; and they who act under it, must be deemed partakers of its nature and attributes. Such at least are the notions of Tories, when in the enjoyment of place and power. But let the sourness of disappointment once seize them, and they complain as openly as any Whig who has spent his whole life in opposition: They throw all the wonted decorum of their opinions aside; and find every thing wrong. The following passage respecting the English Bishops, strongly illustrates these remarks. Wo betide the hapless Presbyterian, or Low Churchman, who should have given vent to such murmurs against the right reverend pillars of the Hierarchy. We almost shut the book, and fear to transcribe; we tremble even at being the channel through which such things are to he disseminated; but we entreat the reader to recollect, that the words are spoken by an Oxford Dignitary, the Head of a House, a man of principles highly Monarchical, and devoted to the highest Church party.

"BUTLER, who was predecessor to the present Bishop of Durham, being applied to on some occasion for a charitable subscription, asked his steward what money be had in the house. The steward informed him, 'there was five hundred pounds.' 'Five hundred pounds!' said the Bishop 'what a shame for a Bishop to have such a sum in his possession!' and ordered it all to be immediately given to the poor. That spirit of charity and benevolence which possessed this excellent man hath not appeared in any other part of the hierarchy since the beginning of the present century. His successor, Dr. TREVOR, possessed of a large estate, besides the revenue of his rich bishopric, has a different turn of mind, but in common with many of his own order. To speak freely, I know nothing that has brought so great a reproach on the Church of England as the avarice and ambition of our bishops. CHANDLER, Bishop of Durham, WILLIS, Bishop of Winchester, POTTER, Archbishop of Canterbury, GIBSON and SHERLOCK, Bishops of London, all died shamefully rich, some of them worth more than 100,000. I must add to these my old antagonist GILBERT, predecessor to DRUMMOND, the present Archbishop of York. Some of these prelates were esteemed great divines (and I know they were learned men), but they could not be called good Christians. The great wealth which they heaped up, the fruits of their bishoprics, and which they left to enrich their families, was not their own; it was due to God, to the Church, to their poor brethren. The history of the good Samaritan, which was so particularly explained by Christ himself to his disciples, ought to be a monitory to all their successors. I knew BURNETT, Bishop of Salisbury: he was a furious party-man, and easily imposed on by any lying spirit of his own faction; but he was a better pastor than any man who is now seated on the bishops' bench. Although he left a large family when he died, three sons and two daughters (if I rightly remember), yet be left them nothing more than their mother's fortune. He always declared, that he should think himself guilty of the greatest crime, if he were to raise fortunes for his children out of the revenue of his bishopric. It was no small misfortune to the cause of Christianity in this kingdom, that when we reformed from popery, our clergy were permitted to marry; from that period their only care (which was natural, and must have been foreseen) was to provide for their wives and children: This the dignitaries, who had ample revenues, could easily effect, with the loss, however, of that respect and veneration which they formerly received on account of their hospitality and numerous charities: But the greatest part of the inferior clergy were incapable of making a provision for sons and daughters, and soon left families of beggars in every part of the kingdom. I do not inquire whether chastity ought to be a requisite in those who are ordained to serve at the altar (it certainly adds a grace and dignity to their function); but I cannot help observing that our Government makes no difference between a bishop's wife and his concubine: The wife has no place or precedence, she does not share in her husband's honours; although the creation of a simple knight, whose honours, like the bishop's, are for life only, gives a rank and title to his wife. Moreover, as an academician, and friend to the republic of letters, I have often wished that the canons which forbid priests to marry were still in force. To the celibacy of the bishops we owe almost all those noble foundations which are established in both our Universities; but since the Reformation, we can boast of few of the episcopal order as benefactors to those seats of learning. The munificent donations of LAUD and SHELDON, in the last century, will indeed, ever be remembered; but let it likewise be remembered, that these two prelates were unmarried. Since the commencement of the present century, I do not recollect one of our Right Reverends who ought to be recorded as an eminent patron of learning, or learned men; but this will not appear very wonderful, if we consider by what spirit they were dignified — 'haud equidem Spiritu Sancto.' And yet in the consecration of these 'conge d'elire' bishops, they are said to be called to this work by the Holy Ghost; and in their answer to the archbishop, they seem to affirm it of themselves." pp. 183-188.

We have given one anecdote of Bishop Atterbury; and must add the following repartee of his in the House of Lords, as exceedingly perfect in its kind. He happened to say, upon a certain bill then in discussion, that "'he had prophesied last winter this bill would be attempted in the present session, and he was sorry to find that he had proved a trite prophet." My Lord CONINGSBY, who spoke after the Bishop, and always spoke in a passion, desired the House to remark, "that one of the Right Reverend had set himself forth as a prophet; but for his part, he did not know what prophet to liken him to, unless to that furious prophet BALAAM, who was reproved by his own ass." The Bishop, in a reply, with great wit and calmness, exposed this rude attack, concluding thus — "since the noble Lord hath discovered in our manners such a similitude, I am well content to be compared to the prophet BALAAM: bid, my Lords, I am at a loss how to make out the other part of the parallel: I am sure that I have been reproved by nobody but his Lordship.'" pp. 129, 130.

Dr. King gives some just observations upon the neglect of the study of our own language, in those seminaries of education where all other tongues are so elaborately taught. To this defect he ascribes the undoubted fact, that Englishmen, however learned, express themselves in their mother tongue with much less ease, elegance, and correctness, than foreigners.

"I have been acquainted," he says, "with three persons only who spoke English with that elegance and propriety, that if all they said had been immediately committed to writing, any judge of the English language would have pronounced it an excellent and very beautiful style. And yet among the French and Italians, we meet with few learned men who are not able to express themselves with ease and elegance in their own language; and if the same freedom of speech were allowed in the Parliament of Paris, or senate of Rome, which may be used in an English House of Commons, their orators would be more numerous and eminent than we can boast of. Observing this defect so universal in the English nation, I have always advised the young gentlemen who were under my care in the University, or with whom I had any connexion or acquaintance, (especially those who had parts, and discovered an inclination to improve themselves), to get by heart a page in one of our English classics every morning, in order to speak their own tongue with facility, and acquire a good style in writing." pp. 174-176.

We suspect that the Doctor overlooks another circumstance, which has a great share in making foreigners, particularly the French and Italians, more eloquent in common conversation than our countrymen; we mean the freedom from that shyness which distinguishes us, that mixture of timidity and pride about trifling matters, which the French call "mauvaise honte." We do not put forth our force in conversation; we are ashamed of turning sentences; we dislike attracting the attention of others to our manner of speech, by seeming to make it the object of our own. An Italian is hurried on by his passions, the spring of all eloquence; and he forgets all such personal feelings. A Frenchman has none to encumber him; he always speaks his best, as if every auditor were a critic; and he appeals for our admiration at the close of a sentence, with a look that amply testifies his having secured his own, in this way it is, that one nation is eloquent, and the other rhetorical. — But, to continue our good Doctor's remarks on oratory. He differs from Cicero in the estimate which he forms of the accomplishments necessary to an orator. The Roman held it essential that he should be skilled in all arts and sciences.

"For a century and an half, we have had only two High Chancellors who could be called learned men, though many of them have been reputed excellent orators: and in our days, the man who enjoyed this great office for twenty years, and during that time dictated to the House of Peers, did not learn Latin, as I am well assured, until after he was made Lord Chancellor. Sir ROBERT WALPOLE, who by his oratory raised himself from a small estate to the height of power, and disposed of all employments in the British dominions for many years, had not any great stock of learning. He was indeed not unskilled in the classics; some knowledge of those authors he could not but retain, as he had been formerly a fellow of a College in Cambridge. I knew Sir William Wyndham, who was allowed to be the best and most graceful speaker in the house of Commons for many years before he died, but he was not eminent in any branch of literature. Mr. Pitt, who has acquired such a great reputation for his eloquence, and a greater still for his administration, and the success which has attended it, has not much learning to boast of unless it be some little acquaintance with the Latin classics. I could name several others, in both Houses of Parliament, who are busy speakers, and harangue on all occasions, who would be greatly puzzled in reading one of Tully's orations. The truth is, that not only all philosophical studies, and the abstruser sciences, are of little use to our parliament orators; but, even without a tincture of what we call polite literature, they are many of them able to talk themselves into esteem and good employments. Every age produces men (very few indeed) who seem to be orators born, who, not only without the aid of learning, but without use and exercise, which are so necessary to the formation of an orator, are endowed with a talent of speaking and replying readily and fluently." pp. 178-181.

Towards the close of his life, it appears that our author fell into bad repute with his own party. The principal cause of this seems to have been his going to Court in 1761, with the Chancellor and other dignitaries of the University, when they went up with an address upon the King's marriage. The fury of the Jacobite faction instantly burst forth against him as an apostate from the cause; and he, in his turn, begins very bitterly to inveigh against its more zealous and steady adherents. He remarks, among other things, the low ebb to which the Jacobite interest was reduced, and ascribes this, not more to the successful administration of the Whigs, than to the weak and violent conduct held by the chiefs of the exiled family's party. He thinks, indeed, that he is himself possessed of information which may at once account for the defection among its votaries, and render that desertion more general. He conceives that "he shall render an acceptable service to many of his countrymen, and satisfy the inquiries of posterity, by publishing an anecdote which he is now under no obligation to conceal, and which, as the affairs of Britain are at present circumstanced, it would, in his opinion, be criminal to suppress." After observing, by the way, how frequently, the "affairs of Britain are found to justify, and indeed to demand, certain sacrifices of party connexion — how repeatedly we see them requiring once zealous partisans to oppose, not to say betray, their former friends — how apt those same "affairs of Britain" are to compel men's acceptance of high and lucrative situations — we may go on with the anecdote. It seems that, in September 1750, the Doctor received a message from Lady Primrose, desiring to see him, and, upon his obeying the summons, was suddenly introduced to the Pretender, who had come over at the instigation of his intemperate and thoughtless friends, to make an attempt, for which, even if the occasion had been at all favourable, no sort of preparation had been undertaken. He remained only five days in London, during which time our worthy author had some long conversations with him. He also corresponded with him constantly for some years, not by letter, but through honourable and distinguished gentlemen, who passed backwards and forwards for the purpose of maintaining this difficult and hazardous intercourse between the exiled Court and their friends in this country. Having, in the course of this connexion, "informed himself of all particulars relating to him, and of his whole conduct both in publick and private life," he deems himself as well qualified as any man in England to draw a just character of the Pretender, and to undeceive "many worthy gentlemen attached to his name." We shall transcribe this sketch, which there is no reason to believe at all an unfair one, of the very contemptible person in question.

"As to his person, he is tall and well-made, but stoops a little, owing perhaps to the great fatigue which he underwent in his northern expedition. He has an handsome face and good eyes; (I think his busts, which about this time were commonly sold in London, are more like him than any of his pictures which I have yet seen); but in a polite company he would not pass for a genteel man. He hath a quick apprehension, and speaks French, Italian, and English, the last with a little of a foreign accent. As to the rest, very little care seems to have been taken of his education. He had not made the belles lettres or any of the finer arts his study, which surprised me much, considering his preceptors, and the noble opportunities he must have always had in that nursery of all the elegant and liberal arts and sciences. But I was still more astonished, when I found him unacquainted with the history and constitution of England, in which he ought to have been very early instructed. I never heard him express any noble or benevolent sentiments, the certain indications of a great soul and a good heart; or discover any sorrow or compassion for the misfortunes of so many worthy men who had suffered in his cause. But the worst part of his character is his love of money, a vice which I do not remember to have been imputed by our historians to any of his ancestors, and is the certain index of a base and little mind. I know it may be urged in his vindication, that a prince in exile ought to be an economist. And so he ought; but nevertheless his purse should be always open, as long as there is any thing in it, to relieve the necessities of his friends and adherents. King Charles the Second, during his banishment, would have shared the last pistole in his pocket with his little family. But I have known this gentleman with two thousand louis-d'ors in his strong box pretend he was in great distress, and borrow money from a lady in Paris, who was not in affluent circumstances. His most faithful servants, who had closely attended him in all his difficulties, were ill rewarded. Two Frenchmen, who had left every thing to follow his fortune, who had been sent as couriers through half Europe, and executed their commissions with great punctuality and exactness, were suddenly discharged, without any faults imputed to then, or any recompense for their past service. To this spirit of avarice may be added his insolent manner of treating his immediate dependants, very unbecoming a great prince, and a sure prognostic of what might be expected from him if ever he acquired sovereign power. Sir J. HARRINGT0N, and Col. GORING, who suffered themselves to be imprisoned with him, rather than desert him, when the rest of his family and attendants fled, were afterwards obliged to quit his service on account of his illiberal behaviour. But there is one part of his character, which I must particularly insist on, since it occasioned the defection of the most powerful of his friends and adherents in England, and by some concurring accidents totally blasted all his hopes and pretensions. When he was in Scotland, he had a mistress, whose name is Walkenshaw, and whose sister was at that time, and is still, housekeeper at Leicester House. Some years after he was released from his prison, and conducted out of France, he sent for this girl, who soon acquired such a dominion over him, that she was acquainted with all his schemes, and trusted with his most secret correspondence. As soon as this was known in England, all those persons of distinction, who were attached to him, were greatly alarmed; they imagined that this wench had been placed in his family by the English ministers; and, considering her sister's situation, they seemed to have some ground for their suspicion; wherefore they despatched a gentleman to Paris, where the Prince then was, who had instructions to insist that Mrs. Walkenshaw should be removed to a convent for a certain term; but her gallant absolutely refused to comply with this demand: And although Mr. M'Namara, the gentleman who was sent to him, who has a natural eloquence, and an excellent understanding, urged the most cogent reasons, and used all the arts of persuasion to induce him to part with his mistress, and even proceeded so far as to assure him, according to his instructions, that an immediate interruption of all correspondence with his most powerful friends in England, and in short that the ruin of his interest, which was now daily increasing, would be the infallible consequence of his refusal; yet he continued inflexible, and all M'Namara's intreaties and remonstrances were ineffectual. M'Namara staid in Paris some days beyond the time prescribed him, endeavouring to reason the Prince into a better temper; but finding him obstinately persevere in his first answer, he took his leave with concern and indignation, saying, as he passed out, 'What has your family done, Sir, thus to draw down the vengeance of Heaven on every branch of it through so many ages?' It is worthy of remark, that in all the conferences which M'Namara had with the Prince on this occasion, the latter declared, that it was not a violent passion, or indeed any particular regard, which attached him to Mrs. Walkenshaw, and that he could see her removed from him without any concern; but he would not receive directions, in respect to his private conduct, from any man alive. — When M'Namara returned to London, and reported the Prince's answer to the gentlemen who had employed him, they were astonished and confounded. However, they soon resolved on the measures which they were to pursue for the future, and determined no longer to serve a man who could not be persuaded to serve himself, and chose rather to endanger the lives of his best and most faithful friends, than part with an harlot, whom, as he often declared, he neither loved nor esteemed. If ever that old adage, 'Quos Jupiter vult perdere,' &c. could be properly applied to any person, whom could it so well fit as the gentleman of whom I have been speaking? for it is difficult by any other means to account for such a sudden infatuation. He was, indeed, soon afterwards made sensible of his misconduct, when it was too late to repair it: for from this era may truly be dated the ruin of his cause; which, for the future, can only subsist in the Nonjuring congregations, which are generally formed of the meanest people, from whom no danger to the present government need ever be apprehended." pp. 199-211.

With this passage we close our account of the Doctor's volume, aware that our review has partaken much of the desultory and gossipping nature of the work itself — which is, on the whole, more trifling than might have been expected. It is but fair, however, towards the author's memory to add, that his defection from the Jacobite party was wholly disinterested — that it consisted rather in despairing of success, in opening his eyes to the real state of their affairs, and in discouraging, by his neutrality, any mad projects of a criminal description, than in supporting their adversaries with activity. The more sober view which he took, was justified by the real aspect of matters, and was extremely natural in a man turned of seventy-four; but the free remarks in which he indulges upon the cause, and its adherents, and especially its chief, can only be accounted for by reflecting on the violent abuse to which a slight and occasional conformity had exposed him; — abuse, which we know often converts partial into thorough-paced renegadoes, and always occasions, either directly or from being dreaded, the proverbial bitterness of apostasy.