Obrazy na stronie

the world has produced. Its leading principles, as enumerated by its best and latest commentator, Mr M’Culloch, may be thus summed up: ‘He shewed that the only source of the opulence of nations is labour; that the natural wish to augment our fortunes and rise in the world is the cause of riches being accumulated. He demonstrated that labour is productive of wealth, when employed in manufactures and commerce, as well as when it is employed in the cultivation of land; he traced the various means by which labour may be rendered most effective; and gave a most admirable analysis and exposition of the prodigious addition made to its efficacy by its division among different individuals and countries, and by the employment of accumulated wealth or capital in industrious undertakings. He also shewed, in opposition to the commonly received opinions of the merchants, politicians, and statesmen of his time, that wealth does not consist in the abundance of gold and silver, but in the abundance of the various necessaries, conveniences, and enjoyments of human life; that it is in every case sound policy to leave individuals to pursue their own interest in their own way; that, in prosecuting branches of industry advantageous to themselves, they necessarily prosecute such as are at the same time advantageous to the public; and that every regulation intended to force industry into particular channels, or to determine the species of commercial intercourse to be carried on between different parts of the same country, or between distant and independent countries, is impolitic and pernicious.’” Though correct in his fundamental positions, Dr Smith has been shewn to be guilty of several errors. He does not always reason correctly from the principles he lays down; and some of his distinctions—as that between the different classes of society as productive and unproductive consumershave been shewn, by a more careful analysis and observation, to be unfounded. But these defects do not touch the substantial merits of the work, ‘which produced, says Mackintosh, “an immediate, general, and irrevocable change in some of the most important parts of the legislation of all civilised states. In a few years it began to alter laws and treaties, and has made its way, throughout the convulsions of revolution and conquest, to a due ascendant over the minds of men, with far less than the average obstructions of prejudice and clamour, which choke the channels through which truth flows into practice. In this work, as in his Moral Sentiments, Dr Smith is copious and happy in his illustrations. The following account of the advantages of the division of labour is very finely written:

[The Division of Labour.]

Observe the accommodation of the most common artificer or day-labourer in a civilised and thriving country, and you will perceive that the number of people, of whose industry a part, though but a small part, has been employed in procuring him this accommodation, exceeds all computation. The woollen coat, for example, which covers the day-labourer, as coarse and rough as it may appear, is the produce of the joint labour of a great multitude of workmen. The shepherd, the sorter of the wool, the wool-comber or carder, the dyer, the scribbler, the spinner, the weaver, the fuller, the dresser, with many others, must all join their different arts in order to complete even this homely production. How many merchants and carriers, besides, must have been employed in transporting the materials from some of those workmen to others, who often live in a very

* M’Culloch's Principles of Political Economy, p. 57.

distant part of the country ! How much commerce and navigation in particular, how many ship-builders, sailors, sail-makers, rope-makers, must have been employed in order to bring together the different drugs made use of by the dyer, which often come from the remotest corners of the world! What a variety of labour, too, is necessary in order to produce the tools of the meanest of those workmen : To say nothing of such complicated machines as the ship of the sailor, the mill of the fuller, or even the loom of the weaver, let us consider only what a variety of labour is requisite in order to form that very simple machine, the shears with which the shepherd clips the wool. The miner, the builder of the furnace for smelting the ore, the feller of the timber, the burner of the charcoal to be made use of in the smelting-house, the brickmaker, the bricklayer, the workmen who attend the furnace, the millwright, the forger, the smith, must all of them join their different arts in order to produce them. Were we to examine in the same manner all the different parts of his dress and household furniture, the coarse linen shirt which he wears next his skin, the shoes which cover his feet, the bed which he lies on, and all the different parts which compose it, the kitchen-grate at which he prepares his victuals, the coals which he makes use of for that purpose, dug from the bowels of the earth, and brought to him, perhaps, by a long sea and a long land carriage, all the other utensils of his kitchen, all the furniture of his table, the knives and forks, the earthen or pewter plates upon which he serves up and divides his victuals, the different hands employed in preparing his bread and his beer, the glass window which lets in the heat and the light, and keeps out the wind and the rain, with all the knowledge and art requisite for preparing that beautiful and happy invention, without which these northern parts of the world could scarce have afforded a very comfortable habitation, together with the tools of all the different workmen employed in producing those different conveniences; if we examine, I say, all these things, and consider what a variety of labour is employed about each of them, we shall be sensible that, without the assistance and co-operation of many thousands, the very meanest person in a civilised country could not be provided, even according to, what we very falsely imagine, the easy and simple manner in which he is commonly accommodated. Compared, indeed, with the more extravagant luxury of the great, his accommodation must no doubt appear extremely simple and easy; and yet it may be true, perhaps, that the accommodation of a European prince does not always so much exceed that of an industrious and frugal peasant, as the accommodation of the latter exceeds that of many an African king, the absolute masters of the lives and liberties of ten thousand naked savages.

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DR ADAM FERGuson (1724–1816), son of the minister of Logierait, in Perthshire, was educated at St Andrews: removing to Edinburgh, he became an associate of Dr Robertson, Blair, Home, &c. In 1744, he entered the 42d regiment as chaplain, and continued in that situation till 1757, when he resigned it, and became tutor in the family of Lord Bute. He was afterwards professor of natural philosophy and of moral philosophy in the university of Edinburgh. In 1778, he went to America as secretary to the commissioners appointed to nego: tiate with the revolted colonies: on his return, he resumed the duties of his professorship. His latter days were spent in ease and affluence at St Andrews, where he died at the patriarchal age of ninety-three: The works of Dr Ferguson are, The History of Civil Society, published in 1766; Institutes of £ral Philosophy, 1769; A Reply to Dr Price on Civil and Religious Liberty, 1776; The History of the Progress and Termination of the Roman Republic, 1783; and Principles of Moral and Political Science, 1792. Sir Walter Scott, who was personally acquainted with Ferguson, supplies some interesting information as to the latter years of this venerable professor, whom he considered the most striking example of the stoic philosopher which could be seen in modern days. He had a shock of paralysis in the sixtieth year of his life, from which period he became a strict Pythagorean in his diet, eating nothing but vegetables, and drinking only water or milk. The deep interest which he took in the French war had long seemed to be the main tie which connected him with passing existence; and the news of Waterloo acted on the aged patriot as a nunc dimittis. From that hour the feeling that had almost alone given him energy decayed, and he avowedly relinquished all desire for prolonged life. Of Ferguson's History of Civil Society, Gray the poet remarks: ‘There are uncommon strains of eloquence in it; and I was surprised to find not one single idiom of his country (I think) in the whole work. His application to the heart is frequent, and often successful. His love of Montesquieu and Tacitus has led him into a manner of writing too short-winded and sententious, which those great men, had they lived in better times, and under a better government, would have avoided. This remark is true of all Ferguson's writings; his style is too succinct and compressed. His Roman History, however, is a valuable compendium, illustrated by philosophical views and reflections. LoRD MoNBoDDo's Essay on the Origin and Progress of Language, published in 1771–3 and 6, is one of those singular works which at once provoke study and ridicule. The author was a man of real learning and talents, but a humorist in character and opinions. He was an enthusiast in Greek literature and antiquities, and a worshipper of Homer. So far did he carry this, that, finding carriages were not in use among the ancients, he never would enter one, but made all his journeys to London—which he visited once a year—and other places on horseback, and continued the practice till he was upwards of eighty. He said it was a degradation of the genuine dignity of human nature to be dragged at the tail of a horse instead of mounting upon his back! The eccentric philosopher was less careful of the dignity of human nature in some of his opinions. He gravely maintains in his Essay that men were originally monkeys, in which condition they remained for ages destitute of speech, reason, and social affections. They gradually improved, according to Monboddo's theory, as geologists say the earth was changed by successive revolutions; but he contends that the orang-outangs are still of the human species, and that in the Bay of Bengal there exists a nation of human beings with tails like monkeys, which had been discovered a hundred and thirty years before by a Swedish skipper. When Sir Joseph Banks returned from Botany Bay, Monboddo inquired after the long-tailed men, and, according to Dr Johnson, was not pleased that they had not been found in all his peregrinations. All the moral sentiments and domestic affections were, according to this whimsical philosopher, the result of art, contrivance, and experience, as much as writing, ship-building, or any other mechanical invention; and hence he places man, in his natural state, below beavers and sea-cats, which he terms social and political animals! The laughable absurdity # these doctrines must have protected their

author from the fulminations of the clergy, who were then so eager to attack all the metaphysical opponents of revealed religion. In 1779, Monboddo published an elaborate work on ancient metaphysics, in three volumes quarto, which, like his former publication, is equally learned and equally whimsical. After a life of study and paradox, discharging his duties as a lord of session with uprightness and integrity, and much respected in private for his amiable dispositions, James Burnet, Lord Monboddo, died in Edinburgh May 26, 1799, at the advanced age of eighty-five.


HoRACE WALPoLE, the author of the Castle of Otranto, already noticed, would have held but an insignificant place in British literature, if it had not been for his Correspondence and Memoirs, those pictures of society and manners, compounded of wit and gaiety, shrewd observation, sarcasm, censoriousness, high life, and sparkling language. His situation and circumstances were exactly suited to his character and habits. He had in early life travelled with his friend Gray, the poet, and imbibed in Italy a taste for antiquity and the arts, fostered, no doubt, by the kindred genius of Gray, who delighted in ancient architecture and in classic pursuits. He next tried public life, and sat in parliament for twentysix years. This added to his observation of men and manners, but without increasing his reputation, for Horace Walpole was no orator or statesman. His aristocratic habits prevented him from courting distinction as a general author, and he accordingly commenced collecting antiques, building a baronial castle, and chronicling in secret his opinions and impressions of his contemporaries. His income, from sinecure offices and private sources, was about £4000 per annum; and, as he was never married, his fortune enabled him, under good management and methodical arrangement, to gratify his tastes as a virtuoso. When thirty years old, he had purchased some land at Twickenham, near London, and here he commenced improving a small house, which by degrees swelled into a feudal castle, with turrets, towers, galleries, and corridors, windows of stained glass, armorial bearings, and all the other appropriate insignia of a Gothic baronial mansion. Who has not heard of Strawberry Hill—that ‘little plaything house, as Walpole styled it, in which were gathered curiosities of all descriptions, works of art, rare editions, valuable letters, memorials of virtue and of vice, of genius, beauty, taste, and fashion, mouldered into dust! This valuable collection was in 1842 scattered to the winds—dispersed at a public sale. The delight with which Walpole contemplated his suburban retreat, is evinced in many of his letters. In one to General Conway— the only man he seems ever to have really loved or regarded—he runs on in this enthusiastic manner:

[Strawberry Hill.] You perceive that I have got into a new camp, and have left my tub at Windsor. It is a little plaything house that I have got out of this Chevenix's shop [Strawberry Hill had been occupied by Mrs Chevenix, a toywoman ll, and is the prettiest bauble you ever saw. It is set in enamelled meadows, with filigree hedges—

A small Euphrates through the piece is rolled, And little fishes wave their wings of gold.

Two delightful roads, that you would call dusty, supply me continually with coaches and chaises; and barges, as

solemn as barons of the Exchequer, move under my window. Richmond Hill and Ham Walks bound my prospect; but, thank God! the Thames is between me and the Duchess of Queensberry. Dowagers, as plenty as flounders, inhabit all around; and Pope's ghost is just now skimming under my window by a most poetical moonlight.

The literary performances with which Walpole varied his life at Strawberry Hill are all characteristic of the man. In 1758 appeared his Catalogue of Royal and Noble Authors; in 1761 his Anecdotes of Painting in England; in 1765 his Castle of Otranto; and in 1767 his Historic Doubts as to the character and person of Richard III. He left for publication Memoirs of the Court of George II., and a large collection of copies of his letters; and he printed at his private press—for among the collections at Strawberry Hill was a small printing establishment —his tragedy of the Mysterious Mother. A collection of his letters was printed in 1841, in six volumes, and various additions have since been made. A complete collection of the whole, chronologically arranged, and edited by Mr Peter Cunningham, was published in 1857–9 in nine volumes. The writings of Walpole are all ingenious and entertaining, and though his judgments on men and books or passing events are often inaccurate, and never profound, it is impossible not to be amused by the liveliness of his style, his wit, his acuteness, and even his malevolence. ‘Walpole's Letters, says Lord Macaulay, “are generally considered as his best performances, and, we think, with reason. His faults are far less offensive to us in his correspondence than in his books. His wild, absurd, and everchanging opinions of men and things are easily pardoned in familiar letters. His bitter scoffing depreciating disposition does not shew itself in so unmitigated a manner as in his Memoirs. A writer of letters must be civil and friendly to his correspondent at least, if to no other person. The variety of topics introduced is no doubt one cause of the charm of these compositions, for every page and almost every sentence turns up something new, and the whim of the moment is ever with Walpole a subject of the greatest importance. The peculiarity of his information, his private scandal, his anecdotes of the great, and the constant exhibition of his own tastes and pursuits, furnish abundant amusement to the reader. Another Horace Walpole, like another Boswell, the world has not supplied, and probably never will.

[Politics and Evening Parties.] To Sir Horace MANN-1745.

When I receive your long letters, I am ashamed: mine are notes in comparison. How do you contrive to roll out your patience into two sheets? You certainly don't love me better than I do you; and yet if our loves were to be sold by the quire, you would have by far the more magnificent stock to dispose of I can only say that age has already an effect on the vigour of my pen; none on yours: it is not, I assure you, for you alone, but my ink is at low water-mark for all my acquaintance. My present shame arises from a letter of eight sides, of December 8th, which I received from you last post.

It is not being an upright senator to promise one's vote beforehand, especially in a money-matter; but I believe so many excellent patriots have just done the same thing, that I shall venture readily to engage my promise to you, to get you any sum for the defence of Tuscany—why, it is to defend you and my own country!

my own palace in Via de Santo Spirito, my own princess épuisée, and all my family: I shall quite make interest for you; nay, I would speak to our new ally, and your old acquaintance, Lord Sandwich, to assist in it; but I could have no hope of getting at his ear, for he has put on such a first-rate tie-wig, on his admission to the Admiralty board, that nothing without the lungs of a boatswain can ever think to penetrate the thickness of the curls. I think, however, it does honour to the dignity of ministers: when he was but a patriot, his wig was not of half its present gravity. There are no more changes made: all is quiet yet; but next Thursday the parliament meets to decide the complexion of the session. My Lord Chesterfield goes next week to Holland, and then returns for Ireland. The great present disturbance in politics is my Lady Granville's assembly; which I do assure you distresses the Pelhams infinitely more than a mysterious meeting of the States would, and far more than the abrupt breaking up of the Diet at Grodno. She had begun to keep Tuesdays before her lord resigned, which now she continues with greater zeal. Her house is very fine, she very handsome, her lord very agreeable and extraordinary; and yet the Duke of Newcastle wonders that people will go thither. He mentioned to my father my going there, who laughed at him; Cato's a proper person to trust with such a childish jealousy | Harry Fox says: ‘Let the Duke of Newcastle open his own house, and see if all that come thither are his friends.’ The fashion now is to send cards to the women, and to declare that all men are welcome without being asked. This is a piece of ease that shocks the prudes of the last age. You can't imagine how my Lady Granville shines in doing honours; you know she is made for it. My lord has new-furnished his mother's apartment for her, and has given her a magnificent set of dressing-plate; he is very fond of her, and she as fond of his being so. You will have heard of Marshal Belleisle's being made a prisoner at Hanover: the world will believe it was not by accident. He is sent for over hither: the first thought was to confine him to the Tower, but that is contrary to the politesse of modern war: they talk of sending him to Nottingham, where Tallard was. I am sure, if he is prisoner at large anywhere, we could not have a worse inmate so ambitious and intriguing a man, who was author of this whole war, will be no bad general to be ready to head the Jacobites on any insurrection.” I can say nothing more about young Gardiner, but that I don't think my father at all inclined now to have any letter written for him. Adieu !

[The Scottish Rebellion.] [To the same-Nov. 15, 1745.]

I told you in my last what disturbance there had been about the new regiments; the affair of rank was again disputed on the report till ten at night, and carried by a majority of twenty-three. The king had been persuaded to appear for it, though Lord Granville made it a party-point against Mr Pelham. Winnington did not speak. I was not there, for I could not vote for it, and yielded not to give any hindrance to a public measureor at least what was called so—just now. The prince acted openly, and influenced his people against it; but it only served to let Mr Pelham see what, like everything else, he did not know—how strong he is. The king will scarce speak to him, and he cannot yet get Pitt into place.

1 The street in Florence where Mr Mann lived.

* Belleisle and his brother, who had been sent by the king of France on a mission to the king of Prussia, were detained, while changing horses, at Elbengerode, and from thence conveyed to England; where, refusing to give their parole in the mode it was required, they were confined in win":" and not a Scotchman. *Ferdinand of Wales.

The rebels are come into England: for two days we believed them near Lancaster, but the ministry now own that they don't know if they have passed Carlisle. Some think they will besiege that town, which has an old wall, and all the militia in it of Cumberland and Westmoreland; but as they can pass by it, I don't see why they should take it, for they are not strong enough to leave garrisons. Several desert them as they advance south; and altogether, good men and bad, nobody believes them ten thousand. By their marching westward to avoid Wade, it is evident that they are not strong enough to fight him. They may yet retire back into their mountains, but if once they get to Lancaster, their retreat is cut off; for Wade will not stir from Newcastle till he has embarked them deep into England, and then he will be behind them. He has sent General Handasyde from Berwick with two regiments to take possession of Edinburgh. The rebels are certainly in a very desperate situation: they dared not meet Wade; and if they had waited for him, their troops would have deserted. Unless they meet with great risings in their favour in Lancashire, I don't see what they can hope, except from a continuation of our neglect. That, indeed, has nobly exerted itself for them. They were suffered to march the whole length of Scotland, and take possession of the capital, without a man appearing against them. Then two thousand men sailed to them, to run from them. Till the flight of Cope's army, Wade was not sent. Two roads still lay into England, and till they had chosen that which Wade had not taken, no army was thought of being sent to secure the other. Now Ligonier, with seven old regiments, and six of the new, is ordered to Lancashire; before this first division of the army could get to Coventry, they are forced to order it to halt, for fear the enemy should be up with it before it was all assembled. It is uncertain if the rebels will march to the north of Wales, to Bristol, or towards London. If to the latter, Ligonier must fight them; if to either of the other, which I hope, the two armies may join and drive them into a corner, where they must all perish. They cannot subsist in Wales but by being supplied by the papists in Ireland. The best is, that we are in no fear from France; there is no preparation for invasions in any of their ports. Lord Clancarty," a Scotchman of great parts, but mad and drunken, and whose family forfeited £90,000 a year for King James, is made vice-admiral at Brest. The Duke of Bedford goes in his little round person with his regiment; he now takes to the land, and says he is tired of being a pen-and-ink man. Lord Gower insisted, too, upon going with his regiment, but is laid up with the gout.

With the rebels in England, you may imagine we have no private news, northink of foreign. From this account you may judge that our case is far from desperate, though disagreeable. The prince,” while the princess lies-in, has taken to give dinners, to which he asks two of the ladies of the bed-chamber, two of the maids of honour, &c., by turns, and five or six others. He sits at the head of the table, drinks and harangues to all this medley till nine at night; and the other day, after the affair of the regiments, drank Mr Fox's health in a bumper, with three huzzas, for opposing Mr Pelham

‘Si qua fata aspera rumpas,
Tu Marcellus eris!”

You put me in pain for my eagle, and in more for the Chutes, whose zeal is very heroic, but very ill placed. I long to hear that all my Chutes and eagles are safe out of the Pope's hands! Pray, wish the Suares's joy of all their espousals. Does the princess pray abundantly for

* Donagh Maccarty, Earl of Clancarty, was an Irishman,

her friend the Pretender? Is she extremely abattue with her devotion? and does she fast till she has got a violent appetite for supper? And then, does she eat so long, that old Sarrasin is quite impatient to go to cards again? Good-night! I intend you shall still be resident from King George. P.S.–I forgot to tell you that the other day I concluded the ministry knew the danger was all over; for the Duke of Newcastle ventured to have the Pretender's declaration burnt at the Royal Exchange.

Nov. 22, 1745.

For these two days we have been expecting news of a battle. Wade marched last Saturday from Newcastle, and must have got up with the rebels if they stayed for him, though the roads are exceedingly bad, and great quantities of snow have fallen. But last night there was some notice of a body of rebels being advanced to Penrith. We were put into great spirits by a heroic letter from the mayor of Carlisle, who had fired on the rebels and made them retire; he concluded with saying: “And so I think the town of Carlisle has done his majesty more service than the great city of Edinburgh, or than all Scotland together. But this hero, who was grown the whole fashion for four-and-twenty hours, had chosen to stop all other letters. The king spoke of him at his levée with great encomiums; Lord Stair said: ‘Yes, sir, Mr Patterson has behaved very bravely.’ The Duke of Bedford interrupted him: ‘My lord, his name is not Patterson; that is a Scotch name: his name is Pattinson. But, alack! the next day the rebels returned, having placed the women and children of the country in wagons in front of their army, and forcing the peasants to fix the scaling-ladders. The great Mr Pattinson, or Patterson—for now his name may be which one pleases—instantly surrendered the town, and agreed to pay two thousand pounds to save it from pillage.

[London Earthquakes and London Gossip.] [To the same-March 11, 1750.]

Portents and prodigies are grown so frequent, That they have lost their name.—Dryden.

My text is not literally true; but as far as earthquakes go towards lowering the price of wonderful commodities, to be sure we are overstocked. We have had a second, much more violent than the first; and you must not be surprised if, by next post, you hear of a burning mountain sprung up in Smithfield. In the night between Wednesday and Thursday last—exactly a month since the first shock—the earth had a shivering fit between one and two, but so slight, that if no more had followed, I don't believe it would have been noticed. I had been awake, and had scarce dozed again—on a sudden I felt my bolster lift up my head; I thought somebody was getting from under my bed, but soon found it was a strong earthquake, that lasted near half a minute, with a violent vibration and great roaring. I rang my bell; my servant came in, frightened out of his senses: in an instant we heard all the windows in the neighbourhood flung up. I got up and found people running into the streets, but saw no mischief done: there has been some; two old houses flung down, several chimneys, and much china-ware. The bells rung in several houses. Admiral Knowles, who has lived long in Jamaica, and felt seven there, says this was more violent than any of them: Francesco prefers it to the dreadful one at Leghorn. The wise say, that if we have not rain soon, we shall certainly have more. Several people are going out of town, for it has nowhere reached above ten miles from London: they say they are not frightened, but that it is such fine weather, “Lord! one can't help going into the country ! The only visible effect it has had was on the Ridotto, at which, being the following night, there were but four hundred people. A parson who came into White's the morning of earthquake the first, and heard bets laid on whether it was an earthquake or the blowing up of powder-mills, went away exceedingly scandalised, and said: “I protest they are such an impious set of people, that I believe if the last trumpet was to sound they would bet puppet-show against Judgment. If we get any nearer still to the torrid zone, I shall pique myself on sending you a present of cedrati and orange-flower water; I am already planning a terreno for Strawberry Hill. The Middlesex election is carried against the court; the Prince in a green frock—and I won’t swear but in a Scotch plaid waistcoat-sat under the park-wall in his chair, and hallooed the voters on to Brentford. The Jacobites are so transported, that they are opening subscriptions for all boroughs that shall be vacantthis is wise ! They will spend their money to carry a few more seats in a parliament where they will never have the majority, and so have none to carry the general elections. The omen, however, is bad for Westminster; the high-bailiff went to vote for the opposition. I now jump to another topic: I find all this letter will be detached scraps; I can't at all contrive to hide the seams. But I don't care. I began my letter merely to tell you of the earthquake, and I don’t pique myself upon doing any more than telling you what you would be glad to have told you. I told you, too, how pleased I was with the triumphs of another old beauty, our friend the princess." Do you know, I have found a history that has great resemblance to hers; that is, that will be very like hers, if hers is but like it. I will tell it you in as few words as I can. Madame la Maréchale de l'Hôpital was the daughter of a sempstress;” a young gentleman fell in love with her, and was going to be married to her, but the match was broken off. An old fermier-général, who had retired into the province where this happened, hearing the story, had a curiosity to see the victim; he liked her, married her, died, and left her enough not to care for her inconstant. She came to Paris, where the Maréchal de l'Hôpital married her for her riches. After the maréchal's death, Casimir, the abdicated king of Poland, who was retired into France, fell; in love with the maréchale, and privately married her. If the event ever happens, I shall certainly travel to Nancy, to hear her talk of ma belle fille la Reine de France. What pains my Lady Pomfret would take to prove” that an abdicated king's wife did not take place of an English countess; and how the princess herself would grow still fonder of the Pretender" for the similitude of his fortune with that of le Roi mon mari/ Her daughter, Mirepoix, was frightened the other night with Mrs Nugent's calling out, un voleur/ un voleur/ The ambassadress had heard so much of robbing, that she did not doubt but dans ce pais cy, they robbed in the middle of an assembly. It turned out to be a thief in the candle/ Good-night !

* The Princess Craon, who, it had been reported, was to marry Stanislaus Leczinsky, Duke of Lorraine and ex-king of Poland, whose daughter, Maria Leczinsky, was married to Louis XV., king of France.

* This is the story of a woman named Mary Mignot. She was near marrying a young man of the name of La Gardie, who afterwards entered the Swedish service, and became a field-marshal in that country. Her first husband was, if I mistake not, a procureur of Grenoble; her second was the Maréchal de l'Hôpital; and her third is supposed to have been Casimir, the ex-king of Poland, who had retired, after his abdication, to the monastery of St Germain des Près. It does not, however, appear certain whether Casimir actually married her or not.

* Lady Pomfret and Princess Craon did not visit at Florence, upon a dispute of precedence.

* The Pretender, when in Lorraine, lived in Prince Craon's house.


MRs ELIZABETH MonTAGU (1720–1800) and MRs HESTER CHAPONE (1727–1801) were ladies of learning and ability, holding—particularly the former– a prominent place in the literary society of the period. Mrs Montagu was left a widow with a large fortune, and her house became the popular resort of persons of both sexes distinguished for rank, classical taste, and literary talent.' Numerous references to this circle will be found in Boswell's Johnson, in the Life of Dr Beattie, the works of Hannah More, &c. Mrs Montagu was authoress of a work highly popular in its day, Essay on the Writings and Genius of re, compared with the Greek and French Dramatic Poets, with some Remarks upon the Misrepresentations of M. de Voltaire, 1769.

his essay is now chiefly valued as shewing the low state of poetical and Shakspearean criticism at the time it was written. Voltaire's theory of art then found many admirers, and though Mrs Montagu undertook the defence of the great dramatist, it was in a patronising, apologetic tone. Her work, however, has many excellent and ingenious observations. Beattie said of Mrs Montagu: “I have known several ladies eminent in literature, but she excelled them all; and in conversation she had more wit than any other person, male or female, whom I have ever known. Mrs Chapone's principal work is Letters on the Improvement of the Mind, 1773. Two years afterwards she published a volume of Miscellanies in Prose and Verse. All her writings are distinguished for their piety and good sense.

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