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said to have dealt not very profusely, “in the holiday and lady terms”* which warble in a drawingroom. Perhaps in the hearing of Majesty itself, he sometimes delivered, and enforced his own opinions, with that earnestness which became a great man, discharging great duties, and with that plainñess of air, and tone, and diction, which is not very usually found among those who crouch that they may be noticed or rewarded, and flatter, though they would not hesitate to betray. This, I am confident, was the very

head and “front of his offending," f and no more ; for no more did I ever hear from persons whose high situation gave

them
easy

and frequent access to their Sovereign, and some of whom were not much prejudiced in favour of Mr. Fox. You and I, dear Sir, have more than once been annoyed with the story, and were it true, we should blush for our friend—but I have never been able to trace it beyond the prattle of those gaudy triflers, 22 whose busy hum, and mischievous whispers, ought not to be tolerated for one moment in quarters where the temptations to lying are so strong, the opportunities so numerous, and the consequences so pernicious. Let us then dismiss the silly tale, as unworthy not only of the smallest credit, but the smallest attention, from men of sense and honour-let us leave it in full possession of one privilege to which it really is entitled—the privilege of being reported only by the malevolent, and believed only by the foolish.

Mr. Fox knew well that, not only among our

* Vid, Act 1, Part i. of Henry IV.

+ Vid, Othello,

selves, but in ages less enlightened, and in countries less free than our own, some men might acquire a strong partiality towards theories in favour of republicanism, from the peculiar structure of their minds, or the peculiar course of their studies. But he also knew, that upon questions of such magnitude, virtuous men pause before they press forward from theory to practice, and that rash men would be most effectually appeased or restrained, if statesmen, neither flattering the prince nor deceiving the people, would adhere to the genuine principles of the constitution. He knew yet farther, that a government administered according to those principles must have little to fear from visionary projectors or turbulent demagogues—that by the evidence of “ good works” it could soon “put to silence the ignorance of foolish men;" that, confiding in its own rectitude, and its own strength, it would be slow to infer wicked intention from erroneous opinion, slow to employ severity rather than lenity, even as the instrument of prevention, slow to accuse unless it were able to convict, and slow to punish, unless it were unable to reclaim. If these be wrongs, the blame seems to lie with Nature for disposing Mr. Fox to commit them, and with the constitution for supplying him with so many reasons to think himself right.

Mr. Fox, though not an adept in the use of political wiles, was very unlikely to be the dupe of them. He was conversant in the ways of man, as well as in the contents of books. He was acquainted with the peculiar language of states, their peculiar forms, and the grounds and effects of their peculiar usages. From his earliest youth he had investigated the science of politics on the greater and the smaller scale. He had studied it in the records of history, both popular and rare, in the conferences of ambassadors, in the archives of royal cabinets, in the minuter detail of memoirs, and in collected or straggling anecdotes of the wrangles, intrigues, and cabals, which, springing up in the secret recesses of courts, shed their baneful influence on the determinations of sovereigns, the fortune of favourites, and the tranquillity of kingdoms. But that statesmen of all ages, like priests of all religions, are in all respects alike, is a doctrine, the propagation of which he left, as an inglorious privilege, to the misanthrope, to the recluse, to the factious incendiary, and to the unlettered multitude. For himself, he thought it no very extraordinary stretch of penetration or charity, to admit that human nature is every where nearly as capable of emulation in good, as in evil. He boasted of no very exalted heroism, in opposing the calmness and firmness of conscious integrity to the shuffling and slippery movements, the feints in retreat, and feints in advance, the dread of being overreached, or detected in attempts to overreach, and all the other humiliating and mortifying anxieties of the most accomplished proficients in the art of diplomacy. He reproached himself for no guilt, when he endeavoured to obtain that respect and confidence, which the human heart unavoidably feels in its intercourse with persons, who neither wound our pride nor selves, but in ages less enlightened, and in countries less free than our own, some men might acquire a strong partiality towards theories in favour of republicanism, from the peculiar structure of their minds, or the peculiar course of their studies. But he also knew, that upon questions of such magnitude, virtuous men pause before they press forward from theory to practice, and that rash men would be most effectually appeased or restrained, if statesmen, neither flattering the prince nor deceiving the people, would adhere to the genuine principles of the constitution. He knew yet farther, that a government administered according to those principles must have little to fear from visionary projectors or turbulent demagogues—that by the evidence of “ good works” it could soon “put to silence the ignorance of foolish men;" that, confiding in its own rectitude, and its own strength, it would be slow to infer wicked intention from erroneous opinion, slow to employ severity rather than lenity, even as the instrument of prevention, slow to accuse unless it were able to convict, and slow to punish, unless it were unable to reclaim. If these be wrongs, the blame seems to lie with Nature for disposing Mr. Fox to commit them, and with the constitution for supplying him with so many reasons to think himself right.

Mr. Fox, though not an adept in the use of political wiles, was very unlikely to be the dupe of them. He was conversant in the ways of man, as well as in the contents of books. He was acquainted with the peculiar language of states, their peculiar forms, and the grounds and effects of their peculiar usages. From his earliest youth he had investigated the science of politics on the greater and the smaller scale. He had studied it in the records of history, both popular and rare, in the conferences of ambassadors, in the archives of royal cabinets, in the minuter detail of memoirs, and in collected or straggling anecdotes of the wrangles, intrigues, and cabals, which, springing up in the secret recesses of courts, shed their baneful influence on the determinations of sovereigns, the fortune of favourites, and the tranquillity of kingdoms. But that statesmen of all ages, like priests of all religions, are in all respects alike, is a doctrine, the propagation of which he left, as an inglorious privilege, to the misanthrope, to the recluse, to the factious incendiary, and to the unlettered multitude. For himself, he thought it no very extraordinary stretch of penetration or charity, to admit that human nature is every where nearly as capable of emulation in good, as in evil. He boasted of no very exalted heroism, in opposing the calmness and firmness of conscious integrity to the shuffling and slippery movements, the feints in retreat, and feipts in advance, the dread of being overreached, or detected in attempts to overreach, and all the other humiliating and mortifying anxieties of the most accomplished proficients in the art of diplomacy. He reproached himself for no guilt, when he endeavoured to obtain that respect and confidence, which the human heart unavoidably feels in its intercourse with persons, who neither wound our pride nor

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