bras cannot be vindicated; and a scrupulous sovereign would have wished that his cause had been served by better means. Such a sovereign was not Charles. So far from it, may it not be feared, that these grievous blemishes, instead of alienating the king from the poet, would too probably have been an additional motive for his approbation of the work, and, consequently, could not have been his reason for neglecting the author ?* A somewhat similar imputation of ingratitude towards Philip des Commines, though on different grounds of service, detracts not a little from the far more estimable character of Louis XII. As it was this • monarch's honourable boast on another occasion, that the king of France never resented the injuries offered to the Duke of Orleans, it should have been equally his care, that the services performed for the one should never have been forgotten by the other. To confer dignity and useful elegance on the hours of social pleasure and relaxation, is a talent of peculiar value, and one of which an highly educated prince is in more complete possession than any other human being. He may turn even the passing topics of the day to good account, by collecting the general opinion; and may gain clearer views of ordinary events and opinions, by hearing them faithfully related, and fairly canvassed. Instead of falling in with the prevailing taste for levity and trifles, he may, without the smallest diminution of cheerfulness or wit in the conversation, insensibly divert its current into the purest channels. The standard of society may be gracefully, and almost imperceptibly, raised by exciting the attention to questions of taste, morals, ingenuity, and literature. Under such auspicious influence, every talent will not only be elicited, but directed to its true end. Every taste for what is excellent will be awakened; every mental faculty and moral feeling will be quickened; and the royal person, by the urbanity and condescension with which he thus calls forth abilities to their best exercise, will seem to have infused new powers into his honoured and delighted guests. A prince is the maker of manners;" and as he is the model of the court, so is the court the model of the metropolis, and the metropolis of the rest of the kingdom. He should carefully avail himself of the rare advantage which his station affords, of giving, through this widely extended sphere, the tone to virtue as well as to manners. He should bear in mind, that high authority becomes a most pernicious power, when, either by example or countenance, it is made the instrument of extending and establishing corruptions. We have given an instance of the powerful effect of example in princes, in the influence which the sincerity of Henry IV. of France had on those about him. An instance equally striking may be adduced of the eagerness with which the same monarch was imitated in his vices. Henry was passionately addicted to gaming, and the contagion of the king's example Dryden also materially served the royal cause by his admirable poem of Absalom and Ahithophel, which determined the conquest of the Tories, after the exclusion parliaments, But Dryden was a profligate, whom no virtuous monarch could patronize. Though, when a prince refuses to remunerate the actual services of a first-rate genius because he is an unworthy man, it would be acting consistently to withhold all favour from those who have only the vices without the talents. unhappily spread with the utmost rapidity, not only throughout the whole court but the whole kingdom. And when, not gaming only, but other irregularities;-when whatever is notoriously wrong, by being thus countenanced and protected, becomes thoroughly established and fashionable, few will be ashamed of doing wrong. Everything, indeed, which the court reprobates, will continue to be stigmatized; but, unhappily, every thing which it countenances will cease to be disreputable. And that which was accounted infamous under a virtuous, would cease to be disreputable under a corrupt reign. For, while vice is discouraged by the highest authority, notwithstanding it may be practised, it will still be accounted dishonourable; but when that discountenance is withdrawn, shame and dishonour will no longer attend it. The contamination will spread wider, and descend lower, and purity will insensibly lose ground, when even notorious deviations from it are no longer attended with disgrace. Anne of Austria has been flattered by historians, for having introduced a more refined politeness into the court of France, and for having multiplied its amusements. We hardly know whether this remark is meant to convey praise or censure. It is certain that her cardinal, and his able predecessor, had address enough to discover, that the most effectual method of establishing a despotic government, was to amuse the people, by encouraging a spirit of dissipation, and sedulously providing objects for its gratification. These dexterous politicians knew, that to promote a general passion for pleasure and idleness, would, by engaging the minds of the people, render them less dangerous observers, both of the ministers and of their sovereigns. This project, which had perhaps only a temporary view, had lasting consequences. The national character was so far changed by its success, that the country seems to have been brought to the unanimous conclusion, that it was pleasanter to amuse, than to defend themselves. It is also worth remarking, that even where the grossest licentiousness may not be pursued, an unbounded passion for exquisite refinement in pleasure, and for the luxurious gratification of taste, is attended with more deep and serious mischiefs than are perhaps intended. It stagnates higher energies; it becomes itself the paramount principle, and gradually, by debasing the heart, both disinclines and disqualifies it for nobler pursuits. The court of Louis XIV. exhibited a striking proof of this degrading perfection. The princes of the blood were so enchanted with its fascinating splendours, that they ignominiously submitted to the loss of all power, importance and influence in the state, because, with a view to estrange them from situations of real usefulness and dignity, they were graciously permitted to preside in matters of taste and fashion, and to become the supreme arbiters in dress, spectacles, and decoration.* It is humiliating to the dignity of a prince, when his subjects believe that they can recommend themselves to his favour, by such low qualifications as a nice attention to personal appearance and modish attire. Of this we shall produce an instance from another passage of Lord Thomas Howard's Letters to Sir John Harrington. "The king," says he, " doth admire good fashion in cloaths. I pray you give good heed hereunto. I would wish you to be well trimmed; get a good jerkin, well bordered, and not too short: the king saith, he liketh a flowing garment. Be sure it be not all of one sort, but diversely coloured; the collar falling somewhat down, and your ruff well stiffened and bushy. We have lately had many gallants who have failed CHAPTER XXIV. On the art of moral calculation, and making a true estimate of things and persons. A ROYAL person should early be taught to act on that maxim of one of the ancients, that the chief misfortunes of men arise from their never having learned the true art of calculation. This moral art should be employed to teach him how to weigh the comparative value of things, and to adjust their respective claims; assigning to each that due proportion of time and thought, to which each will, on a fair valuation, be found to be entitled. It will also teach the habit of setting the concerns of time in contrast with those of eternity. This last is not one of those speculative points on which persons may differ without danger, but one in which an erroneous calculation involves inextricable misfortune. It is prudent to have a continual reference not only to the value of the object, but also to the probability there is of attaining it; not only to see that it is of sufficient importance to justify our solicitude; but also to take care, that designs of remote issue, and projects of distant execution, do not supersede present and actual duties. Providence, by setting so narrow limits to life itself, in which these objects are to be pursued, has clearly suggested to us the impropriety of forming schemes so disproportionate, in their dimensions, to our contracted sphere of action. Nothing but this doctrine of moral calculation will keep up in the mind a constant sense of that future reckoning, which, even to a private individual, is of unspeakable moment, but which, to a prince, whose responsibility is so infinitely greater, increases to a magnitude, the full sum of which, the human mind would in vain attempt to estimate. This principle will afford the most salutary check to those projects of remote vainglory, and posthumous ambition, of which, in almost every instance, it is difficult to pronounce whether they have been more idle or more calamitous. History, fertile as it is in similar lessons, does not furnish a more striking instance of the mischiefs of erroneous calculation, than in the character of Alexander. How falsely did he estimate the possible exertions of one man, and the extent of human life, when, in the course of his reign, which eventually proved a short one, he resolved to change the face of the world; to conquer its kingdoms, to enlighten its ignorance, and to redress its wrongs! a chimera, indeed, but a glorious chimera, had he not, at the same time, and to the last hour of his life, indulged passions inconsistent with his own resolutions, and subversive of his own schemes. His thirty-third year put a period to projects, for which many ages would have been insufficient! and the vanity of his ambition forms a forcible contrast to the grandeur of his designs. His gigantic empire, acquired by unequalled courage, ambition, and success, did not gradually decay by the lapse of time: it did not yield to the imperious control of strange events, and extraordinary circumstances, which it was beyond the wisdom of man to foresee, or the power of man to resist; but naturally, but instantly, on the death of the conqueror, it was at once broken in pieces, all his in their suit for want of due observance in these matters. The king is nicely hecdful of such points, and dwelleth on good looks and handsome accoutrements.”—Nuga Ântiquæ. schemes were in a moment abolished, and even the dissolution of his own paternal inheritance was speedily accomplished, by the contests of his immediate successors. But we need not look back to ancient Greece for proofs of the danger of erroneous calculation, while Louis XIV. occupies the page of history. This descendant of fifty kings, after a triumphant reign of sixty years, having, like Alexander, been flattered with the name of the great, and having, doubtless, like him, projected to reign after his decease, was not dead an hour, before his will was cancelled; a will not made in secret, and, like some of his former acts, annulled by its own inherent injustice, but publicly known, and generally approved by princes of the blood, counsellors, and parliaments. This royal will was set aside with less ceremony than would have been shown, in this country, to the testament of the meanest individual. All formalities were forgotten; all decencies trodden under foot. This decree of the new executive power became, in a moment, as absolute as that of the monarch, now so contemptuously treated, had lately been. No explanation was given, no arguments were heard, no objections examined. That sovereign was totally and instantly forgotten "whose word Might yesterday have stood against the world; The plans of Cæsar Borgia were so ably laid, that he thought he had put himself out of the reach of Providence. It was the boast of this execrable politician, that he had, by the infallible rules of a wise and foreseeing policy, so surely laid the immutable foundations of his own lasting greatness, that of the several possibilities which he had calculated, not one could shake the stability of his fortune. If the pope, his father, should live, his grandeur was secure; if he died, he had, by his interest, secured the next election. But this deep schemer had forgotten to take his own mortality into the account. He did not calculate on that sickness, which would remove him from the scene, where his presence was necessary to secure these events; he did not foresee, that, when his father died, his mortal enemy, and not his creature, would succeed, and, by succeeding, would defeat everything. Above all, he did not calculate that, when he invited to his palace nine cardinals, for whose supper he had prepared a deadly poison, in order to get their wealth into his own hands-he did not, I say, foresee, that "he but taught Bloody instructions, which being taught, return He did not think that, literally, "even-handed justice Would give th' ingredients of the poison'd chalice He had left out of his calculation, that the pope, his father, would perish by the very plot which was employed to enrich him; while he, Borgia himself, with the mortal venom in his veins, should only escape to drag on a life of meanness and misery, in want and in prison; with the loss of his boundless wealth and power, losing all those adherents which that wealth and power had attracted. It is of the last importance, that persons of high condition should be preserved from entering on their brilliant career with false principles, false views, and false maxims. It is of the last importance, to teach them not to confound splendour with dignity, justice with success, merit with prosperity, voluptuousness with happiness, refinement in luxury with pure taste, deceit with sagacity, suspicion with penetration, prodigality with a liberal spirit, honour with Christian principle, Christian principle with fanaticism, or conscientious strictness with hypocrisy. Young persons possess so little clearness in their views, so little distinctness in their perceptions, and are so much inclined to prefer the suggestions of a warm fancy to the sober deductions of reason, that, in their pursuit of glory and celebrity, they are perpetually liable to take up with false way-marks; and where they have some general good intentions respecting the end, to defeat their own purpose by a misapplication of means; so that, very often, they do not so much err through the seduction of the senses, as by accumulating false maxims into a sort of system, on which they afterward act through life. One of the first lessons, that should be inculcated on the great, is, that God has not sent us into this world to give us consummate happiness, but to train us to those habits which lead to it. High rank lays the mind open to strong temptations; the highest rank to the strongest. The seducing images of luxury and pleasure, of splendour and of homage, of power and independence, are too seldom counteracted by the only adequate preservative, a religious education. The world is too generally entered upon as a scene of pleasure, instead of trial; as a theatre of amusement, not of action. The high-born are taught to enjoy the world, at an age when they should be learning to know it; and to grasp the prize, when they should be exercising themselves for the combat. They consequently look for the sweets of victory, when they should be enduring the hardness of the conflict. From some of these early corruptions, a young princess will be preserved, by that very super-eminent greatness, which, in other respects, has its dangers. Her exalted station, by separating her from miscellaneous society, becomes her protection from many of its maxims and practices. From the dangers of her own peculiar situation she should be guarded, by being early taught to consider power and influence, not as exempting her from the difficulties of life, or ensuring to her a larger portion of its pleasures, but as engaging her in a peculiarly extended sphere of duties, and infinitely increasing the demands on her fortitude and vigilance. The right formation of her judgment will much assist in her acquisition of right practical habits; and the art of making a just estimate of men and things, will be one of the most useful lessons she will have to learn. Young persons, in their views of the world, are apt to make a false estimate of character, something in the way in which the Roman mob decided on that of Cæsar. They are dazzled with the glitter of a shining action, without scrutinizing the character, or suspecting the motive of the actor. From the scene which followed Cæsar's death, they may learn a salutary lesson. How easily did the insinuating Antony persuade the people, that the man who had actually robbed them of their liberty, and of those privileges in defence of which their ancestors had shed their best |