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the casuists among the Jesuits, (especially the twenty-four collected, I think, by Escobar,) allowed, in some, or many cases, not to be criminal. The principles first laid down by them are often specious, the reasonings plausible; but the conclusion always a lie: for it is contrary to that evident and undeniable rule of justice, which I have mentioned above, of not doing to any one what you would not have him do to you. But, however, these refined pieces of casuistry and sophistry, being very convenient and welcome to people's passions and appetites, they gladly accept the indulgence, without desiring to detect the fallacy of the reasoning and indeed many, I might say, most people, are not able to do it; which makes the publication of such quibblings and refinements the more pernicious. I am no skilful casuist, nor subtle disputant; and yet I would undertake to justify, and qualify, the depredations of a highwayman, step by step, and so plausibly as to make many ignorant people embrace the profession, as an innocent, if not even a laudable one; and to puzzle people of some degree of knowledge to answer me point by point.

CHARACTER OF THE EARL OF SCARBOROUGH.

In drawing the character of Lord Scarborough, I will be strictly upon my guard against the partiality of that intimate and unreserved

friendship, in which we lived for more than twenty years; to which friendship, as well as to the public notoriety of it, I owe much more than my pride will let my gratitude own. If this may be suspected to have biassed my judgment, it must, at the same time, be allowed to have informed it; for the most secret movements of his soul were, without disguise, communicated to me only. However, I will rather lower than heighten the colouring; I will mark the shades, and draw a credible rather than an exact likeness.

He had a very good person, rather above the middle size; a handsome face, and, when he was cheerful, the most engaging countenance imaginable; when grave, which he was oftenest, the most respectable one. He had in the highest degree the air, manners, and address of a man of quality,-politeness with ease, and dignity without pride.

Bred in camps and courts, it cannot be supposed that he was untainted with the fashionable vices of those warm climates; but (if I may be allowed the expression) he dignified them, instead of their degrading him into any mean or indecent action. He had a good degree of classical, and a great one of modern knowledge; with a just, and, at the same time a delicate taste.

In his common expenses he was libera. within bounds; but in his charities and bounties he had none. I have known them put

him to some present inconveniences. He was a strong, but not an eloquent or florid speaker in parliament. He spoke so unaffectedly the honest dictates of his heart, that truth and virtue, which never want, and seldom wear, ornaments, seemed only to borrow his voice. This gave such an astonishing weight to all he said, that he more than once carried an unwilling majority after him. Such is the authority of unsuspected virtue, that it will sometimes shame vice into decency at least.

He was not only offered, but pressed to accept, the post of secretary of state, but he constantly refused it. I once tried to persuade him to accept it, but he told me that both the natural warmth and melancholy of his temper made him unfit for it; and that, moreover, he knew very well the, in those ministerial employments, the course of business made it necessary to do many hard things, and some unjust ones, which could only be authorized by the Jesuitical casuistry of the direction of the intention, a doctrine which he said he could not possibly adopt. Whether he was the first that ever made that objection, I cannot affirm, but I suspect that he will be the last.

He was a true constitutional, and yet practicable patriot; a sincere lover, and a zealous assertor of the natural, the civil, and the religious rights of his country. But he would not quarrel with the crown for some slight stretches of the prerogative, nor with the peo

ple for some unwary ebullitions of liberty; nor with any one for a difference of opinion in speculative points. He considered the constitution in the aggregate, and only watched that no one part of it should preponderate too much. His moral character was so pure, that if one may say of that imperfect creature man, what a celebrated historian says of Scipio, nil non laudandum aut dixit, aut fecit, aut sensit, I sincerely think (I had almost said I know) one might say it with great truth of him, one single instance excepted, which shall be mentioned.

He joined to the noblest and strictest principles of honour and generosity the tenderest sentiments of benevolence and compassion; and, as he was naturally warm, he could not even hear of an injustice or a baseness without a sudden indignation; nor of the misfortunes or miseries of a fellow-creature, without melting into softness, and endeavouring to relieve them. This part of his character was so unjversally known, that our best and most satirical English poet says,

When I confess there is who feels for fame,

And melts to goodness, Scarborough need I name?

He had not the least pride of birth and rank, that common narrow notion of little minds, that wretched mistaken succedaneum of merit; but he was jealous to anxiety of his character, as all men are who deserve a good one. And i

such was his diffidence upon that subject, that he never could be persuaded that mankind thought of him as they did. For surely never man had a higher reputation, and never man enjoyed a more universal esteem. Even knaves respected him, and fools thought they loved him. If he had any enemies, (for I protest I never knew one,) they could only be such as were weary of always hearing of Aristides the Just.

He was too subject to sudden gusts of passion, but they never hurried him into any illiberal or indecent expression or action, so invincibly habitual to him were good-nature and good manners. But, if ever any word happened to fall from him in warmth, which, upon subsequent reflection, he himself thought too strong, he was never easy till he had made more than a sufficient atonement for it.

He had a most unfortunate, I will call it a most fatal, kind of melancholy in his nature, which often made him both absent and silent in company, but never morose or sour. At other times he was a cheerful and agreeable companion; but, conscious that he was not always so, he avoided company too much, and was too often alone, giving way to a train of gloomy reflections.

His constitution, which was never robust, broke rapidly at the latter end of his life. He had two severe strokes of apoplexy or palsy, which considerably affected his body and his mind.