right for my whole life; and so Captain Coke and others of my friends say that no man had ever such an opportunity of making his abilities known. And, that I may cite all at once, Mr Lieutenant of the Tower did tell me, that Mr Vaughan did protest to him, and that he in his hearing said so to the duke of Albemarle, and afterwards to Sir William Coventry, that he had sat twenty-six years in parliament and never heard such a speech there before; for which the Lord God make me thankful! and that I may make use of it, not to pride and vain-glory, but that, now I have this esteem, I may do nothing to lessen it."

Pepys certainly took some pains to fulfil his prayer, for although he afterwards held a seat in parliament for a number of years, he contented himself with the laurels he had already won, and never ran the risk of tarnishing their lustre by another display. In 1669, he was obliged, by a weakness of his eyes, to discontinue his diary. He now made a tour through France and Holland, shortly after returning from which, his wife, to whom he seems to have been steadily attached, died. Through the interest of the duke of York, he stood, about this time, candidate for Aldborough, but the interest of the popular party was stronger than had been anticipated, and he was defeated. In 1673 he was chosen member for Castle-Rising, but here again he was unfortunate, for the house of commons was so zealously protestant, that they turned him out on a groundless charge of popery. Had they said that he was a careless Gallio, who loved his own interest better than any religion, the accusation would have worn a greater semblance of truth. When the duke of York, in consequence of the passing of the test act, retired from the management of the admiralty, Pepys was taken into the inmediate service of the king, and advanced to the post of secretary for the affairs of the navy. This advancement was followed by an awkward charge of his having been concerned in communicating intelligence to the French, with whom we were then at war, and he was in consequence committed to the Tower; but we may presume him innocent, as he was discharged for want of evidence after a short imprisonment. In 1680, on a change being made in the constitution of the admiralty, he was dismissed from office, though not in accordance with the king's wishes; and his continuance out of place was not of long duration, as in a few years afterwards he was sent on the Tangiers expedition, and appointed to his former post of secretary. This office he filled till the revolution. When that great event took place, it was not to be expected that much consideration should be shown for one who had been so tried and intimate a friend of the exiled monarch. It is a singular proof of the estimation in which James held him, that when news was brought of the landing of the deliverer, the king-who was then sitting to Sir Godfrey Kneller for a picture intended as a present to his faithful secretary-with the utmost sang froid commanded the artist to proceed, "that his good friend might not be disappointed." Not content with depriving him of all his offices, the revolution party, for whose fears it must be allowed circumstances gave some warrant, committed him to the Gatehouse prison on suspicion of disaffection, but he was speedily released on pleading ill health, and it does not appear that the charge was ever afterwards noticed. Though he had retired into the shades of private life, he was still looked upon, and frequently consulted, as an oracle in the management of the navy. His retirement was spent in a more dignified manner than the pursuits and

events of his previous life would have led us to anticipate. In correspondence with literary men of the day, in association with learned friends, and in the collection of a fine library, he found sufficient to occupy his time. He had been president of the Royal society in 1684, and after that time had been in the habit of having a conversazione every Saturday evening at his own residence, to which he attracted some of the most learned members of that body. Evelyn appears to have been a pretty constant attendant, as indeed he was one of the most intimate friends our ex-secretary had, and expressed great regret when Pepys was obliged by ill-health to discontinue them. In the year 1700 he was persuaded to remove from town for the benefit of country air, and accordingly went to reside at Clapham in the house of an attached friend and former dependant, who paid to him all possible attention. He had laboured for some years under attacks of the stone, for which in his early days he had undergone an operation. Of course it was in vain to hope that a drive on Clapham-common would remove this terrible disorder. After lingering for three years, he expired on the 26th of May, 1703. The property which he left behind him was much smaller than was anticipated, much of his estate having been dissipated by his hospitality, his mania for rare books, and the careful education he had bestowed on his nephews. His books and manuscripts he bequeathed to Magdalene-college, of which he had been a member. They are well known to literary men under the title of the Pepysian collection.

Pepys is one of those instances occasionally to be met with, of men destitute of extraordinary merit, but pushed forward by circumstances to a prominence which others of much higher desert strive vainly to obtain. This distinction he owes to his diary, but we are not sure that it is a distinction which many will envy. His diary begins in 1660, and spreads over a period of nine or ten years. He commenced it originally for the purpose of having a record of his most private thoughts and feelings, and to make himself perfectly secure that the contents should be known to no eyes but his own, he wrote it in a peculiar cypher. Of course we have his genuine and candid feelings, and his equally impartial notices of passing events, for no man could be such a fool as to tell lies to himself. Unfortunately in some respects for the author's memory, the secret of this cypher was discovered, and a translation of the diary was given to the world some years ago. The records which he kept of his life and actions were so exceedingly minute, that the editor was compelled to omit many passages as too trivial, or otherwise unfit to meet the public eye. Enough, however, remains to make it one of the most entertaining books of gossip in the world; and, indeed, we question whether any language can furnish its equal. No man writing for the public will write with perfect honesty. He may reveal enough of himself, as Rousseau did, to show that he is a scoundrel, but he never will knowingly consent to make himself ridiculous. The selfish feelings,-the interest we take in insignificant matters,-the incongruity of our emotions frequently with those which custom or propriety dictates, the little pieces of self-flattery which we whisper to our own ears, are things which we cannot reveal, even to a friend, and much less therefore to a mocking public. Boswell has approached more nearly to our author in this respect than any other writer with whom we are

acquainted, but he follows at a long interval. To the student of character it presents an ample field of observation. Pepys united with a very fair proportion of private honour and integrity, the most complete apathy as to any thing like public spirit or public principle. Diligent in business-by no means, so far as we can see, given to peculation— exact in performing the duties of his office-anxious that all in his department should be executed skilfully and honestly-he seems to have dreamed of no other public virtue; and while the duke was pleased, or Sir William Coventry satisfied, he was well content. It is idle to talk, as one or two have done, of his possessing high principle.

The information obtained from his diary is more amusing than instructive, and more curious than useful. Nearly all that he mentions relating to public affairs was already known, and his evidence is therefore principally valuable as affording fresh testimony, and that the testimony of an eye-witness, to the truth of our histories. There are, too, some interesting notices not readily to be met with elsewhere; such, for instance, as the following narrative of the death of the young, high-minded, all-accomplished, Sir Henry Vane.

"14th. About 11 o'clock, having a room got ready for us, we all went out to the Tower-hill; and there, over against the scaffold, made on purpose this day, saw Sir Henry Vane brought. A very great press of people. He made a long speech, many times interrupted by the sheriffe and others there; and they would have taken his paper out of his hand, but he would not let it go. But they caused all the books of those that writ after him to be given the sheriffe, and the trumpets were brought under the scaffold that he might not be heard. Then he prayed, and so fitted himself and received the blow; but the scaffold was so crowded that we could not see it done. He had a blister, or issue, upon his neck, which he desired them not to hurt. He changed not his colour or speech to the last, but died, justifying himself and the cause he had stood for; and spoke very confidently of his being presently at the right hand of Christ; and in all things appeared the most resolved man that ever died in that manner."

Besides this, there are a number of passages scattered up and down the work, which introduce to us in one way or another almost all the distinguished men of the time; and we gain a more intimate, or, so to speak, personal knowledge of the great lord-chancellor, Clarendon, when he is led down stairs, "having the gout," and talks with Mr Pepys "most friendly, yet cunningly," for an hour, than from the most elaborate dissertation on his character. The king, he tells us, spoke worse than any man he ever heard in his life. In another part, we find the king drinking the duke of York's health on his knees, "and then all the company; and having done it all fell a crying for joy, being all maudlin and kissing one another; the king the duke of York, and the duke of York the king, and in such a maudlin pickle as never people were: and so passed the day." Yet these were the times of right divine and passive obedience!

The following passage is valuable as the evidence of a contemporary, and may help to put to silence the ignorance of the foolish men who annually rejcice over the happy restoration in church and state. "It is strange how every body do now-a-days reflect upon Oliver and commend him, what brave things he did, and made all the neighbour princes

fear him; while here is a prince, come in with all the love and prayers and good liking of his people, who have given greater signs of loyalty and willingness to serve him with their estates than ever was done by any people, hath lost all so soon, that it is a miracle what a man could devise to lose so much in so little time !"

The most valuable part of Pepys' diary is that which gives us an insight into the manners and habits, both of action and feeling, which prevailed at the time. A most interesting paper might be written by drawing together and illustrating the most striking of these notices, but our limits are already touched upon, and we must hasten to a conclusion. Whatever be the most valuable part of the diary, the most aniusing is unquestionably that which relates to himself individually. Indeed we know of nothing more ludicrous than much of what he records. It is like obtaining a bird's-eye view of some lively friend who is soliloquizing, or dancing, or rhetorizing, in the innermost recesses of his study, with all the freedom of fancied solitude. The naïveté of the following is admirable. "Sir William Petty tells me that Mr Barlow is dead, for which (God knows my heart) I could be as sorry as is possible for one to be for a stranger by whose death he gets £100 a year." We are made the confidants of his innermost feelings and most trivial actions. No new dress is put on, or party of pleasure formed, without being faithfully recorded. In his dresses he especially luxuriates, owing, the reviewers maliciously hint, to his being the son of a tailor. He was evidently a great sight-seer and news-monger. No exhibition of "foreign wonders" is to be seen, or new play produced, without his presence; and even when he deems it unbecoming his dignity, as an offi cial man, to be seen at the theatre, he goes disguised. He seems to have been very fond of seeing the court-beauties, and indeed he is sometimes placed in situations which could not be altogether pleasing to Mrs Pepys. In one place he sees "the finest smocks and linen petticoats of my Lady Castlemaine's," which it did him good to look at. There are some amusing entries, from which it may be gathered that he slily indulged a passion for a certain Mrs Mercer, a waiting maid, and occasional companion of Mrs Pepys, and it is curious to observe how he abstains from acknowledging, even to himself, this amourette, while the fact of its existence breaks out in several places. We do not know how we can better conclude our sketch than by giving the reader the following specimen of the candour with which he is treated.

"We supped at home and very merry. And then about nine o'clock at Mrs Mercer's gate, where the fire and boys expected us, and her son had provided abundance of serpents and rockets: and there mighty merry (my Lady Pen, and Peg, going thither with us, and Nan Wright) till about twelve at night, flinging our fire-works and burning one another and the people over the way. And at last our businesses being most spent, we in to Mrs Mercer's, and there mighty merry, smutting one another with candle grease and soot, till most of us were like devils. And that being done, then we broke up and to my house; and there I made them drink, and up stairs we went, and then fell into dancing, (W. Batelier dancing well) and dressing him and I and one Mr Bannister (who with my wife came over also with us) like women; and Mercer put on a suit of Tom's like a boy, and mighty mirth we had -and Mercer danced a jig; and Nan Wright, and my wife, and Peggy

Pen, put on periwigs. Thus we spent till three or four in the morning -mighty merry."

We fear that we have occupied a larger space by this memoir than might fairly be awarded to Pepys' merits, but his diary is such a singular production, and it is so rare in the list of politicians to find any thing amusing, that we hope to be excused. It is but fair to add, that appended to his diary are to be found many letters from Pepys to his friends, or vice versa, which exhibit him in a much more respectable and dignified light than any in which we have represented him.

Henry, Earl of Warrington.

BORN A. D. 1651.-DIED A. D. 1693.

NEITHER the exact time of the birth of this nobleman, nor yet any account of his infant years, remain on record: the first mention made of him being," that during the life of his father, he was knight of the shire for the county of Chester, in several parliaments, in the reign of King Charles II." In the house of commons he constantly showed himself a firm opposer of arbitrary power, and a steady friend to the rights of the people. He exerted himself in support of the bill of exclusion; and in the speech which he made on that occasion, he endeavoured to prove-to use his own words-that "the next of kin has not so absolute an inherent right to the crown, but that he may, for the good of the nation, be set aside;" as all government was instituted for the benefit of the people, and not for the private interest of any particular family or individual.

He was very solicitous to have procured an act for the punishing those who were known to have received bribes from the court, in the parliament which was styled the Pension Parliament, in the reign of King Charles II. In the speech which he made on this subject in the subsequent parliament, he said, "Breach of trust is accounted the most infamous thing in the world, and this these men have been guilty of to the highest degree. Robbery and stealing our law punishes with death, and what deserve they who beggar and take away all that the nation has, under the pretence of disposing of the people's money for the honour and good of the king and kingdom." He proposed that a bill should be brought in, by which these hireling senators should be rendered incapable of serving in parliament for the future, or of enjoying any office, civil or military; and that they should be obliged, as far as they were able, to refund all the money which they had received for secret services to the crown; or, in other words, for betraying their constituents." Our law," said he, "will not allow a thief to keep what he has gotten by stealth, but, of course, orders restitution; and shall these proud robbers of the nation not restore their ill-gotten goods." His defence of the bill of exclusion, and opposition to the measures of the court in other instances, rendered him so obnoxious to the duke of York, that by his influence he was committed prisoner to the Tower. On Thursday the 14th of January, 1685, he was brought to his trial in Westminster-hall, before the lord-chancellor Jefferies, who was his personal enemy, and who was constituted lord-high-steward on that