ment. Thus commenced the connec- artless effusions. They are so natural tion of the Temples with Ireland. -shew such good plain sense, and The son of this Sir William, Sir John downright English (or rather once Temple, Knight, was Master of the English) feeling. Rolls, and a Privy Councillor in that country, and in much confidence with the Earl of Leicester, Lord-Lieutenant. His history of the Irish Rebellion of 1641, is still a work of some repute. He had married a sister of the learned Dr. Henry Hammond, rector of Penshurst, in Kent, the well-known seat of the Sidneys. Under this celebrated divine and zealous adherent of Charles I. William Temple, the eldest son of their marriage, received his early education. When Hammond was driven from his living by the parliamentary government, Temple was sent to a school at Bishop-Storford. Here he learned all the Latin and Greek he ever knew. His Latin he retained, but he often regretted the loss of his Greek. After an interval of two years, occasioned by the unsettled state of affairs, he went at the age of seventeen, to Emmanuel College in Cambridge, where he was under the tuition of Dr. Ralph Cudworth, author of "The Intellectual system of the World." At this time the fortunes of Sir John Temple were very low; but he chose to spare in any thing rather than what might tend to the advantage of his children in their breeding and education. In searching amongst the Longe papers at Coddenham, Mr. Courtenay found many of the original letters written by the future wife of Sir William Temple, previous to their marriage. Some of these are charming, and give quite a zest to the book. Amongst the number of Dorothy Osborne's devoted admirers, we beg to enrol ourselves, together with our author. There is so much good sense, good feeling, and good old genuine English in these letters-the production of a girl about two and twenty years of age that while reading them, (and we have read many of them more than once,) we could not avoid a sigh of regret in thinking how very, very few of the dames of our own day could, notwithstanding the boasted march of intellect, and their superfluity of "accomplishments," forgotten or laid aside almost as soon as acquired, write, think, or feel any thing like these The attachment between this fascinating girl and Temple, for a long time threatened "never to run smooth." It stood long "upon the choice of friends," which the bard of Avon enumerates amongst the too frequent obstacles in "the course of true love." Lady Giffard, in speaking of this, says, "the accidents for seven years of that amour, might make a history, and the letters that passed between them, a volume. To say nothing of his writing, which all the world has since been made judge of, I never saw any thing more extraordinary than her's." The most ordinary topic, as Mr. Courtenay observes, is handled with a confident frankness, and an ease that is truly delightful. The style is at once graphical and correct, and evidently conceived in purity and truth. Occasionally even political allusions appear introduced most simply and unpretendingly "refreshing in these republican times to a friend of our ancient monarchy." Our readers will, we believe, thank us for some extracts from them. It was in the Isle of Wight, immediately after his leaving the University of Cambridge, that Temple first met with Miss, or, according to the etiquette of that day, Mrs. Dorothy Osborne. Her father, Sir Peter Osborne, had been appointed Governor of Guernsey by Charles the First. She was with her brother on the way to St. Maloes, to join her father and Temple accompanied them to France. The King was now in imprisonment, under the surveillance of Colonel Hammond, in the Isle of Wight, and young Osborne was so indignant at seeing the King imprisoned, and treated by the Governor so unlike what was due to him, that he stepped back, after his travelling companions were gone before him out of the inn, and wrote with a diamond on the window-" And Haman was hanged upon the gallows he had prepared for Mordecai." : The adventurous cavalier had no sooner rejoined his companions than he was seized and brought back to the governor: his sister Dorothy took the offence upon herself, and the loyal friends were suffered to depart. The "I have been reckoning up how many faults you lay to my charge in your last letter, and I find I am severe, unjust, unmerciful, and unkind! O me! How should one do to mend all those! 'Tis work for an age; and I fear that I shall be so old, before I am good, that 'twill not be considerable to any body but myself whether I am so or not. You ask me how I pass my time here. 80. When I have supped I go into the garden, and so to the side of a small river that runs by it, where I sit down and wish you with me-(you had best say this is not kind neither.) In earnest, it is a pleasant place, and would be more so to me if I had your company, as I sit there some times till I am lost with thinking; and were it not for some cruel thoughts of the crossness of my fortune, that will not let me sleep there, I should forget there were such a thing to be done as going to bed." "When we have tried all ways to happiness, there is no such thing to be found but in a mind conformed to one's condition, whatever it be, and in not aiming at any thing that is either impossible or improbable; all the rest is but vanity and vexation of spirit, and I durst pro nounce it so from that little knowledge I have had of the world, though I had The not scripture for my warrant. shepherd that bragged to the traveller who asked him what weather it was like to be, that it should be what weather pleased him, and made it good by saying that it should be what weather pleased God, and what pleased God should please him, said an excellent thing in rude language, and knew enough to make him the happiest person in the world, if he made a right use of it. There can be no pleasure in a struggling life, and that folly which we condemn in an ambitious man, that's ever labouring for that which is hardly got, and more uncertainly kept, is seen in all according to their several humours. In some 'tis covetousness; in others pride; in some a stubbornness of nature, that chooses always to go against the tide; and in others an unfortunate fancy to things that are in themselves innocent, till we make them otherwise by desiring them too much. Of this sort I We have lived think you and I are. hitherto upon hopes so airy, that I have often wondered how they could support but passion the weight of our misfortunes; gives a strength above nature; we see it in mad people, and (not to flatter ourselves) ours is but a refined degree of madness. What can it be else, to be lost to all things in the world, but that single object that takes up one's fancy--to lose all the quiet and repose of one's life in hunting after it, when there is so little likelihood of ever gaining it, and so many more probable accidents that will infallibly make us miss of it--and (which is more than all) it is being mastered by that which reason and religion teach us to govern, and in that only gives us a pre-eminence above beasts? This, soberly considered, is enough to let us see our error, and, consequently, to persuade us to redeem it." "The lady was in the right-you are a very pretty gentleman, and a modest. Were there ever such stories as those you tell? The best of it is, I believe none of them, unless it be that of my Lady Newport, which, I must confess, is so like her, that if it be not true, 'twas at least excellently fancied. But my Lord Rich is not caught, though he was near it. My Lord Devonshire, whose daughter his first wife was, has engaged my Lord Warrick to put a stop to the business; otherwise, I think his present want of fortune, and the little sense of honour he has, might have been prevailed on to marry her. It is strange to see the folly that possesses the young people of this age, and the liberty they take to themselves. I have the charity to believe they appear very much worse than they are, and that the want of a court to govern themselves by, is in great part the cause of their ruin-though that was no perfect school of virtue, yet vice there wore her mask, and appeared so unlike herself, that she gave no scandal. Such as were really as discreet as they seemed to be, gave good example, and the eminency of their condition made others strive to imitate them, or, at least they durst not own a contrary course. All who had good principles and inclinations, were couraged in them, and such as had neither, were forced to put on a handsome disguise, that they might not be out of countenance at themselves. It is certain, what you say, that where divine or human laws are not positive, we may be our own judges; no body can hinder us, nor is in itself to be blamed. en But sure could have the face to own it. Methinks he that writes l'Illustre Bassa, says well in his epistle, that we are not to imagine his hero to be less taking than those of other romances, because the ladies do not fall in love with him whether he will or not. It would be an injury to the ladies to suppose they would do so, and a greater to his hero's civility if he should put him upon being cruel to them, since he was to love but one. Another fault I find in him is the style-it is affected. Ambitioned is a great word with him, and ignore; my concern, or, of great concern, is, it seems, properer than concernment; and though he makes his people say fine handsome things to one another, yet they are not easy and vain like the French; and there is a bitter harshness in some of the discourses, that would take to be the fault of a translator rather than of an author." "But this is not all; I cannot forbear telling you that t'other day he made me a visit, and I, to prevent his making discourses to me, made Mrs. Goldsmith and Jane sit by me all the while; but he came better provided than I could have imagined-he brought a letter with him and gave it me, as one that he had met with directed to me-he thought it came out of Northamptonshire. I was upon my guard, and, suspecting all he said, examined him so strictly where he had it, before I would open it, that he was hugely confounded, and I confirmed that it was his. I laid it by, and wished when they would have left us, that I might have taken notice of it to him. But I had forbid it them so strictly before, that they offered not to stir, further than to look out of window, as not thinking there was any necessity of giving us their eyes as well as their ears; but he that thought himself discovered, took that time to confess to me (in a whispering voice, that I could hardly hear myself,) that my letter (as my Lord Broghill says) was of great concern to him, and begged I would read it, and give him my answer. I took it up presently, as if I had meant it, but threw it, sealed as it was, into the fire, and told him (as softly as he had spoke to me) I thought that the quickest and best way of answering it. He sat a while in great disorder, without speaking a word, and so rose and took his leave. Now what think you; shall I ever hear of him more? You do not thank me for using your rival so scurvily, nor are you jealous of him, though your father thinks my intentions were not handsome towards you; which, methinks, is another argument that one is not to be one's own judge, for I am very confident they were, and, with his favor, shall never believe otherwise. I am sure I had no ends to serve of my own in what I did it could be no advantage to me, that had firmly resolved never to marry ;-but I thought it might be an injury to you to keep you in expectation of what was never likely to be, as I apprehended. Why do I enter into this wrangling discourse? Let your father think me what he pleases. If he ever comes to know me, the rest of my actions shall justify me in this; if he does not, I'll begin to practise upon him, (what you so often preached to me,) to neglect the report of the world, and satisfy myself in my own innocency. It will be pleasinger to you, I am sure, to tell you how fond I am of your lock. Well, in earnest now, and setting aside all compliment, I never saw finer hair, nor of a better colour; but cut no more of it; I would not have it spoiled for the world. If you love me, be careful of it; I am combing, and curling, and kissing this lock all day, and dreaming of it all night. The ring, too, is very well, only a little of the biggest. Send me tortoiseshell one to keep it on, that is a little less than that I sent for a pattern. I would not have the rule absolutely true without exception, that hard hairs are illnatured, for then I should be so; but I can allow that all soft hairs are good, and so are you, or I am deceived as much as you are, if you think I do not love you enough. Tell me, my dearest, am I? You will not be if you think I am not yours." * a "In my opinion, those great scholars are not the best writers, (of letters, I mean of books, perhaps, they are.) I never had, I think, but one letter from Sir Tus., but 'twas worth twenty of any body's else to make me sport. It was the most sublime nonsense that in my life I ever read, and yet I believe he descended so low as he could, to come near my weak understanding. 'Twill be no compliment after this to say that I like your letters in themselves, not as they come from one that is not indifferent to me, but, seriously, I do. All letters, methinks, should be free and easy as our discourse-not studied as an oration, nor made up of hard words like a charm. 'Tis some an admirable thing to see how people will labour to find out terms that obscure a plain sense; like a gentleman I know, who would never say, the weather grew cold, but that winter began to salute us. I have no patience at such coxcombs, and cannot blame an old uncle of mine, that threw the stand-dish at his man's head, because he wrote a letter for him, when, instead of saying (as his master bid him) that he would have writ himself, but that he had the gout in his hand, he said, that the gout in his hand would not permit him to put pen to paper. The fellow thought he had mended it mightily, and that putting pen to paper was much better than plain writing." "There are a great many ingredients must go to the making me happy in a husband. My cousin Fr says our humours must agree, and to do that, he must have that kind of breeding that I have had, and used that kind of company; that is, he must not be so much a country gentleman as to understand nothing but hawks and dogs, and be fonder of either than of his wife; nor of the next sort of them, whose time reaches no farther than to be justice of peace, and once in his life high sheriff, who reads no books but statutes, and studies nothing but how to make a speech interlarded with Latin, that may amaze his disagreeing poor neighbours, and fright them rather than persuade them into quietness. He must not be a thing that began the world in a free school, and was sent from thence to the university, and is at his farthest when he reaches the inns of court; has no acquaintance but those of his form in those places; speaks the French he has picked out of old law books, and admires nothing but the stories he has heard of the rivals that were kept there before his time. He must not be a town gallant neither, that lives in a tavern and an ordinary; that cannot imagine how an hour should be spent without company unless it be in sleeping; that makes court to all the women he sees, thinks they believe him, and laughs and is laughed at equally. Nor a travelled Monsieur, whose head is feathered inside and outside, that can talk of nothing but of dances and duels, and has courage enough to wear slashes, when every body else dies with cold to see him. He must not be a fool of no sort, nor peevish, nor ill-natured, nor proud, nor VOL. VIII. • Franklin. F corteous; and to all this must be added, that he must love me, and I him, as much as we are capable of loving. Without all this, his fortune, though never great, would not satisfy me; with it a very moderate one would keep me from ever repenting my disposal." SO "Here then I declare that you have still the same power in my heart that I gave you at my last parting; that I will never marry any other, and that if ever our fortunes will allow us to marry, you shall dispose me as you please, but this, to deal freely with you, I do not hope for. No, it is too great a happiness, and I, that know myself best, must acknowledge that I deserve crosses and afflictions, but can never merit such a blessing. You know 'tis not a fear of want that frights me; I thank God I never disputed his providence, nor I hope never shall; and without attributing anything to myself, I may acknowledge he has given me a mind that can be satisfied within as nar row a compass as that of any person living of my rank, but I confess that I have a humour will not suffer me to expose my self to people's scorn: the name of love is grown too contemptible by the follies of such as have falsely pretended to it, and so many giddy people have married upon that score, and repented so shamefully afterwards, that no body can do any thing that tends towards it without being esteemed a ridiculous person; now as my young Lady Holland says, I never pretended to wit in my life, but I cannot be satisfied that the world should think me a fool, so that all I can do for you will be to preserve a constant kindness for you, which nothing shall ever alter or diminish. I'll never give you any more alarms by going about to persuade you against that you have for me, but from this hour will live quietly; no more fears, no more jealousies, the wealth of the whole world, by the grace of God, shall not tempt me to break my word with you, nor the importunity of all the friends I have. Keep this as a testimony against me, if ever I do, and make me a reproach to them by it." * "Who knows what a year may produce? If nothing, we are but where we were, and nothing can hinder us from being at least perfect friends-Adieu.” After many expressions of affection, and reference to suspicions entertained at Moor Park, &c. of their engage ment "I shall endeavour and accustom myself to the noise of it, and make it as easy to me as I can, though I had much rather it were not talked of, till there was an absolute necessity of discovering it; and you can oblige me nothing more than in concealing it. I take it very kindly that you promise to use all your interest with your father, to persuade him to endeavour our happiness, and he appears so confident of his power that he gives me great hopes. Dear, shall we ever be so happy think you? Ah! I dare not hope it yet; 'tis not want of love gives me these fears, as in earnest, I think, nay, I am sure, I love you more than ever." She occasionally entertains Temple in her letters with a list of her lovers or servants, as she styles them, so numerous as to rival that of Don Juan's Leporello. Of all her suitors, the one who bore the second place to Temple, in her good graces, was no less a person than the son of the Lord Protector Henry Cromwell. It was singular he should have become intimate with a family so noted for their devotedness to the royal cause. Soon after the violent dissolution of the long parliament by Oliver Cromwell, she writes thus to Temple-one of the few instances in which politics are alluded to in her letters : Bless me what will become of us all now? Is not this a strange turn? What does my Lord L think?Sure this will at least defer your journey. Tell me what I must think on't; whether it be better or worse, or whether you are at all concerned in it; for if you are not, I am not. Only if I had been so wise as to have taken hold of the offer was made me of H. C. I might have been in a fair way of preferment; for sure they will be greater now than ever. Is it true that Al. S. was so unwilling to the house, that the G.§ was fain to take the pains to turn him out himself? Well 'tis a pleasant world this. If Mr. Pim were alive again, I wonder what he would think of these proceedings, and whether this would appear as great a breach of the pri Philip Lord Lisle, son of Robert, second Earl of Leicester, and elder brother to Algernon Sidney, was a republican. He was of the Protector's Council, and destined for his other house.-Noble's Cromwell, ii. 279. + Henry Cromwell. Algernon Sidney. § General. |