over, the charm of manner, which must have greatly enhanced their value at the moment they were uttered, can now, of course, only be taken on credit.'

According to Walpole, it was Selwyn's habit to turn up the whites of his eyes, and assume an expression of demureness, when giving utterance to a droll thought; and Wraxall says, that the effect of his witticisms was greatly enhanced by his listless, drowsy manner. Nor is this all. What makes a man like Selwyn the delight of his contemporaries, is that lightness, richness, and elasticity of mind, which invests the commonest incidents with amusing or inspiriting associations-lights intuitively on the most attractive topics, grasps them one moment, lets them gó the next; and, in a word, never suffers companionship to become tiresome, or conversation to grow dull. He may do this without uttering any thing that will be generally recognised as wit.

We shall here quote some of the best of Selwyn's witticisms and pleasantries: they occupy little room, and there is nothing more provoking than to be told of the well-known anecdote" which one does not know.

When a subscription was proposed for Fox, and some one was observing that it would require some delicacy, and wondering how Fox would take it—' Take it? why, quarterly to be

C sure.'

When one of the Foley family crossed the Channel to avoid his creditors' It is a pass over that will not be much relished 'by the Jews.'

When Fox was boasting of having prevailed on the French court to give up the gum-trade-' As you have permitted the French to draw your teeth, they would be fools, indeed, to quarrel with you about your gums.'

When Walpole, in allusion to the sameness of the system of politics continued in the reign of George the Third, observed→ But there is nothing new under the sun. No,' said Selwyn, nor under the grandson.'

One night, at. White's, observing the Postmaster-General, Sir Everard Fawkener, losing a large sum of money at piquet, Selwyn, pointing to the successful player, remarked— See how he is robbing the mail!'

On another occasion, in 1756, observing Mr Ponsonby, the Speaker of the Irish House of Commons, tossing about bankbills at a hazard-table at Newmarket Look how easily the Speaker passes the money-bills.'

The beautiful Lady Coventry was exhibiting to him a splendid new dress, covered with large silver spangles, the size of a shilling, and enquired of him whether he admired her tasteWhy,' he said, you will be change for a guinea.'.

6

This bears a strong resemblance to one of Lord Mansfield's

judicial pleasantries. Sergeant Davy was cross-examining a Jew at great length in order to prove his insufficiency as bail. The sum was small, and the Jew was dressed in a suit of clothes bedizened with silver lace. Lord Mansfield at length interferedCome, come, brother Davy, don't you see the man would 'burn for the money ?'

At the sale of the effects of the minister, Mr Pelham, Selwyn, pointing to a silver dinner-service, observed Lord, how many toads have been eaten off these plates !'

A namesake of Charles Fox having been hung at Tyburn, Fox enquired of Selwyn whether he had attended the execution'No, I make a point of never frequenting rehearsals.'

A fellow-passenger in a coach, imagining from his appearance that he was suffering from illness, kept wearying him with goodnatured enquiries as to the state of his health. At length, to the repeated question of How are you now, sir?' Selwyn replied Very well, I thank you; and I mean to continue so for the rest of the journey.'

He was one day walking with Lord Pembroke, when they were besieged by a number of young chimney-sweepers, who kept plaguing them for money. At length Selwyn made them a low bow: I have often,' he said, 'heard of the sovereignty of the people; I suppose your Highnesses are in court mourning.'

'On Sunday last,' says Walpole, George Selwyn was strolling home to dinner at half an hour after four. He saw my Lady Townshend's coach stop at Caraccioli's chapel. He watched, saw her go in; her footman laughed; he followed. She went up to the altar, a woman brought her a cushion; she knelt, crossed herself, and prayed. He stole up, and knelt by her. Conceive her face, if you can, when she turned and found him close to her. In his demure voice, he said, "Pray, madam, how long has your ladyship left the pale of our church? She looked furious, and made no answer. Next day he went to her, and she turned it off upon curiosity; but is any thing more natural? No, she certainly means to go armed with every viaticum; the Church of England in one hand, Methodism in the other, and the Host in her mouth.'

Wraxall stands godfather to the next:

The late Duke of Queensberry, who lived in the most intimate friendship with him, told me that Selwyn was present at a public dinner with the Mayor and Corporation of Gloucester, in the year 1758, when the intelligence arrived of our expedition having failed before Rochfort. The Mayor, turning to Selwyn, "You, sir," said he, "who are in the ministerial secrets, can, no doubt, inform us of the cause of this misfortune?" Selwyn, though utterly ignorant on the subject, yet unable to resist the occasion of amusing himself at the enquirer's expense "I will tell you, in confidence, the reason, Mr Mayor," answered he; "the fact is, that the scaling-ladders prepared for the occasion were

found, on trial, to be too short." This solution, which suggested itself to him at the moment, was considered by the Mayor to be perfectly explanatory of the failure, and as such he communicated it to all his friends; not being aware, though Selwyn was, that Rochfort lies on thé river Charente, some leagues from the sea-shore, and that our troops had never even effected a landing on the French coast.'

Mr Jesse has omitted the capital reply to the man, who, being cut by Selwyn in London, came up and reminded him that they had been acquainted at Bath. I remember it very well; and when we next meet at Bath, I shall be happy to be acquainted ' with you again.'

Once, and once only, was he guilty of verse—

On a Pair of Shoes found in a Lady's Bed.

Well may suspicion shake its head,
Well may Clarinda's spouse be jealous,
When the dear wanton takes to bed

Her very shoes because they're fellows.'

Selwyn died at his house in Cleveland Row, January 25, 1791. He had been for many years a severe sufferer from gout and dropsy; and Wilberforce describes him as looking latterly like the wax figure of a corpse. He continued to haunt the clubs till within a short period before his death; but Mr Jesse assures us that he died penitent, and that the Bible was frequently read to him at his own request during his last illness. By his will he gave £33,000 to Maria Fagniani; £100 each to his two nephews; his wardrobe and £30 a-year to his valet; and the residue of his property to the Duke of Queensberry, with the exception of Ludgershall, which was entailed on the Townshend family. Mr Jesse quotes some lines from a poetical tribute published soon after his death, in which the Graces are invoked to fulfil several appropriate duties,

And fondly dictate to a faithful Muse

The prime distinction of the friend they lose.
'Twas social wit, which, never kindling strife,

Blazed in the small sweet courtesies of life.'

Had we been at the writer's elbow, we would have suggested shone or glowed in preference to blazed.

Walpole, writing to Miss Berry on the day of Selwyn's death, says I am on the point of losing, or have lost, my oldest acquaintance and friend, George Selwyn, who was yesterday at the extremity. These misfortunes, though they can be so but for a short time, are very sensible to the old; but him I really loved, not only for his infinite wit, but for a thousand good qualities.' Again- Poor Selwyn is gone, to my sorrow; and no wonder Ucalegon feels it!'

6

The heartlessness of the French set to which Selwyn and

Walpole belonged, is beyond a question. Madame du Deffand's colloquy with one lover, as to the cause of their fifty years' unbroken harmony, and her behaviour on the death of another, are not invented pleasantries, but melancholy facts. Yet, either we were wrong in supposing that the malady was infectious, and Miss Berry was right in her generous and able vindication of her friend, or Selwyn possessed the peculiar talismanic power of kindling and fixing the affections of his associates; for not only does Walpole invariably mention him when living, and mourn over him when dead, in terms of heartfelt sincerity, but the same influence appears to have operated on one, whom (possibly with equal injustice) we should have suspected of being, in his own despite, a little hardened by a long course of selfish indulgences-Lord March. Here are a few, and but a few, of the proofs:

As to your banker,' says his Lordship, 'I will call there to-morrow; make yourself easy about that, for I have three thousand pounds now at Coutts's. There will be no bankruptcy without we are both ruined at the same time.-How can you think, my dear George, and I hope you do not think, that any body, or any thing, can make a tracasserie between you and me? I take it ill that you even talk of it, which you do in the letter I had by Ligonier. I must be the poorest creature upon earth,—after having known you so long, and always as the best and sincerest friend that any one ever had,—if any one alive can make any impression upon me when you are concerned. I told you, in a letter some time ago, that I depended more upon the continuance of our friendship than any thing else in the world, which I certainly do, because I have so many reasons to know you, and I am sure I know myself.'

This speaks well for both head and heart; and how much unhappiness would be prevented by the universal adoption of the principle-never to listen to, much less believe, the alleged unkindness of a friend. All of us have our dissatisfied, complaining, uncongenial moments, when we may let drop words utterly at variance with the habitual suggestions of our hearts. These are repeated from design or carelessness; then come complaints and explanations; confidence is destroyed; the credulous hope of mutual minds is over;' and thus ends at once the solace of a life.

Lord March's letters are, on the whole, the most valuable in the collection-most characteristic of the writer, and most redolent of the times. This unfolding of his private relations and inmost feelings is highly favourable to him. As we see him now, he is the very impersonation of his class-shrewd, sensible, observing, generous, and affectionate, amid all his profligacy; with talents uncultivated, because cultivation was not the fashion of that age, but amply sufficient to make him a Presi

dent of the Council, or First Lord of the Admiralty in this. His letters are dashed off in clear, manly, unaffected language, on the spur of the occasion; and though they are actually better written than those of many of his noble contemporaries who pretended to literature, it is obvious that the last thing he ever thought of was the style. Walpole's are epistolary compositions; Lord March's are letters in the plain ordinary acceptation of the term. In their pregnant brevity, they often resemble Swift's hasty dottings down of public events, or private chit-chat, in the journal to Stella.

'November, 1766.

'MY DEAR GEORGE,-I intended to have written to you last Tuesday, but we sat so late at the House of Lords that I had no time. It was a dull debate, though it lasted a great while. Lord Chatham spoke very well, and with a great deal of temper, and great civility towards the Duke of Bedford; who spoke and approved of the measure at the time of laying the embargo, because of the necessity; but complained of Parliament not being called sooner, because what had been done was illegal, and only to be justified from necessity, which was the turn of the whole debate. Lord Mansfield trimmed in his usual manner, and avoided declaring his opinion, though he argued for the illegality. Lord Camden attacked him very close upon not speaking out his opinion, and declared strongly for the legality. Upon the whole, I think we shall have very little to do in Parliament, and your attendance will be very little wanted.' This was Lord Chatham's first appearance in the House of Lords. In letters dated the same month we find

Monday, 19th November 1766. 'MY DEAR GEORGE,- For fear that I should not have any other moment to write to you, I write this in the King's rooms. I was obliged to dress early to come here, it being the princess's birth-day. I dine at Lord Hertford's, which, with the ball at night, will take up the whole day; you know that he is chamberlain. The Duke of Bedford comes to-day, and on Wednesday, I suppose, they will kiss hands; but nothing is known. Every body agrees that this resignation of the Cavendishes is, of all the resignations, the most foolish; and I hear they begin already to repent of it. They make a fine opportunity for Chatham to strengthen his administration. They want T. Pelham to resign; Ashburnham certainly will now. The only people that do well are those that never· resign; which Lord Hertford seems to have found out long ago. Saunders and Keppel resign to-morrow.''

'November 1766.

'MY DEAR GEORGE, Jack Shelley has kissed hands for Lord Edgecombe's place. He was offered to be of the Bedchamber, which he has refused, and wants to have the Post-office, which they won't give him. I find it is imagined that we shall be obliged to send troops into North America, to bring them to a proper obedience. It is whispered about that the Cavendishes, and Rockingham's friends, will take the first opportunity they can to be hostile to Government; and likewise, that Norton