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involved in innumerable dissipations, from which it would be next to a miracle if the heir-apparent in such a country as ours could escape. He fell also, naturally, into the arms of the political opposition, and thus added the disputes of faction to the pecuniary and other difficulties which arose between him and his father. Ulti mately the king's mind gave way, first temporarily, and afterwards with few if any lucid intervals. Party disputes added acuteness to the misery thus brought into the royal family. Perhaps in the whole kingdom there was not a more divided or a more afflicted mother and family than Queen Charlotte and her noble children during the disputes about the Regency. Of the queen's conduct at that time we will not speak. She learned bitterly by what unreal mockeries she was surrounded, and may well be pardoned if the knowledge thus forced upon her urged her into some acts of indiscretion.

But that which made Queen Charlotte most unpopular as her life drew towards its close was her fondness for money, and a presumed obstinate attachment to the forms and ceremonies of her station. These were two feelings which are said to have grown upon her in after-life. As a young woman she was esteemed perhaps not generous, but certainly free in money matters; in age she became penurious and a hoarder. An additional allow ance of 10,000l. per annum, paid to her for attending upon her sick husband, was set down to her love of money, and made her extremely unpopular. As a young queen the forms of royalty were an incumbrance to her, she delighted to shake them off; in middle age she became strict and punctilious to her children; and in old age she is currently believed to have clung to old-fashioned etiquette with a pertinacity not less childish than it was opposed to the universal spirit of an age which called for a relaxation of all cumbrous ceremonies. The little shrivelled old lady, whose countenance had become the very reverse of attractive, and whose habit of snuff-taking made her an object of ridicule, outlived the popularity which waited on the young bride, and even accompanied the motherly matron; although, from

all we see of the matter in Dr. Doran's volumes, probably the popular feeling towards her majesty was built upon very slight foundation. The time has not yet arrived when the whole truth upon these subjects can be learnt. When it comes, it is not unlikely that Queen Charlotte's fame will be benefited by the disclosure. No one will contend that she possessed any single element of greatness, and if in old age weaknesses and infirmities grew upon her, still she remained, what she had ever been, an upholder of things good, and a firm maintainer of the honour and respectability of the English Court. Peace be to her memory!

Caroline of Brunswick, the last of the queens whose fortunes are discussed by Dr. Doran, forms a melancholy, nay even in some sense a disgusting subject for biography. The times are too recent, the shadows upon her tomb too dark and angry, too many of the actors in the great scene of what was called her trial are yet amongst us, and too few of the private documents relating to that melancholy business have yet been published, for an historical writer to deal with the subject effectually. Dr. Doran has used his materials with good effect. We rather think that the biography of Caroline is the best in the work, but after all the writer's labour it is a sad and miserable history. Caroline came of a brave and noble stock, and possessed qualities which betokened the character of her descent. When she described the heart of a Brunswicker as a place where fear was not to be found, the heart she delineated was her own. This noble heart was left by her parents almost untrained. Never was any one more entirely indiscreet, or more absolutely without the power of self-guidance. The martial sternness of her father excited her to rebellion, the frivolous silliness of her mother moved her to contempt. Loving laughter, and possessing the power of exciting it in others, she never paused to consider whom her sharp sentences might wound. Wishing to be popular, and bountiful in giving even to a fault, she yet too often made enemies of those upon whom she conferred favours, by the wrong way in which she did what in itself was

right. When selected to become the bride of a prince who had led the life of a town rake for many years, and who, besides a multitude of temporary acquaintances, had been already married to one if not two most charming women, she was a mere ignorant vivacious child, who wrote badly, spelt badly, dressed badly, was inattentive even to personal cleanliness, and was totally unacquainted with the manners and character of the people amongst whom she was going-knew, in fact, nothing about them, except that her intended husband was a libertine, and his mother a precise, severe old lady, whom from childhood she had been accustomed to hear talked about with disrespect. Caroline's leading quality was sprightliness-a quality in itself admirable, and, under the circumstances, inestimable, but it was a sprightliness unguided by any principle, a mere thoughtless, airy, frivolous, uncontrolled ebullition of good spirits, which had no aim except that of producing a temporary effect. It must not be supposed that this sprightliness was always good tempered. Not at all. When the circumstances and the humour served, she could use raillery and sarcasm with what she thought excellent effect; and, when in the hands of cunning people, she could be led to do this, or almost anything else, without difficulty. She had no concealments, and, when thrown off her guard, would follow any guidance.

The selection of such a wife for such a son seems to have rested mainly with George III. Amongst his foolish actions, it was perhaps the silliest. "To keep" a husband like the Prince of Wales would have been "a task indeed" for the cleverest woman in Christendom; as it was, he was turned over to a weak giggling girl, without education and without principle, ignorant of herself, of the world, and of every thing. What ensued ought not to have surprised any one. Disgust on the part of the prince, and fiery indignation on that of the lady, were the natural results.

After the birth of the Princess Charlotte, and the separation between her parents, the Princess of Wales's hankering after popularity assumed a new form. She was for ever thrusting GENT. MAG. VOL. XLIV.

herself before the public, and claiming their pity on account of the persecution to which she was unquestionably subjected. The Prince, on his part, grew to hate her most intensely. Every new exhibition of her anxiety to have the people on her side added depth to his animosity, and that which annoyed him most of all was to find that, although the success of the Princess was but partial with the higher classes of the community, she managed to secure to herself the affection of their daughter the Princess Charlotte. This was a great point for the unhappy Caroline, but she did not avail herself of it. The return of peace opened the continent and she determined to travel. In England she had rendered herself conspicuous by actions which were far too free to be agreeable to our notions of propriety. On the continent she seemed almost to throw aside restraint. At first her conduct was strange, odd, extravagant, in the highest degree. After a time it took the form of perfect recklessness on the score of modesty. Her English attendants now abandoned her; and her household fell into the hands of Italians, dignified by titles which she took upon herself to grant. Assisted by them she made the shores of the Mediterranean, and of Lake Como, echo with tales of her free, and, according to English notions, immodest life. What ensued is well known. On the accession of her husband to the throne she returned to England to claim her rights as Queen, and dare inquiry into her conduct. The folly of a ministry, over compliant to the wishes of the sovereign, occasioned the investigation to assume a form which excited public sympathy on her behalf. She was believed to be oppressed, and was therefore taken up by the people. Her battle was fought triumphantly, she was saved from legal penalties, and thought she should have been supported in counter attempts at annoyance. Failure broke her heart. The removal of her body to the sea coast for embarkation was effected in a way which irritated the people-still consistent in their opposition to presumed injustice. The streets of London were barricaded and blood was spilt around the hearse, but the people got their way, and the un

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fortunate Caroline found at last a resting place by the side of her brave father and brother, in the vaults of the church of St. Blaize, the patron of Brunswick.

These tales of mingled splendour and unhappiness are effectively told by Dr. Doran. The moral of the book is that

'tis better to be lowly born,

And range with humble livers in content,
Than to be perked up in a glistering grief
And wear a golden sorrow.

In this life there is nothing really worth striving for but that peace of mind which is the result of a heart at ease, and a conscience brought into conformity with the will of God.

SHAKSPERE COMPARED WITH GREEK AND LATIN WRITERS. (Continued from p. 251.)

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είδωλον "Αργου.

ἄλεύ, ὦ δα.

ὁ δὲ πορεύεται δόλιον ὄμμ ̓ ἔχων,

ὃν οὐδὲ κασθανόντα γαῖα κεύθει.—Æsch. Prometh. 580.

It comes, the spectral form of Argus!

Hide it, O earth! I tremble at its shape,

Still it is there! its countenance as night!

And earth no longer hides the buried dead!

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To hold as 'twere the mirror

Up to nature.-Act iii. Sc. ii.

καλὸν ἀνθρωπίνου βίου κατόπτρον.-Aristot. Rhet. Lib. iii. c. 3.
A truthful mirror shewing the life of man.

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Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;

Thy schooldays frightful, desperate, wild, and furious;
Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and venturous;

Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody-Act iv. Sc. iv. ἀλλ ̓ οὔτε νιν φυγόντα μητρόθεν σκότον,

οὔτ ̓ ἐν τροφαῖσιν, οὔτ ̓ ἐφηβήσαντα πως οὔτ ̓ ἐν γενείου ξυλλογῆ τριχώματος,

Δίκη προσεῖπε καὶ κατηξιώσατο.—Asch. Seven Chiefs, 661.

But neither when his eyes

First saw the light of life; nor in the growth

Of infancy; nor in th' advancing years

Of youth; nor in his riper age--did Justice

E'er deign instruct, or mark him for her own.-Potter.

3.

Amaze the welkin with your broken staves.--Act iii. Sc. iii.
δοριτίνακτος αἰθὴς ἐπι
μαίνεται.—Id. Ib. 142.

The gleaming lustre of the brandish'd spear
Glares terribly across the troubled air.-Potter.

OTHELLO.
1.

What did thy song bode, lady?

Hark! canst thou hear me? I will play the swan,
And die in music.-Act v. Sc. ii.

ἡ δέ τοι, κύκνου δίκην

τὸν ὕστατον μέλψασα, θανάσιμον γόον,

xiiTaι QiλńTwę Tod'.-Esch. Agamem. 1419.
See where he lies; and she
That like the swan warbled her dying notes,
His paranymph lies with him.-Potter.

2.

I am not sorry neither; I'd have thee live ;

For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die.-Act v. Sc. ii.

οὐκ οὕτω θανεῖ,

ὥσπερ σὺ σαυτῶ τόνδε προὔθηκας νόμον.

ταχὺς γὰρ "Αιδης ῥᾷστος ἀνδρὶ δυστυχεῖ.—Eurip. Hippol. 1048.

Though on thyself thou hast pronounced thy doom,

Thus thou shalt not die, for to the wretched

Death is happiness.

3.

Of one that loved not wisely, but too well.-Act v. Sc. ii.

Ερωτες, ὑπὲρ μὲν ἄγαν

ἐλθόντες, οὐκ εὐδοξίαν

εἰ δ ̓ ἅλις ἔλθοι

Κύπρις, οὐκ ἄλλα θεὸς

εuxapis ouro.-Eurip. Medea, 627.

Immoderate love no honour knows;

But wisely when pursued, not heaven
Contains a lovelier deity.

KING LEAR.

1.

I am a man

More sinn'd against, than sinning.-Act iii. Sc. ii.

ἐπεὶ τά γ' ἔργα μου

πεπονθότ ̓ ἐστὶ μᾶλλον ἢ δεδρακότα.—Soph. d. Col. 268. Yes, for my deeds I am the sufferer,

Not th' offender.

2.

Let the great gods

That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads,

Find out their enemies now.-Tremble, thou wretch,
That hast within thee undivulged crimes

Unwhipp'd of justice: hide thee, thou bloody hand;
and cry

These dreadful summoners grace.-Act iii. Sc. ii.

Hi qui trepidant, et omnia fulgura pallent,

Quum tonat: exanimus primo quoque murmure cœli ;
Non quasi fortuitus, nec ventorum rabie, sed

Iratus cadat in terras-cura graviore timetur

Proxima tempestas-saxa Deorum

Hæc et tela putant.-Juven. xiii. 223.

3.

Her voice was ever soft,

Gentle, and low; an excellent thing in woman.-Act v. Sc. iii.

γλώσσης τε σιγὴν ὅμμα θ' ἥσυχον πόσει

Tapeixev.-Eurip. Troj. Capt. 656.

Her voice was ever gentle to her lord,

Gentle her bearing.

4.

Thou must be patient; we came crying hither:

Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air,

We wawl, and cry.-Act iv. Sc. vi.

Non vides qualem vitam nobis verum natura promiserit, quæ primum nascentium omen fletum esse voluit.

Seneca, De Consolat. ad Polyb. c. xxiii.

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