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the first, he says, might be a malicious accusation, for that many did suppose he died of mere melancholy and grief: the latter cannot be proved to be the action of Richard (thoughi executed in his presence); and, if it were, he did it out of love to his brother Edward. He justifies the death of the lords at Pomfret, from reasons of state, for his own preservation, the safety of the commonwealth, and the ancient nobility. The execution of Hastings he excuses from necessity, from the dishonesty and sensuality of the man: what was his crime with respect to Richard, he does not say. Dr. Shaw's sermon was not by the King's command, but to be imputed to the preacher's own ambition : but if it was by order, to charge his mother with adultery, was a matter of no such great moment, since it is no wonder in that ser. Of the murder in the Tower he doubts ; ebut if it were by his order, the offence was to God, not to his people; and how could he demonstrate his love more amply, than to venture his soul for their quiet? Have you enough, pray? You see it is an idle declamation, the exercise of a school-boy that is to be bred a statesman.

I have looked in Stowe: to be sure there is no proclamation there. Mr. Hume, I suppose, means Speed, where it is given, how truly I know not; but that he had seen the original is sure, and seems to quote the very words of it in the beginning of that speech which Perkin makes to James IV. and also just afterwards, where he treats of the Cornish rebellion.

Guthrie, you see, 'has vented himself in the Critical Review. His History I never saw, nor

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is it here, nor do I know any one that ever saw it. He is a rascal, but rascals may chance to meet with curious records; and that commission to Sir. J. Tyrrell (if it be not a lie) is such :rso is the order for Henry the Sixth's funeral. I would by no means take notice of him, write what he would. I am glad you have seen the Manchester-roll. Duel

It is not I that talk of Phil. de Comines; it was mentioned to me as a thing that looked like a voluntary omission: but I see you have taken notice of it in the note to page 71, though rather too slightly. You have not observed that the same writer says, c. 55, Richard tua de sa main, ou fit tuer en sa présence, quelque lieu apart, če bon homme le roi Henry. 1. Another oversight I think there is at p. 43, where you speak of the roll of parliament, and the contract with Lady Eleanor Boteler, as things newly come to light; whereas Speed has given at large the same roll in his History. Adieu:

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I am ever yours.

FROM MR. GRAY TO BONSTETTEN.*!

97,5

LETTER I.

Cambridge,

April 12,

1770. Never did I feel, my dear Bonstetten, to what a tedious length the few short moments of

* Bonstetten, in his youth, resided for some time at Cambridge, during which he enjoyed an almost intercourse with Mr. Gray, who attached himself to him with great ardour, and soon became his warmest and most confidential friend..

our life may be extended by impatience and ex> pectation, till you had left me; nor ever knew before with so strong a conviction how much this frail body sympathizes with the inquietude of the mind. I am grown old in the compass of less than three weeks, like the sultan in the Turkish Tales, that did but plunge his head into a vessel of water and take it out again, as the standers-by affirmed, at the command of a dervise, and found he had passed many years in captivity, and begot a large family of children. The strength and spirits that now enable me to write to you, are only owing to your last letter-a temporary gleam of sunshine.nl Heaven knows when it may shine again! I did not conceive till now, I own, what it was to lose you, nor felt the solitude and insipidity of my own condition before I possessed the happiness of your friendship. I must cite another Greek writer to you, because it is much to my purpose: he is describing the character of a genius truly inclined to philosophy: “It includes,” he says, “ qualifications rarely united in one single mind, quickness of apprehension, and a retentive memory, vivacity and application, gentleness and magnanimity: to these he adds an invincible love of truth, and

consequently of probity and justice. Such a soul,” continues he, “will be little inclined to sensual pleasures, and consequently temperate; a stranger to illiberality and avarice; being accustomed to the most extensive views of things, and sublimest contemplations, it will contract an habitual greatness, will look down with a kind of disregard on human life, and on death, consequently, will possess the truest forti

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tude. Such,” says he, “is the mind born to govern the rest of mankind.” But these very endowments, so necessary to a soul formed for philosophy, are often its ruin, especially when joined to the external advantages of wealth, nobility, strength, and beauty; that is, if it light on a bad soil, and want its proper nurture, which nothing but an excellent education can bestow. In this case he is depraved by the public example, the assemblies of the people, the courts of justice, the theatres, that inspire it with false opinions, terrify it with false infamy, or elevate it with false ap. plause; and remember, that extraordinary vices and extraordinary virtues are equally the produce of a vigorous mind : little souls are alike incapaz ble of the one and the other. 1. If you have ever met with the portrait sketched out by Plato, you will know it again : for my part, to my sorrow, I have had that happiness : I see the principal features, and I foresee the dangers with a trembling anxiety. But enough of this; I return to your letter. It proves, at least, that in the midst of your new gaieties, I still hold some place in your memory, and, what pleases me above all, it has an air of undissembled sincerity. Go on, my best and amiable friend, to shew me your heart simply and without the shadow of disguise, and leave me to weep over it, as I now do, no matter whether from joy or sorrow.. zjusto no he start

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LETTER II..

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April 19, 1770. in ALAS! how do I every moment feel the truth of what I have somewhere read, “Ce n'est pas le voir, que de s'en souvenir;" and yet that remembrance is the only satisfaction: I have left. My life now is but a perpetual conversation with your shadow-the known sound of your voice still rings in my ears—there, on the corner of the fender, you are standing, or tinkling on the pianoforte, or stretched at length on the sofa. Do you reflect, my dearest friend, that it is a week or eight days before I can receive a letter from you, and as much more before

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can have my answer; that all that time I am employed, with more than Herculean toil, in pushing the tedious hours along, and wishing to annihilate them; the more I strive, the heavier they move, and the longer they grow. I cannot bear this place, where I have spent many

tedious within less than a month since you left me. I am going for a few days to see poor N_-, invited by a letter, wherein he mentions you in such terms as add to my regard for him, and express my own sentiments better than I can do myself. “I am concerned,” says he, " that I cannot pass half my life with him; I never met with any one who pleased and suited me so well : the miracle to me is, how he comes to be so little spoiled, and the miracle of miracles will be, if he continues so in the midst of every danger and seduction, and without any advantages but from his own excel

years

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