heart by all who have life and its opportunities still before them.

"When young," he says, "I wished for fame. not examining whether I was capable of attaining it, nor considering in what light fame was desirable. There are two parts of honest fame; that attendant on the truly great, and that better sort which is due to the good. I fear I did not aim at the latter, nor discover, until too late, that I could not compass the former. Having neglected the best road, and having instead of the other strolled into a narrow path that led to no goal worth seeking, I see the idleness of my journey." * * *

These sentences were written in one of Walpole's better moods, and are sufficient to prove that had he not been nursed in a self-sufficient and self-indulgent school, he would have been capable of a far nobler career than that which the following pages can record.

But if the heroic element was wanting in the character of Horace Walpole, there are abundant materials of a different nature to render his biography as instructive as amusing. His own inimitable letters form at the same time a copious diary and a repository of all the fugitive wit, and all the social

incidents of his day. Their vivid descriptions, their strong common sense, and their searching knowledge of human nature, leave nothing but truthfulness to be desired this last, perhaps, was scarcely to be expected: it was an age of literary caricature. Public characters were then the favorite theme of popular writers, who engaged in a general tourney against their rulers, and against one another; as Lord Orford himself observes:

"Every goose lent them a spear, and every rag`a shield.”

Junius in public, Horace Walpole in private, were pre-eminent in these "wordy wars." The former mangling his victims with the power and ingenious ferocity of a Red Indian, the latter dissecting and laying bare their follies with refined sarcastic skill.

Walpole's satire was more playful than malicious, yet he suffered its due penalty. Sarcasm, the most popular of gifts in the eyes of those who do not feel its sting, in the end always avenges its objects against its author. Hogarth used to regret bitterly that having so long perverted his attention to what was ludicrous and despicable, there remained to him scarcely any appreciation of the noble and the beautiful, either in art or nature. Walpole, likewise, had

so disparaged all things in his own eyes, that nothing appeared to him to be worthy of admiration, respect, or emulation. His great gifts were almost thrown away his genius was without motive, or, like his architecture, elaborately wasted on

"Rich windows that exclude the light,

And splendid passages that led to nothing."

The biography of Horace Walpole is inseparably connected with that of his associates and more illustrious contemporaries. The importance as well as the interest of his Memoirs is thereby considerably increased, and the extent of these volumes justified. The social life of that period must be passed in review before we can fairly estimate the man who, more than any other, embodied its peculiarities, its graces, and its defects. Society created his fame, and at the same time sapped its best resources: Walpole was like Voltaire, L'enfant gáté du monde qu'il gáta. Had he been less enervated by flattery and ease, the "voluptuous virtuoso" who could produce the "Castle of Otranto" and the "Mysterious Mother," would have been capable of far greater achievements. If it be true that "Low birth and iron fortune" are "Twin gaolers of the human heart; " the high born and the

wealthy have yet greater difficulties to contend with. The labour that luxury tasks itself to furnish is almost a phenomenon; and the Capuan soldier succumbs under the task that would scarcely have cost him an effort during his Alpine career. The same indulgent lot that renders literary labour difficult, renders true friendships rare and while we give Horace Walpole credit for high intellectual power, though but partially revealed, we may also honour him for the incontrovertible proofs of warm and disinterested affection displayed by him towards Marshal Conway and the Miss Berrys. In the latter instance, that friendship is still its own reward. After the lapse of more than half a century, these admirable ladies still hold the memory of their early friend in honour. Their esteem is in itself a distinction, and affords a proof of the high qualities-best appreciated by those who best knew him-which must have belonged to the subject of these memoirs. Miss Berry's portrait graces our second volume, and would alone serve to invest it with deep interest for the wide circle of friends by whom her name is known and honoured.

I shall only trespass on the reader's indulgence by adding a very few words with respect to my share in the present work. It is due to the author and to

myself to state that I have furnished nothing towards it, except such doubtful advantage as my name could give, and such corrections as I freely offered, and which were freely accepted. I can, therefore, venture to compliment the author on the zeal, research, and industry which he has displayed in these Memoirs; and still more, on the ingenuity with which he has rendered the incidents and language of an unscrupulous age inoffensive to the more refined taste of that in which we live.

E. W.

LONDON,

March, 1851.