parent compunction for cruelties acted and ordered by them.

All this is not mere digression, though it may seem so; for if one did not read the history of that age of wonders with some attention to the shades and degrees of guilt, that were forced upon some by the rushing cataract of furious party-zeal in their associates, and which others slid into when once they departed in a slight degree from the unvarying path of rectitude, to do evil that good might come of it; if one did not attend to the gradations by which certain characters sunk in value and efficacy, and thus gave room to unprincipled individuals of the same party to take the lead; one should shrink back with horror from human nature itself, wearing such a deformed and disastrous aspect. The opposite parties, too, were too much exasperated to speak with truth and candour of each other. Yet even those barbarous factions, while they broke down restraints, so as to shew the human heart in its utmost deformity and depravity, produced many virtues, elicited much bra

very, fidelity, and true patriotism, that would otherwise never have been roused into action. All this is not Cromwell. I have tired your patience, and my own, with this long letter; I shall therefore defer my opinion of him to another, which you must encourage me to write to you. I must only say at present, that I am not over-dazzled by his abilities his was a life of contingencies, made or patched up out of the fragments of other people's broken systems; he lay on the watch for casual advantages, snatched them from friends and foes, and pursued them to the utmost. This, a man of plan or system could not have done. When he had converted his warmest friends into his bitterest enemies, his only hope of impunity was, by climbing up out of their reach. In his elevation he found his only safety; but the wretchedness of that elevation, the misery of ruling by cruel and incessant expedients, and living in perpetual dread, and dying at last of ceaseless and secret perturbations, afford a still stronger lesson against

"Vaulting

"Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself," than even that awful one which history and poetry have blended their powers to impress, in the instructive scenes of Macbeth. I have, as usual, wandered, but my hope and intention, dear Sir, is to amuse you; and that, perhaps, I may do as much by the starts and excursions of an unformed mind, as by methodically and consequentially detailing opinions not worthy your attention. I hope this will find your domestic peace established, and your mind reconciled to those evils which wisdom cannot prevent; though virtue, and, above all, that rarest virtue, patience, may convert them into blessings. Not a word more about Cromwell, till you tell me how I acquit myself in the untried region of criticism.

I am always,

with great esteem and deference,

Your obedient servant.

LETTER XXI.

are

TO COLLECTOR MACVICAR.

Fort Augustus, June 30, 1773.

I REALLY cannot determine whether you,. my dear Sir, are amusing yourself with harmless raillery at the expence of your too presumptuous correspondent, or, whether you mix serious opinions with a little grave irony. As I feel myself very unequal to meet you upon the ground of raillery, I shall willingly take it for granted, that you quite serious," and as seriously compły with your requisition. In short, I will endeavour to point out the sources whence this " premature information and reflection has been derived." Spirit of Biography! (Muse of Biography! methinks I should rather say) on what calm elevation dost thou reside, surrounded by the powers of just discrimination, candid discussion, and true delineation?-Could I trace thy abode

10

abode far, far beyond the clouds of passion, and mists of prejudice, I would invoke thy assistance to portray a faint sketch of the useful and happy life, the estimable and singular character of the friend of my childhood, the instructress of my youth, and the existing model, in my mind, of the highest practical virtue. Madam, or Aunt Schuyler,"

*

then,

* Aunt Schuyler's father was called Cuyler.— Lord Howe, killed in 1758, I think, at the lines of Ticonderoga; Lord Loudon; General, afterwards Lord Amherst; General Sir Thomas Gage; Sir William Johnson; and every other person who, during that period, acted any distinguished part in the Canadian war, were intimate in her family. Aunt Schuyler lived in Albany, and was a descendant of those Dutch settlers by whom the province was occupied when we got it in exchange for Surinam. She was well known over all North America, and to all the British officers of any note, who served there in the war which concluded at the commencement of the present reign. Her father's name was Cuyler. Among the children brought up on Aunt Schuyler's knees, was her husband's nephew, General Philip Schuyler, to whom the British troops under Burgoyne surrendered at Saratoga;—and Brigadier General Cuyler, her own nephew,