of duelling by instantaneously disarming his most
formidable opponents. The real question is, whether he can animate this
conglomerate of all conceivable virtues with a real human soul, set him
before us as a living and breathing reality, and make us feel that, if
we had known him, we too should have been ready to swell the full chorus
of admiration. It is rather more difficult to convey the impression
which a perusal of his correspondence and conversation leaves upon an
unprejudiced mind. Does Sir Charles, when we come to know him
intimately--for, with the ample materials provided, we really seem to
know him--fairly support the amazing burden thrown upon him? Do we feel
a certain disappointment when we meet the man whom all ladies love, and
in whom every gentleman confesses a superior nature.

Two anecdotes about Sir Charles may suggest the answer. Voltaire, we
know, ridiculed the proud English, who with the same scissors cut off
the heads of their kings and the tails of their horses. To this last
weakness Sir Charles was superior. His horses, says Miss Byron, 'are not
docked; their tails are only tied up when they are on the road.' She
would wish to find some fault with him, but as she forcibly says, 'if he
be of opinion that the tails of these noble animals are not only a
natural ornament, but of real use to defend them from the vexatious
insects that in summer are so apt to annoy them, how far from a
dispraise is this humane consideration!' The other anecdote is of a
different kind. When Sir Charles goes to church he does not, like some
other gentlemen, bow low to the ladies of his acquaintance, and then to
others of the gentry. No! 'Sir Charles had first other devoirs to pay.
He paid us his second compliments.' From these two exemplary actions we
must infer his whole character. It should have been inscribed on his
tombstone, 'He would not dock his horses' tails.' That is the most
trifling details of his conduct are regulated on the most serious
considerations. He is one of those solemn beings who can't shave
themselves without implicitly asserting a great moral principle. He
finds sermons in his horses' tails; he could give an excellent reason
for the quantity of lace on his coat, which was due, it seems, to a
sentiment of filial reverence; and he could not fix his hour for dinner
without an eye to the reformation of society. In short, he was a prig of
the first water; self-conscious to the last degree; and so cramm