should learn to speak of
him, not as distinguished for "gallantry," but as the monarch who
reduced those he insulted by his love below the level of the poor
Georgian slave, who knows no higher destiny than to glitter for a few
short moons as the star of the harem. But if some of the women of that
court were deeply degraded--if the termagant and imperious Castlemaine;
the lovely and intriguing Denham; the coquettish, cold, and cunning
Richmond; the innately-dissipated and unrestrainable Southesk; the
equivocal Middleton; the rapacious, prodigal, and insinuating
Querouaille,--are rendered infamous in our national history--let us not
confound the innocent with the guilty. We can point out to our
daughters, for admiration and example, the patient, affectionate, and
enduring Lady Northumberland, the beloved sister of Lady Rachel Russel;
the beautiful Miss Hamilton; the peerless Lady Ossory; the matchless
Jennings;--women passing through the ordeal of the Whitehall court, at
such a time, with unstained repute, may be well believed to have
possessed innate virtue and true feminine dignity.

We have not classed Nell Gwynne among the court profligates; nor can we
so describe her. She was most unfortunate, but not innately vicious; we
may say so without danger to others. Neither the circumstances of her
life or death hold out temptations to follow her example. She endured
vexation and contumely enough, during the most brilliant period of her
life, to embitter even a less sensitive spirit than hers. The deep and
earnest love she bore the worthless king, must have been a sore scourge
to her own heart. The very piety of her nature, overcome as it was by
circumstances, and the lack of those virtues which, slow of growth, only
attained strength during the last seven years of her life, and were not
deemed unworthy the Christian forbearance and even commendation of
Doctor Tennison,[J] whose funeral sermon preached in memory of the poor
orange-girl, proves that she must have suffered much from the reproofs
of conscience, even when her sin to all appearance most revelled in its
"glory." The canker eat into the rose--soiled and marred its
perfectness--chipped and wasted its beauty--but could not destroy its
perfume!

That there must have been great good, and great fascination, in Nell
Gwynne, is proved by the kind of memory in which her name is enshrined.
While we say "Poor Nell!" we shake our heads--the sigh and the smile
mingle togethe