to Homer,
father of epic poetry. In England men of letters were far less
recognised in society. Walpole remarked, "You know in England we
read their works, but seldom or never take notice of authors. We
think them sufficiently paid if their books sell, and of course
leave them in their colleges and obscurity, by which means we are
not troubled with their vanity and impatience." But Walpole overdrew
the picture, for though literature did not hold the place in London
that it did in Paris, yet wit was never more appreciated, and
learning added to the equipment of the first of the fine gentlemen
of the time. Of this unique state of society and of international
friendliness Selwyn and his friends were the products. We cannot too
clearly realise them as types which can never recur.

The secret of Selwyn's charm lies in the contrasts of his character;
his versatility and cosmopolitan sympathies attract us now as they
attracted in his lifetime men very different in habits, pursuits,
and mind.

The first Lord Holland, Horace Walpole, the Duke of Queensberry,
each a type of the society of the eighteenth century; the
unscrupulous politician, the cultivated amateur and man of letters,
the sportsman with half the opera dancers in London in his pay--of
all he was the closest friend. The most intimate of them, the Duke
of Queensberry, led an extravagant and a dissipated life, in
contrast with which Selwyn's was homely and simple. He could leave
the gambling table of the club to play with Mie Mie or a schoolboy
from Eton; while his friends were crippled by dice and cards and
became seekers after political places by which they might live, he
was prudent in his play and neither ruined himself nor others. He
had a self-control and a sound sense, which were not common in his
generation; we see them in the tranquil, contemplative eyes of
Reynolds's portraits, ready in a moment to gleam with humour. By
reason of his unfailing good-nature, he was always at the service of
a friend. Himself without ambition, he watched men, not possessed of
his tact and ability, rise to positions which he had never the least
desire to fill. In an age of great political bitterness and the
strongest personal antagonism he continued the tranquil tenor of his
way, amused and amusing, hardly ever put out except by the illness
or the misfortune of a friend. "George Selwyn died this day
se'night," wrote his friend Storer to Lord Auckland; "a more
good-natured man