of danger
after a severe attack, the Prince breaks forth into fervent expressions
of gratitude to God. "I write," he says, "with tears of joy in my
eyes." [214] There is a singular charm in such letters, penned by a man
whose irresistible energy and inflexible firmness extorted the respect
of his enemies, whose cold and ungracious demeanour repelled the
attachment of almost all his partisans, and whose mind was occupied by
gigantic schemes which have changed the face of the world.

His kindness was not misplaced. Bentinck was early pronounced by Temple
to be the best and truest servant that ever prince had the good
fortune to possess, and continued through life to merit that honourable
character. The friends were indeed made for each other. William wanted
neither a guide nor a flatterer. Having a firm and just reliance on
his own judgment, he was not partial to counsellors who dealt much
in suggestions and objections. At the same time he had too much
discernment, and too much elevation of mind, to be gratified by
sycophancy. The confidant of such a prince ought to be a man, not of
inventive genius or commanding spirit, but brave and faithful, capable
of executing orders punctually, of keeping secrets inviolably, of
observing facts vigilantly, and of reporting them truly; and such a man
was Bentinck.

William was not less fortunate in marriage than in friendship. Yet his
marriage had not at first promised much domestic happiness. His choice
had been determined chiefly by political considerations: nor did it seem
likely that any strong affection would grow up between a handsome
girl of sixteen, well disposed indeed, and naturally intelligent, but
ignorant and simple, and a bridegroom who, though he had not completed
his twenty-eighth year, was in constitution older than her father, whose
manner was chilling, and whose head was constantly occupied by public
business or by field sports. For a time William was a negligent husband.
He was indeed drawn away from his wife by other women, particularly by
one of her ladies, Elizabeth Villiers, who, though destitute of personal
attractions, and disfigured by a hideous squint, possessed talents which
well fitted her to partake his cares. [215] He was indeed ashamed of his
errors, and spared no pains to conceal them: but, in spite of all his
precautions, Mary well knew that he was not strictly faithful to her.
Spies and talebearers, encouraged by her father, did their best to
inf