ain or any
rival's heels in the Court crowd. When that grows too hot or too agitated
for him, he politely leaves it. He retires to his retreat of Shene or Moor
Park; and lets the King's party, and the Prince of Orange's party battle
it out among themselves. He reveres the Sovereign (and no man perhaps ever
testified to his loyalty by so elegant a bow); he admires the Prince of
Orange; but there is one person whose ease and comfort he loves more than
all the princes in Christendom, and that valuable member of society is
himself, Gulielmus Temple, Baronettus. One sees him in his retreat;
between his study-chair and his tulip-beds,(38) clipping his apricots and
pruning his essays,--the statesman, the ambassador no more; but the
philosopher, the Epicurean, the fine gentleman and courtier at St. James's
as at Shene; where, in place of kings and fair ladies, he pays his court
to the Ciceronian majesty; or walks a minuet with the Epic Muse; or
dallies by the south wall with the ruddy nymph of gardens.

Temple seems to have received and exacted a prodigious deal of veneration
from his household, and to have been coaxed, and warmed, and cuddled by
the people round about him, as delicately as any of the plants which he
loved. When he fell ill in 1693, the household was aghast at his
indisposition; mild Dorothea, his wife, the best companion of the best of
men--

Mild Dorothea, peaceful, wise, and great,
Trembling beheld the doubtful hand of fate.

As for Dorinda, his sister,--

Those who would grief describe, might come and trace
Its watery footsteps in Dorinda's face.
To see her weep, joy every face forsook,
And grief flung sables on each menial look.
The humble tribe mourned for the quickening soul,
That furnished life and spirit through the whole.

Isn't that line in which grief is described as putting the menials into a
mourning livery, a fine image? One of the menials wrote it, who did not
like that Temple livery nor those twenty-pound wages. Cannot one fancy the
uncouth young servitor, with downcast eyes, books and papers in hand,
following at his Honour's heels in the garden walk; or taking his Honour's
orders as he stands by the great chair, where Sir William has the gout,
and his feet all blistered with moxa? When Sir William has the gout or
scolds it must be hard work at the second table;(39) the Irish secretary
owned as much afterwards: and when he came to dinner, how he mu