in proportion. I have examined this imaginary likeness, and see
no kind of foundation for it. It is like Mr. Addison's Travels,[1] of
which it was so truly said, he might have composed them without stirring
out of England. There are a kind of naturalists who have sorted out the
qualities of the mind, and allotted particular turns of features and
complexions to them. It would be much easier to prove that every form
has been endowed with every vice. One has heard much of the vigour of
Burnet himself; yet I dare to say, he did not think himself like Charles
II.

[Footnote 1: It is Fielding who, in his "Voyage to Lisbon," gave this
character to Addison's "Travels."]

I am grieved, Sir, to hear that your eyes suffer; take care of them;
nothing can replace the satisfaction they afford: one should hoard them,
as the only friend that will not be tired of one when one grows old,
and when one should least choose to depend on others for entertainment.
I most sincerely wish you happiness and health in that and every other
instance.

_BIRTH OF THE PRINCE OF WALES--THE CZARINA--VOLTAIRE'S HISTORICAL
CRITICISMS--IMMENSE VALUE OF THE TREASURES BROUGHT OVER IN THE
"HERMIONE."_

TO SIR HORACE MANN.

ARLINGTON STREET, _Aug._ 12, 1762.

A Prince of Wales [George IV.] was born this morning; the prospect of
your old neighbour [the Pretender] at Rome does not improve; the House
of Hanover will have numbers in its own family sufficient to defend
their crown--unless they marry a Princess of Anhalt Zerbst. What a
shocking tragedy that has proved already! There is a manifesto arrived
to-day that makes one shudder! This northern Athaliah, who has the
modesty not to name her murdered _husband_ in that light, calls him _her
neighbour_; and, as if all the world were savages, like Russians,
pretends that he died suddenly of a distemper that never was
expeditious; mocks Heaven with pretensions to charity and piety; and
heaps the additional inhumanity on the man she has dethroned and
assassinated, of imputing his death to a judgment from Providence. In
short, it is the language of usurpation and blood, counselled and
apologised for by clergymen! It is Brunehault[1] and an archbishop!

[Footnote 1: Brunehault (in modern English histories called Brunhild)
was the wife of Sigebert, King of Austrasia (that district of France
which lies between the Meuse and the Rhine) and son of Clotaire I. The
"Biographie Universelle" says of her: "This Princess