nshire, or an occasional prologue by Lord Alvanley,
attract a most undue share of attention. If the present Duke of
Devonshire, who is the very "glass of fashion and mould of form,"
were to publish a book with two good pages, it would be extolled as a
masterpiece in half the drawing-rooms of London. Now Chesterfield was,
what no person in our time has been or can be, a great political leader,
and at the same time the acknowledged chief of the fashionable world; at
the head of the House of Lords, and at the head of laze; Mr. Canning
and the Duke of Devonshire in one. In our time the division of labour
is carried so far that such a man could not exist. Politics require the
whole of energy, bodily and mental, during half the year; and leave
very little time for the bow window at White's in the day, or for the
crush-room of the Opera at night. A century ago the case was different.
Chesterfield was at once the most distinguished orator in the Upper
House, and the undisputed sovereign of wit and fashion. He held this
eminence for about forty years. At last it became the regular custom
of the higher circles to laugh whenever he opened his mouth, without
waiting for his bon mot. He used to sit at White's with a circle of
young men of rank round him, applauding every syllable that he uttered.
If you wish for a proof of the kind of position which Chesterfield
held among his contemporaries, look at the prospectus of Johnson's
Dictionary. Look even at Johnson's angry letter. It contains the
strongest admission of the boundless influence which Chesterfield
exercised over society. When the letters of such a man were published,
of course they were received more favourably by far than they deserved.

So much for criticism. As to politics, everything seems tending to
repose; and I should think that by this day fortnight we shall probably
be prorogued. The Jew Bill was thrown out yesterday night by the Lords.
No matter. Our turn will come one of these days.

If you want to see me puffed and abused by somebody who evidently knows
nothing about me, look at the New Monthly for this month. Bulwer, I see,
has given up editing it. I suppose he is making money in some other way;
for his dress must cost as much as that of any five other members of
Parliament.

To-morrow Wilberforce is to be buried. His sons acceded, with great
eagerness, to the application made to them by a considerable number of
the members of both Houses that the funeral sho