pronunciation of the old Roman tongue. The disgrace at Rhé and the assassination of Buckingham were matters neither below the attention nor above the comprehension of the little scholar. The story of his early years is well remembered. In 1641 he went on the continent with one of his country neighbours, journeyed through Flanders and Holland, trailed a pike for a few hours, as a gentleman amateur, in the trenches at Genep, and returned home to study law in the Middle Temple, but loved "dancing and fooling more."

After a tardy tender of service in the distracted quarters of royalty, made with Evelyn's characteristic prudence, he asked the royal leave to go abroad. With his application he sent a horse and accoutrements for his Majesty's acceptance, and as this was all the aid the King was likely to obtain from Wotton, he bade the squire go, and sent a "God speed" after him. In November 1643 Evelyn proceeded through France to Italy; and, though he but ill-served his royal master by travelling, he has served posterity excellently well, by his simple record of his wayfaring. Some of his notes are very singular. He found Picardy swarming with Spanish bandits, and the brief voyage from Marseilles to Cannes still rendered as dangerous by Turkish corsairs, as it was proved to have been some forty years before by the experience of Vincent de Paul. Under the wolf-protection laws of the cruel and stupid Duke Gaston, Evelyn tells us that wolves often came and took children out of the very streets of Blois. At Orleans he reports that the wine was so strong that the king's cupbearers were sworn never to give it to their sovereign. These things are strangely different from the facts which now find record in a French traveller's journal; but such a traveller may still remark, as Evelyn did two centuries and more ago, that Paris smells "as if sulphur were mingled with the mud," and that the Orleannois is rich in the heroism which illustrates itself on the highway and from behind hedges.

The entries in Evelyn's journal as soon as he reaches the south of France are like Callot's etchings put into graphic prose. What finer Callot, or subject for a Callot, than his description of the group of morose, villainous, hard-beaten, and yet merry galley-slaves at Marseilles, or that of the fiery sailor at Genoa, who "bites his thumb" to the bone, in promise of mortal feud, at the rival boatman who secured Evelyn for a passenger? So also the drunken fools at the fair at Leghorn, staking their last crown against their liberty, losing the game, and submitting to be dragged off and chained to the oar till death released them;

it is Callot all over-if it be not Callot improved. The very aspect of the party entering Rome, on the 4th November, 1644, with their enthusiasm and themselves "wet to the skin," ," reminds us of the artist who, in his way, was a sort of sublime Cruikshank.

Evelyn was well-cared for in the eternal city. His letters procured him the friendship of eminent Romanists as well as Protestants, from whom, he says, "I received instruction how to behave in town."

In his day the sojourner in Rome had rich opportunities of contrasting the new dispensation with the old superstition. He evidently saw nothing that tended to religious edification-little that denoted real progress or purer faith. The altars of the once immortal gods were, indeed, unhonoured; but what presented themselves to him as their substitutes for exacting reverence from dulness? He did not behold worshippers applying their lips, as of old, to the column sacred to Bacchus; but he saw them blowing kisses to the stump of the apocryphal pillar at which, as the legend told, Divinity was scourged. He saw, too, the speaking crucifix-less loquacious to him than to St. Bridget; he also looked at the engraven standard of the height of Jesus, a measure which fitted no mortal who tried his inches at it; and he saw the grave out of which St. Sebastian got up that St. Stephen might lie down. Such things won no reverence from his well-trained mind, and the splendours of the Romish ritual he speaks of as a "heathenish pomp.' To the master of it all he went, however, as young gentlemen were wont to do, to pay his court. He civilly kissed the papal toe, and feeling himself, as he says, sufficiently blessed by the Pope's thumb and two fingers, he returned to his inn, and dined with an appetite.

Naples startled him with her array of thirty thousand courtezans. He designates them as "those cattle," from whose enchantments mortification is a shield; and having made a comment, to which Coryat would have added an appendix, he turned northward on his way home. He must have congratulated himself on his Protestantism; wherever he gazed he saw monks who had little to do but to nurse legends and rear lap-dogs, making profit by both; or friars, like those at Bologna, who drank excellent wine with their renowned sausages, -and spared neither.

At Lucca he visited the tomb of the Saxon St. Richard the King," without being particularly interested in its occupant. The editor of the Diary considers the identity of this royal saint as being a matter of perplexity. The honest gentle

man who wrote the "Lives of the English Saints," says that he was a sub-regulus, a kinsman of Boniface, and concludes, with that admirable and mystic confusion which marks all the arguments in the biographies referred to, that, as Boniface lived within Richard's district (namely, at Crediton, in Devonshire), Richard himself must have resided in Hampshire or Kent. In such guise did Mr. Newman and his coadjutors write ecclesiastical history for the edification of their disciples.

At Venice, Evelyn saw the carnival when in the high topgallant of its folly; and, though he did not, like that pedantic Macaroni Coryat, sit at the feet of the famous courtezan Margareta Emiliana, he visited the church erected by that lady, whereby she struck a balance with the recording angel, and made Heaven's chancery her debtor.

At learned Padua our traveller halted for a while to study physics and anatomy, and here the Earl of Arundel (the collector of the marbles) and the poet Waller were his familiar friends. At Milan he risked his liberty in the exercise of a curiosity truly English. He entered the ducal palace, penetrated into the private apartments of the Duke, and beheld that dreaded potentate as hero should never be viewed by the profane and public eye; namely, with his nose betwixt the fingers of his barber. Evelyn had to run for it, and was hardly at ease until he found himself in Switzerland. Even there his liking to be in other people's quarters was near costing him his life. It was at Beveretten; there was no vacant bed at the inn; but he turned the hostess's daughter out of hers, and lay down in the hot-pressed sheets lately occupied by the robust nymph; he caught the small-pox in consequence; he ultimately recovered, although he had a multitudinous medical advice, and was subjected to the theory and practice of the Genevese Esculapii.

At length he reached Paris, where he spent many a gay and idle hour, but where he studied too, and, amid a varied dissipation, acquired the German and Spanish languages. Here he made a third acquisition, in the daughter of Sir R. Brown, the king's ambassador, a pretty child, not quite in her teens, whom he married in June, 1647, and whom he left with her mother to learn the duties of a wife, ere she seriously assumed them. On his return to England, after an absence of four years, the monarchy was in its last agony. He appears to have got into Whitehall, in the same unlicensed manner as he did into the dressing-room of the Duke of Milan, and in the council chamber there he GENT. MAG. VOL. XXXIV.

"heard terrible villainies." His gentle heart was touched with indignation when he afterwards listened to Hugh Peters, in a sermon, calmly recommending to the Commons that they should kill the king. The Commons of that day proved on the 30th January that they were wont to heed the spiritual advice dealt them from the pulpit. Evelyn records with grief the sacrifice of the royal Stuart. But even such events interrupt the course of ordinary life only for a moment. A day or two after we find him looking at pictures and other pretty toys, and descanting on their merits as minutely as though the course of government had never sustained a shock.

Under the Commonwealth Evelyn sat by his hearth at Sayes Court, Deptford, and led the happiest of lives. His wife joined him in 1652, and the olive branches grew around their house and their hearts. They had few trials: on the 19th Jan. 1653, he says, 66 This day, I paid all my debts to a farthing; oh! blessed day!" The household thus unencumbered must needs have been a happy one. To a man of such piety, it was doubtless a grief that his church was proscribed, and that her ordinances could not be observed but under the pistols of an ultra-religious soldiery. But Evelyn enjoyed the companionship of most of the great churchmen of the day, and his own hearth was an altar around which they, his neighbours, and tenants, often assembled both to pray and to feast after the fashion of their fathers. His leisure was given to the pursuits he loved, and a long catalogue of his works attests his literary industry. His recreations too were still of a cavalier complexion. Spring Gardens and the ladies there often hailed him, a liberal visitor; and when all profane places of amusement and dalliance were closed, exception was still made of the Mulberry Gardens (Pimlico), which Evelyn records as the only locality allowed at which persons of quality might be exceedingly cheated. The worst visitation that descended on his household under the Protectorate, was that which ended in the death of his marvellous little son, Richard. The child died at five years old, of a quartan ague, says Evelyn; but when we read the proud and mournful list of his acquirements, the languages he could speak, the sciences he had mastered, the arguments he could maintain, and the wide world of chaotic knowledge which he had made his own or had been compelled to conquer, it is but too clear that he died less of the quartan ague than of "the congruous syntax" and the "passion for Greek," of which the father speaks with such tearful pride. Prematurity of learn

K

ing has slain many a child besides little Richard Evelyn.

It was characteristic of Evelyn when he lost the brightest of his boys, that he sat down and translated a treatise of St. Chrysostom on the education of the young; but his task was undertaken, not, as he thought, to solace his own grief, but to furnish comfort to his brothers for the loss of their children. Four months after the touching threnodia poured out over his dead son, he was "at a coach race in Hyde Park." Far wiser in such enjoyments than in binding the neck of the little victim to the martyrdom of speculative divinity, and that other awful torture, the cruel" congruous syntax !"

In his quiet way Evelyn helped to bring about the Restoration. When Charles, so little like a king, succeeded to Cromwell, who was so very like one, though nominally none, he was fertile in promises to the master of Sayes Court, and no less facile in forgetting them. The period of Charles's reign is the most amusing and the most instructive in the Diary. Evelyn inherited the belief that a certain divinity encircled the kingly office. In Cromwell's time the notion was rather strengthened than shaken; the usurper carried himself in true right-royal fashion. The severe dignity perished when Charles came. There was majesty at Whitehall when Oliver stood there, with one virtuous woman leaning on his bosom, and his gentle daughters contemplating him with mingled awe and admiration, and perhaps with some misgiving. But Charles the Second under the same roof yields only a picture of a libertine lazily reclining amid a bevy of wanton graces, caring for nothing long together, not even for himself. He was sometimes grave, but it was not because the nation was going to ruin, but because it did not go to ruin merrily. His best-heeded counsellors were courtezans; his personal honour and that of his kingdom were violated daily; he spared neither; and was stone-deaf to the old warning cry, Parce tibi, si non Carthagini!"

In presence of such a king Evelyn's monarchical principle was not indeed shaken, but his absolute faith in a second principle, that he who happened to hold the crown enjoyed it by the tenure of a heavenly licence, evidently crumbled away. In the dark days of the first Charles, although he was not disposed to attend a levy of bucklers on behalf of the crown against the people, he would have walked calmly to the stake in attestation of his belief in the right divine. The idea was not then to be beaten out of him; had he been, like Anaxarchus, brayed in

a mortar, he would have been as obstinate: "Tunde! Anaxarchum enim non tundis."

There was a philosopher of old who believed in the Olympian descent of Alexander; but, when he saw the young hero faint at a wound from which the blood was gushing, he refused to credit that the cold drops on the pale brow of the Macedonian could be celestial ichor distilled by the deathless son of the immortal Ammon. Evelyn, in some degree, resembled the philosopher. He believed that divinity hedged a king only so long as the king showed by his acts that he walked under a divine illumination. What sort of illumination lit up the re-organised palace Evelyn was not slow to discern. By its light he saw the newest French vices installed in the highest places; and they who practised them made pensioners on the people. The glittering circle that hissed Hamlet applauded to the echo the "lewd play" of The Widow; we even see that Evelyn's good manners were corrupted by evil communications, when we find that he listened to that piece of flippant ribaldry called "Love in a Tub," and pronounced it " facetious." We rejoice when, tired with such scenes, he says, "I came home to be private a little; not at all affecting the life and hurry of court." He might well be a-weary of it, for it was a court that gamed while the plague raged; laughed while the fire consumed; that was sensible to none of the national disasters then of constant occurrence-a court where the king's mistresses outshone the queen in the article of diamonds, where those mistresses were more superbly lodged and more daintily cared for than the wedded consort of the crown, and where Madame de Boord, who brought petticoats, fans, and baubles, to the ladies, was more highly esteemed than Grinling Gibbons, whose fortunes Evelyn pushed, and whom posterity so fully avenges.

The "heathenish pomp" of Rome slightly offended Evelyn, but the worse than heathenish character of the English court wounded him deeply. It was reserved for this court's master to inaugurate a French concubine into her bad eminence, with the social solemnities which were never observed before or elsewhere save when the church had blessed the union. This was at Newmarket. "I lodged," he says, on the 21st Oct. 1671, "this night at Newmarket, where I found the jolly blades racing, dancing, feasting, and revelling, more resembling a luxurious and abandoned rout than a Christian court." Gayest in the scene was Buckingham, with his band of fiddlers, and at his side "that impudent woman the Countess of Shrewsbury." The Duke had murdered the Earl

in a duel, and the Countess received Buckingham in her arms, while her husband's blood was yet wet upon the assassin's shirt! Such was the court; the very ambassador of Morocco, a "civil heathen," as Evelyn styles him, looked grave at the shamelessness enthroned there. The courtiers hoped to deceive heaven as they deluded man, and to obtain salvation by right of their rank. "Tut!" said a gallant Colonel, as he was going to the gallows, and a pious friend bade him think upon God,

"I don't value dying a rush! and I have no doubt but that God will deal with me like a gentleman!"

How gentlemen lived is shown in the case of my lord of St. Alban's, now grown so blind that he could not see to take his meat. He has lived a most easy life," says Evelyn, "in plenty even abroad, whilst his Majesty was a sufferer; he has lost immense sums at play, which yet, at about eighty years old, he continues, having one that sits by him to name the spots on the cards." "Following his Majesty this morning," says Evelyn, on another occasion, "through the gallery, I went with the few who attended him into the Duchess of Portsmouth's dressingroom, within her bedchamber, where she was in her morning loose garment, her maids combing her, newly out of her bed, his Majesty and the gallants standing about her." After enumerating the gorgeous furniture of this woman's apartments, "twice or thrice pulled down and rebuilt to satisfy her prodigal and expensive pleasures," he adds, "surfeiting of this, I went contented home to my poor but quiet villa. What contentment can there be in the riches and splendour of this world, purchased with vice and dishonour?" On Sunday the 25th January 1684-5, Dr. Dove, it appears, preached before the King. On the evening of that day, Evelyn saw "such a scene of profuse gaming, and the King in the midst of his three concubines, as he had never before seen, luxurious dallying and profaneness." On the following Sunday the same scene was repeated. The three concubines, Portsmouth, Cleveland, and Mazarine, reigned triumphant; a French boy stood by, singing love songs, "whilst about twenty of the great courtiers and other dissolute persons were at basset round a large table, a bank of at least 2,0007. in gold before them." Six days after,

all was in the dust! This was the last Sabbath spent by Charles on earth. On the sixth of February the nation was commanded to put on mourning "as for a father." Never in England was there so deadly an enemy to monarchy as this crowned, gilded phantom. What he made

his court, "nasty and stinking, "'* in the nostrils of England, he made England itself in the nostrils of the world. The bitterest foes of the Protector now alive regretted the days of the Commonwealth, when the ruler of the people, by whatever means he had attained his position, enforced a virtuous bearing at home, and compelled a wholesome respect for the nation abroad.

The succeeding reign was marked at least by a daring purpose, but the time had gone by for ever when this country could be either led or driven to the end whither James would bring it. Evelyn, in one of his entries during this brief and inglorious reign, surrenders his absolute veneration for the jus divinum, and looking over Europe, as well as at home, sadly writes-"No faith in princes." He held one public office under James, and held it worthily, viz. Commissioner of the Privy Seal; but he never would co-operate with his colleagues when it was required to put the seal to a deed which he deemed unconstitutional, hostile to the Church, or injurious to public liberty. If his faith in princes had been shaken, not so his faith in the Church. He saw her peril, knew her errors, bewailed both; but he was constant in his belief that she would ultimately triumph, and as firm in maintaining that, even if she foundered in the storm, she was still the nearest in spirit to the church of primitive Christianity, and could not but recover her glory and her greatness when serenity again visited the troubled waters. The continual secessions to Popery affected him little. When Dryden and Mistress Nelly," Miss to the late —,' attended mass, he very properly thought that Rome had little cause to be proud of her proselytes.

When the Revolution was accomplished, perhaps the one thing that most forcibly struck Evelyn was the conduct of James's daughter, Mary, who came into Whitehall, "laughing and jolly," slept in the exqueen's bed, scarcely cold, and next morning went running about the palace in her night-dress. He had himself but recently lost a daughter who was the very jewel of his heart; but happier the father who sees his child coffined at his feet, and finds a mournful pleasure in remembering her virtues and her filial love, than he who lives to see his misfortunes joyfully

"He [the King] took delight in having a number of little spaniels follow him and lie in his bed-chamber, where he often suffered the bitches to puppy and give suck, which rendered it very offensive, and indeed made the whole court nasty and stinking." Evelyn, 4th Feb. 1685.

made the ladder of his offspring's greatness. Mary Evelyn was born at Wotton, on an anniversary of her father's birthday, and in the same chamber in which he first drew breath. But he loved her for better reasons than this. She was fair, graceful, and supremely good; she was pious, and day by day gave evidence of the sincerity of her religious devotion. She was generally well-read, was skilled in modern languages, and was an accomplished singer and player. But she was more than this. Her Christianity assumed a practical character. She condescended to those of low estate, and the servants of her father's family walked in the light of their young mistress's instruction. For the fashionable amusements of her time she had no affection. She loved reading, and read aloud with an exquisitely musical voice; and her letters gave evidence of rare ability both for sense and expression. She was not above the innocent pleasures of her age, was mirthful, and that habitually. Her father says that nothing was so pretty as to see her play with little children, whom she would caress and humour with great delight. But gay as she was in spirit, and much as she loved the young, she most cared for the company of grave and sober men, from whom knowledge was to be drawn. She had not only read an abundance of history, but "all the best poets, even Terence, Plautus, Homer, Virgil, Horace, and Ovid;" but, as the mourning father says, all these were but vain trifles to the virtues which adorned her soul. Her love for both parents made her disregard marriage, and that love was so ardently returned that when the now aged couple looked down into the grave of their young daughter they implored God to give them the resignation which they could not feel. She was taken from them by that cruel scourge the small pox, when only in her 19th year.

There is no more interesting

or touching page in the Diary than that in which Evelyn recounts "the little history and imperfect character of my dear child;" we will venture to say that many eyes have wept over it besides those of the agonized and subdued father who penned the mournful record.

The concluding pages of Evelyn's Diary, carried on to February 1705-6, are replete with a sad dignity. The journal of an octogenarian, as might be supposed, is in some measure a journal of death. Day after day, the old familiar faces disappear, the aged fall away, the young are taken, his own hearth is visited, and in every circumstance he traces a sign and a token that he too must prepare for the solemn pathway which leads to those

crystal barriers at which alone a judgment is given that earth cannot gainsay. He could look upon the approaching change with smiling tranquillity. The good old man had long had his eyes hopefully bent on the portals of Heaven, when the irrevocable summons called him to the golden threshold ; and it had no sooner fallen on his eagerly-listening ear, than the pilgrim began to tread the path that leads to eternity from time, rejoicingly obedient.

Considerable pains have been bestowed upon the annotation of this edition; but the notes should have been placed at the bottom of the page. Huddled together at the end of the book, they are neither so useful to the reader, nor do they so certainly secure to the editor the credit to which he is entitled when they are good. The chronology of the Diary is often extremely erroneous. Its rectification would have well rewarded a little editorial attention.

Some new Facts, and a suggested New Theory, as to the Authorship of Junius; contained in a familiar letter addressed to J. P. Collier, Esq. V.P.S.A. By Sir Fortunatus Dwarris, Knight, B.A., F.R.S., F.S.A. 4to. 1850. [Privately printed.] -Sir Fortunatus Dwarris broaches a new theory in reference to the great literary puzzle. It is, that Junius was not a person but a faction; that Sir Philip Francis was the coryphæus of the libellous and insulting band; and that amongst his coadjutors were Earl Temple, the Earl of Chatham, Lord George Sackville, Edmund, Richard, and William Burke, Colonel Barré, Dyer, Lloyd, and Boyd. This notion seems to have been derived from the late Edward Du Bois, who was a connection of Sir Philip Francis and a friend of Sir Fortunatus Dwarris. Although not without its difficulties, the supposition is ingenious and plausible, and amongst the various Junius speculations well deserves to be registered and considered. It has, at any event, the merit of combining a variety of conflicting claims, every one of them supported with some little evidence. The new facts adduced by Sir Fortunatus are principally two: 1. that "old Counsellor Dayrell of the Midland Circuit, a hanger-on of the Temple family," informed Sir F. Dwarris that he, Dayrell, supplied Junius, through Wilkes, with what Sir F. Dwarris calls, "the bad law and wretched authorities" adduced by him in his attack upon Lord Mansfield; and 2. that in a letter of Richard Burke's "found behind books in the library at Stowe," addressed to Lord Temple, the writer represents himself as having used on a particular occasion certain very pecu