hastens to initiate us into the newest bit of scandal. The day is warm, and a stroll to Betty's fruit-shop (St James's Street) is proposed. Lord March is already there, settling his famous bet with young Mr Pigot, that old Mr Pigot would die before Sir William Codrington. Just as this grave affair is settled, a cry is raised of the Gunnings are coming,' and out we all tumble to gaze and criticise. At Brookes's, our next house of call, Sir Charles Hanbury Williams is easily persuaded to entertain the party by reading his verses, not yet printed, on the marriage of Mr Hussey (an Irish gentleman) with the Duchess of Manchester (the best match in the kingdom,) and is made happy by our compliments; but looks rather blank on Rigby's hinting that the author will be obliged to fight half the Irishmen in town, which, considering the turn of the verses, seemed probable enough. To change at once the subject and the scene, we accompany him and Rigby to the House of Commons, where we find the Great Commoner' making a furious attack on the Attorney-General (Murray,) who (as Walpole phrases it) suffered for an hour. After hearing an animated reply from Fox (the first Lord Holland,) we rouse Selwyn, who is dozing behind the Treasury Bench, and, wishing to look in upon the Lords, make him introduce us. We find Lord Chesterfield speaking, the Chancellor (Hardwicke) expected to speak next, the Duke of Cumberland just come in, and the Duke of Newcastle shuffling about in a ludicrous state of perturbation, betokening a crisis; but Selwyn grows impatient, and we hurry off to Strawberry Hill, to join the rest of the celebrated partie quarrée, or out of town' party, who are long ago assembled. The petit souper appears on the instant, and as the champagne circulates, there circulates along with it a refined, fastidious, fashionable, anecdotic, gossiping kind of pleasantry, as exhilarating as its sparkle, and as volatile as its froth. We return too late to see Garrick, but time enough for the house-warming fête at Chesterfield house, where the Duke of Hamilton loses a thousand pounds at faro, because he chooses to ogle Elizabeth Gunning instead of attending to his cards.

We shall, perhaps, be reminded that we have seen nothing of Fielding, Richardson, Smollett, Johnson, Collins, Akenside, Mason, or Gray; but our gay friends, alas! never once alluded to them, and for us to waste any part of so short a period in looking for men of letters, would be to act like the debtor in the Queen's Bench Prison, who, when he got a day rule, invariably spent it in the Fleet.

According to Mr Jesse, we owe this new glimpse into these times to a habit of Selwyn's, which it is difficult to reconcile with

his general carelessness. It seems to have been one of his pe'culiarities, to preserve not only every letter addressed to him during the course of his long life, but also the most trifling 'notes and unimportant memoranda.' Such was the practice of the most celebrated wit of the eighteenth century; the most celebrated wit of the nineteenth does precisely the reverse. Upon principle,' (said the Rev. Sydney Smith, in answer to an application about letters from Sir James Mackintosh,) I 'keep no letters, except those on business. I have not a single letter from him, nor from any human being, in my possession.' We should certainly prefer being our contemporary's correspondent; but we must confess, that we are not sorry to come in for a share of the benefits accruing from Selwyn's savings to his posterity.

*

To this peculiarity,' continues Mr Jesse, the reader is indebted for whatever amusement he may derive from the perusal of these volumes. The greater portion of their contents consist of letters addressed to Selwyn by persons who, in their day, moved in the first ranks of wit, genius, and fashion. Independent of their general merit as epistolary compositions, the editor conceives that they will be found in a high degree valuable and entertaining, from the light which they throw on the manners and customs of society in the last age, from their presenting a faithful chronicle of the passing events of the day, and from the mass of amusing gossip and lively anecdote which they contain.'

This is a rather injudicious paragraph. It excites expectations which are not fulfilled. There is very little anecdote-less altogether than will be found in any half dozen consecutive letters of Walpole; and two volumes would contain every thing in the book calculated to throw the faintest light on manners. It is, indeed, precisely of that kind which Bacon says should be read by deputy, i. e. through the medium of a Review; for the real meaning of the aphorism- bad books make good ' reviews, as bad wine makes good vinegar'-is not, as the profane allege, because critics excel or exult in fault-finding, but because their chief utility consists in collecting scattered beauties, distilling essences, or separating the true metal from the dross. But it would be unjust to call this a bad book; it is certainly one which every possessor of a library should possess; yet it is one in which the quantity of print is out of all proportion to the useful or amusing matter; and the intelligent Editor is

Life of Mackintosh, by his Son, Vol. ii. p. 99. We talked of letter-writing. "It is now," said Johnson, "become so much the fashion to publish letters, that, in order to avoid it, I put as little into mine as I can." "Do what you will, sir," replied Boswell, "you cannot avoid it.”—Boswell's Life of Johnson, Vol. viii. p. 80.

evidently conscious of the fact; for on what principle can his singularly liberal mode of annotation be defended, except as compensating for the poverty of the text? The legitimate use of editorial notes is to clear up doubtful allusions, or supply knowledge necessary to the understanding of the work. For example, it might be useful to tell us something about Gilly Williams; but the youngest reader knows enough of Garrick not to be puzzled by the incidental occurrence of his name. Yet we are favoured with a biographical notice of the great actor, occupying ten pages, apropos of this solitary line in one of Dr Warner's letters- The chapter of Garrick (his death) is a very melancholy one for poor Harry Hoare and me.' This is book-making with a vengeance! At the same time, this mode of proceeding has answered the main purpose; it has made the book more readable, and may save the indolently curious much trouble, by placing all they can possibly wish to learn, or refer to, within reach. Thus, we find here a careful compilation of most of the scattered notices regarding Selwyn himself; and, with the help of the materials thus collected, we will endeavour, before tapping (to borrow Walpole's word) the chapter of his correspondence, to sketch an outline of his life.

6

George Augustus Selwyn entered the world with every advantage of birth and connexion; to which that of fortune was added in good time. His father, Colonel John Selwyn, of Matson in Gloucestershire, where the family ranked as one of the best in the county, had been aide-de-camp to the Duke of Marlborough, commanded a regiment, sat many years in Parliament, and filled various situations about the court. His mother, a daughter of General Farrington, was woman of the bedchamber to Queen Caroline, and enjoyed a high reputation for social humour. As his father was a plain, straightforward, commonplace sort of man, it is fair to presume that he inherited his peculiar talent from her; thus adding another to the many instances of gifted men formed by mothers, or endowed by them with the best and brightest of their qualities. Schiller, Goethe, the Schlegels, Victor Hugo, Canning, Lord Brougham, occur to us on the instant; and Curran said- The only inheritance I could boast of from my poor father, was the very scanty one of an unattractive face and person, like his own; and if 'the world has ever attributed to me something more valuable 'than face or person, or than earthly wealth, it was that another and a dearer parent gave her child a fortune from the treasure ' of her mind.'

6

Selwyn was born on the 11th August 1719. He was educated at Eton, and on leaving it entered at Hertford College, Oxford.

After a short stay at the university, he started on the grand tour, and on his return, though a second son with an elder brother living, made London and Paris his headquarters, became a member of the clubs, and associated with the wits and men of fashion. Before he had completed his twenty-first year, he was appointed Clerk of the Irons and Surveyor of the Meltings at the Mint; offices usually performed by deputy. At all events, occasional attendance at the weekly dinner formerly provided for this department of the public service, was the only duty they imposed on Selwyn; the very man to act on Colonel Hanger's principle, who, when a friend in power suggested that a particular office, not being a sinecure, would hardly suit him, replied, Get me the place, and leave me alone for making it 'a sinecure.' The salary must have been small, for in a letter from Paris, (September 1742,) he says that his entire income, including the allowance made him by his father, was only L.220 a-year; and he appears to have been constantly in distress for money. In a letter to his former Eton tutor, Mr Vincent Mathias, (Paris, November 1742,) he entreats his advice as to the best mode of getting the colonel to advance a small sum over and above his yearly income; and gives a pitiable description of his circumstances, without clothes, linen, books, or credit.'

In 1744 Selwyn returned to Hertford College, and resumed the life of a college student;-unaccountably enough, for he was then a formed man of the world, and twenty-five. Probably he had thoughts of pursuing a profession, or, to please his father, pretended that he had. His influential position in the London world at this time, is shown by letters from Rigby and Sir Charles Hanbury Williams.

The Right Hon. Richard Rigby to George Selwyn.

'Dear George,

• Tuesday, March 12, (1745,) 7 o'clock.

I thank you for your letter, which I have this moment received and read; and, that you may not be surprised at my readiness in answering it, I will begin with telling you the occasion of it. I am just got home from a cock-match, where I have won forty pounds in ready money, and, not having dined, am waiting till I hear the rattle of the coaches from the House of Commons, in order to dine at White's; and now I will begin my journal, for in that style I believe my letters will be best received, considering our situations.

'I saw Garrick act Othello that same night, in which I think he was very unmeaningly dressed, and succeeded in no degree of comparison with Quin, except in the scene where lago gives him the first suspicion of Desdemona. He endeavoured throughout to play and speak every thing directly different from Quin, and failed, I think, in most of his alterations.'

This was the occasion when Quin went to the pit to see his rival act. It was at a time when Hogarth's Marriage à la Mode was familiar to every one. One of the prints of that series represents a negro boy bringing in the tea-things. When Garrick, with his diminutive figure and blackened face, came forward as Othello, Quin exclaimed, Here is Pompey, but where is the 6 tray ? The effect was electrical, and Garrick never attempted Othello again. When Dr Griffiths, many years afterwards, thoughtlessly enquired whether he had ever acted the part? Sir,' said he, evidently disconcerted, I once acted it to my cost.' Sir Charles writes

'I hope you divert yourself well at the expense of the whole university, though the object is not worthy you. The dullest fellow in it has parts enough to ridicule it, and you have parts to fly at nobler game.'

By disregarding this sensible hint Selwyn got into a scrape, which, had it happened in our time, would have fixed a lasting stigma on his character. In 1745, he so far forgot himself, in a drunken frolic, as to go through a profane mockery of a religious ceremony; and the circumstance having come to the knowledge of the heads of the University, he was expelled. Most of his gay friends looked on this affair in the same light as Sir William Maynard, who writes thus

'Dear George,

'Walthamstow, July 3, 1745.

I have this moment received yours, and have only time to tell you the sooner you come here, the greater the obligation will be to me. D―n the university !—I wish they were both on fire, and one could hear the proctors cry like roasted lobsters. My compliments to Dr Newton. Yours affectionately, • W. M.'

Indeed the only palliation or apology, and that a poor one, that can be urged for Selwyn, is to be found in the bad taste and loose habits of his contemporaries. The famous Medenham Abbey club was founded soon afterwards. It consisted of twelve members, who met at Medenham Abbey, near Marlow, to indulge in ribaldry, profanity, and licentiousness. The motto (from Rabelais) over the grand entrance was: Fay ce que voudrais. Though the club became notorious, and their disgusting profanity was well known, it proved no bar either to the reception of the members in society, or to their advancement in the state. Sir Francis Dashwood, the founder, who officiated as high priest, became Chancellor of the Exchequer; Lord Sandwich, First Lord of the Admiralty; and Wilkes every thing that the sober citizens of London could make of him.

Selwyn's character at this time is given by one of the Oxford magnates: The upper part of the society here, with whom he