mulating what I have described, he certainly was not so now. For, far advanced in age, excitement, and with it, occupation, was gone; and having no real resources, no mental pleasures, he became a burthen to himself in the hour of loneliness, and, unequal to enlightened companions, was left to the purchased attentions of interested hangers-on.

From this his only relief was the banquet and dissipation, though even these were beyond his bodily strength. The moment of dinner, and the company it assembled, was, however, the great moment of the day, for it took him out of himself; and as his high quality obtained him admittance everywhere, for the same reason, tottering as he was with age, he visited the midnight assembly or ball-room, when all his spirits were exhausted, and he was fitted only for bed.

What was worse, if he slept not when there, he had no consolation; for, long past the age of man,

any

hour of the day or night (and he both knew and feared it) might bring him his summons; and when pale Death, who, without Horace's authority for it, we know beats equally at the door of the palace and the cottage,* should knock at his, his laced porter could not tell him his lordship was "not at home." This affected him; for his kingdom was of this world, and a voice had certainly "fallen

* "Pallida mors æquo pulsat pede," &c.

from heaven," telling him that that kingdom had departed.*

In this trial he had no consolation from religion; for of religion, amidst his splendour, he had never found it necessary to think. He knew nothing of himself but what other people told him; and, struck with his display, or seduced by interest, they told him many a falsehood. The very best of them flattered themselves in flattering him. His nod, backed by his riches, gave them importance; and this nod could only be obtained by adulation.

With all his profusion, as he had never been munificent; he had not even the comfort which the "good old Erle of Devonschire" recorded on his tomb:

"What I spent, that I had;

What I gave, that I have."

In short, he was a sad example of the apothegm of Seneca:

"Illi mors gravior incubat,
Qui notus nimis omnibus,
Ignotus moritur sibi."+

The other living proof I have mentioned—that high station and apparent prosperity by no means carry happiness along with them-was exhibited, to the great regret of those who knew him well, by

"While the word was in the king's mouth, there fell a voice from heaven, saying, O king Nebuchadnezzar, to thee it is spoken, the kingdom is departed from thee."-Daniel, iv. 31. +"Death hangs with greater terror over him, who, known too much to the world, dies unknown to himself."

the Marquess of Rochfort. He was a nobleman of very superior character, and of higher rank, though much less wealth, than Lord Felix.

That his wealth, indeed, was greatly inferior to what his rank and ambition required, had plunged him into difficulties which never left him during life. But this was the least cause of his chagrin ; for he was of a very high and towering spirit, which neither rank nor wealth could satisfy, without power and popularity; and power and popularity were (I know not why, for he was eminently able, and generous to profusion) always denied him.

Without success in these, his very ability and prominence in every thing else, whether in political knowledge, in the arts and liberal studies, or a very general information, and above all, the sacrifices he made for popularity in vain, were only a source of mortification to him, which he could not disguise.

Conscious of his endowments, his object was high office, through the public voice rather than private influence; and while he could not obtain it, he daily saw quieter and more ordinary men, confessedly his inferiors, preferred before him.

This embittered his private moments; and though, from a wish to appear above it, he indulged in a display of liveliness, anecdote, and conversational gaiety, which made him, perhaps naturally, the most agreeable man in England, yet his spirit was evidently tinged with an inward gloon, which preyed

upon him in secret, and instead of being the cheerful companion in society, enjoyed by all, which he might have been, he was soured into a captious and unpleasant satirist, loved by few.

Yet Lord Rochfort had some noble qualities. Though violent when opposed, he was easily appeased, could generously forgive, and never deserted or changed a friend. On the contrary, he was distinguished as a most kind patron, and often obtained advancement for his protegés, which he failed in achieving for himself. At the same time, his noblest, but (unchecked as it was by prudence) his most unfortunate propensity, a generosity, profuse even to madness, had brought his fortunes low, though he would not confess it, even to himself; for he had the soul of a prince, and thought himself and lived like one, reckless of consequences.

Every year added to his embarrassments, and told him a tale, which he would not believe, spite of his steward. Vehement in every thing, whether as to opinions or conduct, it was dreadful to see a man of his mind and parts so absolutely ruined, from the want of that common sense without which parts and mind only hasten destruction.

He was eaten up by numerous retainers, which, being the representative of many great feudal families, he thought it was a sort of duty to their memory to maintain in idleness. He had more than one castle, with all royalties attached; to keep up

which in almost pristine waste, he sacrificed uselessly one-half of his revenues. With nothing like their means, but with a view to popularity, he emulated the feasts and pageants of his ancestors; nor, though he was yearly poorer and poorer, would he reduce the scale of his magnificent benefactions and costly compliments to those he often feasted, from royalty down to his country neighbours.

His real charities, too, for which he had a hand open as day, his pensions to decayed families, support to relations, subscriptions to all great institutions, presents to artists, and gallantries to lady friends in jewels and ornaments-all these were, like Anthonio's losses,

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'Enough to press a royal merchant down."

But the very suspicion of this neutralized all his sacrifices to obtain that consequence and power for which in part he made them; and to his mortification he found, that to ruin himself made no way with either the court or the people.

A magnificence which it was thought could not continue was slighted, though for a time its benefits were accepted. He was sometimes even thwarted, or not supported, by those whom his liberality had fed, or his attentions flattered; and he discovered in the language of Johnson, on the character of his prototype Timon, that he had scattered bounty, but conferred no benefit, and bought flattery, but not friendship.