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The claims of Charles, his son, have, we know, been ranked very high in the scale which is now in our hands; and assuredly if the sixw had been his composition, even as a literary work, it would not only place him at the head of the short and meagre catalogue of Royal authors, but secure for him a respectable station among the writers of his age; for it is full of piety and wisdom, and its style is pure and graceful. But no man, capable of weighing testimony and probabilities, can hesitate in rejecting Charles's claims to this famous production. The silence of Clarendon upon the subject in his History, explained by his letter to Dr Gauden, and the explicit denial by both Charles II. and James II. as vouched by two unconnected and respectable witnesses, Bishop Burnett and Lord Anglesey, would be decisive of the question, even if we could overlook the positive evidence of Dr Walker and Bishop Patrick. Nor can much reliance be placed on the argument, derived from the superiority of the style to that of Gauden's known works; both because it may possibly be neither Charles's nor Gauden's, and because it may be Gauden's formed and otherwise corrected by those through whose hands all the direct testimony shows it to have passed.

Horace Walpole was not aware that Charles II. had claims to a place in his list, although our countryman, the learned and laborious Lord Hailes, as far back as the year 1766, edited a curious account of his adventures after the battle of Worcester, unquestionably written by himself, and republished some letters to his friends, chiefly to Arlington, there called Henry Bennet; together with a few made publick for the first time. Considering the high reputation of the King for wit, the narrative is as dull a piece as may be read; but it has better qualities than

lor's motive for all these praises, since, whatever doubt might exist as to the other particulars in the King's life, one passage was undenied, viz. that he was naturally dead, and going to be buried, if not actually under ground at the time. Why then should the Bishop so squander his commendations? The next sentence explains it. Of

all Christian Kings that ever I read of, he was the most constant 'patron of churches and churchmen.' His successors were therefore to be shown how it would fare with them in this world after their decease, if they followed his steps; they would be praised for a few weeks, instead of being suddenly forgotten. His Lordship further shows what became of the King's soul." Severed from the dregs of the body, it doth now enjoy an eternal dreaming (qu. eadem sequitur tellure repostas) in the presence of God, environed no more with Lords and Knights, but with troupes of Angels and the souls of the blessed, his forerunners.'

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liveliness, in a detail of interesting particulars; for it is distinct, and full, without being in the least degree tedious; it has also the air of perfect veracity throughout; and it contains none of the silly or vulgar peculiarities so strikingly displayed in some of the Bourbon pages now before us,-unless it may be thought that the last of these epithets is applicable to a tone of selfishness, a cold disregard of other men's safety as well as their services, and a proportionate anxiety about the Royal person's accommodation, which runs through the tract. This, however, we suppose, might be naturally looked for in the narrative of any prince's sufferings. We shall extract a few lines, giving the King's account of the most noted and critical passage in his escape, his concealment in the Royal Oak. Possibly the reader may think the details as to provisions somewhat more in the style of Louis XVIII., than we are willing to allow. The composition altogether is mean; not even good for the age in which it was written; and about as much inferior to that of the present day, as if it was his Most Christian Majesty's own handywork.

Which being done, we went on our way to one of Pender• ell's brothers (his house being not far from White Lady's), who “had been guide to my Lord Wilmot, and, we believed, might .by that time be come back again; for my Lord Wilmot in• tended to go to London upon his own horse.

When I came to this house, I inquired where my Lord Wilmot was. It be ing now towards morning, and having travelled these two nights on foot, Penderell's brother told he had conducted him

to a very honest gentleman's house, one Mr Pitchcroft, * not • far from Woolverhamptom, a Roman Catholic. I asked him . what news? He told me that there was one Major Careless in the house, that was that countryman; whom I knowing, he having been a major in our army, and made his escape hither, a Roman Catholic also, I sent for him into the room where I was, and consulting with him what we should do the next day. He told me that it would be very dangerous for me either to stay in that house, or to go into that wood, there being a great o wood hard by Boscobel; that he knew but one way how to pass the next day, and that was to get up into a great oak, in a pretty plain place, where we might see about us; for the enemy would certainly search at the wood for people that had * made their escape. Of which proposition of his I approving, we (that is to say, Careless and I) went and carried up with us

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* Pepys, to whom the narrative is addressed, informs us in a note, that it is not surprising if, after an interval of twenty-nine years, the King should confound the name of Mr Whitgrave, with that of a place, viz. the meadow near Worcester,

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some victuals for the whole day, viz. bread, cheese, and small • beer, and nothing else, and got up into a great oak that had been lopt some three or four years before, and being grown out again, very bushy and thick, could not be seen through; 6 and here we staid all the day. I having, in the mean time, sent Penderell's brother to Mr Pitchcroft's, to know whether my Lord Wilmot was there or no; and had word brought me by him at night that my Lord was there; that there was a very secure hiding-hole in Mr Pitchcroft's house, and that he desired me to come thither to him.

• Memorandum. That while we were in this tree, we see sol• diers going up and down, in the thicket of the wood, search*ing for the persons escaped, we seeing them, now and then, peeping out of the wood.

• That night Richard Penderell and I went to Mr Pitch6 croft's about six or seven miles off, where I found the gentle• man of the house,' &c. p. 23. et seqq.

The following is Mr Hume's account of the same passage, and affords a very fair sample of his ordinary degree of accuracy; and, at the same time, a striking proof, because in minute particulars of comparatively little moment, how uniformly his mistakes are made to favour the Stuarts.

• The King left Worcester at six o'clock in the afternoon, and, without halting, travelled about twenty-six miles in company with fifty or sixty of his friends. To provide for his security, • he thought it best to separate himself from his companions,

and he left them without communicating his intentions to any • of them. By the Earl of Derby's directions he went to Boscobel, a lone house in the borders of Staffordshire, inhabited by one Penderell, a farmer. To this man Charles intrusted him

self. The man had dignity of sentiments much above his condi. • tion; and, though death was denounced against all who concealed the King, and a great reward promised to any one who should

betray him, he professed and maintained unshaken fidelity. • He took the assistance of his four brothers, equally honour• able with himself; and having clothed the King in a garb • like their own, they led him into the neighbouring wood, put a bill into his hand, and pretended to employ themselves in cutting faggots. Some nights he lay upon straw in the house, 6 and fed upon such homely fare as it afforded. For a better

concealment, he mounted upon an oak, where he sheltered • himself among the leaves and branches for twenty-four hours. . He saw several soldiers pass by. All of them were intent in 6 search of the King, and many expressed in his hearing their ( earnest wishes of seizing him.' (Hist, vii. 203. (8vo.)

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It is thus that History is manufactured by indolent and partial writers, who, having a talent for narrative, being careless of truth, omit the facts which do not suit them, and invent circumstances to fill up blanks in their materials, or save themselves the trouble of research, making their fancy subservient to the purpose which they may have in view of exalting a party or an individual. There are more misrepresentations than sentences in the passage we have now cited. It was by Mr Gifford's advice, not Lord Derby's, that the King went to Penderell's house. (Narrative, p. 6.) He travelled twenty, not twenty-six miles without halting. (ib.) The Penderells, beside ' a dignity of sentiments much above their station,' were all Roman Catholics, and had hiding-holes for priests whom they were wont to conceal (p. 12.), and Charles gives this as the reason for going to them. He did not lie some nights on straw in their house,' nor any night; but he was concealed in a barn belonging to a country gentleman in the neighbourhood, one day. (p. 20.) And the Royal Oak scene happened after two nights only. As for the homely fare, he twice in those two days had meat at this gentleman's, beside bread, cheese and beer, from the Penderells repeatedly. (ib.) His taking to work in the wood is apparently a fiction; at least he never mentions it, though very minute in all his details of this passage. In the oak he remained, not twenty-four hours, but during one day, and at night went off to Mr Whitgrave's. While he was in the tree, instead of being alone, he had Major Careless, another Catholick, with him, who is not mentioned by the Historian ; but to make up for such omissions, we are told that the King heard the soldiers all intent in their search for himself, and many expressing their carnest wishes of seizing him-matters wholly unknown to his Majesty, who only says that he saw the soldiers searching for the fugitives.

We shall give one more extract from the Narrative; and it is the best passage in it.

As I was holding my horse's foot, I asked the smith what news? He told me that there was no news that he knew of, since the good news of the beating of the rogues the Scots. I askhim whether there was none of the English taken that joined • the Scots? He answered, that he did not hear that that rogue • Charles Stuart was taken, but some of the others, he said, • were taken, but not Charles Stuart. I told him that if that rogue were taken, he deserved to be hanged more than all the rest, for bringing in the Scots. Upon which he said, that I 6 spoke like an honest man; and so we parted. (p. 32.)

( There is in Charles's details a very frequent mention of the

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fare which he had in his wanderings; but, not to mention that a person in his station must naturally have regarded the difficulty of satisfying his hunger as one of the greatest novelties of his adventures, we may observe, that he only introduces the subject to show the raits he was reduced to, and always where was doubtful whether he should not suffer from actual want. The Bourbon Annalist views the interesting subject of dinner and supper in a very different light, as we shall presently see. The uneasiness in which he is thrown by the dreadful prospects of abundant plain, homely food, shares his thoughts with anxiety about his life, then at stake, and the fate of his country. An unlooked for escape from destruction excites hardly any more delight than a fricassee or a bottle of Burgundy, which he had not ventured to hope for-nay, he is on the point of risking his neck for a forgotten walking stick.

The volume before us, which contains the Journal of the present King of France, and two of the Duchess d'Angouleme's, is one of the publications now become very frequent in this country among our Ultra-Royalists, who live in habitual ecsta sies of affection towards every thing despotic, and fancy they are indulging a "mighty elegant' passion, when they are collecting every scrap of Bourbon anecdote as a memorial of classical achievements. Having got hold of one note, to which public feeling may be attuned, even in favour of that hateful family, the barbarous treatment of Louis XVI. and his wife and son, they must be perpetually striking it, till they deafen or weary their audience, instead of exciting any sympathy. They are romantic upon the subject to enthusiasm; but it will not do; they have all their romance to themselves. Among their number are to be found no Clarendons, or Burkes; and the heavy pages of the mere plodding anecdote-monger, the collector of names, the rectifier of dates, and collator of parallel accounts of passages almost all devoid of real importance, are little calculated to captivate readers in an age somewhat too ra, tional, with all its faults and its follies, to be enamoured of a race now only remarkable for feebleness and bigotry, hatred of freedom, and ingratitude to their best benefactors. Had such a generation suffered ten times as much, the people of this country never could have regarded them as objects of attachment, or even of very long-lived compassion. But we are now to view them as swelling the list of Royal Authors.

I. Madame d'Angouleme's Narrative of the Flight to Varennes.

This is, in itself, a very short and a very meagre tract. It consists of a dozen small and widely printed pages, with twice

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