apprehended, shall have a reward of £50, which her Majesty has ordered immediately to be paid on such discovery." On the 25th of February the House of Commons ordered the pamphlet to be burnt by the common hangman. Then the printer was seized; and to deliver him Defoe surrendered, immediately after publishing "A Brief Explanation of a late Pamphlet, intitled, The Shortest Way with the Dissenters.'" He was tried at the Old Bailey, and sentenced to stand thrice in the pillory, with a paper over him setting forth his crime, to find sureties

upon vital questions of civil and religious liberty were written by him before he laid the foundations of independent political journalism by establishing a newspaper called The Review, of which the first number appeared on the 19th of February, 1704. The first eight numbers were weekly, then it appeared twice a week, and after one year's issue at that rate it was published three times a week, on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, until the 29th of July, 1712. The imposition of a halfpenny stamp on all newspapers and detached leaves of print like Steele's Spectator, which crippled even The Spectator, caused Defoe to change the form of his publication to a single leaf issued twice a week, and in that form it was continued to its close on the 11th of June, 1713. This is its plan, as set forth in its first number :

The hymn was a pillory for the persecutors; they stand in it to this day, and the attempt to inflict shame on Defoe brought him to honour. The people formed a guard about him, drank his health, and adorned the state machine with flowers.

Defoe returned to Newgate, where he still was busy with his pen. More than a dozen pamphlets

A

WEEKLY REVIEW

OF THE

AFFAIRS OF FRANCE.

Purg'd from the Errors and Partiality of News-Writers and Petty-Statesmen, of all Sides.

Saturday, Feb. 19, 1704.

THE INTRODUCTION.

THIS Paper is the foundation of a very large and useful design, which, if it meet with suitable encouragement Permissu Superiorum, may contribute to setting the affairs of Europe in a clearer light, and to prevent the various uncertain accounts and the partial reflections of our strectscriblers, who daily and monthly amuse mankind with stories of great victories when we are beaten, miracles when we conquer, and a multitude of unaccountable and inconsistent stories, which have at least this effect, that people are possest with wrong notions of things, and nations wheeled to believe nonsense and contradiction.

As these papers may be collected into volumes, they will compose a complete History of France, the ancient part of which shall be a faithful abridgement of former authors, and the modern affairs stated as impartially, and as methodical as the length of this Paper will permit.

As we blame our enemies for being partial to themselves, and for filling their Gazettes with French rhodomontades, we shall carefully avoid the same error, and give even the French themselves full satisfaction for those of our own writers who are guilty that way, by sufficiently exposing them in our more diverting part of this paper.

We shall particularly have a regard to the rise and fall of the Protestant Religion in the Dominions of France; and the reader, if the author live, and is permitted to pursue the design, shall find this Paper a useful index to turn him to the best historians of the Church in all ages.

Here he shall find the mighty struggle the Protestant Churches met with in that kingdom for nearly 200 years; the strong convulsions of their expiring circumstances; the true history of the vast expense and mighty endeavours of this nation to support them; and at last, the sudden and violent destruction of them in France, by the solemn Revocation of the Edict of Nantes.

Here the Reader will, as far as possible, have a true history of the Gallican Church in her solitude and sufferings, her conduct in a persecuted state, and just observations on

the scattering of her professors over all parts of the Christian World.

We shall give as exact an account as can be had from good authorities of all the confessors of this Church, whose blood has dyed the hands of her enemies, and for which somebody must answer.

All along we shall prosecute with as much care as possible, the genuine history of what happens in the matters of state and war now carried on in Europe by this vigorous nation, wherein we shall convince the world by the sequel that we shall follow Truth as close as it is possible and, human frailty excepted, shall never fail to lead the world into that plain and clear light of affairs which every wise man covets. When matters are thus laid open and stript from the false glosses of parties, men are easily able to judge what and why things are done, and will begin to see before them in the world, whereas all the observations or reflections I ever yet met with serve but to amuse mankind, bias our judgments to parties, and make us partial to ourselves.

Thus we raise clouds before men's eyes and then complain nobody sees but ourselves; what we would not see we will not own, make all our calculations on our own side, and dose our readers with continued fumes of our own brain.

This brings the world to a constant intoxication, that we can talk of nothing but victory, and the enemy is always beaten though we lose never so much ground.

If a town be lost to the enemy, then we please our reader with the vigorous defence and gallant sallies made by the garrison. If our armies receive a foil, then the bravery of our troops in making such or such a retreat, and every subsequent paper brings so many men to their colours that few or none are killed or taken.

For our parts, and yet we hope without offence, when a battle is fought, we resolve to give you a sincere and just relation of fact; if we are beaten we shall not be ashamed to own it; and if we conquer, we shall not be afraid to say so and relate the particulars.

The world, therefore, may be sure to find here, to the best of our power, a relation so exact that no gloss shall need to be set forth; and both sides being examined, the particulars referred to the general opinion of all men.

Not that we shall pretend to a constant supply of news, but as the public papers inform the world of what is done, in their way of management, we shall go on with what needful rectifications the case requires.

As we shall be impartial to our own relators, and unravel sometimes the ridiculous and inconsistent stories we meet with there; so we shall find occasion to take in pieces the particular accounts given by the enemies, and divert the reader sometimes with the rhodomontade of the French.

All this will be the natural consequence of a diligent enquiry after truth, and laying before the world the naked prospect of fact, as it really is. For this Paper is not designed for so trivial an occasion as only bantering the nonsense of a few News-Writers, though that may come in often enough by the way; but the matter of our account will be real history and just observation.

Nor shall we embroil ourselves with Parties, but pursue the Truth; find her out when a crowd of lies and nonsense has almost smothered her, and set her up so as she may be both seen and heard.

After our serious matters are over; we shall at the end of every paper, present you with a little diversion, as anything occurs to make the world merry; and whether friend or foe, one Party or another, if anything happens so scandalous as to require an open reproof, the world may meet with it there.

We hope to offend no side, and unless our paper suffers in the general conflagration of pamphlets, viz., by an Act of Parliament, we fear not being called before Authority, or to the Bar of the House; for we have learnt more manners than to affront a Government under which we enjoy all that we can claim a right to, with the utmost Liberty.

We rather hope to make our Governors judges and approvers of our work, by the merit of an impartial and exact historical pen. And if our best conduct can add to the value of the Paper, it shall be a History more than particular ordinary; for impartial and authentic truth. As to our brethren of the Worshipful Company of News-writers, Fellows of Scriblers College, Students in Politics and Professors in Contradiction; we prepare them this hint as a fair warning.

Let them please to be careful not to impose absurdities and contradictions in their Weekly Papers, and they shall meet with no ill-treatment from this Paper: nay we will forgive them small Erratas, and slips of the pen; nor will we always quarrel with them for errors in geography; but if they tell us a lie that a man may feel with his foot, and not only proclaim their own folly but their knavery too, and tell the world they think their readers are fools too, that is intolerable.

If they come to banter religion, sport with things sacred, and dip their pens in blasphemy (as sometimes they are very free with their Maker), our Scandalous Club is a new corporation, erected on purpose to make inquisition of such matters, and will treat them but scurvily, as they deserve.

And being now upon the Introduction, 'tis necessary to explain a little what we mean by the errors and nonsense of our News-writers which we intend to be thus free with, and that we may give you a lawful specimen of the fact, and so avoid being indicted for scandal, the reader is humbly referred to a certain News-writer called the London Post, of the 21st of August last, where in advice from the Hague by way of Lisbon we are acquainted with some news from Paris.

Now because all men are not geographers, nor every body does not know but that Lisbon may lie in the road between Paris and the Hague, and so the letters may come by the ordinary post; the Dutch, as some say, having renewed their correspondence; I think it might not be improper to let the reader know that this is just as direct an intelligence as if they should say, These are Letters from Jamaica, by the last East India Ship, which give a more particular account of a great fight in Flanders.

And that the news this retrograde account brings, might be as cater-cornered as the way of its coming, the Advice adds, that when the Most Christian King heard that the King of Portugal had entered into the grand Alliance, his Majesty should say, he would teach that little king to feel the weight of his arm.'

Methinks they who know anything of the King of France might have had more manners to his character than to have made such a speech as that for him; for without doubt he who has known above fifty year how to act like a king, knows better how to talk like a king than that comes to. And they who have the worst opinion of his honesty never told us they had an ill opinion of his wit. At least they should have made a speech for him a little like a king; but this is such a boyish sentence, such a meanness, such a dull thing; the Czar of Muscovy would have made a better speech than that.

This is an instance of the ignorance of our News-writers: then as to the partiality of their writing; I refer to the Post Boy, of August 24th, that two sorts of fluxes rage in both the German and French armies; this is very probable,

and often the effect of armies lying long in a place, and the fact may be true, but then comes in Mr. News-writer and, partial to our friends, will have nobody die but in the enemy's army. This is such a piece of ridiculous banter, that they that can bear to be thus used ought indeed to be imposed upon to the end of the chapter.

As occasions of this nature offer themselves, this Paper will not fail to set you to rights. Not that the Author thinks it worth while to take up your hours always to tell you how your pockets are picked and your senses imposed upon; only now and then, where 'tis a little grosser than ordinary.

For the body of this Paper, we shall endeavour to fill it with truth of fact, and not improper reflections. The stories we tell you shall be true, and our observations, as near as we can, shall be just, and both shall study the reader's profit and diversion.

It is probable, as we shall find presently, that Richard Steele's conception of The Tatler was in part derived from certain papers in Defoe's Review, An honest jest of Swift's also suggested to Steele the pleasant development of Isaac Bickerstaff as a central figure among the pictures of life in The Tatler papers.

When six years

Jonathan Swift was born in Dublin on the 30th of November, 1667, seven months after his father's death. His father, after whom he was named Jonathan, was a young attorney, who had lately been made steward of the King's Inns, when he died, leaving his wife, who had been Abigail Herrick of Leicester, with an infant daughter and an unborn son, but with no worldly means beyond an annuity of £20 a year. Little Jonathan was cared for by an uncle in Dublin, Godwin Swift, a barrister, four times married, who had fifteen sons of his own and three daughters dependent on him. old, Jonathan Swift was sent to a foundation school at Kilkenny, where he was taught till, at the age of fourteen, he went as a pensioner to Trinity College, Dublin. In February, 1686, he took his Bachelor of Arts degree. In the time of the Revolution, at the age of twenty-one, when the College was deserted, Swift, who had been ready to take his Master of Arts degree, went to his mother at Leicester, and there lived with her for some months, considering the future. Mrs. Swift was distantly related to the wife of the retired statesman, Sir William Temple, and there was some other slight ground for the endeavour to find in him a patron. Young Jonathan Swift went to Sir William's house, Moor Park, near Farnham, in Surrey, was kindly received, and became from 1689 to 1694 a useful companion and amanuensis, until Sir William should find an opportunity of helping him in life.

Sir William Temple, about forty years older than Swift, had distinguished himself as a liberal statesman in the time of Charles II., who now slighted him, now sought for himself shelter behind the statesman's popularity. Sir William withdrew to lettered peace, for he took pleasure in talk of books, and wrote essays himself with a gentlemanly ease, having salt of enough thoughtfulness to make them readable. He wrote with the critical air that French influence had brought into fashion, and especially when he considered himself to be writing history,

with proper regard for the dignified turn of his sentences. Thus, for example, he supports the conventional dignity of the historian in a summary of

THE CHARACTER OF WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR.

William, surnamed The Conqueror, was of the tallest Stature among those common in his Age and Country; his Size large, and his Body strong built, but well proportion'd: His Strength such, as few of his Court could draw his Bow: His Health was great and constant, which made him very active in his Business and Pleasures, till about the Decline of his Age he grew something corpulent. From all which, I suppose, came the Story in some Norman Writers, that he was Eight Foot high, or the Size of Hercules.

As he was of goodly Personage, so his Face was lovely, but of a masculine Beauty, the Lines being strong, rather than delicate His Eyes were quick and lively, but when moved, something fierce: His Complexion sanguine: His Countenance very pleasant, when he was gay and familiar; when he was serious, something severe.

His Pastimes were chiefly Hunting and Feasting: In the first he spent much Time, used great Exercise, and yet much Moderation of Diet. In his Feasts, which were design'd for Magnificence or Conversation, to know or to be known among his Nobles, and not for Luxury; he was courteous, affable, familiar, and often pleasant, and which made him the more so to his Company, was easy at those Times in granting Suits and Pardons.

It is by All agreed, that he was Chaste and Temperate, which, with a happy Constitution, and much Exercise, preserv'd not only his Health, but Vigour, to the last Decline of his Age.

He was of sound natural Sense, and shew'd it not only in his own Conduct and Reasoning upon all great Occasions, but also in the Choice of his Ministers and Friends, where no Prince was happier or wiser than he.

He talk'd little, never vaunted, observ'd much, was very secret, and us'd only Lanfranc Archbishop of Canterbury, with an universal Confidence, both as a Counseller and a Friend; to whom he was ever meek and gentle, tho' to others something austere; as if this Conqueror had been himself subdu'd by the Wisdom and Virtue of that excellent Man.

In his Purposes he was steady, but not obstinate, and tho' constant to his Ends, yet appliable to Occasions; as appear'd by his favouring and trusting the Normans in his Troubles of England, and the English in those of Normandy; and was either very wise, or very happy, in the Arts of gaining Enemies, and retaining Friends, having never lost but one, which was Fitz-Auber.

He was a Prince deep in his Designs, bold in his Enterprizes, firm in his Prosecution, excelling in the Order and Discipline of his Armies, and Choice in his Officers, both of his Army and his State: But admirable in Expedition and Dispatch of Civil as well as Military Affairs, never deferring 'till to Morrow, what should be done to Day.

Above all, he was careful and prudent in the Management of his Treasure, and finding a Temper between the Bounty of his own Nature, and the Necessity of his Affairs, proportioning always the Expences of his Gifts, his Buildings, his Enterprises, to the Treasure he was Master of, for defraying them, designing nothing out of his Compass, and thereby compassing all he seem'd to design.

He was Religious in frequenting Divine Service, giving much Alms, building Abbies, and endowing them, sending Presents of Crosses of Gold, rich Vestures and Plate to many other Churches, and much Treasure to Rome.

He was a great Lover of Learning, and tho' he despised the loose ignorant Saxon Clergy he found in England, yet he took Care and Pleasure to fill Ecclesiastical Dignities here with Persons of great Worth and Learning from Abroad, as Lanfranc, Durand, Anselm, with many more.

He was a Lover of Virtue in others, and a Hater of Vice; for being naturally very kind to his Half-Brother Odon Bishop of Bayeux, having made him Earl of Kent, given him great Revenues, intrusted him, in his Absence, with the Government of the Realm; yet finding him a Man of incurable Ambition, Avarice, Cruelty, Oppression, and Prophaneness, he at length wholly disgrac'd him, and kept him in prison during all the rest of his Reign; which seems to have been a just Punishment of his Crimes, and Sacrifice to the English, he had cruelly oppressed in the King's Absence, rather than a Greediness of his Treasures, as some envious Writers would make it appear.

Yet by the Consent of them all, and the most partial or malicious to his Memory, as well as others; He is agreed to have been a Prince of great Strength, Wisdom, Courage, Clemency, Magnificence, Wit, Courtesy, Charity, Temperance, and Piety. This short Character, and by all agreed, is enough to vindicate the Memory of this noble Prince, and famous Conqueror, from the Aspersions or Detractions of several malicious or partial Authors, who have more unfaithfully represented his Reign, than any other Period of our English History.

As we are on the way to the essayists of Queen Anne's reign, it may here be remarked that the essays of Sir William Temple are too long and formal to claim kindred with Tatler and Spectator papers; but there was essay-writing that made some nearer approach to them. Jeremy Collier, a nonjuring divine, who in 1698 fluttered the dramatists of London by his shrewd attack upon them in "A Short View of the Immorality and Profaneness of the English Stage," was known favourably as a writer of "Essays upon Several Subjects," of which one may serve as an example :

OF THE ASPECT.

The countenance seems designed not only for ornament, but information. The passions there displayed make way for commerce and communication, and help to let one man into the sentiments and affections of another. It is true, the soul is not altogether discovered. If the thoughts lay open to observation, there would great inconveniences follow. Many good designs would be defeated; many improper aversions and desires would appear; the business of life would be disturbed, and conversation made almost impracticable. In such cases, people would choose to converse in the dark, rather than trust themselves with the sight of each other. However, though the soul cannot be all forced into the face, yet there is no small part of it to be seen there, especially when it comes of its own accord. Here the different apprehensions of the mind discover themselves. I grant they are not always fully distinguished in their causes and their kind; but, though they are not drawn at length, you have something of the colour and proportion. Here joy and grief, resolution and fear, modesty and conceit, inclination, indifferency and disgust are made legible. The character is fairest and best marked in children, and those who are unpractised in the little hypocrisies of conversation; for, when nature has learnt to put on art and disguise, the forehead is not easily read. Now, it is very surprising to see the image of the mind stamped upon the aspect; to see the

cheeks take the dye of the passions thus naturally, and appear in all the colours and complexions of thought. Why is this variety of changes confined to a single place? What is the reason a man's arm won't smile and frown, and do all the intellectual postures of the countenance? The arm seems to have a finer skin than the face; it is less exposed to the weather; the veins are larger and more visible, and the pulse beats stronger. In short, if matter and motion would do the business, the arm, excepting the eye, seems to have the advantage, and might put in for the index and interpreter of the mind. And yet we see it is strangely uniform and unaffected upon every accident and turn of thought; and nothing but a blow or a pinch can make it change colour. But the face being designed to be unclothed, and in view, God has there fixed the seat and visibility of the passions, for the better direction of conversation. The sudden alteration of the countenance is very remarkable: a forcible object will rub out the freshest colours at a stroke, and paint others of a quite different appearance; a vigorous thought, or a surprise of good fortune, dispels the gloom, and brightens the air immediately. To metamorphose the blood and spirits thus extempore is not a little strange. It argues an amazing fineness and curiosity in the parts; that the least touch of the imagination can alter them into almost what appearances it pleases. The strength of the representation is another circumstance worth considering; the inward motions and temper are sometimes drawn with wonderful life; the advantages of youth and complexion, the particular force of the mind and occasion, answer to the fineness of the colours and the skill of the painter. When all these causes meet, the passions are marked with extraordinary clearness and strength. What can be more significant than the sudden flushing and confusion of a blush, than the sparklings of rage, and the lightning of a smile? The soul is, as it were, visible upon these occasions; the passions ebb and flow in the cheeks, and are much better distinguished in their progress than the change of the air in a weather-glass. Some people have an air of dignity and greatness, and an unusual vigour in their aspect; others have a sweetness and good-humour printed upon them, which is very engaging. A face well furnished out by nature, and a little disciplined, has a great deal of rhetoric in it; a graceful presence bespeaks acceptance, gives a force to language, and helps to convince by look and posture; but this talent must be sparingly used, for fear of falling into affectation, than which nothing is more nauseous. Of all the appearances, methinks a smile is the most extraordinary: it plays with a surprising agreeableness in the eye, breaks out with the brightest distinction, and fits like a glory upon the countenance. What sun is there within us that shoots his rays with so sudden a vigour? To see the soul flash in the face at this rate, one would think might convert an atheist. By the way, we may observe that smiles are much more becoming than frowns: this seems a natural encouragement to good-humour, as much as to say, If people have a mind to be handsome, they must not be peevish and untoward.

Another thing remarkable is the obsequiousness of the aspect. It goes as true to the mind, when we please, as the dial to the sun. The orders are published as soon as given. It is but throwing the will into the face, and the inward direction appears immediately it is true a man cannot command the standing features and complexion, but the diversities of passion are under disposal. The image of pleasure is never seen when anger was intended. No! the sentiments are painted exactly, and drawn by the life within.

And, since it is in our power not to give a wrong sign, we should not pervert the intendments of Providence. To

wash over a coarse or insignificant meaning is to counterfeit nature's coin. We ought to be just in our looks, as well as in our actions, for the mind may be declared one way no less than the other. A man might as good break his word as his face, especially upon some critical occasions. It may so happen that we can converse no other way, for want of an interpreter; but, though I cannot tell what a man says, if he will be sincere, I may easily know what he looks. The meaning of sounds is uncertain, and tied to particular times and places; but the language of the face is fixed and universal: its consents and refusals are everywhere alike. A smile has the same form and sense in China as with us. If looks were as arbitrary as words, conversation would be more in the dark, and a traveller would be obliged to learn the countenances as well as the tongues of foreign countries.

And as the language of the face is universal, so it is very comprehensive: no laconism can reach it. It is the shorthand of the mind, and crowds a great deal in a little room. A man may look a sentence, as soon as speak a word. The strokes are small, but so masterly drawn that you may easily collect the image and proportions of what they resemble.

Whether honesty and dishonesty are discernible in the face is a question which admits of dispute. King Charles II. thought he could depend upon these observations. But, with submission, I believe an instance might be given in which his rules of physiognomy failed. It is true, the temper and inward disposition is sometimes visible in the countenance. Thus, Sallust tells us, Cataline had rage and defiance in his looks even after he was dead. However, here the impression was partly designed, and voluntary. He had a mind, no question, to appear as fierce and formidable as he could; but in insincerity the case is otherwise, for no man is willing to be known for a knave. Whether men, as they say of plants, have signatures to discover their natures by, is hard to determine. Some people fancy an honest man looks plain and open, and all of a piece; and therefore, when they see a shy and compounded air, a remote and absconding kind of countenance, they conclude it Cain's mark. This, in their opinion, is either a caution given us by Providence, or the natural effect of a crafty and suspicious mind. A knave, say they, is apprehensive of being discovered, and this habitual concern puts an oddness into his looks.

But, after all, no man's face is actionable. These singularities are interpretable from more innocent causes; and therefore, though there may be ground for caution, there is none for censure.

Jonathan Swift discoursed of literature and politics with Sir William Temple at Moor Park, copied and arranged his patron's essays and other works, made himself generally useful, and studied for eight or ten hours every day. When he went to Moor Park he first saw Esther Johnson, the elder of two daughters of a Mrs. Johnson who lived in the house as confidential attendant upon Lady Giffard, Sir William's sister. He was then a young man of twenty-two, and she a child of seven, clever, but sickly until her fifteenth year. Jonathan Swift took pleasure in the child, and gave aid to her education. Swift, from the age of twenty, had attacks of giddiness and deafness, which indicated the beginning of that affection of the brain which finally quenched his reason. For his illness he went to Ireland about a year after he had joined Sir William Temple, but becoming worse rather than better, he returned. Sir William had helped him

to procure the same degree at Oxford which he had from Dublin, and after that to proceed to his M.A. at Oxford in July, 1692. Swift desired to enter the Church, and not finding prompt aid in that direction, he left Moor Park in June, 1694, was ordained in Dublin at the close of the year, and obtained the prebend of Kilroot, not far from Belfast, which was worth about £100 a year. He went to Kilroot, stayed a year there, and paid court to a Miss Waring, whom he found there living. She was the sister of a college friend. Esther Johnson had been left at Moor Park a sickly child of eleven or twelve, and the time had not come when her growth to womanhood established her influence over Swift's life, or when the growing sense of the heritable evil of insanity within him would cause him to feel that he must not marry as other men, and transmit so terrible a burden to a child. When he had been a year at Kilroot, Sir William Temple, who had felt Swift's absence, drew his young companion back to Moor Park, and there he remained until his patron's death, in January, 1699. By that time Esther Johnson had grown out of sickly childhood into early womanhood, with health, beauty, and bright intelligence, and was taking place in Swift's affections beside his mother, whom he visited at Leicester, wherever he might be living, at least once every year, until her death, when he was fortyfour years old. Not long after the death of Sir William Temple, of whose works he was left editor, Swift went to Dublin with the Earl of Berkeley, became his chaplain, and remained chaplain at Dublin Castle for some years thereafter. Berkeley obtained for him the living of Laracor, near Trim, in the diocese of Meath, with Rathbeggan added to eke out its insufficient income. At Laracor

Lord

the new minister improved the decayed church, the decayed parsonage-house and its glebe. He improved, also, the services of the church, and was diligent in duty, though some months of each year were spent in London. Sir William Temple had bequeathed to Esther Johnson a farm in Wexford. Swift, upon his first visit to England from Laracor, found her in lodgings at Farnham, with her elder friend Miss Dingley, who had also been one of Sir William's household. He persuaded the two ladies to come to Laracor, and so began the relation of his life with the woman who was its star, his Stella, in familiar friendship, with daily companionship, always, as precaution against evil speakers, of more than two alone. Swift felt, I believe, in forebodings of insanity a cloud upon his inner life. In later years he always read the third chapter of Job on his birthday. Within himself he felt the reason why he must not marry as other men, and yet he loved. After a few years all must have been understood between himself and Stella.

When in London, Swift published "The Battle of the Books" and the "Tale of a Tub," which had been written at Moor Park. Sometimes when in Dublin with Lord Berkeley, and much liked for his wit, he would read aloud to Lady Berkeley; who liked him to read one of the "Meditations" of the Hon. Robert Boyle, of which an example has been given on page 166. One day, instead of the expected