a spirit of the truest humility and resignation." "I can truly say," he writes to Lord Muncaster, "that I scarcely know any one whose loss I have so much cause to regret. But I have the solid satisfaction of knowing that his mind was just in the state I could have wished, had I been aware of the awful change which awaited him. Peace be with him! May my last end be like his !"

He

The other intimate friend, whose friendship dated from their college life, was Lord Muncaster. This friendship, which was close as that of Eliot, was happily continued longer, till Lord Muncaster's death, in 1813. Lord Muncaster sat in Parliament for the borough of Colchester, and on all the great questions which engage parliamentary men he acted with Wilberforce. He joined in the struggle for the abolition of the slave trade; he shared Wilberforce's esteem for Mr. Pitt; when Mr. Wilberforce separated from Pitt on the question of peace with France, Lord Muncaster approved his course. The mossy brows and shady glades of Muncaster Castle were often visited by Wilberforce, and he contrasts them in his letters with the dust of London and the hot pavements of Bath. In all the incidents of his career, public and private, he writes to Lord Muncaster; and that abandon which with him is so natural, is to be traced vividly in these letters, written hastily, giving the gossip of the day, politics, his opinions, his criticisms on the debates, the spirit and temper of public men. tells him of his conflicts in Parliament-his labours-his defeats-his mortification-Pitt's delay-his rising hopes and brightening prospects. With these he mixes the incidents of private life-his marriage-his comforts-his hours of rest-his flight from London-his quiet walks "by the hoarse resounding shore, meditating better things than purblind Homer knew or sung"-his sports and games of marbles with his boys, which, he says, would make him an object of ridicule in the House of Commons, but which he does not shrink from confessing to his familiar friend. But he intersperses with this domestic chat words of affection, or a touch of seriousness. "In spite of hurry, lassitude, and weak eyes, I must reply," he writes, "to your kind inquiries. I believe you and I are tuned in the same key, as the musicians speak, and that we strike therefore in unison. Is it a proof of it, that I feel your pouring out to me your joy in the prospect of a visit from your father, as a stronger proof of your affection than all your expressions of solicitude about myself? To make me thus a partner of your joys, is truly kind." Again, eight years later, reporting the death of a common friend, he says:-"Though I do not see you, my dear Muncaster, on a Sunday, I believe I may truly say, I never pass one over without thinking of you. May God bless you, is the hearty wish and frequent prayer of your affectionate and faithful friend." Again, in 1803,

reporting Napoleon's threatened invasion from Boulogne :Well, my friend, it is my only comfort that all human affairs are in higher hands than ours, and we are assured that all things shall work together for good to them that love God. Be it our care to secure this, and then we may exclaim, in the triumphant language of the Psalmist, (Ps. xlvi. 11.) Farewell, my friend, I wish I were with you, my mouth waters to think of your rocks, and mountains, and shady walks."

But it is ever thus: the appeals of Clarkson, the attacks of the Pro-Slavery party, the passions of politics, the ambition, the excitement, and the bitterness of politicians, his own anxieties about the war-his first idea of opposition to Pitthis sufferings under the estrangement-his private meetings with Pitt-his intervention after Pitt's duel— his personal prospects-his marriage-the illness of his wifethe birth of children-his health-his longing for retirementhis work-his writings in the Christian Observer-his boxes of unanswered letters-the death of friends-the darkness of public affairs-why he voted, and why he abstained-his anxieties on the distresses of the country-the wavering fortunes of the Abolition cause-the changes of Government-the grow ing variance between Pitt and Addington-the negotiations between the King and Pitt-the case of Lord Melville-tle victory of Trafalgar, and the dark reverse of Austerlitz-the heavy blow, the illness of Pitt-Pitt's death and debts-his engrossing labours at Broomfield or Palace Yard-his intended rest-all these pass before us in this diorama of friendship, with their rapidly dissolving views. He contrasts his busy life with Lord Muncaster's leisure in the happy valley of the North, and he flies in a moment on the wings of fancy from the slopes of Clapham or the shore of the Channel, to the woods and forest glades which shaded "Julius Cæsar's old castle in Eskdale."

Again (1800), replying to his inquiry about Farliamentary business, and commenting on Lord Grenville's irritating despatches, he mixes with these disturbing thoughts his own happier tone:"Alas, Muncaster, my heart aches! However, there is a perfect home of love, and peace, and happiness; and we are invited to the enjoyment of it. Let every fresh proof, therefore, of the unsatisfactoriness of human things have the effect of urging us forwards towards this one true point of rest with renewed energy."

In 1804, while detailing to his friend the circumstances of Pitt's second administration, he speaks of himself as enjoying the first greetings of summer and the voices of the nightingales at Broomfield, looking up through nature to its God, and still more thankfully recognizing Him as the God of grace and con'Happy they who pursue those paths which, even here, are alone paths of peace, and which alone will at length conduct us to permanent and solid happiness. Oh! my dear

solation.

Muncaster, press forward in these ways; the Scriptures, prayer, with humble reliance on our Redeemer and Intercessor, and on the aids of His promised Spirit-these are the sure means of progress."

Answering Lord Muncaster's wise and Christian thoughts, in 1809, he says of politics," Oh! it is a gloomy sky; but there is a sun behind the clouds. In one particular I quite agree with you, in ascribing all the great events which are taking place to a higher hand. Indeed, He is always the supreme Agent; but there are times, and this seems to be one of them, when His arm is lifted up and His hand displayed with more than common plainness. This consideration administers the greatest comfort to my mind. For, being persuaded that there are many among us who still love and fear and serve the Great Governor of the universe, I cannot but hope that, though justly deserving the vengeance, we shall still experience the mercy, of Heaven." And speaking, in 1811, of the bankruptcy of a common friend, the blow it had struck on his pleasures, and the expansion it had given to his spirit, he says, "I cannot help thinking that in this I see the hand of God. It will lead him to clear away the rubbish, and cleave to the foundation; his spiritual sun, which the fogs and vapours of worldly bustle obscured, will shine out at the close of his natural day. In truth, my dear friend, we are all too apt to forget that the time is short, and that the fashion of this world. passeth away, and that here we are but strangers and pilgrims. Farewell, my dear Muncaster; I will not apologize for the serious strain into which I have just given. I know you wish me to say what is uppermost; to pour forth the effusions of the heart. Farewell once more, and may God bless you. When that is said sincerely as I say it, well may it be added, in the phrase of the Orientals, 'What can I say more?""

The last two letters, which closed this long and close friendship, were written, one from Sandgate, in October, 1812, the other a week before Lord Muncaster's death, in September, 1813. In the one he playfully congratulates his friend on the birth of a grandson and heir. "Before I plunged into the mare magnum (of London) I was determined to sail up the river Esk, and pay my respects to the new-born future occupant of the Luck of Muncaster." In the second letter, while observing on the improvement in the character of the clergy and of public men, he turns, as was his wont, from that general reflection, to more personal thoughts; and with a prophecy not realized in his own case, but soon to be fulfilled in that of his friend, he says,"However, my dear Muncaster, neither your race nor mine can be much longer. May we both be prepared for the close of life; all else is comparatively insignificant. . . . As we grow nearer the great change, it is well to make still ampler prepa

ration for it, though it is not necessary that we should for this end retire altogether from public service; but to live under a more abiding impression of the uncertainty of life, and with dispositions better fitted for that condition of being into which we are probably ere long to enter, must certainly be right. For this end, I find nothing more effectual than private prayer and the serious perusal of the New Testament."

On the other hand, the letters of Lord Muncaster show a temper congenial with that of his friend. Nothing can be more touching than the short letter in which he tells the destruction of his hopes in the death of his only son. His help was always ready in the long anti-slavery conflict. He wrote ably on the question; he supplied help, from the books which he had in his library, to the pamphlet of Zachary Macaulay. He breathes his feelings of affection and thoughtfulness in his last bequests to his friends, Mr. Duncombe "and to my truly valued and much regarded friend, William Wilberforce, Esq., as a small proof and testimony of the very sincere friendship I felt towards them during the time I walked with them in this vale of tears and sorrowing." These things show that he was not seduced by the glare of the world, but took life in its true aspect, a passage of toil and tears.

66

'He

Next almost in intimacy we must place one who for some years was associated with Wilberforce, though he was a youth when the statesman had passed the meridian of life. He, indeed, soon disappeared, torn from his side by an early death"Ostendunt terris hunc tantum." He entered the circle of friends like a gleam of sunshine; and so bright was the light, that the luminary, in its brief transit, left a line of glory behind. For, indeed, John Bowdler had rare qualities. is really," writes Mr. Wilberforce, "take him altogether, one of the most extraordinary young men I ever knew," and "the tenderest, the humblest, and the most self-forgetting." Thus he appeared to the statesman when he first entered his circle. Thus he spoke of him when, in 1815, he had passed away;-a clear discernment, great powers of analysis, a vigorous memory, a correct taste, the balance of exact judgment, a vigorous expression of his thoughts; but the flashes of intellect were softened by the gentleness of his feelings, and by that self-forgetfulness which sought and loved retirement.

Let us retrace for a moment the records of this short but interesting career. We cannot look at Bowdler's portrait without decyphering his character. The dress of the day was stiff and unbecoming; but the dress is soon forgotten in the expression of the countenance. The eye pensive and full, the forehead large and high, reverence distinctly marked, decision in the compressed lips; the face youthful, but with little trace of thoughtlessness, settled early into the calmness which

succeeds, in a strong mind, the struggles and conflicts of thought; and which leaves behind, on the features, the marks of the struggle which is past. If we had heard nothing of him, we should be curious to ask his history; and here it is.

John Bowdler was born in London, in February, 1783. He was a thoughtful child from early years: fond of being alone; of sitting absorbed in day-dreams, forgetting external objects, lost in reverie. Yet fancy was not the only characteristic. He relished calculations; he followed eagerly abstract thoughts. He had the qualities which make leaders of men-ambition, a high spirit, an indomitable courage, a vehement but irritable temper.

His father was resident at Sevenoaks, and in the grammar school there the boy received the rudiments of education. Thence he went to Winchester, and derived advantage from the judicious teaching of its master. His profession was now to be fixed; and a lucrative branch of the law, that of proctor, was suggested to him. But this branch does not open to the woolsack; and to the woolsack his young ambition soared. He would have greatly liked to go to college, to acquire the classical knowledge for which he thirsted. But his father's circumstances forbade it; and he was articled to a London solicitor, to lodge and work in the heart of the city. In a position so unfavourable to accomplishments, and so fatal to romance, he yet, by indomitable energy, managed to master the classics, and he ploughed his way far into philosophy and letters.

The description of the manner in which his day was spent, accounts for his future illness. Writing to a friend in the summer of 1801, in his nineteenth year, he says," My eyes are nearly out, for it is past ten at night, and I have written this between sleeping and waking, having been at work almost unremittingly since half-past nine in the morning, which is my daily dose." (Remains, ii. 536, 537.) To show the labours which he undertook in addition to the routine of an office, he says,-"I have just begun to learn a law book by heart: it contains 30,000 lines, and I hope to get through it twice in six months; but it is most dry, and like learning so many proper names.' Yet, not content with this, he must master the classics. "For myself," he writes in the spring of 1802, "I go on much in my old routine, fagging hard at classics and harder at law. I have lately been attacking Trojani belli Scriptorem,' have nearly read through eight books, and have learnt A', which is a very long one, by heart. I have lately also read Juvenal, with some of Perseus, through, two or three times, and learnt about 1300 lines, which, though certainly nothing to be named as real labour, yet is fair enough for the lighter hours of a stupid illiterate quill-driver, bending over a desk in these regions of Cimmerian darkness." Thus,