[[155]]Besides the claims upon Queen Charlotte, the worthy preceptor had a bill against the Princess Charlotte for eight hundred pounds. On applying to the Prince of Wales for this money, he refused to pay it, and referred him to the king, who was then quite deranged! The Princess of Wales knew all these particulars, and told her daughter, the Princess Charlotte, the desperate state of the poor man's family. Her royal highness spoke to her uncle, the Duke of York, about it, who persuaded her that the venerable master was an old rogue, who had robbed the princesses and all the family, and her royal highness chose to believe him. That he was a scientific man, his books and valuable mathematical instruments bore ample testimony. These were sold after his death for eight thousand pounds, which went to discharge his debts.

Many other instances might be recorded to prove the unfeeling and barbarous behaviour of the queen; but this alone must be sufficient to convince our readers how totally unfit her majesty was to reign over a free people.

In the September of this year, Lord Castlereagh sent a challenge to Mr. Canning, which was accepted; but the effects of the duel were not very serious, though it subsequently led to the resignation of both. It is hardly worth while, perhaps, to recur to this now-forgotten, and always, as far as the public were concerned, insignificant business. Lord Castlereagh acted as a vain and high-spirited man, who fancied his confidence betrayed, his abilities called in question,

[[156]]and, like an Irishman, saw but a short vista between an offence and a duel. Mr. Canning, equally high-spirited, felt that he had got into a disagreeable business, and that the fairest escape from it would be to fight his way out. Lord Castlereagh's conduct, when we think of a sober and wise statesman, is ridiculous. Mr. Canning's, when we picture to ourselves a high-minded and frank-hearted gentleman, in spite of the plausibility of explanations, is displeasing.

The wretched policy of this year required fifty-four millions of money to support it.

1810

was ushered in under distressing and unsatisfactory circumstances. The royal family were divided amongst themselves, and every branch seemed to have a separate interest. Under these circumstances, it was not a matter of surprise that truth was now and then elicited; for it is a veritable saying, that "when rogues fall out, honest men are gainers."

The king was at this time labouring under a severe attack of mental aberration: the situation of the country, his children, and his own peculiar sorrows, made impressions on his mind of the most grievous description.

In a former work of our's, called "The Authentic Records of the Court of England," we gave an account of the extraordinary and mysterious murder of one Sellis, a servant of the Duke of Cumberland, which occurred this year. In that account, we did

[[157]]what we conceived to be our duty as historians,—we spoke the TRUTH! The truth, however, it appears, is not always to be spoken; for his royal highness instantly commenced a persecution against us for a "malicious libel." We say persecution, because almost every person is aware, that filing a criminal information against an individual can be done only with a view of preventing the exposure of truth, which, though such procedure be according to English law, cannot be reconciled with the original intention of law, namely—to do justice both to the libelled and the libeller! In America, no such monstrosities disgrace the statute-book; for there, if any person be accused of scandalum magnatum, and can prove the truth of what he has stated, he is honorably acquitted. Yet as we are not in America, but in England,—the boasted land of liberty,—we must, forsooth, be seized as criminals, merely because we wish to institute an inquiry into the circumstances of the murder of an individual, whose assassin, or assassins, have hitherto escaped the slippery hands of justice! We are no cowards in regimentals, nor did we make our statement with a view of slandering the royal pensioner. We would have willingly contended with his royal highness in a court of law, if he had had the courage to have met us on fair grounds. At the time we write this, we know not what the judgment of Lord Tenterden,—we beg his lordship's pardon, we should have said the court,—may be; but, whatever the punishment awarded, we hope to meet it with that fortitude which never fails to uphold a