Autobiographies.

The philosopher, diplomatist, and knight-errant whose name stands at the head of this page is one of the most curious, as well as one of the most splendid, figures which cross our path in those days of gorgeous and animated national life which precede the great turning-point of English history. He lived through the greater part of the struggle between Charles I. and the Parliament, but neither his life nor his genius was of that sombre and momentous period. He belongs to the undivided England, and the picturesque and overflowing existence of the previous age, when chivalry was still a living principle, and the old and the new had not yet come to any general battle hand to hand; before theology had begun to flourish as a national pursuit, but while learning was in fashion – while princesses translated Latin and read Greek for their amusement, and a manuscript treatise on philosophy was a possible portion of the baggage of a brilliant young knight. He was born under Elizabeth, and received a gracious reception from that great sovereign, who paused to notice his gallant training and youthful good-looks ² in the gloomy conclusion of her life; and served under James, to whom he was welcome at once for these external qualities (always a ready passport to the favour of the beauty – loving Stewarts), and for his intellectual gifts. He is said to be the first Englishman who left a record of his own life for the instruction of his descendants; and as such, has an especially interesting place among the autobiographers of the world. His history, however, is not detailed and complete like the last which we submitted to the reader, ³ but concerns only the earlier portion of his existence, though it was written in his declining age. His youthful training and studies, and the exploits of his early manhood, are all that he has set down for us; and, indeed, it was not for us distant and obscure spectators in an age so different, but for his own posterity, – the knightly descendants who should pursue a like course after him, inherit his estates, rule his dependants, and, like him, go out gloriously upon the world, ‘riding the Great Horse,’ and surrounded by the glitter of chivalrous accoutrements, banners flying and trumpets sounding, – that my Lord of Cherbury put his adventures on record. The tone of fatherly instruction with which he sets his example before his descendants, and the fine consciousness that only knights, and gentlemen born to high employments and the great world, are likely to be his audience, gives a stately grace to his narrative. He is too complete a knight to be discourteous even to the humblest, but they are not within his sphere of vision. The world to which he addresses himself is clothed in velvet and gold, and has possession by nature of all the privileges of existence. His record turns instinctively into a code of instruction for those who shall have the governance of great estates and the weight of family honours, not to speak of ambassadorships and the favour of princes, after him. There are few things more captivating to the imagination than this natural atmosphere of rank and social elevation. When men begin to ask themselves the reason of those differences which classify humanity, a bitterness and sense of wrong creep in to poison even the pleasures of the imagination; but to the ingenuous and unpolitical reader there is always a charm in that fine air of conscious greatness, in the picturesque calm and involuntary superiority of those who, having given themselves only the trouble to be born in order to be great, wear their greatness, for that very reason, with a far more attractive simplicity and grace than those who have acquired it by real merit. This is one of the paradoxes which abound on the very surface of life; but there is some reason in our preference, as a matter of art, for the superiority which is arbitrary and not the result of any struggle. Rank saves at least as many heart-burnings as it creates.