In regard to the first charge, it is unfortunately too true; he lived beyond his means, and was in debt most of his life.  This defect, as has been said, was the root of much evil; it destroyed his independence, detracted from the dignity of his character, created enemies, and led to a laxity of the moral sense which prepared the way for corruption,—­thereby furnishing another illustration of that fatal weakness which degrades any man when he runs races with the rich, and indulges in a luxury and ostentation which he cannot afford.  It was the curse of Cicero, of William Pitt, and of Daniel Webster.  The first lesson which every public man should learn, especially if honored with important trusts, is to live within his income.  However inconvenient and galling, a stringent economy is necessary.  But this defect is a very common one, particularly when men are luxurious, or brought into intercourse with the rich, or inclined to be hospitable and generous, or have a great imagination and a sanguine temperament.  So that those who are most liable to fall into this folly have many noble qualities to offset it, and it is not a stain which marks the “meanest of mankind.”  Who would call Webster the meanest of mankind because he had an absurd desire to live like an English country gentleman?

In regard to sycophancy,—­a disgusting trait, I admit,—­we should consider the age, when everybody cringed to sovereigns and their favorites.  Bacon never made such an abject speech as Omer Talon, the greatest lawyer in France, did to Louis XIII, in the Parliament of Paris.  Three hundred years ago everybody bowed down to exalted rank:  witness the obsequious language which all authors addressed to patrons in the dedication of their books.  How small the chance of any man rising in the world, who did not court favors from those who had favors to bestow!  Is that the meanest or the most uncommon thing in this world?  If so, how ignominious are all politicians who flatter the people and solicit their votes?  Is it not natural to be obsequious to those who have offices to bestow?  This trait is not commendable, but is it the meanest thing we see?

In regard to Essex, nobody can approve of the ingratitude which Bacon showed to his noble patron.  But, on the other hand, remember the good advice which Bacon ever gave him, and his constant efforts to keep him out of scrapes.  How often did he excuse him to his royal mistress, at the risk of incurring her displeasure?  And when Essex was guilty of a thousand times worse crime than ever Bacon committed,—­even high-treason, in a time of tumult and insurrection,—­and it became Bacon’s task as prosecuting officer of the Crown to bring this great culprit to justice, was he required by a former friendship to sacrifice his duty and his allegiance to his sovereign, to screen a man who had perverted the affection of the noblest woman who ever wore a crown, and came near involving his country in a civil war?  Grant that Essex had