Yet his second great stroke may excite wonder, even in those who appreciate all the merit of the first.  Lest his admirers should be able to say that at the time of the Revolution he had betrayed his King from any other than selfish motives, he proceeded to betray his country.  He sent intelligence to the French Court of a secret expedition intended to attack Brest.  The consequence was that the expedition failed, and that eight hundred British soldiers lost their lives from the abandoned villainy of a British general.  Yet this man has been canonized by so many eminent writers that to speak of him as he deserves may seem scarcely decent.

The reign of William the Third, as Mr. Hallam happily says, was the Nadir of the national prosperity.  It was also the Nadir of the national character.  It was the time when the rank harvest of vices sown during thirty years of licentiousness and confusion was gathered in; but it was also the seed-time of great virtues.

The press was emancipated from the censorship soon after the Revolution; and the Government immediately fell under the censorship of the press.  Statesmen had a scrutiny to endure which was every day becoming more and more severe.  The extreme violence of opinions abated.  The Whigs learned moderation in office; the Tories learned the principles of liberty in opposition.  The parties almost constantly approximated, often met, sometimes, crossed each other.  There were occasional bursts of violence; but, from the time of the Revolution, those bursts were constantly becoming less and less terrible.  The severity with which the Tories, at the close of the reign of Anne, treated some of those who had directed the public affairs during the war of the Grand Alliance, and the retaliatory measures of the Whigs, after the accession of the House of Hanover, cannot be justified; but they were by no means in the style of the infuriated parties, whose alternate murders had disgraced our history towards the close of the reign of Charles the Second.  At the fall of Walpole far greater moderation was displayed.  And from that time it has been the practice, a practice not strictly according to the theory of our Constitution, but still most salutary, to consider the loss of office, and the public disapprobation, as punishments sufficient for errors in the administration not imputable to personal corruption.  Nothing, we believe, has contributed more than this lenity to raise the character of public men.  Ambition is of itself a game sufficiently hazardous and sufficiently deep to inflame the passions without adding property, life, and liberty to the stake.  Where the play runs so desperately high as in the seventeenth century, honour is at an end.  Statesmen instead of being, as they should be, at once mild and steady, are at once ferocious and inconsistent.  The axe is for ever before their eyes.  A popular outcry sometimes unnerves them, and sometimes makes them desperate; it drives them to unworthy compliances,