n; this lord offered himself to the
service, and went in a little boat, through all the shot, and
delivered his message, and returned back to Sir Edward, which was much
commended by all that saw it.' These are the early instances of
courage, which can be produced in favour of lord Rochester, which was
afterwards impeached, and very justly, for in many private broils, he
discovered a timid pusillanimous spirit, very unsuitable to those
noble instances of the contrary, which have just been mentioned.

The author of his life prefixed to his works, which goes under the
name of M. St. Evremond, addressed to the Duchess of Mazarine, but
which M. Maizeau asserts not to be his, accounts for it, upon the
general observation of that disparity between a man and himself, upon
different occasions. Let it suffice, says he, 'to observe, that we
differ not from one another, more than we do from ourselves at
different times.' But we imagine another, and a stronger reason may be
given, for the cowardice which Rochester afterwards discovered in
private broils, particularly in the affair between him and the earl of
Mulgrave, in which he behaved very meanly[1]. The courage which lord
Rochester shewed in a naval engagement, was in the early part of his
life, before he had been immersed in those labyrinths of excess and
luxury, into which he afterwards sunk. It is certainly a true
observation, that guilt makes cowards; a man who is continually
subjected to the reproaches of conscience, who is afraid to examine
his heart, lest it should appear too horrible, cannot have much
courage: for while he is conscious of so many errors to be repented
of, of so many vices he has committed, he naturally starts at danger,
and flies from it as his greatest enemy. It is true, courage is
sometimes constitutional, and there have been instances of men, guilty
of every enormity, who have discovered a large share of it, but these
have been wretches who have overcome all sense of honour, been lost to
every consideration of virtue, and whose courage is like that of the
lion of the desart, a kind of ferocious impulse unconnected with
reason. Lord Rochester had certainly never overcome the reproaches of
his conscience, whose alarming voice at last struck terror into his
heart, and chilled the fire of the spirits.

Since his travels, and naval expeditions, he seemed to have contracted
a habit of temperance, in which had he been so happy as to persevere,
he must have