ce; but there can be no doubt that Paoli was a
brave man, and an able commander. He gave the French several severe
defeats, but the contest was soon too unequal, and Paoli withdrew to
this country; which was so soon after to be a shelter to the
aristocracy of the country which had stained his mountains with blood.

By a singular fate, on his return to France in an early period of the
Revolution, he was received with a sort of national triumph, and
actually appointed lieutenant-general of Corsica by the nation which
had driven him into exile. In the war which followed, Paoli, disgusted
by the tyranny of French republicanism, and alarmed by the violence of
the native factions, proposed to put his country under the protection
of the English government. A naval and military force was sent to
Corsica, and the island was annexed to the British crown. But the
possession was not maintained with rational vigour. The feeble
armament was found unequal to resist the popular passion for
republicanism. And, from this expenditure of troops, and probably
still more from the discovery that the island would be wholly useless,
the force was altogether withdrawn. Paoli returned to England, where
he died, having attained the advanced age of eighty. His red hair and
sandy complexion are probably fatal to his character as an Italian
chieftain. But if his locks were not black, his heart was bold; and if
his lip wanted mustaches, his mind wanted neither sagacity nor
determination.

Walpole was born for a cynic philosopher. He treats men of all ranks
with equal scorn. From Wilkes to George III., he brands them all.
Ministers meet no mercy at his hands. He ranges them, as the Sultan
used to range heads on the spikes of the seraglio, for marks for his
arrows. His history is a species of moveable panorama; the scene
constantly shifting, and every scene a burlesque of the one that went
before; or perhaps the more faithful similitude would be found in a
volume of HB.'s ingenious caricatures, where all the likenesses are
preserved, though perverted, and all the dexterity of an accomplished
pencil is employed only in making its subjects ridiculous. He thus
tells us:--"The Duke of Grafton was the fourth prime minister in seven
years, who fell by his own fault. Lord Bute was seized with a panic,
and ran away from his own victory. Grenville was undone by his
insolence, by joining in the insult on the princess, and by his
persecution of Lord Bute and Mac