n consequence of
a similar connection, he 'settled down,' retrieved his early errors, and
became a better man, morally, than he had ever been. Hook _ought_ to
have married. It was the cowardly dread of public opinion that deterred
him from doing so, and, in consequence, he was never happy, and felt
that this connection was a perpetual burden to him.

Wrecked and ruined, Hook had no resource but his literary talents, and
it is to be deplored that he should have prostituted these to serve an
ungentlemanly and dishonourable party in their onslaught upon an
unfortunate woman. Whatever may be now thought of the queen of 'the
greatest gentleman'--or _roue_--of Europe, those who hunted her down
will never be pardoned, and Hook was one of those. We have cried out
against an Austrian general for condemning a Hungarian lady to the lash,
and we have seen, with delight, a mob chase him through the streets of
London and threaten his very life. But we have not only pardoned, but
even praised, our favourite wit for far worse conduct than this. Even if
we allow, which we do not, chat the queen was one half as bad as her
enemies, or rather her husband's parasites, would make her out, we
cannot forgive the men who, shielded by their incognito, and perfectly
free from danger of any kind, set upon a woman with libels, invectives,
ballads, epigrams, and lampoons, which a lady could scarcely read, and
of which a royal lady, and many an English gentlewoman, too, were the
butts.

The vilest of all the vile papers of that day was the 'John Bull,' now
settled down to a quiet periodical. Perhaps the real John Bull, heavy,
good-natured lumberer as he is, was never worse represented than in this
journal which bore his name, but had little of his kindly spirit. Hook
was its originator, and for a long time its main supporter. Scurrility,
scandal, libel, baseness of all kinds formed the fuel with which it
blazed, and the wit, bitter, unflinching, unsparing, which puffed the
flame up, was its chief recommendation.

No more disgraceful climax was ever reached by a disgraceful dynasty of
profligates than that which found a King of England--long, as Regent,
the leader of the profligate and degraded--at war with his injured
Queen. None have deserved better the honest gratitude of their country
than those who, like Henry Brougham, defended the oppressed woman in
spite of opposition, obloquy, and ridicule.

But we need not go deeply into a history so fre