ts of his life, but
also for the adverse prejudices with which he was regarded by almost all
the contemporary writers, from whom his actions and character are
described. The Tories, of course, are unfavourable to him; and even
among the Whigs, there seems, in many, a strong inclination to disparage
him; some to excuse themselves for not having joined him, others to make
a display of their exclusive attachment to their more successful leader,
King William. Burnet says of Monmouth, that he was gentle, brave, and
sincere: to these praises, from the united testimony of all who knew him,
we may add that of generosity; and surely those qualities go a great way
in making up the catalogue of all that is amiable and estimable in human
nature. One of the most conspicuous features in his character seems to
have been a remarkable, and, as some think, a culpable degree of
flexibility. That such a disposition is preferable to its opposite
extreme, will be admitted by all who think that modesty, even in excess,
is more nearly allied to wisdom than conceit and self-sufficiency. He
who has attentively considered the political, or, indeed, the general
concerns of life, may possibly go still further, and rank a willingness
to be convinced, or in some cases even without conviction, to concede our
own opinion to that of other men, among the principal ingredients in the
composition of practical wisdom. Monmouth had suffered this flexibility,
so laudable in many cases, to degenerate into a habit which made him
often follow the advice, or yield to the entreaties, of persons whose
characters by no means entitled them to such deference. The sagacity of
Shaftesbury, the honour of Russell, the genius of Sydney, might, in the
opinion of a modest man, be safe and eligible guides. The partiality of
friendship, and the conviction of his firm attachment, might be some
excuse for his listening so much to Grey; but he never could, at any
period of his life, have mistaken Ferguson for an honest man. There is
reason to believe that the advice of the two last-mentioned persons had
great weight in persuading him to the unjustifiable step of declaring
himself king. But far the most guilty act of this unfortunate man's life
was his lending his name to the declaration which was published at Lyme,
and in this instance Ferguson, who penned the paper, was both the adviser
and the instrument. To accuse the king of having burnt London, murdered
Essex in the