‘She had a dangerous ambition,’ continues the same author, ‘for it was attended with courage, and, if she had lived much longer, might have proved fatal either to herself or the constitution.’ It is courage like Caroline’s which plucks peril from ambition, but does not indeed make the latter less dangerous to the people; which is, perhaps, what Chesterfield means. With respect to the Queen’s religion, he says: ‘After puzzling herself in all the whimsies and fantastical speculations of different sects, she fixed herself ultimately in Deism, believing in a future state.’ In this he merely repeats a story, which, probably, originated with those whose views on church questions were of a ‘higher’ tendency than those of her Majesty. And after repeating others, he contradicts himself; for he has no sooner stated that the Queen was not an agreeable woman, because she aimed at being a great one, than he adds, ‘Upon the whole, the _agreeable woman_ was liked by most people--but the _Queen_ was neither esteemed, beloved, nor trusted by anybody but the King.’ At least, she was not despised by everybody; and _that_, considering the times in which she lived, and the discordant parties over whom she really reigned, is no slight commendation. It is a praise which cannot be awarded to the King. Let us add, that not only has Chesterfield said of Caroline that she settled down to Deism, ‘believing in a future state,’ but he has said the same, and in precisely the same terms, of Pope and--upon Pope’s authority--of Atterbury, Bishop of Rochester. Here is at least a double and, perhaps, as we should hope, a triple error. The popular standard of morality was deplorably low throughout the reigns of the first two Georges. Marlborough was ridiculed for the unwavering fidelity and affection which he manifested towards his wife. There were few husbands like him, at the time, in either respect. He was satirised for being superior to almost irresistible temptations; he was laughed at for having prayers in his camp--for turning reverently to God before he turned fiercely against his foes; the epigrammatists were particularly severe against him because he was honest enough to pay his debts and live within his income. But ‘his meanness?’ Well, his meanness might rather be called prudence; and if his censurers had nourished in themselves something of the same quality, it would have been the better for themselves and their contemporaries, and, indeed, none the worse for their descendants. One of the alleged instances of Marlborough’s meanness is cited, in his having once played at whist with Dean Jones, at which he left off the winner of sixpence. The dean delayed to pay the stake, and the duke asked for it, stating that he wanted the sixpence for a chair to go home in. It seems to me that the meanness rested with the rich dean in not paying, and not with the millionaire duke in requiring to be paid.