to be offended, the readiness to forgive, the disinterestedness, the christian heroism, which were offensive to lesser men, from the high example which they presented, and which could not, without inconvenience to more selfish minds, be imitated. Qualified thus to obtain respect, and having long exercised a considerable control over the Queen’s spiritual concerns, Dr. Burnet now undertook, in the crisis of her affairs, to remonstrate with his obstinate, and as he considered, misled sovereign. Perhaps, if certain anecdotes be true, there could not be a person less qualified in manner, although admirably in intention, for so delicate a task. The Bishop had an awkward habit of remembering any circumstance disgraceful to an individual, and a still more awkward practice of letting those facts escape, in conversation, just at the moment when all the proprieties of life required that they should be concealed. When Prince Eugene, some time after this period, visited England, Dr. Burnet, anxious to see so remarkable a person, requested the Duke of Marlborough to accomplish a meeting between him and the Prince in society. The Duke consented, on condition that the Bishop would be careful to let nothing drop from him which might offend the feelings of his illustrious guest; and Dr. Burnet was invited to dine, in company with the Prince, at Marlborough-house. It was not beyond the remembrance of most of the party assembled, and certainly still in that of the Bishop, that Prince Eugene’s mother, the famous Countess of Soissons, had been imprisoned, about thirty years previously, with several other ladies of Paris, on suspicion of poisoning.[169] The Bishop had assuredly no intention of reminding Prince Eugene of this circumstance, and indeed, conscious of his infirmity, he resolved to sit incognito during dinner, and to listen, not to converse. Unluckily for the rest of the party, however, the brave Eugene, seeing a prelate at table, inquired of the Duke of Marlborough who it was, and being told it was Bishop Burnet, addressed himself to him, and inquired, by way of conversation, when he had last been in Paris. The Bishop answered with precipitation, “that he did not exactly remember the year, but it was at the time that the Countess of Soissons was imprisoned.” As he spoke, his eye met that of the Duke of Marlborough, himself the quintessence of caution and courtesy; the poor Bishop was overpowered, and, by way of making the offence ten times greater, hastily asked pardon of his highness for his error. The worthy Bishop’s asking after “that wicked wretch, the Countess of Wigton,” of her son, the Earl of Balcarres, and his avoiding Lord Mar because he did not like him, and knew that he could not avoid “babbling out something which would give him offence,” proved his involuntary propensity of speaking his thoughts, and his consciousness of that inconvenient propensity.