endearing. He was neither knave nor fool. He was not a voluptuary, like
his friend the duke; nor a continued drunkard, like many other 'fine
gentlemen' with whom he mixed; nor a cheat, though a gambler; nor a
sceptic, like his friend Walpole; nor a blasphemer, like the Medmenham
set, though he had once parodied profanely a sacred rite; nor was he
steeped in debt, as Fox was; nor does he appear to have been a practised
seducer, as too many of his acquaintance were. Not that these negative
qualities are to his praise; but if we look at the age and the society
around him, we must, at least, admit that Selwyn was not one of the
worst of that wicked set.

But the most pleasing point in the character of the old bachelor--for he
was _too much_ of a wit ever to marry--is his affection for
children--not his own. That is, not avowedly his own, for it was often
suspected that the little ones he took up so fondly bore some
relationship to him, and there can be little doubt that Selwyn, like
everybody else in that evil age, had his intrigues. He did not die in
his sins, and that is almost all we can say for him. He gave up gaming
in time, protesting that it was the bane of four much better
things--health, money, time, and thinking. For the last two, perhaps, he
cared little. Before his death he is said to have been a Christian,
which was a decided rarity in the fashionable set of his day. Walpole
answered, when asked if he was a Freemason, that he never had been
_anything_, and probably most of the men of the time would, if they had
had the honesty, have said the same. They were not atheists professedly,
but they neither believed in nor practised Christianity.

His love for children has been called one of his eccentricities. It
would be a hard name to give it if he had not been a club-lounger of his
day. I have sufficient faith in human nature to trust that two-thirds of