Amongst those was the
picture of Lord Keppel. It was painted by an artist worthy of the
subject, the excellent friend of that excellent man from their earliest
youth, and a common friend of us both, with whom we lived for many years
without a moment of coldness, of peevishness, of jealousy, or of jar, to
the day of our final separation.
I ever looked on Lord Keppel as one of the greatest and best men of his
age, and I loved and cultivated him accordingly. He was much in my
heart, and I believe I was in his to the very last beat. It was after
his trial at Portsmouth that he gave me this picture. With what zeal and
anxious affection I attended him through that his agony of glory,--what
part my son, in the early flush and enthusiasm of his virtue, and the
pious passion with which he attached himself to all my
connections,--with what prodigality we both squandered ourselves in
courting almost every sort of enmity for his sake, I believe he felt,
just as I should have felt such friendship on such an occasion. I
partook, indeed, of this honor with several of the first and best and
ablest in the kingdom, but I was behindhand with none of them; and I am
sure, that, if, to the eternal disgrace of this nation, and to the total
annihilation of every trace of honor and virtue in it, things had taken
a different turn from what they did. I should have attended him to the
quarter-deck with no less good-will and more pride, though with far
other feelings, than I partook of the general flow of national joy that
attended the justice that was done to his virtue.
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