422 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. ' 



memory any of the events of iny past life. I was no longer the 

 same man. I undertook a diplomatic charge. I was but partially 

 successful. I was dissatisfied with myself, and I resolved, if I failed 

 in my next endeavours, I should retire at once from every public 

 office and lead a quiet and retired life. I therefore made a great 

 eifort. I was entrusted with a secret mission, and returned 

 triumphant. I had obtained complete success. This again elated me, 

 and I took fresh courage. Every thing went on smoothly. I be- 

 came now more interested in the line of life I had chosen. I was 

 again the favourite of fortune. I succeeded in every thing I under- 

 took, when suddenly a change of ministry brought with it a com- 

 plete change of affairs. I tried to battle against the consequences of 

 such a change, and I applied myself soul and body to gain my 

 point. I kept my position to the very last moment, but I could not 

 fight against thousands, I was discarded and dismissed with foul 

 reproaches and disgraceful taunts. I was now completely broken. I 

 never recovered from that last stroke. I believe I never shall. I am 

 now leading a most retired life. I have quite given up every thought 

 of exerting myself in any way. Reminiscences alone constitute my 

 present enjoyment and distress. I live in memory only. I have 

 taken a long, a last farewell of this world ! May I prepare myself for 

 leaving it entirely. 



FREDERICK LYTTON. 



The foregoing pages, collected from the papers of the late Sir 

 Frederick Lytton, are offered to the public by his confidential 

 Secretary, 



March, 1836. O. O. 



A SONNET. 



Alone and sad, at midnight's shadowy hour, 



I sit me down to meditate and mourn 

 The phantom — past in all its faded power : 



The few bright sunlights, and fond wishes torn 

 From out my weakened grasp — nor fruit, nor flower 



To gladden, or to cheer my heart forlorn. 

 Dim spectres of the Past ! Ye bring no ray 



To light my trembling steps — already weak 

 From care and weariness. Ye cannot stay 



To ease a troubled heart, that fain would break. 

 God of the just ! thou know'st the heart. 



Its pangs, its conflicts, and its woes — 

 Guide Thou ray path-way — and impart 

 A holy trust in Thee— nor let me start 



When Thou shall hush its 'plainings in repose. 



