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Yet his conduct
on the whole could not be defended.
His next poem was "The Ghost," which he published in parts, and continued
at intervals. It was a kind of rhymed diary or waste-book, in which he
deposited his every-day thoughts and feelings, without any order or
plan,--reminding us of "Tristram Shandy" or of "Don Juan," although not
so whimsically delightful as the former, nor so brilliant and poignant as
the latter.
But now, in 1762, the Poet was to degrade or to sublimate into the
Politician, at the bidding of that gay magician, Jack Wilkes. That this
man was much better than a clever and pre-eminently lucky scoundrel, is
now denied by few. He had, indeed, immense _pluck_ and convivial
pleasantry, with considerable learning and talent. But he had no
principle, no character, little power of writing, and did not even
possess a particle of that mob eloquence which seduces multitudes. His
depravities and vices were far too gross even for that gross age. In the
very height of his reputation for patriotism, he was intriguing with the
ministry for a place for himself.


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