The Letters of Horace Walpole, Volume 2 (page 8)

(518) Afterwards Lord Dacre.

(519) Thomas ninth Lord Dacre. Going, with other young persons, one night from Herst Monceaux to steal a deer out of his neighbour, Sir Nicholas Pelham’s park (a frolic not unusual in those days), a fray ensued, and one of the park-keepers received a blow that caused his death; and although Lord Dacre was not present on the spot, but in a distant part of the park, he was nevertheless tried, convicted, and executed, in 1541. His honours became forfeited, but were restored to his son in 1562.-E.

(520) Dr. Charles Lyttelton, brother of Lord Lyttelton. He was first a barrister-at-law, but in 1712 entered into holy orders, and in 1762 was consecrated Bishop of Carlisle. He died in 1768, unmarried.-E.

(521) Mr. Muntz, a Swiss painter.

(522) Mr. Smith, the English consul at Venice, had engaged Canaletti for a certain number of years to paint exclusively for him, at a fixed price, and sold his pictures at an advanced price to English travellers.

(523) See ant`e 93, letter 35.-E.

224 Letter 114
To Richard Bentley, Esq.
Arlington Street, November 11, 1754.

If you was dead, to be sure you would have got somebody to tell me so. If you was alive, to be sure in all this time you would have told me so yourself. It is a month to-day since I received a line from you. There was a Florentine ambassador here in Oliver’s reign, who with great circumspection wrote to his court, “Some say the Protector is dead, others say he is not: for my part, I believe neither one nor t’other.” I quote this sage personage, to show you that I have a good precedent, in case I had a mind to continue neutral upon the point of your existence. I can’t resolve to believe you dead, lest I should be forced to write to Mr. S. again to bemoan you; and on the other hand, it is convenient to me to believe you living, because I have just received the enclosed from your sister, and the money from Ely. However, if you are actually dead, be so good as to order your executor to receive the money, and to answer your sister’s letter. If you are not dead, I can tell you who is, and at the same time whose death is to remain as doubtful as yours till to-morrow morning Don’t be alarmed! it is only the Queen-dowager of Prussia. As excessive as the concern for her is at court, the whole royal family, out of great consideration for the mercers, lacemen, etc. agreed not to shed a tear for her till tomorrow morning, when the birthday will be over; but they are all to rise by six o’clock to-morrow morning to cry quarts. This is the sum of all the news that I learnt to-day on coming from Strawberry Hill, except that Lady Betty Waldegrave was robbed t’other night In Hyde Park, under the very noses of the lamps and the patrol. If any body is robbed at the ball at court to-night, you shall hear in my next despatch. I told you in my last that I had just got two new volumes of Madame S`evign`e’s Letters; but I have been cruelly disappointed; they are two hundred letters which had been omitted in the former editions, as having little or nothing worth reading. How provoking, that they would at last let one see that she could write so many letters that were not worth reading! I will tell you the truth: as they are certainly hers, I am glad to see them, but I cannot bear that any body else should. Is not that true sentiment? How would you like to see a letter of hers, describing a wild young Irish lord, a Lord P * * * *, who has lately made one of our ingenious wagers, to ride I don’t know how many thousand miles in an hour, from Paris to Fontainebleau? But admire the politesse of that nation: instead of endeavouring to lame his horse, or to break his neck, that he might lose the wager, his antagonist and the spectators showed all the attention in the world to keep the road clear, and to remove even pebbles out of his way. They heaped coals of fire upon his head with all the good breeding of the Gospel. Adieu! If my letters are short, at least my notes are long.

225 Letter 115
To George Montagu, Esq.
Arlington Street, Nov. 16, 1754.

You are over-good to me, my dear Sir, in giving yourself the trouble of telling me you was content with Strawberry Hill. I will not, however, tell you, that I am Content with your being there, till you have seen it in all its greenth and blueth. Alas! I am sorry I cannot insist upon as much with the Colonel.

Mr. Chute, I believe, was so pleased with the tenebra in his own chapel, that he has fairly buried himself in it. I have not even had so much as a burial card from him since.

The town is as full as I believe you thought the room was at your ball at Waldershare. I hear of nothing but the parts and merit of Lord North. Nothing has happened yet, but sure so many English people cannot be assembled long without committing something extraordinary.

I have seen and conversed with our old friend Cope; I find him grown very old; I fear he finds me so too; at least as old as I ever intend to be. I find him very grave too, which I believe he does not find me.

Solomon and Hesther, as my Lady Townshend calls Mr. Pitt and Lady Hester Grenville, espouse one another to-day.(524) I know nothing more but a new fashion which my Lady Hervey has brought from Paris. It is a tin funnel covered with green ribbon, and holds water, which the ladies wear to keep their bouquets fresh. I fear Lady Caroline and some others will catch frequent colds and sore throats with overturning this reservoir.

Apropos, there is a match certainly in agitation, which has very little of either Solomon or Hesther in it. You will be sorry when I tell you, that Lord Waldegrave certainly dis-Solomons himself with the Drax. Adieu! my dear Sir; I congratulate Miss Montagu on her good health, and am ever yours.

(524) On the ]6th of November, Mr. Pitt married Lady Hester Grenville, only daughter of Richard Grenville, of Wotton, Esq., and of Hester, Countess Temple.-E.

226 Letter 116
To Richard Bentley, Esq.
Arlington Street, Nov. 20, 1754.

IF this does not turn out a scolding letter I am much mistaken. I shall give way to it with the less scruple, as I think it shall be the last of the kind; not that you will mend, but I cannot support a commerce of visions! and therefore, whenever you send me mighty cheap schemes for finding out longitudes and philosophers’ stones, you will excuse me if I only smile, and don’t order them to be examined by my council. For Heaven’s sake, don’t be a projector! Is not it provoking, that, with the best parts in the world, you should have so gentle a portion of common sense?(525) But I am clear, that you never will know the two things in the world that import you the most to know, yourself and me. Thus much by way of preface: now for the detail.

You tell me in your letter of November 3d, that the (quarry of granite might be rented at twenty pounds or twenty shillings, I don’t know which, no matter, per annum. When I can’t get a table out of it, is it very likely you or I should get a fortune out of it? What signifies the cheapness of the rent? The cutting and shippage would be articles of some little consequence! Who should be supervisor? You, who are so good a manager, so attentive, so diligent, so expeditious, and so accurate? Don’t you think our quarry would turn to account? Another article, to which I might apply the same questions, is the project for importation of French wine: it is odd that a scheme so cheap and so practicable should hitherto have been totally overlooked. One would think the breed of smugglers was lost, like the true spaniels, or genuine golden pippins! My dear Sir, you know I never drink three glasses of my wine-can you think I care whether, they are sour or sweet, cheap or dear?–or do you think that I, who am always taking trouble to reduce my trouble into as compact a volume as I can, would tap such an article as importing my own wine? But now comes your last proposal about the Gothic paper. When you made me fix up mine, unpainted, engaging to paint it yourself, and yet could never be persuaded to paint a yard of it, till I was forced to give Bromwich’s man God knows what to do it. would you make me believe that you will paint a room eighteen by fifteen? But, seriously, if it is possible for you to lay aside visions, don’t be throwing continual discouragements in my way. I have told you seriously and emphatically that I am labouring your restoration: the scheme is neither facile nor immediate:-but, for God’s sake! act like a reasonable man. You have a family to whom you owe serious attention. Don’t let me think, that if you return, you will set out upon every wildgoose chase, sticking to nothing, and neglecting chiefly the talents and genius which you have in such excellence, to start projects which you have too much honesty and too little application ever to thrive by. This advice is, perhaps, worded harshly: but you know the heart from which it proceeds, and you know that, with all my prejudice to it, I can’t even pardon your wit, when it is employed to dress up schemes that I think romantic. The glasses and Ray’s Proverbs you shall have, and some more gold fish, when I have leisure to go to Strawberry; for you know I don’t suffer any fisheries to be carried on there in my absence.

I am as newsless as in the dead of summer: the Parliament produces nothing but elections: there has already been one division- on the Oxfordshire of two hundred and sixty-seven Whigs to ninety-seven Tories: you may calculate the burial of that election easily from these numbers.(526) The Queen of Prussia is not dead, as I told you in my last. If you have shed many tears for her, you may set them off to the account of our son-in-law, the Prince of Hesse, who is turned Roman Catholic. One is in this age so unused to conversions above the rank of a housemaid turned Methodist, that it occasions as much surprise as if one had heard that he had been initiated in the Eleusinian mysteries. Are not you prodigiously alarmed for the Protestant interest in Germany?

We have operas, burlettas, cargoes of Italian dancers, and none good but the Mingotti, a very fine figure and actress. I don’t know a single bon-mot that is new: George Selwyn has not waked yet for the winter. You will believe that, when I tell you, that t’other night having lost eight hundred pounds at hazard, he fell asleep upon the table with near half as much more before him, and slept for three hours, with every body stamping the box close at his ear. He will say prodigiously good things when he does wake. In the mean time, can you be content with one of Madame S`evign`e’s best bons-mots, which I have found amongst her new letters? Do you remember her German friend the Princess of Tarente, who was always in mourning for some sovereign prince or princess? One day Madame de S`evign`e happening to meet her in colours, made her a low curtsey, and said, “Madame, je me r`ejouis de la sant`e de l’Europe.” I think I may apply another of her speeches which pleased me, to what I have said t@ you in the former part of my letter. Mademoiselle du Plessis had said something she disapproved: Madame S`evign`e said to her, “Mais que cela est sot; car je veux vous parler doucement.” Adieu!

(525) Cumberland, in his Memoirs, speaking of Mr. Bentley, says, “There was a certain eccentricity and want of worldly prudence in my uncle’s character, that involved him in distresses, and reduced him to situations uncongenial with his feelings, and unpropitious to the cultivation and encouragement of his talents.”-E.

(526) At the close of the Oxfordshire election the sheriff returned all the four candidates, who all of them petitioned. Two were chosen upon what was called the new interest, and were supported by the court; and two by the old interest. The expense and animosity which this dispute occasioned is incredible. Even murder was committed upon the place of elections The friends of the new interest were ultimately voted to be the sitting members by a majority of 233 against 103.-E.

228 Letter 117
To Sir Horace Mann.
Strawberry Hill, Dec. 1, 1754

You do me justice, my dear Sir,
when you impute the want of my letters to my want of news: as a proof, I take up my pen again on the first spring-tide of politics. However, as this is an age of abortions, and as I have often announced to you a pregnancy of events, which have soon after been stillborn, I beg you will not be disappointed if nothing comes of the present ferment. The offenders and the offended have too often shown their disposition to soothe, or to be soothed, by preferments, for one to build much on the duration or implacability of their aversions. In short, Mr. Pitt has broke with the Duke of Newcastle, on the want of power, and has alarmed the dozing House of Commons with some sentences, extremely in the style of his former Pittics. As Mr. Fox is not at all more in humour, the world expects every day to see these two commanders, first unite to overturn all their antagonists, and then worry One another. They have already mumbled poor Sir Thomas Robinson cruelly. The Chancellor of the exchequer(527) crouches under the storm, and seems very willing to pass eldest. The Attorney-General(528) seems cowed, and unwilling to support a war, of which the world gives him the honour.(529) Nugent alone, with an intrepidity worth his country, affects to stand up against the greatest orator, and against the best reasoner of the age. What will most surprise you is, that the Duke of Newcastle, who used to tremble at shadows, appears unterrified at Gorgons! If I should tell you in my next, that either of the Gorgons has kissed hands for secretary of state, only smile: snakes are as easily tamed as lapdogs.

I am glad you have got my Lord of Cork.(530) He is, I know, a very worthy man, and though not a bright man, nor a man of the world, much less a good author, yet it must be comfortable to you now and then to see something besides travelling children, booby governors, and abandoned women of quality. You say, you have made my Lord Cork give up my Lord Bolingbroke: it is comical to see how he is given up here, since the best of his writings, his metaphysical divinity, have been published. While he betrayed and abused every man who trusted him, or who had forgiven him, or to whom he was obliged, he was a hero, a patriot, and a philosopher; and the greatest genius of the age: the moment his Craftsmen against Moses and St. Paul, etc. were published, we have discovered that he was the worst man and the worst writer in the world. The grand jury have presented his works, and as long as there are any parsons, he will be ranked with Tindal and Toland–nay, I don’t know whether my father won’t become a rubric martyr, for having been persecuted by him. Mr. Fraigneau’s story of the late King’s design of removing my father and employing, Bolingbroke, is not new to me; but I can give you two reasons, and one very strong indeed, that convince me of its having no foundation, though it is much believed here. During the last year of the late King’s life, he took extremely to New Park, and loved to shoot there, and dined with my father and a private party, and a good deal of punch. The Duchess of Kendal, who hated Sir Robert, and favoured Bolingbroke, and was jealous for herself, grew uneasy at these parties, and used to put one or two of the Germans upon the King to prevent his drinking, (very odd preventives!)- -however, they obeyed orders so well, that one day the King flew into a great passion, and reprimanded them in his own language with extreme warmth; and when he went to Hanover, ordered my father to have the new lodge in the park finished against his return; which did not look much like an intention of breaking with the ranger of the Park. But what I am now going to tell you is conclusive: the Duchess obtained an interview for Bolingbroke in the King’s closet, which not succeeding, as lord Bolingbroke foresaw it might not at once, he left a memorial with the King, who, the very next time he saw Sir Robert, gave it to him.

You will expect that I should mention the progress of the West Indian war; but the Parliamentary campaign opening so warmly, has quite put the Ohio upon an obsolete foot. All I know is, that the Virginians have disbanded all their troops and say they will trust to England for their defence. The dissensions in Ireland increase. At least, here are various and ample fields for speeches, if we are to have new oppositions. You will believe that I have not great faith in the prospect, when I can come quietly hither for two or three days to place the books in my new library. Mr. Chute is with me, and returns you all your kind speeches with increase. Your two brothers, who dine at lord Radnor’s, have just been here, and found me writing to you: your brother Gal. would not stay a moment, but said, , Tell him I prefer his pleasure to my own.” I wish, my dear Sir, I could give you much more, that is, could tell you more; but unless our civil wars continue, I shall know nothing but of contested elections: a first session of a Parliament is the most laborious scene of dulness that I know. Adieu!

(527) Mr. Legge.

(528) Mr. Murray; he was preferred to be attorney-general this year, in the room of Sir Dudley Ryder, who was made lord chief justice, on the death of Sir William Lee.

(529) “At this time,” says Lord Waldegrave, “Fox had joined Pitt in a kind of parliamentary opposition. They were both in office,–the one paymaster, the other secretary at war,-and therefore could not decently obstruct the public business; but still they might attack persons, though not things. Pitt undertook the difficult task of silencing Murray, the attorney-general, the ablest man, as well as the ablest debater, in the House of Commons; whilst Fox entertained himself with the less dangerous amusement of exposing Sir Thomas Robinson, or rather assisted him whilst he turned himself into ridicule; for Sir Thomas, though a good secretary of state -is far as the business of his office, was ignorant even of the language of the House of Commons controversy; and when he played the orator, it was so exceedingly ridiculous, that those who loved and esteemcd him could not always preserve a friendly composure of countenance.” Memoirs, 1). 31.-E.

(530) John Earl of Orrery and Cork, author of a translation of Pliny’s Epistles, a Life of Dr. Swift, etc.

230 Letter 118
To Richard Bentley, Esq.
Arlington Street, Friday, Dec. 13, 1754.

“If we do not make this effort to recover our dignity, we shall only sit here to register the arbitrary edicts of one too powerful a subject.” Non riconosci tu Faltero viso? Don’t you at once know the style? Shake those words all altogether-, and see if they can be any thing but the disiecta membra of Pitt? In short, about a fortnight ago, bomb burst. Pitt, who is well, is married, is dissatisfied–not With his bride, but with the Duke of Newcastle; has twice thundered out his dissatisfaction in Parliament, and was seconded by Fox. The event was exactly what I dare say you have already foreseen. Pitt was to be turned out; overtures were made to Fox; Pitt is not turned out: Fox is quieted with the dignity of cabinet-counsellor, and the Duke of Newcastle remains affronted–and omnipotent. The commentary on this text is too long for a letter; it may be developed some time or other. This scene has produced a diverting interlude; Sir George Lyttelton, who could not reconcile his content with Mr. Pitt’s discontents, has been very ill with the cousinhood. In the grief of his heart, he thought of resigning his place, but somehow or other stumbled upon a negotiation for introducing the Duke of Bedford into the ministry again, to balance the loss of Mr. Pitt. Whatever persuaded him, he thought this treaty so sure of success that he lost no time to be the agent of it himself; and whether commissioned or noncommissioned, as both he and the Duke of Newcastle say, he carried carte blanche, to the Duke of Bedford, who bounced like a rocket, frightened away poor Sir George, and sent for Mr. Pitt to notify the overture. Pitt and the Grenvilles are outrageous; the Duke of Newcastle disclaims his ambassador, and every body laughs. Sir George came hither yesterday, to expectorate with me, as he called it. Think how I pricked up my ears, as high as King Midas, to hear a Lyttelton vent his grievances against a Pitt and Grenvilles! Lord Temple has named Sir George the apostolic nuncio; and George Selwyn says, “that he will certainly be invited by Miss Ashe among the foreign ministers.” These are greater storms than perhaps you expected yet; they have occasioned mighty bustle, and whisper, and speculation; but you see

Pulveris exigui jactu composta quiescunt.

You will be diverted with a collateral incident. * * * * met Dick Edgecumbe, and asked him with great importance, if he knew whether Mr. Pitt was out. Edgecumbe, who thinks nothing important that is not to be decided by dice, and who, consequently, had never once thought of Pitt’s political state, replied, “Yes.” “Ay! how do you know?” “Why, I called at his door just now, and his porter told me so.” Another political event is, that Lord E. comes into place: he is to succeed Lord Fitzwalter, who is to have Lord Grantham’s pension, -who is dead immensely rich: I think this is the last of the old Opposition, of any name, except Sir John Barnard. If you have curiosity about the Ohio, you must write to ]France: there I believe they know something about it; here it was totally forgot till last night, when an express arrived with an account of the loss of one of the transports off Falmouth, with eight officers and sixty men on board.

My Lady Townshend has been dying, and was wofully frightened, and took prayers; but she is recovered now, even of her repentance. You will not be undiverted to hear that the mob of Sudbury have literally sent a card to the mob of Bury, to offer their assistance at a contested election there: I hope to be able to tell you in my next, that Mrs. Holman(531) has sent cards to both mobs for her assembly.

The shrubs shall be sent, but you must stay till the holidays; I shall not have time to go to Strawberry sooner. I have received your second letter, dated November 22d, about the Gothic paper. I hope you will by this time have got mine, to dissuade you from that thought. If you insist upon it, I will send the paper: I have told you what I think, and will therefore say no more on that head; but I will transcribe a passage which I found t’other day in Petronius, and thought not unapplicable to you: “Omnium herbarum succos Democritus expressit; et ne lapidum virgultorumque vis lateret, aetatem inter experimenta consumpsit.” I hope Democritus could not draw charmingly when he threw away his time in extracting tints from flints and twigs!

I can’t conclude my letter without telling you what an escape I had at the sale of Dr. Mead’s library, which goes extremely dear. In the catalogue I saw Winstanley’s views of Audley-inn, which I concluded was, as it really was, a thin, dirty folio, worth about fifteen shillings. As I thought it might be scarce, it might run to two or three guineas. however, I bid Graham certainly buy it for me. He came the next morning in a great fright, said he did not know whether he had done very right or very wrong, that he had gone as far as nine-and-forty guineas–I started in such a fright! Another bookseller had luckily had as unlimited a commission, and bid fifty–when my Graham begged it might be adjourned, till they could consult their principals. I think I shall never give an unbounded commission again, even for views of Les Rochers!(532) Adieu! Am I ever to see any more of your hand-drawing? Adieu! Yours ever.

(531) The lady of whom the anecdote is told p. 65, ant`e, letter 22.-E.

(532) Madame de S`evign`e’s seat in Bretagne.

231 Letter 119
To Richard Bentley, Esq.
Strawberry Hill, Dec. 24, 1754. ‘

My dear Sir,
I received your packet of December 6th last night, but intending to come hither for a few days, and unluckily sent away by the coach in the morning a parcel of things for you; you must therefore wait till another bundle sets out, for the new letters of Madame S`evign`e. Heaven forbid that I should have said they were bad! I only meant that they were full of family details, and mortal distempers, to which the most immortal of us are subject: and I was sorry that the profane should ever know that my divinity was ever troubled with a sore leg, or the want of money; though, indeed, the latter defeats Bussy@s ill natured accusation of avarice; and her tearing herself from her daughter, then at Paris, to go and save money in Bretagne to pay her debts, is a perfection of virtue which completes her amiable character. My lady Hervey has made me most happy, by bringing me from Paris an admirable copy of the very portrait that was Madame de Simiane’s: I am going to build an altar for it, under the title of Notre Dame des Rochers!

Well! but you will want to know the contents of the parcel that is set out. It Contains another parcel, which contains I don’t know what; but Mr. Cumberland sent it, and desired I would transmit it to you. There arc Ray’s Proverbs, in two volumes interleaved; a few seeds, mislaid when I sent the last; a very indifferent new tragedy, called “Barbarossa,”(533) now running; the author(534) unknown, but believed to be Garrick himself. There is not one word of Barbarossa’s real story, but almost the individual history of Merope; not one new thought, and, which is the next material want, but one line of perfect nonsense;

“And rain down transports in the shape of sorrow.”

To complete it, the manners are so ill observed, that a Mahometan princess royal is at full liberty to visit her lover in Newgate, like the banker’s daughter in George Barnwell. I have added four more “Worlds,”(535) the second of which will, I think, redeem my lord Chesterfield’s character with you for wit, except in the two stories, which are very flat: I mean those of two misspelt letters. In the last “World,”(536) besides the hand, you will find a story of your acquaintance: BoncoEur means Norborne Berkeley, whose horse sinking up to his middle in Woburn park, he would not allow that it was any thing more than a little damp. The last story of a highwayman happened almost literally to Mrs. Cavendish.

For news, I think I have none to tell you. Mr. Pitt is gone to the Bath, and Mr. Fox to Newcastle House; and every body else into the country for the holidays. When Lord Bath was told of the first determination of turning out Pitt, and letting Fox remain, he said it put him in mind of a story of the gunpowder plot. The Lord Chamberlain was sent to examine the vaults under the Parliament-house, and, returning with his report, said he had found five-and-twenty barrels of gunpowder; that he had removed ten of them, and hoped the other fifteen would do no harm. Was ever any thing so well and so just?

The Russian ambassador is to give a masquerade for the birth of the little great prince;(537) the King lends him Somerset House: he wanted to borrow the palace over against me, and sent to ask it of the cardinal-nephew (538) who replied, “Not for half Russia.”

The new madness is Oratorys. Macklin has set up one, under the title of The British Inquisition;(539) Foote another against him; and a third man has advertised another to-day. I have not heard enough in their favour to tempt me to them, nor do I in the world know enough to compose another paragraph. I am here quite alone; Mr. Chute is setting out for his Vine; but in a day or two I expect Mr. Williams,(540) George Selwyn, and Dick Edgecumbe. You will allow that when I do admit any body within my cloister, I choose them well. My present occupation is putting up my books; and thanks to arches and pinnacles, and pierced columns, I shall not appear scantily provided. Adieu!

(533) The tragedy of “Barbarossa” met with some success, principally from the advantages it appeared under, by the performance of Garrick and Mossop, in the parts of Achmet and Barbarossa. Garrick also supplied the prologue and epilogue,. It being mentioned to Dr. Johnson, that Garrick assisted the author in the composition of this tragedy, “No, Sir,” said the Doctor, “Browne would no more suffer Garrick to write a line in his play than he would suffer him to mount his pulpit.”-E.

(534) The author was the ingenious but unhappy Dr. John Browne, who was also author of the “Essays on Satire,” occasioned by the death of Pope, and the celebrated “Estimate of the Manners and Principles of the Times.” He had the misfortune to labour under a constitutional dejection of spirits; and in September 1766, in an interval of deprivation of reason, put a period to his existence, in his fifty-first year.-E.

(535) No. 92, Reflections on the Drinking Club; No. 98, On the Italian Opera; No. 100, On Dr. Johnson’s Dictionary; and No. 101, Humorous Observations on the English Language; by Lord Chesterfield.-E.

(536) No. 103, On Politeness; and the Politeness of Highwaymen.-E.

(537) The Czar Paul the first.

(538) Henry Earl of Lincoln, nephew to the Duke of Newcastle, to whose title he succeeded.

(539) The British Inquisition was opened in 1754, by a public ordinary, where every person was permitted, for three shillings a-head, to drink port, or claret, or whatever liquor he should choose. This was succeeded by a lecture on oratory. The plan did not succeed; for while Macklin was engaged in drilling his waiters, or fitting himself for the rostrum, his waiters, in return, were robbing him in all directions; so that, in the February of this year, he was declared a bankrupt, under the designation of a vintner.-E.

(540) George James Williams, Esq. son of the eminent lawyer, William Peere Williams.-E.

233 Letter 120
To George Montagu, Esq.
Arlington Street, Jan. 7, 1755.

I imagined by your letter the Colonel was in town, and was shocked at not having been to wait on him; upon inquiry, I find he is not; and now, can conceive how he came to tell you, that the town has been entertained with a paper of mine; I send it you, to show you that this is one of the many fabulous histories which have been spread in such quantities, and without foundation.

I shall take care of your letter to Mr. Bentley. Mr. Chute is at the Vine, or I know he would, as I do, beg his compliments to Miss Montagu. You do not wish me joy on the approaching nuptials of Mr. Harris and our Miss Anne. He is so amorous, that whenever he sits by her, (and he cannot stand by her,) my Lady Townshend, by a very happy expression, says, “he is always setting his dress.” Have you heard of a Countess Chamfelt, a Bohemian, rich and hideous, who is arrived here, and is under the protection of Lady Caroline Petersham @ She has a great facility at languages, and has already learned, “D–n you, and kiss me;” I beg her pardon, I believe she never uses the former, but upon the miscarriage of the latter: in short, as Doddington says, she has had the honour of performing at most courts in Europe. Adieu!

234 letter 121
To Richard Bentley, Esq.
Arlington Street, Jan. 9, 1755.

I used to say that one could not go out of London for two days without finding at one’s return that something very extraordinary had happened; but of late the climate had lost its propensity to odd accidents. Madness be praised, we are a little restored to the want of our senses! I have been twice this Christmas at Strawberry Hill for a few days, and at each return have been not a little surprised: the last time, at the very unexpected death of Lord Albemarle,(541) who was taken ill at Paris, going home from supper, and expired in a few hours; and last week at the far more extraordinary death of Montford.(542) He himself, with all his judgment in bets, I think would have betted any man in England against himself for self-murder: yet after having been supposed the sharpest genius of his time, he, by all that appears, shot himself on the distress of his circumstances; an apoplectic disposition I believe concurring, either to lower his spirits, or to alarm them. Ever since Miss * * * * lived with him, either from liking her himself, as some think, or to tempt her to marry his lilliputian figure, he has squandered vast sums at Horse- heath, and in living. He lost twelve hundred a-year by Lord Albemarle’s death, and four by Lord Gage’s, the same day. He asked immediately for the government of Virginia or the Foxhounds, and pressed for an answer with an eagerness that surprised the Duke of Newcastle, who never had a notion of pinning down the relief of his own or any other man’s wants to a day. Yet that seems to have been the case of Montford, who determined to throw the die of life and death, Tuesday was Se’nnight, on the answer he was to receive from court; which did not prove favourable. He consulted indirectly, and at last pretty directly several people on the easiest method of finishing life; and seems to have thought that he had been too explicit; for he invited company to dinner for the day after his death, and ordered a supper at Whites, where he Supped, too, the night before. He played at whist till one in the morning; it was New Year’s morning – Lord Robert Bertie drank to him a happy new year; he clapped his hands strangely to his eyes! In the morning he had a lawyer and three witnesses, and executed his will, which he made them read twice over, paragraph by paragraph: and then asking the lawyer if that will would stand good, though a man were to shoot himself? and being assured it would; he said, ” Pray stay while I step into the next room;”=-went into the next room and shot himself. He clapped the pistol so close to his head, that they heard no report. The housekeeper heard him fall, and, thinking he had a fit, ran up with drops, and found his skull and brains shot about the room You will be charmed with the friendship and generosity of Sir Francis. Montford a little time since opened his circumstances to him. Sir Francis said, “Montford, if it will be of any service to you, you shall see what I have done for you;” pulled out his will, and read it, where he had left him a vast legacy. The beauty of this action is heightened by Sir Francis’s life not being worth a year’s purchase. I own I feel for the distress this man must have felt, before he decided on so desperate an action. I knew him but little; but he was good-natured and agreeable enough, and had the most compendious understanding I ever knew. He had affected a finesse in money matters beyond what he deserved, and aimed at reducing even natural affections to a kind of calculations, like Demoivre’s. He was asked, soon after his daughter’s marriage, if she was with child: he replied, “upon my word, I don’t know; I have no bet upon it.” This and poor * * * *’s self-murder have brought to light another, which happening in France, had been sunk; * * * *’s. I can tell you that the ancient and worshipful company- of lovers are under a great dilemma, upon a husband and a gamester killing themselves: I don’t know whether they will not apply to Parliament for an exclusive charter for self-murder.

On the occasion of Montford’s story, I heard another more extraordinary. If a man insures his life, this killing himself vacates the bargain; This (as in England almost every thing begets a contradiction) has produced an office for insuring in spite of self-murder; but not beyond three hundred pounds. I suppose voluntary deaths were not the bon-ton. of people in higher life. A man went and insured his life, securing this privilege of a free-dying Englishman. He carried the insurers to dine at a tavern, where they met several other persons. After dinner he said to the life–and-death brokers, “Gentlemen, it is fit that you should be acquainted with the company: these honest men are tradesmen, to whom I was in debt, without any means of paying, but by your assistance; and now I am your humble servant!” He pulled out a pistol and shot himself. Did you ever hear of such a mixture of honesty and knavery?

Lord Rochford is to succeed as groom of the stole. The Duke of Marlborough is privy-seal, in the room of Lord Gower, who is dead; and the Duke of Rutland is lord steward. Lord Albemarle’s other offices and honours are still in petto. When the king first saw this Lord Albemarle, he said, “Your father had a great many good qualities, but he was a sieve!”- -It is ‘the last receiver into which I should have thought his Majesty would have poured gold! You will be pleased with the monarch’s politesse. Sir John Bland and Offley made interest to play at Twelfth-night, and succeeded–not at play, for they lost 1400 pounds and 1300 pounds. As it is not usual for people of no higher rank to play, the King thought they would be bashful about it, and took particular care to do the honours of his house to them, set only to them, and spoke to them at his levee next morning.

You love new nostrums and ]Inventions: there is discovered a method of inoculating the cattle for the distemper-it succeeds so well that they are not even marked. How we advance rapidly in discoveries, and in applying every thing to every thing! Here is another secret, that will better answer your purpose, and I hope mine too. They found out lately at the Duke of Argyle’s, that any kind of ink may be made of privet: it becomes green ink by mixing salt of tartar. I don’t know the process; but I am promised it by Campbell, who told me of it t’other day, when I carried him the true genealogy of the Bentleys, which he assured me shall be inserted in the next edition of the Biographia.

There sets out to-morrow morning, by the Southampton wagon, such a cargo of trees for you, that a detachment of Kentishmen would be furnished against an invasion if they were to unroll the bundle. I write to Mr. S * * * * to recommend great care of them. Observe how I answer your demands: are you as punctual? The forests in your landscapes do not thrive like those in’ your letters. Here is a letter from G. Montagu; and then I think I may bid you good-night!

(541) In his “Memoires,” Vol. i. p. 366, Walpole says, “He died suddenly at Paris, where his mistress had sold him to the French court.” A writer in the Quarterly Review, Vol Ixii. p. 5, states that what he here asserts was generally believed in Paris; for that, in the “M`emoires Secrets,” published in continuation of Bachaumont’s Journal, it is said, on occasion of the Count d’Herouville’s death in 1782, that ” he had been talked of for the ministry under Louis XV. and would probably have obtained it, had it not been for ‘son mariage trop in`egal. Il avait `epous`e la fameuse Lolotte maitresse du Comte d’Albemarle, l’ambassadeur d’Angleterre, laquelle servait d’espion au minist`ere de France aupr`es de son amant, et a touch`e en cons`equence jusqu’`a sa mort une pension de la cour de 12,000 livres.’ But if the French court purchased, as he reports, and as is sufficiently probable, instructions of our ambassador, they could have learned from them nothing to facilitate their own schemes of aggression–nothing but what they knew before; for the policy of England, defective as it might be on other points, had this great and paramount advantage,-that it was open, honest, and straightforward.”-E.

(542) Henry Bromley, created Lord Montford of Horse-heath, in 1741. He married Frances, daughter of Thomas Wyndham, Esq. and sister and heiress of Sir Francis Wyndham, of Trent, in the county of Somerset.-E.

236 Letter 122
To Sir Horace Mann.
Arlington Street, Jan. 9, 1755.

I had an intention of deferring writing to you, my dear Sir, till I could wish you joy on the completion of your approaching dignity:(543) but as the Duke of Newcastle is not quite so expeditious as my friendship is earnest; and as your brother tells me that you have had some very unnecessary qualms, from your silence to me on this chapter, I can no longer avoid telling you how pleased I am with any accession of distinction to you and your family; I should like nothing better but an accession of appointments: but I shall say no more on this head, where wishes are so barren as mine. Your brother, who had not time to write by this post, desires me to tell you that the Duke will be obliged to you, if you will send him the new map of Rome and of the patrimony of St. Peter, which his Royal Highness says is just published.

You will have heard long before you receive this, of Lord Albemarle’s(544) sudden death at Paris: every body is so sorry for him!–without being so: yet as sorry as he would have been for any body, or as he deserved. Can one really regret a man, who, with the most meritorious wife(545) and sons(546) in the world, and with near 15,000 pounds a year from the government, leaves not a shilling to his family, lawful or illegitimate, (and both very numerous,) but dies immensely in debt, though, when he married, he had 90,000 pounds, in the funds, and my Lady Albemarle brought him 25,000 pounds more, all which is dissipated to 14,000 pounds! The King very handsomely, and tired with having done so much for a man who had so little pretensions to it, immediately gave my Lady Albemarle 1200 pounds a year pension, and I trust will take care of this Lord, who is a great friend of mine, and what is much better for him, the first favourite of the Duke. If I were as grave an historian as my Lord Clarendon, I should now without any scruple tell you a dream; you would either believe it from my dignity of character, or conclude from my dignity of character that I did not believe it myself. As neither of these important evasions will serve my turn, I shall relate the following, only prefacing, that I do believe the dream happened, and happened right among the millions of dreams that do not hit. Lord Bury was at Windsor with the Duke when the express of his father’s death arrived: he came to town time enough to find his mother and sisters at breakfast. “Lord! child,” said my Lady Albemarle, “what brings you to town so early?” He said he had been sent for. Says she “You are not well!” “Yes,” replied Lord Bury, “I am, but a little flustered with something I have heard.” “Let me feel your pulse,” said Lady Albemarle: “Oh!” continued she, “your father is dead!” “Lord Madam,” said Lord Bury, “how could that come into your head? I should rather have imagined that you would have thought it was my poor brother William” (who is just gone to Lisbon for his health). “No,” said my Lady Albemarle, “I know it is your father; I dreamed last night that he was dead, and came to take leave of me!” and immediately swooned.

Lord Albemarle’s places are not yet given away: ambassador at Paris, I suppose, there will be none; it was merely kept up to gratify him-besides, when we have no minister we can deliver no memorials. Lord Rochford is, I quite believe, to be groom of the stole: that leaves your Turin open–besides such trifles as a blue garter, the second troop of Guards, and the government of Virginia.

A death much more extraordinary is that of my Lord Mountford, who, having all his life aimed at the character of a moneyed man, and of an artfully money-getting man, has shot himself, on having ruined himself. If he had despised money, he could not have shot himself with more deliberate resolution. The Only points he seems to have considered in so mad an action, were, not to be thought mad, and which would be the easiest method of despatching Himself. It is strange that the passage from life to death should be an object, when One is unhappy enough to be determined to change one for the other.

I warned you in my last not to wonder if you should hear that either Mr. Pitt or Mr. Fox had kissed hands for secretary of state; the latter has kissed the secretary of State’s hand for being a cabinet councillor.(547) The more I see, the more I am confirmed in my idea of this being the age of abortions.

I have received yours of December 13th, and find myself obliged to my Lord of Cork for a remembrance of me, which I could not expect he should have preserved. Lord Huntingdon I know very well, and like very much: he has parts, great good breeding, and will certainly make a figure. You are lucky in such company; yet I wish you had Mr. Brand!

I need not desire you not to believe the stories of such a mountebank as Taylor:(548) I only wonder that he should think the names of our family a recommendation at Rome; we are not conscious of any such merit: nor have any Of our eyes ever wanted to be put out. Adieu! my dear Sir, my dear Sir Horace.

(543) Mr. Mann was on the ]5th of February created a baronet, with a reversion to his brother Galfridus.-E.

(544) For an interesting account of this magnificent spendthrift, see M`emoires de Marmontel.-D.

(545) Lady Anne Lenox, sister of Charles Duke of Richmond.

(546) George Lord Viscount Bury, lord of the bedchamber to the Duke, and colonel of a regiment; Augustus, captain of a man-of-war, who was with Lord Anson in his famous expedition; and William, colonel of the Guards, and aide-de-camp to the Duke,; the two other sons were very young.

(547) “I proposed an interview between Fox and the Duke of Newcastle, which produced the following agreement-that Fox should be called up to the cabinet council; that employments should be given to some of his friends, who were not yet provided for; and that others, who had places already, should be removed to bigger stations. Fox, during the whole negotiation, behaved like a man of sense and a man of honour; very frank, very explicit, and not very unreasonable.” Waldegrave’s Memoirs.-E.

(548) A quack oculist. [Generally called the Chevalier Taylor. He published his travels in 1762; in which he styled himself “Ophthalmiator Pontifical, Imperial, Royal,” etc.]

238 Letter 123
To Richard Bentley, Esq.
Arlington Street, Feb. 8, 1755.

My dear sir,
By the wagon on Thursday there set out for Southampton a lady whom you must call Phillis, but whom George Montagu and the Gods would name Speckle-belly. Peter begged her for me; that is, for you; that is, for Captain Dumaresque, after he had been asked three guineas for another. I hope she will not be poisoned with salt-water, like the poor Poyangers.(549) If she should, you will at least observe, that your commissions are not stillborn with me, as mine are with you. I draw(550) a spotted dog, the moment you desire it.

George Montagu has intercepted the description I promised you of the Russian masquerade: he wrote to beg it, and I cannot transcribe from myself. In a few words, there were all the beauties, and all the diamonds, and not a few of the uglies of London. The Duke,(551) like Osman the Third, seemed in the centre of his new seraglio, and I believe my lady and I thought that my Lord Anson was the chief eunuch. My Lady Coventry was dressed in a great style, and looked better than ever. Lady Betty Spencer, like Rubens’s wife (not the common one with the hat), had all the bloom and bashfulness and wildness of youth, with all the countenance of all the former Marlboroughs. Lord Delawar was an excellent mask, from a picture at Kensington of Queen Elizabeth’s porter. Lady Caroline Petersham, powdered with diamonds and crescents for a Turkish slave, was still extremely handsome. The hazard was excessively deep, to the astonishment of some Frenchmen of quality who are here, and who I believe, from what they saw that night, will not write to their court to dissuade their armaments, on its not being worth their while to attack so beggarly a nation. Our fleet is as little despicable; but though the preparations on both sides are so great, I believe the storm will blow over. They insist on our immediately sending an ambassador to Paris; and to my great satisfaction, my cousin and friend Lord Hertford is to be the man. This is still an entire secret here, but will be known before you receive this. The weather is very bitter, and keeps me from Strawberry. Adieu!

(549) Mr. Walpole having called his gold-fish pond Poyang, calls the gold-fish Poyangers.

(550) Alluding to Mr. Bentley’s dilatoriness in exercising his pencil at the request of Mr. Walpole.

(551) William Duke of Cumberland.

239 Letter 124
To Richard Bentley, Esq.
Arlington Street, Feb. 23, 1755.

My dear sir,
Your argosie is arrived safe; thank you for shells, trees, cones; but above all, thank you for the landscape. As it is your first attempt in oils, and has succeeded so much beyond my expectation, (and being against my advice too, you may believe the sincerity of my praises,) I must indulge my Vasarihood, and write a dissertation upon it. You have united and mellowed your colours, in a manner to make it look like an old picture; yet there is something in the tone of it that is not quite right. Mr. Chute thinks that you should have exerted more of your force in tipping with light the edges on which the sun breaks: my own opinion is, that the result of the whole is not natural, by your having joined a Claude Lorrain summer sky to a winter sea, which you have drawn from the life. The water breaks fine] but the distant hills are too strong, and the outlines much too hard ..The greatest fault is the trees (not apt to be your stumbling-block): they are not of a natural green, have no particular resemblance, and are out of all proportion too large for the figures. Mend these errors, and work away in oil. I am impatient to see some Gothic ruins of your painting. This leads me naturally to thank you for the sweet little cul-de-lampe to the entail it is equal to any thing you have done in perspective and for taste but the boy is too large.

For the block of granite I shall certainly think a louis well bestowed–provided I do but get the block, and that you are sure it will be equal to the sample you sent me. My room remains in want of a table; and as it will take so much time to polish it, I do wish you would be a little expeditious in sending it.

I have but frippery news to tell you; no politics; for the rudiments of a war, that is not to be a war, are not worth detailing. In short, we have acted with spirit, have got ready thirty ships of the line, and conclude that the French will not care to examine whether they are well manned or not. The House of Commons hears nothing but elections; the Oxfordshire till seven at night three times a week: we have passed ten evenings on the Colchester election, and last Monday sat upon it till near two in the morning. Whoever stands a contested election, and pays for his seat, and attends the first session, surely buys the other six very dear!

The great event is the catastrophe of Sir John Bland(552) who has flirted away his whole fortune at hazard. He t’other night exceeded what was lost by the late Duke of Bedford, having at one period of the night (though he recovered the greatest part of it) lost two-and-thirty thousand pounds. The citizens put on their double-channeled pumps and trudge to St. James’s Street, in expectation of seeing judgments executed on White’s–angels with flaming swords, and devils flying away with dice-boxes, like the prints in Sadeler’s Hermits. Sir John lost this immense sum to a Captain * @ * * *, who at present has nothing but a few debts and his commission.

Garrick has produced a detestable English opera, which is crowded by all true lovers of their country. To mark the opposition to Italian operas, it is sung by some cast singers, two Italians, and a French girl, and the chapel boys; and to regale us with sense, it is Shakspeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream, which is forty times more nonsensical than the worst translation of any Italian opera-books. But such sense and such harmony are irresistible!

I am at present confined with a cold, which I caught by going to a fire in the middle of the night, and in the middle of the snow, two days ago. About five in the morning Harry waked me with a candle in his hand, and cried, “Pray, your honour, don’t be frightened!”–“No, Harry, I am not: but what is it that I am not to be frightened at?” –“There is a great fire here in St. James’s Street.”–I rose, and indeed thought all St. James’s Street was on fire, but it proved in Bury Street. However, you know I can’t resist going to a fire; for it Is certainly the only horrid sight that is fine. I slipped on my slippers, and an embroidered suit that hung on the chair, and ran to Bury Street, and stepped into a pipe that was broken up for water.–It would have made a picture–the horror of the flames, the snow, the day breaking with difficulty through so foul a night, and my figure, party per pale, mud and gold. It put me in mind of Lady Margaret Herbert’s providence, who asked somebody for a pretty pattern for a nightcap. “Lord!” said they, “what signifies the pattern for a nightcap?” “Oh! child,” said she, “but you know, in case of fire.” There were two houses burnt, and a poor maid; an officer jumped out of window, and is much hurt, and two young beauties were conveyed out the same way in their shifts. there have been two more great fires. Alderman Belchier’s house at Epsom, that belonged to the Prince, is burnt, and Beckford’s fine house(553) in the country, with pictures and furniture to a great value. He says, “Oh! I have an odd fifty thousand pounds in a drawer: I will build it up again: it won’t be above a thousand pounds apiece difference to my thirty children.” Adieu!

(552) Who shot himself at Kippax Park.-E.

(553) At Fonthill, in Wiltshire. The loss was computed at thirty thousand pounds.-E.

241 letter 125
To Richard Bentley, Esq.
Arlington Street, March 6, 1755.

My dear sir,
I have to thank you for two letters and a picture. I hope my thanks will have a more prosperous journey than my own letters have had of late. You say you have received none since January 9th. I have written three since that. I take care, in conjunction with the times, to make them harmless enough for the post. Whatever secrets I may have (and you know I have no propensity to mystery) will keep very well till I have the happiness of seeing you, though that date should be farther off than I hope. As I mean my letters should relieve some of your anxious or dull minutes, I will tempt no postmasters or secretaries to retard them. The state of affairs is much altered since my last epistle that persuaded you of the distance of a war. So haughty and so ravenous an answer came from France, that my Lord Hertford does not go. As a little islander, you may be very easy: Jersey is not prey for such fleets as are likely to encounter in the channel in April. You must tremble in your Bigendian capacity, if you mean to figure as a good citizen. I sympathize with you extremely in the interruption it will give to our correspondence. You, in an inactive little spot, cannot wish more impatiently for every post that has the probability of a letter, than I, in all the turbulence of London, do constantly, never-failingly, for letters from you. Yet by my busy, hurried, amused, irregular way of life, you would not imagine that I had much time to care for my friends@ You know how late I used to rise: it is worse and worse: I stay late at debates and committees; for, with all our tranquillity and my indifference, I think I am never out of the House of Commons: from thence, it is the fashion of the winter to go to vast assemblies, which are followed by vast suppers, and those by balls. Last week I was from two at noon till ten at night at the House: I came home, dined, new-dressed myself entirely, went to a ball at Lord Holderness’s, and stayed till five in the morning. What an abominable young creature! But why may not I be so! Old Haslang(554) dances at sixty-five; my Lady Rochford without stays, and her husband the new groom of the stole, dance. In short, when secretaries of state, cabinet councillors, foreign ministers, dance like the universal ballet in the Rehearsal, why should not I–see them? In short, the true definition of me is, that I am a dancing senator–Not that I do dance, or do any thing by being a senator: but I go to balls, and to the House of Commons-to look on: and you will believe me when I tell you, that I really think the former the more serious occupation of the two; at least the performers are most in earnest. What men say to women, is at least as sincere as what they say to their country. If perjury can give the devil a right to the souls of men, he has titles by as many ways as my Lord Huntingdon is descended from Edward the Third.

(554) Count de Haslang, many years minister from Bavaria to the British court.-E.

242 Letter 126
To Sir Horace Mann.
Arlington Street, March 10, 1755.

having already wished you joy of your chivalry, I would not send you a formal congratulation on the actual despatch of your patent: I had nothing new to tell you: forms between you and me would be new indeed.

You have heard of the nomination of my friend and relation, Lord Hertford,(555) to the embassy of Paris: you will by this time have learned or perceived, that he is not likely to go thither. They have sent demands too haughty to be admitted, and we are preparing a fleet to tell them we think so. In short, the prospect is very warlike. The ministry are so desirous of avoiding it, that they make no preparations on land–will that prevent it?–Their partisans d-n the plantations, and ask if we are to involve ourselves in a war for them? Will that question weigh with planters and West Indians? I do not love to put our trust in a fleet only: however, we do not touch upon the Pretender; the late rebellion suppressed is a comfortable ingredient, at least, in a new war. You know I call this the age of abortions: who knows but the egg of this war may be addled?

Elections, very warm in their progress, very insignificant in their consequence, very tedious in their attendance, employ the Parliament solely. The King wants to go abroad, and consequently to have the Houses prorogued: the Oxfordshire election says no to him: the war says no to him: the town say we shall sit till June. Balls, masquerades, and diversions don’t trouble their heads about the Parliament or the war: the righteous, who hate pleasures and love prophecies, (the most unpleasant things in the world, except their completion,) are finding out parallels between London and Nineveh, and other goodly cities of old, who went to operas and ridottos when the French were at their gates–yet, if Arlington Street were ten times more like to the most fashionable street in Tyre or Sidon, it should not alarm me: I took all my fears out in the rebellion: I was frightened enough then; I will never have another panic. I would not indeed be so pedantic as to sit in St. James’s market in an armed chair to receive the French, because the Roman consuls received the Gauls in the forum. They shall be in Southwark before I pack up a single miniature.

The Duke of Dorset goes no more to Ireland: Lord Hartington is to be sent thither with the olive branch. Lord Rochford is groom of the stole; Lord Poulet has resigned the bedchamber on that preference, and my nephew and Lord Essex are to be lords of the bedchamber. It is supposed that the Duke of Rutland will be master of the horse, and the Dorset again lord steward. But all this will come to you as very antique news, if a whisper that your brother has heard to-day be true, of your having taken a trip to Rome. If you are there when you receive this, pray make my Lady Pomfret’s(556) compliments to the statues in the Capitol, and inform them that she has purchased her late lord’s collection of statues, and presented them to the University of Oxford. The present Earl, her son, is grown a speaker in the House of Lords, and makes comparisons between Julius Caesar and the watchmen of Bristol, in the same style as he compared himself to Cerberus, who, when he had one head cut off three others sprang up in its room. I shall go to-morrow to Dr. Mead’s sale, and ruin myself in bronzes and vases–but I will not give them to the University of Oxford. Adieu! my dear Sir Knight.

(555) Francis Seymour Conway, Earl of Hertford; his mother was sister to Lady Walpole.

(556) Henrietta Louisa, Countess-dowager of pomfret, having quarrelled with her eldest son, who was ruined and forced to sell the furniture of his seat at Easton Neston, bought his statues, which had been part of the Arundelian collection, and had been purchased by his grandfather.

243 Letter 127
To Richard Bentley, Esq.
Arlington Street, March 27, 1755.

Your chimney(557) is come, but not to honour: the caryatides are fine and free, but the rest is heavy: Lord Strafford is not at all struck with it, and thinks it old-fashioned: it certainly tastes of Inigo Jones.

Your myrtles I have seen in their pots, and they are magnificent, but I fear very sickly. In return, I send you a library. You will receive, some time or other, or the French for you, the following books: a fourth volume of Dodsley’s Collection Of Poems, the worst tome of the four; three volumes of Worlds; Fielding’s Travels, or rather an account how his dropsy was treated and teased by an inn-keeper’s wife in the Isle of Wight; the new Letters of Madame de S`evign`e, and Hume’s History of Great Britain; a book which, though more decried than ever book was, and certainly with faults, I cannot help liking much. It is called Jacobite, but in my opinion is only not George-abite: where others abuse the Stuarts, he laughs at them: I am sure he does not spare their ministers. Harding,(558) who has the History of England at the ends of his parliament fingers, says, that the Journals will contradict most of his facts. If it is so, I am sorry; for his style, which is the best we have in history, and his manner imitated from Voltaire, are very pleasing. He has showed very clearly that we ought to quarrel originally with Queen Elizabeth’s tyranny for most of the errors of Charles the First. As long as he is Willing to sacrifice some royal head, I would not much dispute with him which it should be. I incline every day to lenity, as I see more and more that it is being very partial to think worse of some men than of others. If I was a king myself, I dare say I should cease to love a republic. My Lady Rochford desired me t’other day to give her a motto for a ruby ring, which had been given by a handsome woman of quality to a fine man; he gave it to his mistress, she to Lord * * * * *, he to my lady: who, I think, does not deny that it has not yet finished its travels. I excused myself for some time, on the difficulty of reducing such a history to a poesy–at last I proposed this:

“This was given by woman to man, and by man to woman.”

Are you most impatient to hear of a French war, or the event of the Mitchell election? If the former is uppermost in your thoughts, I can tell you, you are very unfashionable.’ The Whigs and Tories at Rome, Athens, and Jerusalem never forgot national points with more zeal, to attend to private faction, than we have lately. After triumphs repeated in the committee, Lord Sandwich and Mr. Fox were beaten largely on the report. It was a most extraordinary day! The Tories, who could not trust one another for two hours, had their last consult at the Horn Tavern just before the report, and all but nine or ten voted in a body (with the Duke of Newcastle) against agreeing to it: then Sir John Philipps, one of them, moved for a void election, but was deserted by most of his clan. We now begin to turn our hands to foreign war. In the rebellion, the ministry was so unsettled that nobody seemed to care who was king. Power is now so established that I must do the engrossers the justice to say, that they seem to be determined that their own King shall continue so. Our fleet is great and well manned; we are raising men and money, and messages have been sent to both houses from St. James’s, which have been answered by very zealous cards. In the mean time, sturdy mandates are arrived from France; however with a codicil of moderation, and power to Mirepoix still to treat. He was told briskly “Your terms must come speedily; the fleets will sail very quickly; war cannot then be avoided.”

I have passed five entire days lately at Dr. Mead’s sale, where, however, I bought very little: as extravagantly as he paid for every thing, his name has even resold them with interest. Lord Rockingham gave two hundred and thirty guineas for the Antinous–the dearest bust that, I believe, was ever sold; yet the nose and chin were repaired and very ill. Lord Exeter bought the Homer for one hundred and thirty. I must tell you a piece of fortune: I supped the first night of the sale at Bedford-house, and found my Lord Gower dealing at silver pharaoh to the women. “Oh!” said I laughing, “I laid out six-and-twenty pounds this morning, I will try if I can win it back,” and threw a shilling upon a card: in five minutes I won a five-hundred leva, which was twenty-five pounds eleven shillings. I have formerly won a thousand leva, and at another five hundred leva. With such luck, shall not I be able to win you back again?

Last Wednesday I gave a feast in form to the Hertfords. There was the Duke of Grafton, Lord and Lady Hertford, Mr. Conway, and Lady Ailesbury; in short, all the Conways in the world, my Lord Orford, and the Churchills. We dined in the drawing-room below stairs, amidst the Eagle, Vespasian, etc. You never saw so Roman a banquet; but withal my virt`u, the bridegroom seemed the most venerable piece of antiquity. Good night! The books go to Southampton on Monday. Yours ever.

(557) A design for a chimney-piece, which, at Mr. Walpole’s desire, Mr. Bentley had made for Lord Strafford.

(558) Nicholas Harding, Esq. clerk of the House of Commons.-E.

245 Letter 128
To Richard Bentley, Esq.
Strawberry Hill, April 13, 1755.

If I did not think that you would expect to hear often from me at so critical a season, I should certainly not write to you to-night: I am here alone, out of spirits, and not well. In short, I have depended too much upon my constitution being like

“Grass, that escapes the scythe by being low”

and having nothing of the oak in the sturdiness of my stature, I imagined that my mortality would remain pliant as long as I pleased. But I have taken so little care of myself this winter, and kept such bad hours, that I have brought a slow fever upon my nights, and am worn to a skeleton: Bethel has plump cheeks to mine. However, as it would be unpleasant to die just at the beginning of a war, I am taking exercise and air, and much sleep, and intend to see Troy taken. The prospect thickens; there are certainly above twelve thousand men at the Isle of Rh`e; some say twenty thousand. An express was yesterday despatched to Ireland, where it is supposed the storm will burst; but unless our fleet can disappoint the embarkation, I don’t see what service the notification can do: we have quite disgarnished that kingdom of troops; and if they once land, ten thousand men may walk from one end of the island to the other. It begins to be thought that the King will not go abroad; that he cannot, every body has long thought. You will be entertained with a prophecy which my Lord Chesterfield has found in the 35th chapter of Ezekiel, which clearly promises us victory over the French, and expressly relates to this war, as it mentions the two countries (Nova Scotia and Acadia) which are the point in dispute. You will have no difficulty in allowing that mounseer, is typical enough of France: except Cyrus, who is the only heathen prince mentioned by his right name, and that before he had any name, I know no power so expressly described.

“2. Son of man, set thy face against Mount Seir, and prophecy against it. 3. And say unto it, Thus saith the Lord God: O Mount Seir, I am against thee; and I will stretch out mine hand against thee, and I will make thee most desolate. 4. I will lay thy cities waste, and thou shalt be desolate, etc. 10. Because thou hast said, These two nations and these two countries shall be mine, and we will possess it.”

I am disposed to put great trust in this prediction; for I know few things more in our favour. You will ask me naturally, what is to become of you? Are you to be left to all the chance of war, the uncertainty of packets, the difficulty of remittance, the increase of prices?–My dear sir, do you take me for a prime minister, who acquaints the states that they are in damned danger, when it is about a day too late? Or shall I order my chancellor to assure you, that this is numerically the very day on which it is fit to give such notification, and that a day sooner or a day later would be improper?– But not to trifle politically with you, your redemption is nearer than you think for, though not complete: the terms a little depend upon yourself. You must send me an account, strictly and upon your honour, what your debts are: as there is no possibility for the present but of compounding them, I put my friendship upon it, that you answer me sincerely. Should you, upon the hopes of facilitating your return, not deal ingenuously with me, which I will not suspect, it would occasion what I hope will never happen. Some overtures are going to be made to Miss * * * *, to ward off impediments from her. In short, though I cannot explain any of the means, your fortune wears another face; and if you send me immediately, upon your honour, a faithful account of what I ask, no time will be lost to labour your return, which I wish so much, and of which I have said so little lately, as I have had better hopes of it. Don’t joke with me upon this head, as you sometimes do: be explicit, be open in the most unbounded manner, and deal like a man of sense with a heart that deserves that you should have no disguises to it. You know me and my style: when I engage earnestly as I do in this business, I can’t bear not to be treated in my own way.

Sir Charles Williams is made ambassador to Russia; which concludes all I know. But at such a period two days may produce much, and I shall not send away my letter till I am in town on Tuesday. Good night!

Thursday, 17th.

All the officers of the Irish establishment are ordered over thither immediately: Lord Hartington has offered to go directly,(559) and sets out with Mr. Conway this day se’nnight. The journey to Hanover is positive: what if there should be a crossing-over and figuring-in of kings? I know who don’t think all this very serious; so that, if you have a mind to be in great spirits, you may quote Lord Hertford. He went to visit the Duchess of Bedford t’other morning, just after Lord Anson had been there and told her his opinion. She asked Lord Hertford what news? He knew none. “Don’t you hear there will be certainly war?” “No, Madam: I saw Mr. Nugent yesterday, and he did not tell me any thing of it.” She replied, “I have Just seen a man who must know, and who thinks it unavoidable.” “Nay, Madam, perhaps it may: I don’t think a little war would do us any harm.” Just as if he had said, losing a little blood in spring is very wholesome; or that a little hissing would not do the Mingotti any harm!

I went t’other morning to see the sale of Mr. Pelham’s plate, with George Selwyn–“Lord!” says he, “how many toads have been eaten off those plates!” Adieu! I flatter myself that this will be a comfortable letter to you: but I must repeat, that I expect a very serious answer, and very sober resolutions. If I treat you like a child, consider you have been so. I know I am in the right–more delicacy would appear kinder, without being so kind. As I wish and intend to restore and establish your happiness, I shall go thoroughly to work. You don’t want an apothecary, but a surgeon–but I shall give you over at once, if you are either froward or relapse. Yours till then.

(559) As viceroy.

247 Letter 129
To Sir Horace Mann.
Arlington Street, April 22, 1755.

My dear sir,
Your brother and Mr. Chute have just left me in the design of writing to you; that is, I promised your brother I would, if I could make out a letter. I have waited these ten days, expecting to be able to send you a war at least, if not an invasion. For so long, we have been persuaded that an attempt would be made on Ireland; we have fetched almost all the troops from thence; and therefore we have just now ordered all the officers thither, and the new Lord Lieutenant is going to see if he has any government left: the old Lord Lieutenant goes on Sunday to see whether he has any Electorate left. Your brother says, he hears to-day that the French fleet are sailed for America: I doubt it; and that the New-Englanders have been forming a secret expedition, and by this time have taken Cape Breton again, or something very considerable. I remember when the former account came of that conquest, I was stopped in my chariot, and told, “Cape Breton is taken.” I thought the person said “Great Britain is taken.” “Oh!” said I, “I am not at all surprised at that; drive on, coachman.” If you should hear that the Pretender and the Pretend@e have crossed over and figured in, shall you be much more surprised?

Mr. Chute and I have been motto-hunting(560) for you, but we have had no sport. The sentence that puns the best upon your name, and suits the best with your nature, is too old, too common, and belongs already to the Talbots, Humani nihil alienum. The motto that punning upon your name suits best with your public character, is the most heterogeneous to your private, Homo Homini Lupus–forgive my puns, I hate them; but it shows how I have been puzzled, and how little I have succeeded. If I could pity Stosch, it would be for the edict by which Richcourt incorporates his collection-but when he is too worthless to be pitied living, can one feel for a hardship that is not to happen to him till he is dead? How ready 1 should be to quarrel with the Count for such a law, if I was driving to Louis,(561) at the Palazzo Vecchio!

Adieu! my dear child; I am sensible that this is a very scrap of a letter; but unless the Kings of England and France will take more care to supply our correspondence, and not be so dilatory, is it my fault that I am so concise? Sure, if they knew how much postage they lost, by not supplying us with materials for letters, they would not mind flinging away eight or ten thousand men every fortnight.

(560) It was necessary for him to have a motto to his arms, as a baronet.

(561) Louis Siriez, a French goldsmith at Florence, who sold curiosities, and lodged in the old palace at Florence.

248 Letter 130
To Richard Bentley, Esq.
Arlington Street, April 24, 1755.

I don’t doubt but you will conclude that this letter, written so soon after my last, comes to notify a great sea-victory, or defeat; or that the French are landed in Ireland, and have taken and fortified Cork; that they have been joined by all the wild Irish, who have proclaimed the Pretender, and are charmed with the prospect of being governed by a true descendant of the Mac-na-O’s; or that the King of Prussia, like an unnatural nephew, has seized his uncle and Schutz in a post-chaise, and obliged them to hear the rehearsal of a French opera of his own composing–No such thing! If you will be guessing, you will guess wrong–all I mean to tell you is, that thirteen gold fish, caparisoned in coats of mail, as rich as if Mademoiselle Scuderi had invented their armour, embarked last Friday on a secret expedition; which, as Mr. Weekes(562) and the wisest politicians of Twickenham concluded, was designed against the island of Jersey-but to their consummate mortification, Captain Chevalier is detained by a law-suit, and the poor Chinese adventurers are
now frying under deck below bridge. In short, if your governor is to have any gold fish, you must come and manage their transport yourself. Did you receive my last letter? If you did, you will not think it impossible that you should preside at such an embarkation.

The war is quite gone out of fashion, and seems adjourned to America: though I am disappointed, I am not surprised. You know my despair about this eventless age! How pleasant to have lived in times when one could have been sure every week of being able to write such a paragraph as this!–“We hear that the Christians who were on their voyage for the recovery of the Holy Land, have been massacred in Cyprus by the natives, who were provoked at a rape and murder committed in a church by some young noblemen belonging to the Nuncio”–; or– “Private letters from Rome attribute the death of his Holiness to poison, which they pretend was given to him in the sacrament, by the Cardinal of St. Cecilia, whose mistress he had debauched. The same letters add, that this Cardinal stands the fairest for succeeding to the Papal tiara; though a natural son of the late Pope is supported by the whole interest of Arragon and Naples.” Well! since neither the Pope nor the most Christian King, will play the devil, I must condescend to tell you flippancies of less dignity. There is a young Frenchman here, called Monsieur Herault. Lady Harrington carried him and his governor to sup with her and Miss Ashe at a tavern t’other night. I have long said that the French were relapsed into barbarity, and quite ignorant of the world. You shall judge: in the first place, the young man was bashful: in the next, the governor, so ignorant as not to have heard of women of fashion carrying men to a tavern, thought it incumbent upon him to do the honours for his pupil, who was as modest and as much in a state of nature as the ladies themselves, and hazarded some familiarities with Lady Harrington. The consequence was, that the next morning she sent a card-to both, to desire they would not come to her ball that evening, to which she had invited them, and to beg the favour of them never to come into her house again. Adieu! I am prodigal of my letters, as I hope not to write you many more.

(562) A carpenter at Twickenham, employed by Mr. Walpole.

250 Letter 131
To George Montagu, Esq.
Arlington Street, May 4, as they call it, but the weather andthe almanack of my feelings affirm it is December.

I will answer your questions as well as I can, though I must do it shortly, for I write in a sort of hurry. Osborn could not find Lord Cutts,(563) but I have discovered another, in an auction, for which I shall bid for you. Mr. Muntz has been at Strawberry these three weeks, tight at work, so your picture is little advanced, but as soon as he returns it shall be finished. I have chosen the marbles for your tomb; but you told me you had agreed on the price, which your steward now says I was to settle. Mr. Bentley still waits the conclusion of the session, before he can come amongst us again. Every thing has passed with great secrecy: one would think the devil was afraid of being tried for his life, for he has not even directed Madame Bentley to the Old Bailey. Mr. Mann does not mend, but how should he in such weather?

We wait with impatience for news from Minorca. there is a Prince of Nassau Welbourg, who wants to marry Princess Caroline of Orange; he is well-looking enough, but a little too tame to cope with such blood. He is established at the Duke of Richmond’s, with a large train, for two months. He was last night at a great ball at my Lady Townshend’s, whose Audrey will certainly get Lord George Lenox.(564) George Selwyn, t’other night, seeing Lady Euston with Lady Petersham, said, “There’s my Lady Euston, and my Lady us’d to’t.” Adieu!

(563) Sir John, created Lord Cutts of Gowran in 1690, distinguished himself at the siege of Buda: he accompanied King William to England, was made a lieutenant-general, and died without issue in 1707. Sir Richard Steele dedicated to him his “Christian Hero.” Lord Cutts married Mr. Montagu’s grandmother; he was her third husband.-E.

(564) Lord George Lenox married Lady Louisa Ker, daughter of the Marquis of Lothian. Audrey married Captain Orme.-E.

250 Letter 132
To Richard Bentley, Esq.
Arlington Street, May 6, 1755.

My dear sir,
Do you get my letters’! or do I write only for the entertainment of the clerks of the post-office? I have not heard from you this month! It will be very unlucky if my last to you has miscarried, as it required an answer, of importance to you, and very necessary to my satisfaction.

I told you of Lord Poulet’s intended motion. He then repented, and wrote to my Lady Yarmouth and Mr. Fox to mediate his pardon. Not contented with his reception, he determined to renew his intention. Sir Cordell Firebrace(565) took it up, and intended to move the same address in the Commons, but was prevented by a sudden adjournment. However, the last day but one of the session, Lord Poulet read his motion, which was a speech. My Lord Chesterfield (who of all men living seemed to have no business to defend the Duke of Newcastle after much the same sort of ill usage) said the motion was improper, and moved to adjourn.(566) T’other Earl said, “Then pray, my Lords, what is to become of my motion?” The House burst out a-laughing: he divided it, but was single. He then advertised his papers as lost. Legge, in his punning style, said, “My Lord Poulet has had a stroke of an apoplexy; he has lost both his speech and motion.” It is now printed; but not having succeeded in prose, he is turned poet–you may guess how good!

The Duke(567) is at the head of the Regency-you may guess if we are afraid! -Both fleets are sailed. The night the King went, there was a magnificent ball and supper at Bedford House. The Duke was there: he was playing at hazard with a great heap of gold before him; somebody said, he looked like the prodigal son and the fatted calf both. In the dessert was a model of Walton Bridge in glass. Yesterday I gave a great breakfast at Strawberry Hill to the Bedford court. There were the Duke and Duchess, Lord Tavistock and Lady Caroline, my Lord and Lady Gower, Lady Caroline Egerton, Lady Betty Waldegrave, Lady Mary Coke, Mrs. Pitt,(568) Mr. Churchill and Lady Mary, Mr. Bap. Leveson,(569) and Colonel Sebright. The first thing I asked Harry was, “Does the sun shine?” It did; and Strawberry was all gold, and all green. I am not apt to think people really like it, that is, understand it–, but I think the flattery of yesterday was sincere; I judge by the notice the Duchess took of your drawings. Oh! how you will think the shades of Strawberry extended! Do you observe the tone of satisfaction with which I say this, as thinking it near? Mrs. Pitt brought her French horns: we placed them in the corner of the wood, and it was delightful. Poyang has great custom: I have lately given Count Perron some gold fish, which he has carried in his post-chaise to Turin: he has already carried some before. The Russian minister has asked me for some too, but I doubt their succeeding there; unless, according to the universality of my system, every thing is to be found out at last, and practised every where.

I have got a new book that will divert you, called Anecdotes Litteraires: it is a collection of stories and bons-mots of all the French writers; but so many of their bons-mots are impertinences, follies, and vanities, that I have blotted out the title, and written Mis`eres des S`cavants. It is a triumph for the ignorant. Gray says, very justly, that learning never should be encouraged, it only draws out fools from their obscurity; and you know I have always thought a running footman as meritorious a being as a learned man. Why is there more merit in having travelled one’s eyes over so many reams of paper than in having carried one’s legs over so many acres of ground? Adieu, my dear Sir! Pray don’t be taken prisoner to France, just when you are expected at Strawberry!

(565) Member for the county of Suffolk. He died in 1759.-E.

(566) “It was,” writes Lord Chesterfield to Mr. Dayrolles, on the 2d of May, “an indecent, ungenerous, and malignant question, which I had no mind should either be put or debated, well knowing the absurd and improper things that would be said both for and against it, and therefore I moved for the House to adjourn. As you will imagine that this was agreeable to the King, it is supposed that I did it to make my court, and people are impatient to see what great employment I am to have; for that I am to have one, they do not in the least doubt, not having any notion that any man can take any step without some view of dirty interest. I do not undeceive them. I have nothing to fear; I have nothing to ask; and there is nothing that I can or will have.”-E.

(567) The Duke of Cumberland.

(568) Wife@, of George Pitt of Strathfieldsaye, and daughter of Sir Henry Atkins.-E.

(569) The Honourable Baptist Leveson, youngest son of the first Lord Gower.

252 Letter 133
To George Montagu, Esq.
Arlington Street, May 13, 1755.

It is very satisfactory to me, to hear that Miss Montagu was pleased with the day she passed at Strawberry Hill; but does not it silently reproach you, who will never see it but in winter? Does she not assure you that there are leaves, and flowers, and verdure? And why will you not believe that with those additions it might look pretty, and might make you some small amends for a day or two purloined from Greatworth? I wish you would visit it when in its beauty, and while it is mine! You will not, I flatter Myself, like it so well when it belongs to the Intendant of Twickenham, when a cockle-shell walk is made across the lawn, and every thing without doors is made regular, and every thing riant and modern;–for this must be its fate! Whether its next master is already on board the Brest fleet, I do not pretend to say; but I scarce think it worth my while to dispose of it’ by my will, as I have some apprehensions of living to see it granted away de par le Roy. My lady Hervey dined there yesterday with the Rochfords. I told her, that as she is just going to France, I was unwilling to let her see it, for if she should like it, she would desire Mademoiselle with whom she lives, to beg it for her. Adieu!

252 Letter 134
To George Montagu, Esq.
May 19.

It is on the stroke of eleven, and I have but time to tell you, that the King of Prussia has gained the greatest victory(570) that ever was, except the Archangel Michael’s- -King Frederick has only demolished the dragoness. He attacked her army in a strong camp on the 6th; suffered in the beginning of the action much, but took it, with all the tents, baggage, etc. etc two hundred and fifty pieces of cannon, six thousand prisoners, and they say, Prague since. The Austrians have not stopped yet; if you see any man scamper by your house you may venture to lay hold on him, though he should be a Pandour. Marshal Schwerin was killed. Good night!

(570) On the banks of the Moldaw near Prague.

253 Letter 135
To Richard Bentley, Esq.
Strawberry Hill, June 10, 1755.

Mr. Muntz(571) is arrived. I am sorry I can by no means give any commendation to the hasty step you took about him. Ten guineas were a great deal too much to advance to him, and must raise expectations in him that will not at all answer. You have entered into no written engagement with him, nor even sent me his receipt for the money. My good Sir, is this the sample you give me of the prudence and providence you have learned? I don’t love to enter into the particulars of my own affairs; I will only tell you in one word, that they require great management. My endeavours are all employed to serve you; don’t, I beg, give me reasons to apprehend that they will be thrown away. It is much in obscurity, whether I shall be able to accomplish your re-establishment; but I shall go on with great discouragement, if I cannot promise myself that you will be a very different person after your return. I shall never have it in my power to do twice what I am now doing for you; and I choose to say the worst beforehand, rather than to reprove you for indolence and thoughtlessness hereafter, when it may be too late. Excuse my being so serious, but I find it is necessary.

You are not displeased with me, I know, even when I pout: you see I am not quite in good-humour with you, and I don’t disguise it; but I have done scolding you for this time. Indeed, I might as well continue it; for I have nothing else to talk of but Strawberry, and of that subject you must be well wearied. I believe she alluded to my disposition to pout, rather than meant to compliment me, when my Lady Townshend said to somebody t’other day, who told her how well Mrs. Leneve was, and in spirits, “Oh! she must be in spirits: why, she lives with Mr. Walpole, who is spirit of hartshorn!”

Princess Emily has been here:–Liked it?–Oh no!–I don’t wonder; I never liked St. James’-,. She was so inquisitive and so curious in prying into the very offices and servants’ rooms, that her Captain Bateman was sensible of it, and begged Catherine not to mention it. he addressed himself well, if he hoped to meet with taciturnity! Catherine immediately ran down to the pond, and whispered to all the reeds, “Lord! that a princess should be such a gossip!” In short, Strawberry Hill is the puppet-show of the times.

I have lately bought two more portraits of personages in Grammont, Harry Jermyn(572) and Chiffinch:(573) my Arlington Street is so full of portraits, that I shall scarce find room for Mr. Muntz’s works.

Wednesday, 11th.

I was prevented from finishing my letter yesterday, by what do you think? By no less magnificent a circumstance than a deluge. We have had an extraordinary drought, no grass, no leaves. no flowers; not a white rose for the festival of yesterday! About four arrived such a flood, that we could not see out of the windows: the whole lawn was a lake, though situated on so high an Ararat: presently it broke through the leads, drowned the pretty blue bedchamber, passed through ceilings and floors into the little parlour, terrified Harry, and opened all Catherine’s water-gates and speech-gates. I had but just time to collect two dogs, a couple of sheep, a pair of bantams, and a brace of gold fish; for, in the haste of my zeal to imitate my ancestor Noah, I forgot that fish would not easily be drowned. In short, if you chance to spy a little ark with pinnacles sailing towards Jersey, open the skylight, and you will find some of your acquaintance. You never saw such desolation! A pigeon brings word that Mabland has fared still worse: it never came into my head before, that a rainbow-office for insuring against water might be very necessary. This is a true account of the late deluge. Witness our hands
Horace Noah.
Catherine Noah, her mark.
Harry Shem.
Louis Japhet.
Peter Ham, etc.

I was going to seal my letter, and thought I should scarce have any thing more important to tell you than the history of the flood, when a most extraordinary piece of news indeed arrived–nothing less than a new gunpowder plot-last Monday was to be the fatal day. There was a ball at Kew–Vanneschi and his son, directors of the Opera, two English lords, and two Scotch lords, are in confinement at Justice Fielding’s. This is exactly all I know of the matter; and this -weighty intelligence is brought by the waterman from my housemaid in Arlington Street, who sent Harry word that the town is in an uproar; and to confirm it, the waterman says he heard the same thing at Hungerford-stairs. I took the liberty to represent to Harry, that the ball at Kew was this day se’nnight for the Prince’s birthday; that, as the Duke was at it, I imagined the Scotch lords would rather have chosen that day for the execution of their tragedy; that I believe Vanneschi’s son was a child; and that peers are generally confined at the Tower, not at Justice Fielding’s; besides, that we are much nearer to Kew than Hungerford-stairs are but Harry, who has not at all recovered the deluge, is extremely disposed to think Vanneschi very like Guy Fawkes; and is so persuaded that so dreadful a story could not be invented, that I have been forced to believe it too: and in the course of our reasoning and guessing, I told him, that though I could not fix upon all four, I was persuaded that the late Lord Lovat who was beheaded must be one of the Scotch peers, and Lord Anson’s son who is not begot, one of the English. I was afraid he would think I treated so serious a business too ludicrously, if I had hinted at the scene of distressed friendship that would be occasioned by Lord Hardwicke’s examining his intimate Vanneschi. Adieu! my dear Sir. Mr. Fox and Lady Caroline, and Lord and Lady Kildare, are to dine here to-day; and if they tell Harry or me any more of the plot you shall know it.

Wednesday night.

Well, now for the plot: thus much is true. A laundry-maid of the Duchess of Marlborough, passing by the Cocoa-tree, saw two gentlemen go in there, one of whom dropped a letter; it was directed to you. She opened it. It was very obscure, talked of designs at Kew miscarried, of new methods to be taken; and as this way of correspondence had been repeated too often, another must be followed: and it told you that the next letter to him should be in a band-box at such a house in the Haymarket. The Duchess concluded it related to a gang of street-robbers, and sent it to Fielding. He sent to the house named, and did find a box and a letter, which, though obscure had treason enough in it. It talked of a design at Kew miscarried; that the Opera was now the only place, and consequently the scheme must be deferred till next season, especially as a Certain person is abroad. For the other great person (the Duke), they are sure of him at any time. There was some indirect mention, too, of gunpowder. Vanneschi and others have been apprehended; but a conclusion was made, that it was a malicious design against the lord high treasurer of the Opera and his administration, and so they have been dismissed. Macnamara,(575) I suppose you Jerseyans know, is returned with his fleet to Brest, leaving the transports sailing to America. Lord Thanet and Mr. Stanley are just gone to Paris, I believe to inquire after the war.

The weather has been very bad for showing Strawberry to the Kildares; we have not been able to stir out of doors; but, to make me amends, I have discovered that Lady Kildare is a true S`evignist. You know what pleasure I have in any increase of our sect; I thought she grew handsomer than ever as she talked with devotion of Notre Dame des Rochers. Adieu! my dear Sir.

P. S. Tell me if you receive this; for in these gunpowder times, to be sure, the clerks of the post-office are peculiarly alert.

(571) Mr. Walpole had invited Mr. muntz from Jersey, and he lived for some time at Strawberry Hill.

(572) Youngest son of Thomas, elder brother of the Earl of St. Albans. He was created Baron Dover in 1685, and died without issue in 1708.-E.

(573) One of Charles the Second’s confidential pages.-E.

(574) The Pretender’s birthday.

(576) The French admiral.

256 Letter 136
To Sir Horace Mann.
Strawberry Hill, June 15, 1755.

My dear sir,
I have received your two letters relating to the Countess,(577) and wish you joy, since she will establish herself at Florence, that you are so well with her; but I could not help smiling at the goodness of your heart and your zeal for us: the moment she spared us, you gave t`ete baiss`ee into all her histories against Mr. Shirley: his friends say, that there was a little slight-of-hand in her securing the absolute possession of her own fortune; it was very prudent, at least, if not quite sentimental. You should be at least as little the dupe of her affection for her son; the only proof of fondness she has ever given for him, has been expressing great concern at his wanting taste for Greek and Latin. Indeed, he has not much encouraged maternal yearnings in her: I should have thought him shocked at the chronicle of her life if he ever felt any impressions. But to speak freely to you, my dear Sir, he is the most particular young man I ever saw. No man ever felt such a disposition to love another as I did to love him: I flattered myself that he would restore some lustre to our house; at least, not let it totally sink; but I am forced to give him up, and all my Walpole-views. I will describe him to you, if I can, but don’t let it pass your lips. His figure is charming; he has more of the easy, genuine air of a man of quality than ever you saw: though he has a little hesitation in his speech, his address and manner are the most engaging imaginable: he has a good-breeding and attention when he is with you that is even flattering; you think he not only means to please, but designs to do every thing that shall please you; he promises, offers every thing one can wish–but this is all; the instant he leaves you, you, all the world, are nothing to him–he would not give himself the least trouble in the world to give any body the greatest satisfaction; yet this is mere indolence of mind, not of body-his whole pleasure is outrageous exercise. Every thing he promises to please you, is to cheat the present moment and hush any complaint-I mean of words; letters he never answers, not of business, not of his own business: engagements Of no sort he ever keeps. He is the most selfish man in the world, without being the least interested: he loves nobody but himself, yet neglects every view of fortune and ambition. He has not Only always slighted his mother, but was scarce decent to his rich old grandmother, when she had not a year to live, and courted him to receive her favours. You will ask me what passions he has–none but of parade; he drinks without inclination-makes love without inclination–games without attention; is immeasurably obstinate, yet, like obstinate people, governed as a child. In short, it is impossible not to love him when one sees him; impossible to esteem him when one thinks on him!

Mr. Chute has found you a very pretty motto: it alludes to the goats in your arms, and not a little to you; per ardua stabiles. All your friends approve it, and it is actually engraving. You are not all more in the dark about the war than we are even here: Macnamara has been returned some time to Brest with his fleet, having left the transports to be swallowed up by Boscawen, as we do not doubt but they will be. Great armaments continue to be making in all the ports of England and France, and, as we expect next month accounts of great attempts made by our colonies, we think war unavoidable, notwithstanding both nations are averse to it. The French have certainly overshot themselves; we took it upon a higher style than they expected, or than has been our custom. The spirit and expedition with which we have equipped so magnificent a navy has surprised them, and does exceeding honour to my Lord Anson, who has breathed new life into our affairs. The minister himself has retained little or none of his brother’s and of his own pusillanimity; and as the Duke(578) is got into the Regency, you may imagine our land-spirit will not be unquickened neither. This is our situation; actual news there is none. All we hear from France is, that a new-madness reigns there, as strong as that of Pantins was. This is la fureur des cabriolets; singlic`e, one-horse chairs, a mode introduced by Mr. Child:(579) they not only universally go in them, but wear them; that is, every thing is to be en cabriolet; the men paint them on their waistcoats, and have them embroidered for clocks to their stockings; and the women, who have gone all the winter without any thing on their heads, are now muffled up in great caps with round sides, in the form of, and scarce less than the wheels of chaises! Adieu! my dear Sir.

(577) The Countess of Orford.

(578) The Duke of Cumberland.

(579) Josiah Child, brother of the Earl of Tilney.

257 Letter 137