CHAPTER 6. 1786-1791 THE CLOSING CENTURY

Political events—At Richmond—The Duke of Queensberry's villa
—Princess Amelia—The King's illness—The French Revolution
—Proposed visit to Castle Howard—In Gloucestershire—Affairs in
France—The Emigres—Society at Richmond—The French Revolution
—Richmond Theatre—French friends—Christening of Lady Caroline
Campbell's child—Selwyn's bad health—Death.

OF the series of political events which in rapid succession followed the formation of the Rockingham Ministry, the death of its head, the accession to the premiership of Lord Shelburne, the resignation of Fox, and lastly the coalition between that statesman and his old antagonist Lord North, Selwyn tells us nothing. His correspondence with Carlisle came to an end for the time when his friend was recalled from Ireland in 1782. Thus the last group of letters has rather a social and a personal than a political interest.

For a number of years Selwyn had been in a constant state of alarm lest he should be deprived of his sinecure office of Paymaster of the Board of Works. Burke's scheme of economical reform had been a constantly threatening cloud to him. The passing of this Bill, which that statesman had so persistently but unavailingly pressed on the House of Commons, had, however, been made one of the conditions on which the Rockingham Ministry came into office. It became law in 1782,(228) and under its operations Selwyn was deprived of his office. But in 1784, when Pitt was safely in power, Selwyn was appointed to the equally unarduous and lucrative post of Surveyor -General of Crown Lands. He was thus able to enjoy the last years of his life in affluence, and enjoy them he did, in spite of failing health. His letters are still gay, showing unabated interest in the world around him. He retained that remarkable sympathy for the young which had characterised his life. The children of Carlisle had grown out of childhood. Lord Morpeth was going to Oxford,(229) Lady Caroline was married. His adopted daughter, the Mie Mie of so many of the preceding letters, had become a woman, and the care and affection with which Selwyn had watched over her growth and upbringing was now transferred to her well-being and pleasure in the first society of the country. It is a charming picture—the old man without a wife or children of his own finding in the friendship of young and old all that his kindly and affectionate nature required. It heightens our ideas of the breadth and the depth of friendship when we see how it can compensate for the lack of those natural relationships which are supposed to be the solace of advancing years. Of political events in England during the period covered by this last correspondence the most important was the mental illness of the King. It began early in November, 1788; it ended in the spring of the following year. On the 23rd of April, 1789, the King, the Royal Family, and the two Houses of Parliament attended a thanksgiving service at St. Paul's. But in the interval important constitutional debates had occurred in Parliament on the question of the Regency. That the Prince of Wales should be Regent both Government and Opposition were agreed; but whilst Pitt and the Cabinet desired to place certain limits to his power, Fox and the Whigs regarded his assumption of the office as a matter of right, and held therefore that he should have the powers of the Sovereign. The constitutional question was complicated by personal feeling, so that all London society was ranged on one side or the other. Selwyn was a ministerialist, though he seems to have kept a cooler head than many of his friends. But the rapid recovery of the King rendered these discussions abortive and put an end to the political hopes and fears which were aroused by his illness. Pitt remained in office, the Whigs in opposition.

Presently, however, the French Revolution became all-important. Events in France were watched with the keenest interest by Selwyn, to whom many of those who figured in the tragic scenes in Paris were personally known. But he regarded the state of affairs in France with greater calmness than many, though he was shocked at revolutionary violence. It is, however, the picture in these letters of the society of the French emigres in and about London that gives so much interest to the last group of correspondence. Of this, however, it will be more fitting to speak when the letters which touch on it are reached.

(228) 22 Geo. III. c. 82, 1782. An Act for enabling his Majesty to discharge the debt contracted upon his Civil List Revenues, and for preventing the same from being in arrear for the future, by regulating the mode of payments and by suppressing or regulating certain offices.

(229) He metriculated at Christchurch, October 19, 1790.

(1786, Oct. 25,) Wednesday m., Richmond.—I was in London on Monday, but returned hither to dinner. I propose to go there this morning, and to lie in town. I am to dine with Williams, who is quite recovered, as I am; he is kept in London, Lord North being there, on account of his son's ill health—Mr. Frederick N(orth).(230) I hear no news, and am sorry that that which Lord Holland told me is not true, of his uncle's annuity, which I mentioned in my last.

The Princess Amelia(231) is thought to be very near her end; there is to be no Court to-day, which is unusual on this day of the Accession. But I do not know that the Princess's illness is the cause of it. I intended to have gone to the Drawing Room and have put on my scarlet, and gold embr(oidery), for the last time. Pierre I believe has contracted for it already. I cannot learn from any of your family when you propose to return; I hope in less than three weeks. I wrote to Lady C(arlisle) yesterday.

I have no thought myself of settling in London, nor am I desirous of it, while the Thames can be kept in due bounds. At present it is subdued, and all above is clear after a certain hour, and my house is the warmest and most comfortable of any; and when I came here to dinner on Saturday last, having given my servants a day's law, everything was in as much order, as if I had never left it.

The Duke [of Queensberry] dines with me when he is here, a little after four, and when we have drank our wine, we resort to his great Hall,(232) bien eclairee, bien echauffee, to drink our coffee, and hear Quintettes. The Hall is hung around with the Vandyke pictures ( as they are called), and they have a good effect. But I wish that there had been another room or gallery for them, that the Hall might have been without any other ornament but its own proportions. The rest of the pictures are hanging up in the Gilt Room, and some in a room on the left hand as you go to that apartment. The Judges hang in the semicircular passage, which makes one think, that instead of going into a nobleman's house, you are in Sergeants' Inn.

There is, and will be, a variety of opinions how these portraits should be placed, and with what correspondence. I have my own, about that and many other things, which I shall keep to myself. I am not able to encounter constant dissension. I will have no bile, and so keep my own opinions for the future about men and things, within my own breast. I am naturally irritable, and therefore will avoid irritation; I prefer longevity to it, which I may have without the other. I have had a letter from Lady Ossory, who is impatient to tell me all that has passed this summer in her neighbourhood, but she is afraid of trusting it to a letter. I can pretty well guess what kind of farce has been acted, knowing the dramatis persons. The Duke of B(edford?) was to wait on her Grace. . . .

I thought that Boothby had been with you. Mrs. Smith assures me that you have fine weather, and fine sport; so I wish the fifth-form boy [Lord Morpeth] had been with you, and his sister Charlotte, to make and mark his neckcloths.

I hear no more of Eden, but my neighbour Keene's conjectures on his refusal, which are very vague, et tant soit peu malignes. I expect more satisfaction to-day from Williams: not that I want really any information about him. I have already seen and known as much as I desire of him; he is a man of talents and application, with some insinuation, and cunning, but I think will never be a good speaker, or a great man. But what he is I do not care.

My best compliments to the Dean,(233) and Corbet. I have not heard from you, nor do I expect it. Mrs. Smith says, that sometimes you do not return till 8 in the evening. Then I suppose que vous mangez de gran appetit, et que vous dormez apres; so how, and when, am I to expect a letter? Write or not write, I am satisfied that you are well, and be you, that I am most truly and affectionately yours.

I shall keep this half sheet for the news I may hear in Town, and as this letter is not to go till to-morrow.

Thursday m., Cleveland Court.—I met no news in Town when I came, but the Princess Amelia has at present, in Dr. Warren's(234) estimation, but a few days to live. If her own wishes were completed in this respect she must have died yesterday, being on the same day in October that the late King died. It is a pity that she should not have been gratified. But she still hopes it will be in this month, that she may lose no reputation in point of prevoyance, which would be a pity.

It is not an unnatural thing, with our German family, to make a rendezvous as to death, and it has in more instances than one been kept. K(ing) G(eorge) 1st took a final leave of the Princess of Wales, afterwards Queen Caroline, the night before he went to Hanover for the last time; and the Queen afterwards prophesied that she should not outlive the year in which she happened to die.

But her R. H. is firm and resigned, and, as Dr. Warren says, declares herself ready. She flaps her sides as she sits up in her bed, as a turtle does with its fins, and says, "I am ready, I am ready."

I heard yesterday that I have lost two other friends, whom I valued as much, and for the same reason, that their faces were familiar to me for above five and forty years. I mean little Compton, Bully's friend and minister, and Sturt of Dorsetshire, both victims to the gout. I am also told that Sir G. Metham is dying. . . .

Harry Fox is to have a tolerable good fortune with his wife, which I am glad of. But that she could like his person would amaze me, if I did not know that, for particular reasons, women will like anything.

(230) Frederick North, afterward fifth Earl of Guildford (1766-1827), the famous Greek scholar. He was Lord North's third and youngest son.

(231) Princess Amelia (1783-1810) was the youngest and most beloved of the children of George III. Always delrcate, the King was constantly concerned about her, and her dying gift of a ring with a lock of her hair is said to have helped to bring on his last mental illness.

(232) Queensberry Villa, which stood by the riverside, was purchased by the Duke of Queensberry in 1780. It was built by the third Earl of Cholmondely in 1708, and subsequently became the property of the Earl of Brooke and Warwick, and then of Sir Richard Lyttleton. It was purchased by John Earl Spencer for his mother, the Countess Cowper, on whose death, in 1780, it was sold. The Duke of Queensberry bequeathed the house to Maria Fagniani (Mie Mie). In 1831 it became the property of and was rebuilt by Sir William Dundas. The old house was of red brick with a balcony running round it above the first floor windows. ("The History and Antiquities of Richmond," by E. B. Chancellor, p. 160.)

(233) Dr. Jeffrey Ekins, Dean of Carlisle (1782-1792).

(234) Richard Warren (1731-1797). The most eminent physician of the time. He was a man of great ability and judgment. In 1762 he was appointed physician to George III.

In the summer of 1788 Selwyn was laid up by an illness. "Mr. Selwyn has been confined in Town by fever and I have not seen him since the royal progress was intended," wrote Walpole to Lady Ossory in July. The visit of the royalties to Matson took place later. "Mr. Selwyn, I do not doubt, is superlatively happy. I am curious to know what relics he has gleaned from the royal visit that he can bottle up and place in his sanctum sanctorum." Such was Walpole's news in August to the same correspondent. Selwyn recovered from his illness, and left Matson to join the Carlisles. "The Selwyns I do not expect soon at Richmond for the Carlisles are going to Cheltenham; but so many loadstones draw him, that I who have no attraction seldom see him." But in the autumn Walpole could again enjoy his friend's society. For —as the following letter to Lady Carlisle shows he had returned to Richmond for a time.

(1788,) November 2, Richmond.—It must seem, dear Lady Carlisle, very shabby that on this day I do not afford a sheet of gilt paper for my letter to you, but it is to no purpose giving any other reason when I have that to give of having none by me. But truth on plain paper is better than a compliment without sincerity, with all the vignettes which could be found to adorn it, and nothing can be truer than that I rejoice at the return of this day, which gave birth to what I have on so many accounts reason to value and esteem. I wrote yesterday such a long epistle to Lady Caroline, as would have worn out anybody's patience but hers. . . .

Miss Gunning(235) is I find at the Park with Mrs. Stewart and to-morrow morning I shall go in my coach to see her. I wish it were possible for her to accept a corner in my coach, and go with me to C(astle) Howard, but I am afraid that it is not. I take for granted that you have fixed upon the 20th for our setting out, and that you intend that Lord Morpeth should come to my house the day before, which will be on Monday fortnight. He wishes to have leave to come from Eton on Saturday, and, as he has told me in a letter which I have received from him to-day, he has hinted it to his father. I promised to second his motion, and I hope it will be complied with. . . .

I shall remove with my family to town from hence in about ten days. As yet we have leaf and verdure and air, and the country is very agreeable. We have a few to associate with, and not too many. Old Mrs. Crewe is my passion, and her house free from that cohue with which others are filled; and as we have no connection with those who make a public place of this situation, I find it a much more private one than I expected.

The Duke seems for this year to have deserted us. Monsieur de Calonne engrosses all the time which he can spare from Newmarket. Frederick St. John's match is, as I am told, at an end. But then the Duchess of R(utland's) widowhood is just begun. I have lost myself the opportunity of being his rival. Her Grace was in this house last summer with me, and alone, but how could I foresee the event which has since happened? and a survivance at my age could not be thought an object. I do not hear who are to compose the next Court at the Castle. You see whom the papers name, and perhaps can say who are the most likely to go there. . . .

(235) Charlotte Margaret, daughter of Sir Robert Gunning, K.C.B., Minister at the Courts of Copenhagen, Berlin, and St. Petersburg. Miss Gunning, who was Maid of Honour to the Queen, must not be confused with the two celebrated sisters of an earlier period, or with Miss Elizabeth Gunning, a well-known and much-talked-of beauty at this time,

The correspondence from 1788 to the end of Selwyn's life is entirely with Lady Carlisle. Carlisle himself appears to have been much in London during that period, and thus in companionship with his old friend. But letter-writing had become at once a habit and a necessity. It was—and can always be where there is what he has called an epanchement de Coeur—an unceasing pleasure and solace. There is only required pen, paper, and ink, and the last bit of news, the thought of the moment can be written down and exchanged with the friend at a distance. It matters not that the letter does not reach its destination for some time to come. In the transcribing of the thought, there is the sharing of it with another, and imagination anticipates its reception.

(1788, November) 20, Thursday, Cleveland Court.(236)—George, you know, set out on Tuesday, and to-morrow I hope that you will see him, and as well as when I took leave of him. I will own fairly to you, that it was some degree 'of anxiety to me, that he had no servant to go with him so long a journey. . . . When I left him in Grosvenor Place I came here to write to you a letter, . . . but condemned it to the flames. This Lord C., with whom I have breakfasted, has reproved me for: he was sorry that I did not send it; you should not be left out of the secret, you should know as much as your neighbours, &c. You shall do so, if I can furnish you with any intelligence, and although you never tell me anything which I have not seen before, a fortnight past, in the Gazette, I shall not use the same reserve with you. I intend to write constantly to you, or to my Lord, what comes to my knowledge, true or false, and when I may cite the authors of my news I will, and what I ought to keep secret I must, but I think that there will be no occasion for that; I desire to be trusted with no secrets myself. Those who are, tell them soon enough for me. . . .

The account of the K(ing) this morning in the papers, and which, to a certain degree, is generally true, is as bad as it can be, and from such information I dare say, with regard to his health or the continuance of his disorder, the whole world can have but one and the same opinion. But I am obliged, I find, to be cautious of saying in one place what I am ordered to believe from authority in another; and when I am enquiring or saying anything concerning the present state of things, I am precisely in the situation of Sir R. de Coverley, enquiring, when he was a boy, his way to St. Ann's Lane. Nothing, it is supposed, will be said to-day in either House. We shall meet about three or four, and agree to adjourn, about which I hope and presume there will be no difference of opinion. Lord C(arlisle) thinks that there will not, and that the adjournment will be for a fortnight.

To-day, I have heard, is fixed upon to speak reason to One who has none. Dr. Warren, in some set of fine phrases, is to tell his Majesty that he is stark mad, and must have a straight waistcoat. I am glad that I am not chosen to be that Rat who is to put the bell about the Cat's neck. For if it should be pleased (sic) God to forgive our transgressions, and restore his Majesty to his senses, for he can never have them again till we grow better, I suppose, according to the opinion of Churchmen, who are perfectly acquainted with all the dispensations of Providence, and the motive of his conduct; I say, if that unexpected period arrives, I should not like to stand in the place of that man who has moved such an Address to the Crown. If the Dr. should, as it was told me, say simply that he must be under government, the K. will not be surprised at what, bon gre, mal gre, has happened to him so often. But what happens, when it comes to my knowledge, I will write it, and something or other I shall write to C(astle) H. every day. . . .

(236) This and all succeeding letters are written to Lady Carlisle

(1788, Nov. 26?) Wednesday m(orning).—I have had the infinite pleasure of receiving your letter this morning, so I shall write to you to-day, and not to Lord C., and I am the more glad to do so, because I think it but fair, as you have married him for better, for worse, that you should divide my nonsense and importunity between you. Je laisse courir ma plume, which would be abominable and indiscreet, if I was not writing to one who is used to hear me say a thousand things which he attributes to passion and perverseness, and is not for that the less my friend. Then I like, when my mind and heart are full, and I cannot open the budget before him, to evaporate upon paper, which provokes no tart reply. I wish that we were agreed upon every point of consideration in the Grand Affair(237) which occupies the whole country, so naturally, but I am afraid that we are not, yet he will not be angry with me. For when I change my mind, or my rage is abated, it will be more from cool and friendly advice from him than from anybody, and to make me, as I have told him, quite reconciled to measures. I must, besides, seeing they have not all the evil tendency which I expect, be persuaded that he will be considered as he ought to be, and that they think one person of character, as well as rank, is no disparagement to their connection, but on the contrary will give some credit to it. I shall say no more to you upon this matter.

The K. is so much in the same state he was, and there is so little appearance of any immediate change, that I am not, for the present, solicitous about it. There must be a new Government I see, and it may be a short or a lasting one, for it will, or ought to depend entirely upon his Majesty's state of mind. For my own part I am free to confess, that if I only see his hat upon the Throne, and ready to be put upon his head, when he can come and claim it, and nothing in the intermediate time done to disgrace and fetter him, as in the [year] 1782, I shall be satisfied. It is a sad time indeed, and if the Arch(bishop)p pleases, I will call it by his affect(ted?) phrase, an awful moment.

I pity the poor Queen, as you do, most excessively, and for her sake, I hope that a due respect will be paid to the K., and while he and she were grudged every luxury in the world, by those mean wretches Burke, Gilbert,(238) and Lansdown, all kind of profusion is not thought of to captivate his R(oyal) H(ighness).(239) In short, I shall be glad, if his Majesty has lost his head, to hear that the P. has found it. I have given him as yet more credit than I would own, for I will not be accused of paying my court to him while, I say, I see the K.'s hat only upon the Throne.

I know that you will say that I am heated with a zeal that in three months' time may be out of fashion. It may be so; but I rather believe myself that this misfortune will add greatly to the veneration which the public has of late had for his Majesty, and make it more necessary for his successor to be cautious with whom and how he acts. He has beau jeu, I hope he will make a right use of it. The K. will be soon removed and in a carrosse bourgeoise but whether to the Q(ueen's) House or to Kew I cannot learn for certain. I should prefer Kew, if the physicians did not by that sacrifice too much of the care which is due in their profession to the public.

I cannot get sight of the D.,(240) the P(rince) will have him to himself. I am now confined; my cough must be attended to, or it will increase, and perhaps destroy me. Mie Mie is an excellent nurse, and a most reasonable girl indeed. If her mother was so, I should hear no more of her. But there will be still du management necessaire a avoir; however, I have no fears of the issue of it.

Mie Mie, I believe, will be glad, when your L(ad)y (ship) comes to town, to go to the Chapel with Lady Caroline; you will tell me tout bonnement if you should have any objection; a tout evenement she will have a pew somewhere. She can no longer support the idea of belonging to no communion, that en fait de salut she should be ni chair ni poisson. She pleases me in that, and I shall be completely happy to see her established in the Protestant religion, provided that it is her own desire. But my profession is not that of making converts, et je ne veux me charger de fame de personne.

My dearest William,(241) pray mind your Billiards; whatever you do, do not apply to it slovenly, wish success In it, and be so good, for my sake, as to love reading; you may entertain me, if you do, with a thousand pretty stories of Hector and his wife, of Romulus and Remus, and at last we may come to talk together of M. de St. Simon. Learn to make a pen, and write a very large clean hand, and then I shall love you, if possible, more than I do at present.

Frederick,(242) what would I give to see you Regent with a Council, and Tany that Council. You say nothing to me of Lizy or Gertrude; my love to them.

George must certainly be grown, but I do not perceive it. I perceive that he is strong and well, and I hope he will have a great deal of hunting, sans etre trop temeraire. My hearty love to Lady Caroline. Mie Mie and I have not laid aside the thoughts of that which is so connected with our wishes and affections, but I see no immediate prospect of doing or hearing anything one likes as yet.

I was in hopes that when Lord C. came here next, you and the family would come with him. I cannot bear the thoughts of not seeing you till after Christmas. The winter will appear terrible (sic) long to me, who have so little pleasure here besides that of going in a morning to Grosvenor Place?(243)

To-day I have a bill sent me of 100 pounds 12 shillings 0 pence. laid out for the poor King, who ordered me to bespeak for him the best set which I could get of the glass dishes and basons for his dessert. The Regency may perhaps not want them, thinking that they have no occasion for any dessert, and that they can do without it: perhaps so, nous verrons. Old Begum, as they call her, is more absurd, I hear, than ever.

I was sorry that I could not dine yesterday at Whitehall, but I shall not dine out of my room for some time. Wine is my destruction, with the cold that I endure after it. I shall keep myself, if I can, from any complaint that will prevent my going to Parliament. The rat-catchers are going about with their traps, but they shall not have a whisker of mine.

Lord C. sets out you say on Monday next; then I shall see him, I suppose, on Wednesday; he will not hurry up as he did down, and then I am afraid I shall hardly get access to him. Charles you know is come; I have not heard anything more of him. The papers say that Pitt and the Chan(cell)or(244) went to Windsor together in one chaise, and he and Dr. Graham(245) in another. I want to know, how he has relished Sheridan's(246) beginning a negotiation without him. I have figured him, if it be true, saying to him, at his arrival, as Hecate does to the Witches in Macbeth, "Saucy and (over) bold, how did you dare to trade and traffic, &c., and I, the mistress of your charms, the close contriver of all harms, was never called to bear my part," &c. I will not (go) on to the rest of the passage,(247) for fear of offending. I hope that I shall not have offended you by anything which I have said; if I do not, you shall hear from me as often as you please. Be only persuaded that I am most truly and devotedly yours.

(237) The question of the Regency during the King's illness.

(238) Thomas Gilbert (1720-1798); known for his reform of the poor laws.

(239) The Prince of Wales. ||'

(240) Duke of Queensberry, who at this juncture, though a member of the King's Household, markedly allied himself with the Prince of Wales's party.

(241) Second son of Lord Carlisle, born December 25, 1781, died January 25, 1843.

(242) Third son of Lord Carlisle, Major 10th Hussars, killed at Waterloo.

(243) Lord Carlisle's town residence'

(244) Lord Thurlow.

(245) Dr. Graham (1745-1794); a noted quack doctor. Returning from America, he claimed to have learned marvellous electrical cures from Franklin, and advertised impossible discoveries; he declared he could impart the secret of living beyond the natural span of life. He became fashionable, received testimonials from many well-known persons, and occupied part of Schomberg House, Pall Mall, where Gainsborough had his studio.

(246) Richard Brinsley Sheridan (1751-1816).

(247) "Or show the glory of our art?
 And, which is worse, all you have done
 Hath been but for a wayward son,
 Spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do,
Loves for his own ends, not for you."
(Act 3, scene 5.)

(1788, Dec. 4?) Thursday morning.—I begin my letter to you this morning, and at an early hour, before I can have been informed of anything, but I do so to shew you that I am impatient to obey your commands, and that I intend to write to you as often as I can pick up anything which I think will interest or amuse you; in which I shall not forget that George and Caroline are now of an age to take some parts in public affairs. What is of a more solemn and profound nature and secrecy, such as the deliberations of the Cabinet, that you will learn from those who will relate them to you with more precision and authenticity. Of these, if anything transpires to me, it must be through Jack Payne,(248) Lord Lothian,(249) or Trevis, and these are such confused and uncertain channels that there will be no dependence upon the veracity of them. Ils ne laissent pas pourtant de donner leur avis de temps en temps, et d'en parler apres, a ce que j'ai oui dire. So that de cote ou d'autre you are sure to know something, and perhaps what may not come to the knowledge of those who furnish materials for the daily papers.

The K. is undoubtedly in a state in which he may remain, and a deplorable one it is; deplorable and deplored, I believe, by every honest and feeling man in this country. But he has now a comfort which, as the poet says, none but madmen know. You, nor any belonging to you, I hope in God will ever know what it is; but he diverts himself now, as I hear, without his reason, precisely in the same manner as I have seen the children do, before they had any, and from this account you will have a just conception of his present state.

There was a meeting last night at Lord Sydney's,(250) and another at the Cockpitt, and what was said and done the public papers will, I doubt not, more fully relate than I can. I could not stir out or see anybody after Lord Carlisle, who dined with me, went away, except the Duke, who now sups every night with H.R.H. and his Brother(251) at Mrs. Fitzherbert's,(252) and is so good as to call here before he goes.

This cough which I have now has confined me to my room every since last Monday was sevennight, and has for the time been more severe than any which I have ever had. I could not be permitted to lose any blood till yesterday, which I am surprised at, and sorry for too, for I think that if I had been blooded a week ago the effect would have been more than I find it to be yet. I must keep at home. Blisters are recommended, but as they are sometimes attended with painful complaints, so I cannot submit to them. In other respects I am perfectly well, and in spirits.

H.R.H. has been so good as to enquire after my health of the Duke, and I have desired him to say, that I find myself better, and am told that I may go out in a few days. I think it is most likely that I shall. I wish it were as likely that poor Corbet came in for something or other that would render his situation more comfortable to him.

My Lord tells me that he has had Zenks to dine with him, which T shall undoubtedly quote as a precedent, whenever my friends now in Government shall think it right to bring forward in Parliament the Recovery of his Majesty's Reason. I must own, my dear Lady C., that I think that you had all of you too much courage in allowing of that visit, and especially at dinner, amongst all the knives and forks. I believe, if I had been there, I should have hemmed in all the children with the chairs, as a chevaux de frise, and placed myself before them with the poker in my hand.

Lord C. looks very well, and seems in great but modest glee. I hope at least to have the comfort of seeing him gratified, and when I know how, I intend to write George a letter, who will believe, I am sure, that in that instance, if in no other, I shall lay aside party prejudices, and rejoice with him.

I had laid aside my paper, and intended to have wrote no more till somebody came to me to give me new information. But I have had my apothecary at my bedside, who has been giving me an account of the examination of the physicians by the Privy Council.(253) The physicians, one and all, declared his Majesty to be, at present, unfit for public business; but when Mr. Burke, who was a leading man, and the most forward in asking questions, put this to them, whether there was any hope of his Majesty's recovering, they did not scruple to say that they had more reason to hope it than not. Dr. Warren was the most unwilling to subscribe to this opinion, but did not refuse his assent to it. It was, to be sure, the answer which Mr. Burke wished and expected. He told me that the Party, as he heard, is very angry with Mr. Fox, and will not believe the indisposition, which confines him to his bed, not to be a feigned one.

This is my apothecary's news, but if it was the barber's only, I should tell it to you. I wish to find it all true, but not a little also that Mr. F(ox) has displeased some of his friends; for if he has, and that should not be Lord Carlisle, I shall have the better opinion of him. Lord C. has held out to me, in his last letter, the language of a man of sense, of honour, and of feeling, but the misfortune is that all he says, from the sincerity of his mind and heart, will be adapted (adopted?) by those who have not one of his qualities, and yet are compelled to talk as he does, to serve their own purposes.

As to Mr. Fox, although I am at variance with him, and am afraid shall for ever be so, for reasons which I do not choose now to urge, although I am determined never to be connected with him by the least obligation, I am free to confess that I am naturally disposed to love him, and to do justice to every ray of what is commendable in him; and I will go so far as to protest, that, if he acts upon this occasion with a decent regard to the K(ing), and his just prerogatives, I will endeavour to erase out of my mind all that he has done contrary to his duty, and "would mount myself the rostrum" in his favour. To gain his pardon from the people would be now unnecessary, that is, with some of them; with the best of them, I know it would be impossible.

Lord North's speech I shall be very impatient to read, for hear, I fear, that I shall not; I see little probability of my going out for some time. I wish that I had gone from Matson to Castle H.; I might perhaps be there now, and have escaped this martyrdom. You say nothing of your coming here, and will not, I daresay, come the sooner, for my impatience to see you and the children. I must live upon that unexpected pleasure; but whom I shall collect to eat my minced pies on William's birthday, I do not as yet know.

The business of Parliament does not begin till Monday; till then, it will be nothing but hearsay, speculation, &c., &c. Some tell me that the present Ministry is determined to try the number of those who will support them, and are not afraid of being overrun with Rats; nous verrons. Lord Stafford(254) was to have come to me yesterday, when the Council was up, but it was too late.

(248) Captain John Willett Payne, known as "Jack Payne," was secretary to the Prince of Wales.

(249) The Marquis of Lothian (1737-1815) belonged to the "fast set." He commanded the first regiment of Life Guards, and was a favourite of George III., whom he deserted at the division caused by his first attack of insanity; at the King's recovery he was transferred to another regiment.

(250) T. Townsend.

(251) Frederick, Duke of York.

(252) Mrs. Fitzherbert (1756-1837). It was the occasion of much curiosity during her life and after if she were legally the wife of the Prince of Wales, afterwards George IV. The marriage took place in her own house, her brother and uncle being present; a clergyman of the Church of England performed the ceremony. But by the Marriage Act of 1772 a marriage by a member of the Royal Family under twenty-five, without the King's consent, was invalid, and by the Act of Settlement a marriage by the heir-apparent to a Roman Catholic was also invalid. In 1787 the Prince, in order to obtain money from Parliament, without doubt gave Fox authority to deny the marriage in the House of Commons, though he pretended great indignation toward Fox to Mrs. Fitzherbert. On the Prince's marriage to the Princess Caroline, Mrs. Fitzherbert ceased for a time to live with him, but acting on the advice of her confessor, returned to him, and gave a breakfast to announce it to the fashionable world, where she was a favourite. About 1803 she broke off all connection with the Prince, retiring from the Court with an annuity of 6,000 pounds. George IV. wore her portrait until his death; her good influence over him was recognised by George III. and the Royal Family, who always treated her with consideration.

(253) The examination on oath of the five physicians in attendance on the King took place by direction of Pitt on December 3rd, the day before the meeting of Parliament. Fifty-four members were present.

(254) The Lord Gower of the preceding correspondence.

Between the following and the preceding letter events had moved rapidly in France. The National Assembly had been formed to be changed into the Constituent Assembly, the tricolour had sprung into existence, and the Bastille fallen. The Declaration of the Rights of Man had been promulgated. But Selwyn's information upon the state of France was not very accurate.

(1788, Dec. 5?)—Postscript. Good God, Lady C., what have I done? Mie Mie wrote a letter yesterday to her mother; I was to put it in the same envelope with' my own. They were only to thank her for hers, which the Comte d'Elci(255) brought me from her, enquiring after Mie Mie's health. To-day I find Mie Mie's letter on my table. I shall send it by the next post, but I am afraid that I put into my envelope a sheet which was intended for Lord Carlisle. Pray ask him if he had two sheets, or what he had. I am in hopes that, par distraction, it was only a sheet of blank paper. Yet that I did not intend neither; she shall have no carte blanche from me. I am miserable about this. What makes me hope that it was not part of my rhapsody to Lord C. is, that generally my sheets to him are barbouilled on all the sides, and I know there was nothing of that. Tirez-moi de mon incertitude, si vous le pouvez,

Lord Stafford has just been with me. He says that he had a letter from Windsor this morning. The K. passed a quieter night, but I do not find out that he is less to-day what we are obliged to call him now. It is a new event, and a new language never heard before in the Court. Me de Maintenon would say, "Heavens! Do I live to call Louis 14 an object of pity?" You remember that pretended letter of hers, which was said to be dropped out of Me de Torcy's pocket at the Hague. (Do I live) to speak of my master at last as a lunatic(?) —Burke walking at large, and he in a strait waistcoat! Charles wrote a letter to the Prince the day he came. He wrote it about noon, and at one the next morning he received his R.H. answer. I wish Craufurd would pick it out of his pocket to shew me.

There may be another adjournment, as I am told. Business can be suspended a little longer. If supplies are wanted much in some places, they can be postponed in others. So the Cardinal de Rohan(256) is then chosen President of the States,(257) is that the phrase? But he is chosen President toujours of the notables,(258) or something. This I had last night from the Marquis de Hautefort.(259) What this Marquis and Grand d'Espagne has to do out of France at this time I have as yet to learn. I see that I am to have the introduction of him everywhere. He thinks me a man d'une grande existence dans ce pais. He says that I am lie avec M. Pitt; he wants me to present him to him. He fancies that the P(rince) has a convert here whenever he pleases. It is my singular fate for ever to pass for something which I am not, nor cannot be, nor desire to be —sometimes indeed for what I should be ashamed to be. But I am used to this. On se trompe, on se detrompe, et on se trompe encore. I do not find, au bout du compte, that it signifies anything. With one's friends one must be known, tot ou tard, to be exactly what we are.

(255) Angelo, Comte d'Elci, born in Florence in 1764, an, Italian philologist and archaeologist. He died in 1824.

(256) Louis-Rene-Edouard, Prince de Rohan (1734-1803). In 1760, soon after taking orders, he was nominated coadjutor to his uncle, Constantin de Rohan, Archbishop of Strasburg and Bishop of Canopus; in 1761 elected member of the Academy; in 1772 ambassador to Vienna on the question of the dismemberment of Poland; in 1777 made Grand Almoner of France; in 1778 Abbot of St. Vaast and cardinal; in 1779 succeeded his uncle as Archbishop of Strasburg, and became Abbot of Noirmoutiers and La Chaise. He led a gay, luxurious, and extravagant life rather than performed his clerical duties; he had political ambitions, but he was never able to overcome the predisposition against him with which Marie Antoinette had come to France. He was a dupe of Cagliostro, and of Mme. de Lamotte-Valois, the adventuress who, in 1782, drew him into the intrigue of the diamond necklace, for which he was sent to the Bastille, and which gave him the name of le cardinal Collier; he was acquitted in 1786, and in 1789 elected to the States-General; in 1791 he refused to take the oath to the Constitution, and went to Ettenheim in the German part of his province, where he died on the 17th of February, 1803.

(257) The States-General did not open until May 5, 1789.

(258) The Convocation of the Notables took place the 19th of December.

(259) Armand Charles Emmanuel, Comte de Hautefort, was born in 1741; he bore the title of Grand d'Espagne through his marriage in 1761 with the Comtesse de Hochenfels de Bavere Grand d'Espagne de la premiere classe.

Richmond of to-day, with its villas and streets, a town of houses occupied by professional and business men who spend their life in London, is unlike the gay and lively resort of the last days of the eighteenth century. Then the elite of the fashionable society of England gathered on the hill and by the river as people now do on the Riviera or in Cairo. "Richmond is in the first request this summer," so wrote Walpole in the very year at which we have now arrived. "Mrs. Bouverie is settled there with a large Court. The Sheridans are there too, and the Bunburys. I go once or twice a week to George Selwyn late in the evening when he comes in from walking; about as often to Mrs. Ellis here and to Lady Cecilia at Hampton." Once in Richmond men and women stayed there walking, talking, and calling on each other, sometimes driving into London, but enjoying it as a residence, not as a mere resort for an evening's pleasure. Selwyn communicated the news of Richmond to his country friends as one does in these days when at some German Spa. It may seem to us, to whom so many opportunities of enjoyment of all kinds and in all parts of the world are open, a tame kind of life to spend days and nights strolling about a London suburb, attending assemblies, playing at cards, with now and then a visit to town or a row on the river. But our ancestors were necessarily limited in their pleasures, and to them Richmond was a God-send, especially to men like Selwyn, or Queensberry, or Walpole, who delighted in social intercourse, and liked to enjoy what they called rustic life with as much comfort as the age provided. Something of this life we have learned from Walpole's and Miss Berry's letters, but no truer picture of it can be found than in the last letters of Selwyn. To the ordinary habitues of Richmond, however, there were in 1789 and 1790 added a throng of French ladies and gentlemen. Driven from their agreeable salons in Paris, they endeavoured to make the best of life among their English friends at Richmond. Exiled among a people whose language few of them could understand, they' received little of the hospitality which had been so freely extended to English visitors in Paris. It was the last and a sad scene in that remarkable intercourse between the most cultivated people of England and France which is one characteristic of the society of both nations in the eighteenth century. This entente was destroyed by the French Revolution. Selwyn, who had figured in this international society more than most men of the age, lived to tell of its last days in the letters which he wrote during the two final years of his life.

(1789, Aug. 21?) Friday night, Richmond.—I did not come hither till to-day, because I was resolved to stay to see the Duke(260) set out, which he did this morning for Newmarket, from whence he goes with his doctor to York. He said that he should not go to Castle Howard, which I looked upon as certain as that the Princes will be there. It would have been in vain to have held out to him the temptation of seeing his goddaughter, and I know that, if I had suggested it, he would have laughed at me, which would have made me angry, who think Gertrude(261) an object worth going at least sixteen miles to see.

He was in very good spirits when he left London; and in extraordinary good humour with me. But he would not have me depend, he said, upon his going to Scotland, although he has, sent as many servants in different equipages as if he intended to stay there a twelvemonth. It was quite unnecessary to prepare me against any kind of irresolution of his. After all, I hope that he will go to Castle Howard. I believe it is just five and thirty years since we were there together, and all I know is, that I did not think then that I should ever see it so well furnished as I have since, and I will maintain that Gertrude is not the least pretty meuble that is there.

I was so unsettled while I was in London that I did not even send to make enquiries about your brother or Lady Southerland. I could not have made their party if I had been sure of their being in town. Sir R. and Lady Payne are at Lambeth. They propose coming to dine here in a few days.

I dined with Crowle and the younger Mr. Fawkner yesterday at the Duke's, and asked them many questions about poor Delme's affairs, and concerning Lady Betty. I hear that Lady Julia has been much affected with this accident. He had persuaded himself that he should die, although either Dr. Warren saw no immediate danger, or thought proper not to say so. The French, as I said before, have good reason to say that il n'est permis qu'aux medecins de mentir, and Delme certainly justified the deception, if there was any; but he had at last more fortitude or resolution as I hear than was expected. I hope that Lady Betty will be reconciled to her change of life; there must have been one inevitably, and, perhaps, that not less disagreeable.

I am unhappy that I have not yet received any account of Caroline. Mr. Woodhouse has returned my visit. I did not conceive it to be proper that Mie Mie should wait upon Mrs. Bacon till an opportunity had been offered of her being presented to her, but I shall be desirous of bringing about that acquaintance. Mrs. Webb is now with us, which is a piece of furniture here, not without its use, and which I am in a habit of seeing with more satisfaction than perhaps Mie Mie, who begins to think naturally a gouvernante to have a mauvais air. I am not quite of that opinion dans les circonstances actuelles.

No more news as yet from France. I expect to have a great deal of discourse on Tuesday with St. Foy, on the subject of this Revolution, which occupies my mind very much, although I have still a great deal of information to acquire. It may be peu de chose, but, as yet, I know no more than that the House of Bourbon, with the noblesse francoise, their revenues and privileges, are in a manner annihilated by a coup de main, as it were, and after an existence of near a thousand years; and if you are now walking in the streets of Paris, ever so quietly, but suspected or marked as one who will not subscribe to this, you are immediately accroche a la Lanterne: tout cela m'est inconcevable. But we are I am sure at the beginning only of this Roman, instead of seeing the new Constitution so quietly established by the first of September, as I have been confidently assured that it will be.

Preparations were certainly making here for her Majesty the Queen of France's(262) reception, and I am assured that if the King had not gone as he did to the Hotel de Ville, the Duke of Orleans(263) would immediately have been declared Regent. There seems some sort of fatality in the scheme of forming (sic) a Regent, who, in neither of the two kingdoms, is destine a ne pas arrive a bon part.

But one word more of Delme. I am told that if Lady Betty and Lady J(ulia) live together, they will not have less than two thousand a year to maintain their establishment, including what the Court of Chancery will allow for the guardianship of the children. That will be more comfortable at least than living in the constant dread of the consequences of a heedless dissipation.

It was conjectured that Lord C(arlisle) would bring Mr. Greenville in for Morpeth, which, if it be so, I shall be very glad to hear. Crowle says that the cook is one of the best servants of the kind that can be, and would go to Lord C. if he wanted one, for sixty pounds a year, par preference to any other place with larger wages. I was desired to mention this; it may be to no purpose.

The King, as I hear, is not expected to be at Windsor till Michaelmas. I received a letter to-day in such a hand as you never beheld, from Sir Sampson Gideon, now Sir S. Eardley, a name I never heard of before, to dine with him to-morrow at his house in Kent. I was to call at his house in Arlington Street, and there to be informed of the road, and to be three hours and a half in going it. It was to meet Mr. Pitt, and to eat a turtle: quelle chere! The turtle I should have liked, but how Mr. Pitt is to be dressed I cannot tell. The temptation is great, I grant it, but I have had so much self-denial as to send my excuses. You will not believe it, perhaps, but a Minister, of any description, although served up in his great shell of power, and all his green fat about him, is to me a dish by no means relishing, and I never knew but one in my life I could pass an hour with pleasantly, which was Lord Holland. I am certain that if Lord C(arlisle) had been what he seemed to have had once an ambition for, I should not have endured him, although I might perhaps have supported his measures.

You desired me to write to you often. You see, dear Lady Carlisle, toute l'inclination que j'y porte, et que, vraisem(bla)blement, si vous souhaitez d'avoir de mes lettres, une certaine provision de telles fadaises ne vous manquera pas. But I must hear myself from Caroline, or nothing will satisfy me; as yet I have not her direction, and so bad is my memory now, that this morning I could not even be sure if Stackpoole Court was near Milford Haven, Liverpool, or Milbourn Port. I do not comprehend how I could confound these three places, or be so depaise in regard to the geography of this island.

(260) Of Queensberry.

(261) Third daughter of the Earl of Carlisle, married W. Sloane Stanley, Esq.

(262) Marie Antoinette.

(263) Louis Philippe Joseph, Duc d'Orleans (1747-1793). As the Duc de Chartres he pretended to the philosophical opinions of the eighteenth century, but followed the dissolute customs of the Regency. Marie Antoinette never attempted to overcome or conceal her aversion to him, which helped to divide the Court. On the death of his father in 1785 he came into the title of the Duc d'Orleans. Interpolating the King at the famous royal sitting of the 19th of November, 1787, which he attended as a member of the Assembly of Notables, he was exiled to Villers Cotterets; in four months he returned and bought the good will of the journals by money and of the populace by buying up provisions and feeding them at public tables; he was nominated President of the National Assembly but refused the post; he attempted to corrupt the French guards, and so serious were the charges brought against him that La Fayette demanded of the King that he should be sent from the country. He went accordingly to England on a fictitious mission in October of 1789. He returned in eight months to be received with acclamation by the Jacobins, who were, however, themselves irritated at the coolness by which he voted for the death of his cousin, Louis XVI. in 1792; he was present at the execution, which he beheld unmoved, driving from the scene in a carriage drawn by six horses to spend the night in revelry at Raincy, but the title Egalite, which the Commune of Paris had authorised him to assume for himself and his descendants, did not save him from the same fate. The Convention ordered the arrest of all the members of the Bourbon family, and he was guillotined the 6th of November, 1793. The Duc de Chartres visited England in 1779 and was intimate with the Prince of Wales; on his return he introduced in France the English race meetings, jockeys, and dress. It was said that the Prince of Wales, on hearing of his conduct at the execution of the King, tore into pieces his portrait which he had left him.

(1789, Aug.) 27, Thursday noon, Richmond.—I have received yours this morning, and a very fine morning it is, and made still more agreeable to me by your letter, which I have seated myself under my great tree to thank you for. I have no doubt but every one who passes by will perceive, if they turn their eyes this way, that I am occupied with something which pleases me extremely. It is a great part of my delight, and of Mie Mie's too, that we shall see you so soon. … It would have been a great satisfaction to me to have been able to have accommodated Miss Gunning, and to have had her company with us at C(astle) H(oward). . . . I have had a letter from Lady Caroline.(264) I have directed my letters to her at Stackpole Court, Milford Haven. . . .

I received at the same time with hers a letter from Lord Carlisle, who, as he says, finds it necessary to Recommend Gregg, for the remainder of this Parliament, to the borough of Morpeth. I should have been glad that the return could have been of the same person, Whoever he may be, who is designed to represent it at the ensuing and general election. To be sure it seldom happens que l'on meurt in all respects fort a propos, and this death of poor Mr. Delme is, as much as it regards Lord Carlisle, an evident proof of it.

Sir R. Payne and Lady Payne and Sir C. Bunbury intend dining here to-morrow.

Mr. Saintefoy, with Storer, dined here yesterday, but informed me of nothing new concerning France. We talked the matter over very fully, and it was very satisfactory to me, what I learned from Mr. Saintefoy upon the Revolution and the causes of it; and now I think the constitution of that country, as it has happened in others, will be quite new modelled, and that the new adopted plan, after a time, will be so much established as that there will be, probably, no return, if ever, for ages, of the old Constitution, unless produced by the chapter of accidents, to which all human things are liable.

I should have gone to town to-morrow to have taken leave of your brother, but this intended visit from Sir R. and Lady Payne will prevent me. I was not in the least aware that during the week of the York Races your Ladyship would be alone, and am therefore much vexed that Mie Mie and I are not at C(astle) H. at this moment. It was indeed what came into her head, and very properly; but the idea of running foul upon his R(oyal) H(ighness) (to use a sea term) was what prevented me from taking the measures which I should otherwise have taken. Lord C(arlisle) will leave C(astle) H., as I understand by his letter, on Saturday sevennight. I hope then to be at C(astle) H. by the time that he goes.

I am glad, for George's sake, that Lord H(olland)(265) has been with you, but you could not be surprised to find, in one of that family, a disposition to loquacity. He is, I believe, a very good boy, and his tutor is, they say, a very sensible man; but he has a most hideous name, and if you do not know how to spell it, I, for my part, can with difficulty pronounce it, the sound of it being so near something else.

(264) Lady Caroline Howard was married to John Campbell, after first Lord Cawdor, on July 28, 1789.

(265) Henry Richard Vassall Fox, third Baron Holland (1773-1840). The nephew of Charles Fox. He was imbued by his uncle with liberal opinions, which he upheld throughout his life. On the death of Fox in 1807 he became Lord Privy Seal in the Grenville Ministry. In 1830 he was Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster in the Reform Cabinet of Lord Grey. It was he and his wife, whom he married in 1797, who gave to Holland House a world-wide celebrity as a gathering place of eminent people. In Selwyn's lifetime he was only a youth.

(1789,) September 3, Thursday, Richmond.—I am vexed to find, by the letter which I have had the pleasure to receive to-day, that I am expected to be at C(astle) H(oward) on Saturday, when I do not set out till Sunday, so that, as I told Lord C. in my last, which he should receive to-day, I shall not be there till Wednesday. I am dilatory and procrastinating in my nature, but am not apt to defer what, when done, will make me so happy as I shall be at C(astle) H., and should not have been so now, if I had been more early apprised of your wish to have our journey accelerated.

I am very glad that H.R.H. was pleased with C(astle) H(oward). I am sure, that if he had not been so, he would have been difficile a contenter. But yet, it is a doubt with me, if he and I are equally delighted with the same objects. It is not that I expect others to love and admire your children as I do. There is a great deal in the composition of that; but he might if he pleased have pleasures of the same nature, but he seems to have set so little value upon resources of that kind, that I am afraid we shall never see any of H.R.H.'s progeny, and that this country must live upon what is called the quick stock for some years to come. I wish that it had happened that he had dined at Castle H. to-day, and have celebrated Caroline's birthday, which Mie Mie and I shall do here in a less sumptuous manner.

I was yesterday morning at Mrs. Bacon's door, nay further, for the servant said that she was at home, and I was carried into the parlour, but there it ended; Mrs. B. was dressing, and I could not see her, I left word with the servant that I was going into the North, where in a little time I should see Mr. Campbell,(266) and to receive her commands relative to him was the object of my visit. I must now leave this place without having made any progress in her acquaintance, or in that of her niece. All this you will, I know, put to Caroline's account, and indeed you may, for the talk of her was the pleasure which I had promised myself by both these visits.

So Lord C., I find, sets out to-day for N(aworth), and would not go to Wentworth. I cannot wonder at his preference. That you went is compliment enough, in my opinion. I shall ask George, when I see him, if he had any hand in penning the Address to His R(oyal) H(ighness), or in the answer. I shall desire also to know of him, if I am to approve of it. All I know of the times is what I am informed of by the World, which perhaps, like other worlds, is full of lies. It is equal to me; I am very little interested in it, at present; nay, if I was Argus, who by taking that title would make us believe that he saw and knew more, I should be only more satiated, and see more of what I dislike.

The French politics, as they move me less, suit me better; but of these I begin to be tired, and shall for my amusement revert to more ancient times. The history of the Bourbons is become thread-bare, and their lustre too is extinguished, as suddenly as that of a farthing candle. This Revolution is by no means unprecedented, but being transacted in our own times, and so near our own doors, strikes us the more forcibly.

To-morrow we shall go to town, and that, and the next day will be taken up in our preparatives. It was not so formerly; an expedition was fitted out at a much less expense, and in a shorter time. But a journey of above five hundred miles strikes us at present as a great undertaking. But after we shall have left Barnet, I know much of this will vanish, and I shall think of nothing but of my gate, and of all whom I shall see in a few days after. I will bring down the maps which you mention, and other things, if I knew which would be most acceptable to them, but as they will never tell me, I can but conjecture.

You do not say anything of the D(uke) of Y(ork); perhaps he was not well enough to be of all the parties. We have here, for our pride, and amusement, the third brother,(267) who drives about in his phaeton, with his companion, bespeaks plays, and seems to have taken Richmond under his immediate patronage. A report has been spread here that Mrs. F(itzherbert) has obtained leave to come and lodge at the next door. I hope that that will not be the case, for her own sake, as well as ours.

I thank William for his letter, although he tells me little more than that he is my affectionate W. Howard. He may be assured that he has from me at least an equal return. Of Gertrude he says nothing, and yet, I am confident, the P(rince) did not overlook her. My hearty love to them all, and to Lady Caroline if you write to her.

I read yesterday a little Latin poem upon a Mouse Trap, with which I was most highly delighted; wrote near a century ago, by a Mr. Holdsworth. It has been much celebrated, but never fell into my hands before yesterday. There is a great eloge upon the Cambrians, but whether Mr. Campbell would be flattered with it I am not sure. If I did not suppose it to be no more a curiosity than was the Blossom of the Chestnut Tree, with which I was so struck the beginning of the summer, I should bring it with me. There is a translation of it in English verse, that is little short of the original. Dear Lady Carlisle, adieu. I never know when to leave off when I am writing to you, nor how to express the affection and esteem with which I am ever yours.

(266) Afterwards married to Lady Caroline.

(267) William, Duke of Clarence.

(1789,) Oct. 22, Thursday, Matson.—We arrived here yesterday at four in the afternoon from Crome.(268) We left there a very fine day, which grew worse every hour, and before we got to the garden gate it was as bad and uncomfortable as possible. Mr. Bligh would have said unprofitable, and perhaps with truth, for I see no advantage in having come here, and shall be very glad to find no ill consequences from it. We found to receive us, Dr. Warner, who had been here almost a week, and another gentleman who was come to dine with me, and both of them so hoarse that they could not be heard. I was by no means elated with finding myself where I am, and it was well that, upon getting out of my coach, I had the honour of your Ladyship's letter, which was some consolation to me. But I find by it, what I have a long while dreaded, that Car's going away would be attended with great uneasiness to you. . . . It is well that you can meet it with so much reason and fortitude. I have, I know, the smallest portion of either that any man ever had.

This day has cleared up. I am as yet very well, and shall be very careful of myself, and I propose, as I told you, to set out from hence on Sunday sevennight, the first of the next month, and stay with George two days at Salt Hill. I am sure that I should not have the pleasure I have in meeting him, if there were not some intervals when I cannot see him, and I am convinced, that a life must (be) chequered to have it really a plaisant one. I am glad that he and W(illia)m were amused while they stayed in town. I expect to hear from them some account of it.

The new Bishop is at Gloucester, as I am told, with his family; c'est une faible ressource, but it is one; they are represented to me as very agreeable people. Other company we shall have none, I take for granted, and that Mie Mie, finding herself so much alone, will be glad to return to Richmond. … I am most excessively concerned for poor Lord Waldgrave.(269)

(268) Croome in Worcestershire Lord Coventry's family seat.

(269) George, fourth Earl of Waldegrave (1751-1789). He married his cousin, Lady Elizabeth Laura Waldegrave, daughter of James, second earl, in 1782.

(1789,) Nov. 6, Friday m(orning), Richmond.—Lord C. will receive a letter from me this morning which will be sufficient to assure you that George is well. He is so indeed, a tous egards. I stayed with him all Wednesday, and yesterday about noon I left him, so that in reality his course of erudition had but one day's interruption from me. Mr. Roberts is au comble de sa joie, et de sa gloire, having gained the prize for a better copy of verses upon the Deluge than that of any of his competitors. They are to be printed, so I shall see what I can at present have no idea of, and that is, how he will find matter from that event to furnish a hundred or two of blank verses. I should think that no one, but one like our friend John St. J(ohn), who uses Helicon as habitually as others do a cold bath, is equal to it. I only hope, for my part, that the argument will not be illustrated by any dkbordement of the Thames near this house; at present there is no appearance of it.

I stayed at Matson, I will not say as long as it was good, but before it became very bad, which I believe it did before we had left the place two hours. The storm was brewing in the vale, but upon the hills we bade it defiance. I am very glad to be at a place where I can be stationary for a considerable time; and it is what is very requisite for my present state of health, which requires attention and regularity of living. If these are observed, I am as(su)red that after a time I shall be well, and that my lease for ten or twenty years seems as yet a good one. As for the labour and sorrow which his Majesty K(ing) D(avid) speaks of, I know of no age that is quite exempt from them, and have no fear of their being more severe in my caducity than they were in the flower of my age, when I had not more things to please me than I have now, although they might vary in their kind. When I see you and Lord C. with your children about you, and all of you in perfect health and spirits, my sensations of pleasure are greater than in the most joyous hours of my youth. It is no solitude, this place. We have got Onslows and Jeffreyes's, Mr. Walpole, &c., &c., and if Mr. Cambridge would permit it, I could be sometimes, as I wish to be, alone.

On Monday Mie Mie and I shall go to town for one night. I am to meet Me de Bouflers(270) at Lady Lucan's. I think that if this next winter does not make a perfect Frenchman of me, I shall give it up. I hope, more, that it will afford Mie Mie also an opportunity of improving herself in a language which will be of more use to her, in all probability, than it can ever hereafter be to me. I am not disgusted with the language by the abhorrence which I have at present of the country. But these calamities, at times, happen in all climes, as well as in France. Man is a most savage animal when uncontrolled.

The last accounts brought from France fill me with more horror than any former ones. The King is to be moved only by the fear of some approaching danger to his person. The Queen is agitated by all the alarming and distressing thoughts imaginable. Her health is visibly altered; she cries continually, and is, as Polinitz says of K(ing) James's Queen, une Arethuse. Her danger has been imminent; and the K(ing) left his capital, and her in it, as he was advised to do, il eut ete fait d'elle; she would have been, probably, dragged to the Hotel de Ville, et auroit fini ses jours en Greve. She holds out her children, which are called les enfans de la Reine exclusivement, as beggars in the streets do theirs, to move compassion. Behold, how low they have reduced a Queen! But as yet she is not ripe for tragedy, so John St. John may employ his muse upon other subjects for a time. To speak the truth, all these representations of the miseries of the French nation do not seem to me (very decent) proper subjects for our evening spectacles, and it is not, in my apprehension, quite decent that Mr. Hughes, Mr. Astley, or Mr. St. John should be making a profit by Iron Masques, and Toupets stuck upon Poles.

The D(uke) of Orleans's embassy here is universally considered as one devised for his own personal safety, and he is equally respected here and abroad. The subject of his credentials and object of negotiation had no more in them than to say that his most Xtian Majesty desired to know how his brother the K(ing) of England did. The answer to which was, very well, with thanks for his obliging enquiries. The King speaks to the D(uke) of O(rleans) civilly, mais il en demeure la. His behaviour to the Duc de Luxembourg(271) and to other Frenchmen of quality was more distinguished. He talked yesterday to M. de Luxembourg for an hour and 17 minutes. You know how exact we courtiers are upon these points.

Charles Fox was at Court, but was scarcely spoke to. Il n'en fut pour cela plus rebute. He stayed in the apartments till five in the afternoon. Others of the Opposition were there. Lord North came to Court with his son-in-law, Mr. D.(272) I must wait for a future opportunity of paying my court. The Duke has finished his, I believe, for the present. I expected to have found him here or in London. He went again into Scotland last Friday, and will not be returned in a month, and this sans qu'il m'en ait averti. Il faut avouer que notre Duc, a regard de tous les petits devoirs de la vie, est fort a son aise. Me de Cambis is also come; il en fourmille, but all of them almost beggars; some few, I hear, have letters of credit. Poor Me de Boufflers, as Lady Lucan writes me word, is dans un etat pitoyable. But for the French, brisons la pour le present.

(270) Marie Charlotte Hippolyte de Saujon, Comtesse de Boufflers-Rouvel (1724-1800). One of those remarkable women who in Paris at the end of the eighteenth century united a love of intellect and literature with a pleasure in society. After being left a widow in 1764, she lived with the Prince de Conti. She was a friend of Hume and Rousseau, the rival of Mme. du Deffand. Her salon in the Temple was a meeting-place for a singular variety of persons, among whom she was known as Minerva the Wise. Her daughter-in-law, the Comtesse Emilie de Boufflers, was guillotined in 1794. She herself was imprisoned, but was released after the death of Robespierre.

(271) The Due de Luxembourg and his family escaped with difficulty to England, 300,000 livres being set on his head. He arrived in London July 19, 1789.

(272) Sylvester Douglas, Lord Glenbervie.

(1789, Nov.?) 19, Thursday night, Richmond.—I left London to come here to-day to dinner, as I have told you that I should, but I did not come away till I had seen Miss Gunning,(273) who told me that she should write to your Ladyship either to-day or to-morrow. I found her gaie, fraiche, contente, and writing a letter, and when I began by saying, "So you persist then in leaving this very pretty room," she smiled. I think that she is perfectly satisfied with the option she has made, and I really think that she has reason to be so, toutes choses bien considerees. If I had been a woman, and could not have been my own mistress, I should have preferred subjection to a husband, whom I approved of, to a Queen (sic). We talked a great deal of the menage, and I am to take my chair and have my convert there when I please; and it is (a) stipulation that not a petit pot is to be added on my account. She is to be married, I find, at the beginning of the new year, and she is to have immediately four children, three boys and one girl. I should on her account have liked it as well if she had begun sur nouveaux frais; but, it not being so, I think that the three boys and one girl is a better circumstance than if there had been more girls. He is really, as far as I can judge of him, a very worthy man, and I believe will make her a very good husband, and I have no doubt but that she will receive from his family as much regard and attention as any other woman would have had. When I left St. James's, I went in search of Me de Boufflers, and found her at Grenier's Hotel, which looks to me more like an hospital than anything else. Such rooms, such a crowd of miserable wretches, escaped from plunder and massacre, and Me de Boufflers among them with I do not know how many beggars in her suite, her belle fille (qui n'est pas belle, par parenthese), the Comtesse Emilie, a maid with the little child in her arms, a boy, her grandson, called Le Chevalier de Cinque minutes, I cannot explain to you why; a pretty fair child, just inoculated who does not as yet know so much French as I do, but understood me, and was much pleased with my caresses. It was really altogether a piteous sight. When I saw her last, she was in a handsome hotel dans le quartier du Temple—a splendid supper—Pharaon; I was placed between Monsr. Fayette and his wife. This Fayette(274) is her nephew, and has been the chief instrument of her misfortunes, and I hope, par la suite, of his own. I said tout ce qui m'est venu en tete de plus consolant.