“What will the world come to now the Duchesses drink gin, and frequent Fairs? I am afraid your gentlemen did not pledge you, or they might have resisted the frost and the fatigue by the strength of that comfortable liquor. I want much to know if your Grace got a ride in the Flying Coach, which is part of the diversion of a Fair.... I am much obliged to your Grace for forming schemes for me. If any castles come to my share they must be airy ones, for I have no material to build them on Terra Firma. I am not a good chimerical architect, and besides I would rather dwell this summer in a small room in a certain mansion near Gerrard’s Cross,[81] than in the most spacious building I could get. I shall not be troublesome to you in town, for our stay here will be so long that our family will hardly go down till May. The time will come that we shall meet at Philippi.”
[81] Meaning Bullstrode, which is close to Gerrard’s Cross.
A letter from Mrs. Donnellan, with whom Elizabeth had struck up a lively friendship, and entered into a correspondence, is dated from London, April, 1740, portions of which I copy—
“Since my last I passed a most agreeable day with your friend and mine; the Duke and Duchess of Portland proposed a jaunt into the city to see city shows, and were so obliging as to ask me with Mrs. Pendarves to be of the party. We were four men, four women: our fourth woman was Lady Wallingford, whom I never saw before; but she seems good-natured and civil; our four men, the Duke, Lord Dupplin, Mr. Achard,[82] and Dr. Shaw,[83] all new to me. We set out at ten in two hackney coaches, and stopped at everything that had a name between us and the Tower, going and coming, and dined at a city Tavern. I am extremely glad your time is fixed for coming to us, and that we shall have you a month. You will find the rage for whist[84] a little abated, I hope, if the weather and Vaux Hall is in its lustre. You are right in quarrelling with the men for letting cards take their places in the ladies’ hearts, for I dare say they would rather hear the gentlemen say fine things, than win a Slam, and it is a want of gallantry in the men that runs the women into cards; for something we must have to stir our passions, or life seems dull. Your account of Bath folks diverted me much.... My present delight is the fine lady who admires and hates to excess; she doats on the dear little boy that dances, she detests Handel’s Oratorios; indeed she don’t say she admires Mademoiselle de Chateauneuf’s kicking the tambourine, till she shows herself naked to the waist. She owns it is indecent, but she goes constantly to see her. I don’t know whether you have heard of the kicking entertainment? I have not seen it, but I have heard it very lively described; she kicks twice for the King, and once for the audience, to the great edification of the spectators. I suppose you have heard of the false dice at the last masquerade. I fancy it must have been a pretty sight, a dozen Dominoes, at five in the morning examined before Justice de Val: I think they should have been all Devils with Horns and Hoofs. I saw the Duke and Duchess of Portland yesterday morning at Zincke’s,[85] where she and Mrs. Pendarves are sitting for their pictures.... Adieu; make my compliments to all your family, and believe me, dear Madam,
[82] Mr. Achard had been tutor to the duke, and was afterwards his secretary.
[83] Dr. Shaw, born 1692, died 1751; Regius Professor of Greek, Oxford. Great traveller, botanist, etc.
[84] Elizabeth hated games of cards.
[85] Christian Frederick Zincke, born 1684, died 1767; eminent miniature painter.
Elizabeth suffering much still from headaches, Dr. Sandys was consulted, and he recommended the plunge bath. This was at Marylebone, at the then popular gardens. This was considered a hazardous exploit, and she first wrote to ask her parents’ consent. Writing to Sarah, she says—
“If you was to see me souse into the cold bath, you would think I had not sense or feeling.... The Duchess went with me the first time, and was frightened out of her wits, but I behaved much to my honour. Mrs. Verney went to learn to go in of me. Mrs. Pendarves went with me to-day, and was as pale as a ghost with the fear of my being drowned, which you know is impossible. I go in every day and have found benefit already; but there are two things I dislike, viz. the pain of going overhead, and the expense of the bath. The Duke and Duchess are very good in lending me the coach every morning to Marrybone, which is two miles from here, but the bath was better than any at Charing Cross: the Duchess says if there is any bath, as she thinks there is in their neighbourhood at Bullstrode, she will send me to it, a tub not being near so good.”
The whole parish of Marylebone belonged to the Duchess of Portland. There were nine springs of water there: vide “Old and New London,” vol. iv.
April, 1740, occurs a letter to her sister Sarah, written whilst staying with the duchess in London. Elizabeth says—
“Lord Oxford went to Bath in the post chaise for a week, he brought us all fairings. Mine were a fan, and a snuff box of Egyptian pebbles set in Pinchbeck.[86] The Duchess a fan, and an enamel tag for her lace.”
[86] Christopher Pinchbeck invented this sham gold. He died in 1732.
The next letter to her mother says—
“I was at Mr. Zincke’s yesterday in the morning, where I am to sit for my picture. On Thursday we went out of town to Sir John Stanley’s[87] at North End. There we met Mrs. Pendarves. I was much pleased with my visit. Sir John at 80 years old has as much politeness, good nature and cheerfulness as I ever met; his behaviour has neither the formality of age, nor the pertness of youth.”
[87] Sir John Stanley married Anne Granville, aunt to Mrs. Pendarves, who had been Maid-of-Honour to Queen Mary II.
In March Lord Oxford gave a ball at Marylebone—
“The Ball was very agreeable. I will give you the list of company as they danced;—the Duchess and Lord Foley,[88] the Duke and Mrs. Pendarves, Lord Dupplin and ‘Dash,’[89] Lord George[90] and ‘Fidget,’ Lord Howard and Miss Cesar, Mr. Granville[91] and Miss Tatton, Mr. Howard and another Miss Cesar. The partners were chosen by their fans, but a little supercherie in the case of one of our dancers appointed failed, so our worthy cousin Sir Tommy[92] was sent for, and he came, but when he had drawn Miss Cesar’s fan he would not dance with her, but Mr. Hay,[93] who as the more canonical diversion, chose cards, danced with the poor forsaken damsel. The Knight bore the roast with great fortitude, and to make amends promised his neglected Fair a ball at his house. I believe in his economy he saves a dinner when invited to supper, for he eat a forequarter of lamb, a chicken, with a plentiful portion of ham, potted beef and jellies innumerable, and made a prodigious breakfast of bread and butter and coffee, a little after two in the morning.... I sat for my picture[94] this morning to Zincke; I believe it will be very like. I am in Anne Boleyn’s dress. I desire you to send me up my worked facing and robing, my point, some lute-string, and the cambrick for my ruffles. I had the pleasure of hearing to-day that our dear Robert had succeeded in getting a ship. I am sorry he will go out with the first fleet. I tremble, too, for fear he should have any engagement with the Spaniards. Mrs. D’Ewes desires to recommend herself to you being of the party of loving sisters.”
[88] Thomas, 2nd Baron Foley.
[89] Miss Dashwood, “Delia.”
[90] Lord George Bentinck, the duke’s brother.
[91] Brother of Mrs. Pendarves.
[92] “Long” Sir Thomas Robinson, of Rokeby.
[93] The Rev. Robert Hay, son of the 7th Earl of Kinnoul; afterwards Archbishop of York.
[94] See portrait in this book.
Mrs. D’Ewes, née Anne Granville, was the beloved sister of Mrs. Pendarves, recently married to Mr. John D’Ewes.... In the next letter to her mother she describes what she calls a “new head,” given to her by the duchess. “Last Tuesday I put on my New head; it is extremely handsome, very broad, and the lace has more thin work in it than has been made till this year.” To this head was added ruffles and a tucker by the same donor. Quin was acting then in London. She writes to Sarah—
“I have been to the play As you Like it. Quin outdid his usual outdoings. I never heard anything spoke with such command of voice and action as the ‘seven stages of man,’ from the rough bass of the good Justice, ‘whose round belly with good capon lined,’ till he sunk to the childish treble; it was really prodigious, the alteration of the voice, he spoke the slippered pantaloon just like my Uncle Clark.[95] I saw the facetious Monsieur and Mademoiselle Fausan dance, but Quin had so possessed himself of my thoughts that I was not over-delighted with them, tho’ I think they dance very well for a character dance. Wednesday I went into the cold bath, and from thence the Duke and Duchess, Mr. Achard, Lord George Bentinck, Lady Throckmorton, Mrs. Collingwood, and Sir Robert Throckmorton[96] went to Mary-le-Bone gardens to breakfast; after that they all went with me to Zincke’s to sit for my picture, and we spent the evening at Vaux Hall. On Thursday we went, two coaches and six, to Kew, Richmond, and Petersham, Lord Harrington’s,[97] where I could turn Pastorella with great pleasure, such prospects, from the most charming place I ever saw, I was ready to call out, ‘O care Selve beate.’ I would tell you more of my meditations, but the bell for supper interrupts me.”
[95] Her great-uncle on her mother’s side.
[96] 4th Baronet and his second wife.
[97] 1st Earl of Harrington.
Lady Wallingford was attacked by smallpox at this time, but had it very favourably. In a letter to Mrs. Robinson, Elizabeth says—
“She never had three hundred all over her, and was at the heighth, I believe, in seven days. Her Lord dyed very suddenly of a quinsy before she had been downstairs, so she had not even the melancholy consolation of a last farewell; she laid up two pairs of stairs, and he below, so they told her he was removed, and died at Kensington. He has left everything to her.... Lord Wallingford certainly caught his death with attending her, a sad aggravation of the affliction; he died with the greatest courage imaginable. Sandys, who with several Physicians and Surgeons was called in, begged him to settle his affairs, upon which he made his will (that he had by him, being very deficient in points of Law), and took leave of his friends. There was no hopes from the first, for this convulsive Quinsy is always mortal.”
In another she says he died of “cramp in the throat,” which sounds more likely. It has been stated that Lord Wallingford died in France, but his death occurred at Whitehall.
The duke and family, including Elizabeth, left Whitehall in June for Bullstrode.[98] In a letter of June 24 to Mr. Freind and his wife, she says—
“The rural beauties of the place would persuade me I was in the plains of Arcadia, but the magnificence of the building under whose gilded roof I dwell, has a pomp far beyond pastoral. We go to chapel twice a week, and have sermons on Sunday, for his Grace of Portland values the title of Christian above that of Duke, and the chaplain may preach against every vice in fashion without fear of offending either his Patron or Patroness.”
[98] Bullstrode was originally in the Shobbington family before the Conquest. Judge Jefferies bought it, and built the house here mentioned in 1686. His son-in-law sold it to the Earl of Portland. In 1807 it was sold to the Duke of Somerset.
In another letter—
“We breakfast at 9, dine at 2, drink tea at 8, and sup at 10. In the morning we work or read. In the afternoon the same, walk from 6 till tea-time, and then write till supper. I think since we came down our despatches in numbers, tho’ not in importance, have equalled those at the Secretary’s Office.... The Duchess and I have been walking in the woods to-night, and feeding the pheasants in the menagerie. The late Duke had Macaws, Parrots, and all sorts of foreign birds flying in one of the woods; he built a house and kept people to wait upon them; there are now some birds in the house, and one Macaw, but most were destroyed in the Duke’s minority.”
On July 22 occurs this interesting letter to her mother—
“Madam,
“Much visiting has of late hindered my writing to you. My Lady Duchess does not care to spare me to write except when she is so employed too, and the time set apart for that is in the evening, and when we make visits at any distance, it is late before we return, and letters go from here between 10 and 11. When we first came down, we supped at 9, but we found so early an hour encroached too much upon our hours of writing, so now we sup at 10, at which time the Duke comes into the Duchess’s dressing-room,[99] where we write together, and franks our packets. On Saturday, we were at Windsor to visit the Miss Granvilles, daughters of the famous Lord Lansdowne;[100] they unhappily inherit neither the wit of their Father, nor the beauty of their Mother.[101]... The Duchess is very civil to them, and Miss Granville was her acquaintance in infancy, and it is very right in her to take notice of them now. Lord Weymouth[102] supports them, but how long he will be willing or able to do so, no one knows. On Sunday, I was at Mrs. Hare’s, widow to the late Bishop Hare,[103] and was much entertained there by Sir John Shadwell and his family, who are just come from abroad. Lady Shadwell[104] saw Lady Mary Wortley at Venice, where she now resides, and asked her what made her leave England; she told them the reason was, people were grown so stupid she could not endure their company, all England was infected with dullness; by-the-bye, what she means by insupportable dullness is her husband,[105] for it seems she never intends to come back while he lives. A husband may be but a dull creature to one of Lady Mary’s sprightly genius, but methinks even her vivacity might accommodate itself to living in the Kingdom with him; she is a woman of great family merit, she has banished her children,[106] abandoned her husband. I suppose as she cannot reach Constantinople, she will limit her ambition to an intrigue with the Pope or the Doge of Venice.... The Duke of Leeds’[107] wedding was very grand. The Duke of Newcastle’s[108] entertainment upon the occasion was 15 dishes in a course, four courses. The Duchess of Newcastle, sister to Lady Mary Godolphin, and Mr. Hay are gone down with the Duke and Duchess of Leeds. The Duchess had a diamond necklace from her Mother worth £10,000, she was very fine in cloaths and jewels. The old Duchess of Marlborough[109] is now mightily fond of her. Her Grace is at law with the Duke of Marlbro’; she talked two hours like the widow Blackacre in Westminster Hall, amongst things of value she was to surrender to the Duke[110] there was the late Duke’s fine sword, and George, ‘Oh,’ says she, ‘as for the George, he will sell it, but for the sword he won’t know what to do with that, so I believe he will lay it by, or may be if he can he will pawn it, he can make no other use of it, I am sure.’... Pray have you heard from the dear little boys?[111] I have always forgot their direction. I think it is Scorton, near Richmond?
[99] In the eighteenth century dressing-rooms represented the modern boudoir.
[100] George Granville, Lord Lansdowne, born 1667, died 1735; great statesman and writer. Uncle to Mrs. Delany.
[101] Lady Mary Villiers, daughter of the Earl of Jersey, widow of J. Thynne.
[102] Their half-brother.
[103] Francis Hare, D.D., born 1665, died 1740; Bishop of St. Asaph and Chichester.
[104] Daughter of Evelyn, Duke of Kingston, born 1690, died 1762.
[105] Edward Wortley Montagu, grandson of 1st Earl Sandwich. His mother, Anne Wortley, a great heiress; he took her name.
[106] Her two children, the eccentric Edward Wortley Montagu, junior, and Mary, Countess of Bute.
[107] Thomas, 4th Duke of Leeds.
[108] 1st Duke of Newcastle-under-Lyme, Thomas Pelham Holles. The bride, Lady Harriett Godolphin, grand-daughter of the Duke of Marlborough.
[109] The celebrated duchess.
[110] Charles Spencer, 2nd Duke of Marlborough.
[111] Her three little brothers.
Mr. Freind, having written a letter to Elizabeth expressing a fear that her head might be turned by the great company, and the splendid place she was residing in, she replies—
“I am neither condemning greatness, nor envying it, but gratefully and cheerfully enjoying what I am. I thank Providence for the blessings it has given me, without either despising or wishing for the gifts it has bestowed on others. I enjoy the present time without regretting the past, or wishing for that to come, but still as conducive to happiness, prefer to-day to yesterday or to-morrow. I keep content for the present, and hope for the future, and love this life without fearing another.”
This letter was sent to Witney, Oxon, the seat of the blanket manufacture. The Rev. William Freind had become Rector there, since the resignation of his father, the Rev. Dr. Robert Freind, in the previous year. His mother was a Miss Jane de l’Angle, daughter of the Rev. Samuel de l’Angle, once pastor of the reformed church at Charenton, near Paris, who, on the persecution of Louis XIV., fled to England and was made a Prebendary of Westminster. The Rev. William Freind built the good stone rectory still existent at Witney. A medallion portrait of him is over a door in the Hall. Mrs. Donnellan had been recommended to drink the waters at Spa in the Ardennes, and, accompanied by her friends, Mr. and Mrs. Cottington, set out, poor Mr. Cottington dying soon after their arrival. Mrs. Donnellan wrote to Elizabeth on July 11 a long letter, out of which I copy the account of the water cure as then practised—
“We are all out by six in the morning in our chaises, and go three miles to the Geronsterre waters. We come home by nine, and take a cup of chocolate, dine between 12 and 1, go to the Assembly at 4, where there are all countries, and all languages, half a dozen card tables, and no crowd; from the Assembly we take a walk in the Capucins garden; all are in before 8 to supper, and to bed at 10.”
Princess Mary[112] of England had been married in May to the Prince of Hesse.[113] The prince did not come to England, so her brother, the Duke of Cumberland, acted proxy. The following account is of gifts given to the princess’s suite who accompanied her to Hesse:—
“The Duchess of Dorset[114] has had fine presents upon going over with the Princess of Hesse. The Prince presented her with a gold teapot, tea-kettle, and lamp, and Lady Caroline Sackville[115] with a set of Dresden china and a diamond solitaire. The Duchess had likewise a set of Dresden teacups, and a service of Dresden China, and the King gave her a gold snuffbox with a thousand pounds Bank bill in it.”
[112] Princess Mary, daughter of George II.
[113] Frederick, Landgrave of Hesse Cassel.
[114] Wife of 1st Duke of Dorset, née Elizabeth Colyear.
[115] Daughter of the Duchess of Dorset, afterwards Countess of Dorchester.
In a letter to Sarah Robinson of August 11, mention is made of—
“a mask at Cliefden, on Princess Augusta’s[116] birthday; ‘The Story of Alfred,’ wrote by Thomson[117] and Mallet,[118] Mr. Grenville commends it and says it will be published. I own I cannot give much credit to it, for I rather imagine he commends it as a patriot than a judge. I never knew anything of Thomson’s that seemed to be wrote, or could be read, without great labour of the brain.... Lord and Lady Oxford are to come here next Monday, (Bullstrode), and stay a month. Lord Dupplin has made a copy of verses upon my going into the bath, which we would impute to Sandys[119] to his great amazement. He says he does not know who wrote them, but thinks he is very sure he did not.”
[116] Daughter of George II., born 1737.
[117] James Thomson, born 1700, died 1748; poet, wrote “The Seasons,” etc.
[118] David Mallet, Scottish poet, patronized by Pope; died 1765.
[119] A well-known lady’s doctor.
August 25, Elizabeth writes to her father—
“The Duke and Duchess were so obliging as to carry me to see Windsor Castle last week. It is so delightful a place and so fine a palace, I am surprised his Majesty does not spend his summer there, I should think it as well as going to Hanover. The same day we were at Windsor, we went to see a little island[120] circled by the Thames, which the Duke of Marlborough[121] purchased and has beautified at the expense of £8000. There is too great an embarras of buildings upon it, the finest of which I think something resembling the Temple of Janus. He has a better title to build one to war than to fame, for he has got a commission, but renown I believe is what he will never gain. He sent out a few days ago for four-score workmen to improve a place he never proposes to live at, after the old Duchess dies. His Grandfather now saved a people, now saved a groat, but such a warrior and economist as this gentleman he will never save either.
“Lady Andover[122] told me in a letter I received from her last post, that Mrs. Botham was grown very grave, and a great workwoman and an excellent housewife; if that is the case, Mr. Botham preaches to those of his household as well as those of his parish.”
[120] Monkey Island.
[121] Charles, 3rd Duke.
[122] Second daughter of Heneage, Earl of Aylesford, wife of William, Lord Andover.
This is the first allusion to Lydia Botham, cousin of Elizabeth Robinson; she, and her more illustrious sister Elizabeth, or Eliza Lumley, afterwards wife of the Rev. Laurence Sterne, of “Shandean” memory, were the children of the Rev. Robert Lumley, of the Lumley Castle family, Rector of Bedale, Yorks, from 1721 to 1732; and of Lydia, daughter of Anthony Light,[123] and widow in 1709 of her first husband, Thomas Kirke, of Cockridge, near Leeds (a famous Virtuoso), she married afterwards the Rev. Robert Lumley;[124] for the table elucidating this pedigree the reader must turn to the end of the introductory portion of this work. The Lumleys are said to have been brought up in style, but little means had remained to them. Both parents were dead; Lydia had recently married the Rev. John Botham, Rector of Yoxall, Staffordshire. Elizabeth Lumley, her sister, was residing alone in “Little Alice Lane,” under the shadow of York Cathedral. In a folio-sheet letter to her sister Sarah, Elizabeth explains that owing to the Countess of Oxford being at Bullstrode, she had more time to herself, as the countess and she had spent alternate mornings with the duchess. The countess was kind to Elizabeth, but she was a rare admirer of etiquette. When she was with the duchess, she actually wished to see all her letters, which was naturally annoying to a married woman; she also expected them to be couched in the most formal manner, as addressed to a ducal person! Hence, when Elizabeth was away from the duchess, and Lady Oxford was with her, the letters were often written under cover to the duchess’s two lady dressers, so as to indulge in fewer formalities; also, as can be read in Mrs. Delany’s Memoirs in letters from the duchess, nicknames were often set up between the circle of friends, known only to themselves in case of their being opened. This passage in the letter will point to the formality of the circle when including Lady Oxford—
“While our present Guests are here we are so overcharged with ceremony, we cannot move about, and as I am not (thanks to the humility of my station), of the Countess’ cabinet council, I have the morning to myself. To employ them to my edification, I have laid in a great store of Italian, which I cannot read with the Duchess as she has forgotten it so much. I have laid aside the Arcadia[125] till Mrs. Pendarves comes, who is fond of it, and the Duchess and I have agreed that she shall read it to us.... I beg you will send me the receipt for York Curds, and also for Pancakes, called ‘A quire of paper.’”
[123] Of Durham; his grandmother, wife of Gilbert Kirke, was one of the coheiresses of Francis Layton of Rawdon.
[124] As stated in former pages, her mother, Mrs. Light, remarried for second husband, Thomas Robinson, father by her of Matthew Robinson.
[125] “The Arcadia,” written by Sir Philip Sidney.
On August 21, in a letter to Mrs. Donnellan at Spa, occurs the passage—
“Our friend Penny is under great anxiety for the change her sister is going to make. I do not wonder at her fears; I believe both experience, and observation, have taught her the state she is going into is in the general, less happy than that she has left. ‘Pip’ has a good prospect, for they say the gentleman[126] has good sense, good nature, and great sobriety; these are very good things, and indeed what a stock of virtues and qualifications ought to be laid in to last out the journey of life, where so much too lies through the rugged ways of adversity, all will hardly serve to lengthen love and patience to the end.”
[126] John D’Ewes, of Wellesbourne, Co. Warwick.
The lady to be married was Anne Granville, whose nickname was “Pip”; she was about to be married to Mr. John D’Ewes. “Pen” was Mrs. Pendarves’ nickname, afterwards Mrs. Delany, and those who have read her memoirs will remember how unhappy was her first experience of married life. Much mention is made in this letter of an apron Elizabeth is working for the duchess; she begs for patterns of flowers from her father’s pencil, and Mr. Hateley, an artist friend. Embroidered aprons were then the rage, but only for demi-toilette; the beautiful Duchess of Queensberry,[127] going to Court in an apron about this time, was forbidden to attend. The aprons were of all colours as well as white, and the duchess, fearing a light ground would soon soil, bade Elizabeth work hers on a black ground. Sarah Robinson at the same time was working her sister one.
[127] Catherine Hyde, Duchess of Queensberry. Prior’s “Kitty, beautiful and young;” wife of 3rd Duke.
The following passage is indicative of the times:—
“Lord Oxford drinks hard at the chaplain sometimes, but whether a churchman’s conscience lyes deep, or a bumper to Church and King agrees with an orthodox stomach, I don’t know, but he seems less confounded with a bottle of claret than he is with his text, and shows the bottom of it too, which he cannot do with the other.”
Mr. Freind having written a letter in which he rallies Elizabeth about not choosing one of her many admirers, she replies—
“I have lately studied my own foibles, and I have found out I should make a very silly wife, and an extremely foolish Mother, and so have as far resolved as is consistent with deference to reason and advice, never to trouble any man, or spoil any children. I already love too many people in this world to enjoy a perfect tranquility, and I don’t care to have any more strings to pull my heart; it is very tender, and a small matter hurts it. I have been lately a little out of spirits about my incomparable Duchess; she has been a good deal out of order, but by bleeding and care, she is much better, I wish I could say well.”