« السابقةمتابعة »
the innocents—one drives over nothing but poor dead dogs!3 The dear, good-natured, honest, sensible creatures ! Christ! how can any body hurt them? Nobody could but those Cherokees the English, who desire no better than to be halloo'd to blood :—one day, admiral Byng, the next, lord George Sackville, and to day, the poor dogs !
I cannot help telling your lordship how I was diverted the night I returned hither. I was sitting with Mrs. Clive, her sister and brother, on the bench near the road at the end of her long walk. We heard a violent scolding; and looking out, saw a pretty woman standing by a high chaise, in which was a young fellow, and a coachman riding by. The damsel had lost her hat, her cap, her cloak, her temper, and her senses; and was more drunk and more
Whatever the young man had or had not done to her, she would not ride in the chaise with him, but stood cursing and swearing in the most outrageous style: and when she had vented all the oaths she could think of, she at last wished Perfidion might seize him. You may imagine how we laughed.—The fair intoxicate turned round, and cried, “ I am laughed at !-Who is it ?-What, Mrs. Clive ? Kitty Clive ?-No: Kitty Clive would never behave so !”—I wish you could have seen my neighbour's confusion.-She certainly did not grow paler than ordinary.-I laugh now while I repeat it to you.
I have told Mr. Bentley the great honour you have done him, my Lord. He is happy the Temple succeeds to please you.
I am your lordship’s most faithful friend and servant.
To The Hon. H. S. CONWAY.
Strawberry-hill, September 19, 1760. THANK you for your notice, though I should certainly have contrived to see you without it. Your brother promised he would come and dine here one day with you and lord Beauchamp. I go to Navestock on Monday, for two or three days ;
3 During the summer of 1760, the dread of mad dogs raged like an epidemic; the periodical publications of the time being filled with little else of domestic interest than the squabbles of the dog-lovers and dog-haters. The Common Council of London, at a meeting on the 26th August, issued an order for killing all dogs found in the streets or highways after the 27th,
but that will not exhaust your waiting. I shall be in town on Sunday; but, as that is a court-day, I will not, so don't propose it-dine with you at Kensington; but I will be with my lady Hertford about six, where your brother and you will find me if you please. I cannot come to Kensington in the evening, for I have but one pair of horses in the world, and they will have to carry me to town in the morning.
I wonder the king expects a battle ; when prince Ferdinand can do as well without fighting, why should he fight? Can't he make the hereditary prince gallop into a mob of Frenchmen, and get a scratch on the nose; and Johnson straddle cross a river and come back with six heads of hussars in his fob, and then can't he thank all the world, and assure them he shall never forget the victory they have not gained? These thanks are sent over : the gazette swears that this no success was chiefly owing to general Mostyn; and the chronicle protests, that it was achieved by my lord Granby's losing his hat, which he never wears; and then his lordship sends over for three hundred thousand pints of porter to drink his own health; and then Mr. Pitt determines to carry on the war for another year; and then the duke of Newcastle hopes that we shall be beat, that he may lay the blame on Mr, Pitt, and that then he shall be minister for thirty years longer; and then we shall be the greatest nation in the universe. Amen !—My dear Harry, you see how easy it is to be a hero. If you had but taken Impudence and Oatlands in your way to Rochfort, it would not have signified whether you had taken Rochfort or not. Adieu! I don't know who lady A.'s Mr. Alexander is.- If she curls like a vine with any Mr. Alexander but you, I hope my lady Coventry will recover and be your Roxana.
To the Hon. H. S. CONWAY. You are good for nothing; you have no engagement, you have no principles; and all this I am not afraid to tell you, as and offered a reward of 2s. for every dog "that shall be so killed and buried in the skin, being first several times slashed in the body.” The two furthermost quarters in Moorfields were allotted for the burying-place of such dogs. [Ed.]
+ Mr. Conway, as groom of the bed-chamber to the king, was then in waiting at Kensington. [Or.]
you have left your sword behind you. If you take it ill, I have given my nephew, who brings your sword, a letter of attorney to fight you for me; I shall certainly not see you: my lady Waldegrave goes to town on Friday, but I remain here. You lose lady Anne Connolly2 and her forty daughters, who all dine here to-day upon a few loaves and three small fishes. I should have been glad if you would have breakfasted here on Friday on your way ; but, as I lie in bed rather longer than the lark, I fear our hours will not suit one another. Adieu !
To GEORGE MONTAGU, Esq.
Strawberry-hill, October 2, 1760. I ANNOUNCE my lady Huntingtower? to you. I hope you will approve the match, a little more than I suppose my lord Dysart” will, as he does not yet know, though they have been married these two hours, that, at ten o'clock this morning, his son espoused my niece Charlotte at St. James's church. The moment my lord Dysart is dead, I will carry you to see Hamhouse ; it is pleasant to call cousins with a charming prospect over against one. Now you want to know the detail : there was none. It is not the style of our court to have long negotiations ; we don't fatigue the town with exhibiting the betrothed for six months together in public places. Vidit, venit, vicit ;—the young lord has liked her some time ; on Saturday se’nnight he came to my brother, and made his demand. The princess did not know him by sight, and did not dislike him, when she did; she consented, and they were to be married this morning.
My lord Dysart is such a that nobody will pity him ; he has kept his son till six and twenty, and would never make the least settlement on him : “Sure," said the young man, “ if he will do nothing for me, I may please myself; he cannot hinder me of ten thousand pounds a-year, and sixty thousand that are in the
1 At Strawberry-hill. [Or.]
1 Daughter of sir Edward Walpole, and sister to lady Waldegrave and to Mrs. Keppel. [Or.] Charlotte, third daughter of sir Edward Walpole. (Ed.]
2 Lionel Talmache, earl of Dysart. [Ed.]
funds, all entailed on me".
-a reversion one does not wonder the bride did not refuse, as there is present possession, too, of a very handsome person ; the only thing his father has ever given him. His grandfather, lord Granville, has always told him to choose a gentlewoman, and please himself ; yet I should think the ladies Townshend and Cooper would cackle a little.
I wish you could have come here this October for more reasons than one. The Teddingtonian history is grown woefully bad. Mark Antony, though no boy, persists in losing the world two or three times over for every gypsy that he takes for a Cleopatra. I have laughed, been scolded, represented, begged, and at last spoken very roundly—all with equal success; at present we do not meet. I must convince him of ill usage, before I can make good usage of any service. All I have done is forgot, because I will not be enamoured of Hannah Cleopatra, too. You shall know the whole history when I see you; you may trust me for still being kind to him ; but that he must not as yet suspect; they are bent on going to London, that she may visit and be visited, while he puts on his red velvet and ermine, and goes about begging in robes.
Poor Mr. Chute has had another very severe fit of the gout; I left him in bed, but, by not hearing he is worse, trust on Saturday to find him mended. Adieu !
Yours ever. P.S. I have kept a copy of my last memorial, which you, who know all the circumstances, will not think a whit too harsh.
To GEORGE MONTAGU, Esq.
Strawberry-hill, October 14, 1760. IF should see in the newspapers, that I have offered to raise a regiment at Twickenham, am going with the expedition, and have actually kissed hands, don't believe it; though I own, the two first would not be more surprising than the last. I will tell you how the calamity befel me, though you will laugh instead of pitying me. Last Friday morning, I was very tranquilly writing my Anecdotes of Painting—I heard the bell at the gate ring I called out, as usual, “Not at home;" but Harry, who thought it would be treason to tell a lie, when he saw red live
ries, owned I was, and came running up: “Sir, the prince of Wales is at the door, and says he is come on purpose to make you a visit!” There was I, in the utmost confusion, undressed, in my slippers, and with my hair about my ears; there was no help, insanum vatem aspiciet—and down I went to receive him. Him was the duke of York. Behold my breeding of the old court; at the foot of the stairs I kneeled down, and kissed his hand. I beg your uncle Algernon Sidney's pardon, but I could not let the second prince of the blood kiss my hand first. He was, as he always is, extremely good-humoured; and I, as I am not always, extremely respectful. He staid two hours, nobody with him but Morrison ; I showed him all my castle, the pictures of the pretender's sons, and that type of the reformation, Harry the eighth's
-, moulded into a weight to the clock he gave Anne Boleyn. But observe my luck; he would have the sanctum sanctorum in the library opened ; about a month ago I removed the MSS, in another place. All this is very well; but now for consequences; what was I to do next? I have not been in a court these ten years, consequently have never kissed hands in the next reign. Could I let a duke of York visit me, and go to thank him ? I know if I was a great poet, 1 might be so brutal, and tell the world in rhyme that rudeness is virtue; or, if I was a patriot, I might, after laughing at kings and princes for twenty years, catch at the first opening of favour and beg a place. In truth, I can do neither; yet I could not be shocking ; I determined to go to Leicestershire-house, and comforted myself that it was not much less meritorious to go there for nothing, than to stay quite away; yet I believe I must make a pilgrimage to saint Liberty of Geneva, before I am perfectly purified, especially as I am dipped even at St. James's. Lord Hertford, at my request, begged my lady Yarmouth to get an order for my lady Henry to go through the park, and the countess said so many civil things about me and my suit, and granted it so expeditiously, that I shall be forced to visit her, even before she lives here next door to my lady Suffolk. My servants are transported; Harry expects to see me first minister, like my father, and reckons upon a place in the Custom-house. Louis, who drinks like a German, thinks himself qualified for a page of the back stairsbut these are not all my troubles. As I never dress in summer, I had nothing upon earth but a frock, unless I went in black,