AFTER THE RISING.
1716.
When James landed in France he proceeded to St. Germains, but the
Regent declined to receive him, and desired him to withdraw to
Lorraine. Instead of doing so, he went for a time to Versailles, to “a
little house,” according to Bolingbroke, “where his female ministers
resided”. Here James gave Bolingbroke audience, and received him
graciously. “No Italian ever embraced the man he was going to stab
with a greater show of affection and confidence,” wrote Bolingbroke
after. The next morning Bolingbroke received a visit from Ormonde, who
handed him a paper in James’s writing, which curtly intimated that he
had no further occasion for his services, and desiring him to give up
the papers of the secretary’s office. “These papers,” Bolingbroke said
contemptuously, “might have been contained in a small letter case.” The
reason of James’s extraordinary conduct to the man who was his ablest
adherent has always remained a mystery. Some said it was because of
Bolingbroke’s not raising supplies, others that James had never trusted
him, and in some way blamed him for the failure of his enterprise,
others that it was due to the influence of James’s woman advisers and
the jealousy of Mar. It was probably a combination of all these. Lord
Stair has another reason: “They use poor Harry (Bolingbroke) most
unmercifully, and call him knave and traitor, and God knows what. I
believe all poor Harry’s fault was, that he could not play his part
with a grave enough face; he could not help laughing now and then at
such kings and queens.”[66]
Be the reason what it may, Bolingbroke never forgave the insult, and
when the Queen-Mother, Mary Beatrice, sent him a message later saying
that his dismissal was against her advice and without her approval,
and expressing the wish that he would continue to work for her son’s
cause, he returned an answer saying that he hoped his arm would rot off
and his brain fail if he ever again devoted either to the restoration
of the Stuarts. Henceforth he concentrated his energies on getting his
attainder reversed and returning to England.
The Jacobite rising had a painful sequel in England in the punishment
of its leaders. In Scotland no men of note were taken. But in England
many fell into the hands of the Government at the surrender of Preston.
These were treated with great severity, some of the inferior officers
were tried by court martial and shot forthwith. The leaders were sent
to London, where they met with every possible ignominy. They came into
London with their arms tied behind their backs, seated on horses whose
bridles had been taken off, each led by a soldier. “The mob insulted
them terribly,” says Lady Cowper, “carrying a warming-pan before them,
and saying a thousand barbarous things, which some of the prisoners
returned with spirit; the chief of my father’s family was amongst them;
he was about seventy years old. Desperate fortune drove him from home
in hopes to have repaired it. I did not see them come into town, nor
let any of my children do so. I thought it would be an insulting of
my relations I had there, though almost everybody went to see them.”
Lords Derwentwater, Kenmure, Nithisdale, Widdrington, Nairn, Carnwath
and Wintoun were impeached. All these, except Wintoun, who was sent to
trial, pleaded guilty and threw themselves on the King’s mercy, and
sentence of death was pronounced on them. The peers were all confined
to the Tower, but Forster and Macintosh were thrust into Newgate, and
both of them eventually managed to make their escape.
Great interest was felt in the fate of the six Jacobite peers. In the
interval which passed between their being found guilty and the day
fixed for their execution, every effort was made by their friends to
obtain their pardon. Ladies of the highest rank used their influence,
either directly with the King, or indirectly with his Ministers. Lord
Derwentwater’s case especially excited compassion; he was little
more than a boy, greatly beloved for his virtues in private life,
his open-hearted liberality, and his high standard of honour. His
young countess, dressed in the deepest mourning, and supported by the
Duchesses of Bolton and Cleveland, and a long train of peeresses all
clad in black, sought an audience of the King, and prayed him on her
knees to have mercy. The young wife pleaded, with justice, that her
lord had taken no action in the rising until forced to do so by the
news that a writ was issued for his arrest, but neither her tears nor
her prayers, nor those of the ladies who knelt before him, availed
anything with the King. He returned an evasive answer, and said the
matter was in the hands of his Ministers. Lady Nairn also pleaded for
her husband to the King, without moving him. But the most intrepid of
all these devoted wives was Lady Nithisdale, who determined to save her
lord though she should die for it. The King refused to see her, but she
found a way into his presence. The manner in which she effected this
and the brutal way in which he repulsed her is best told in her own
words:--
“My lord,” she says, “was very anxious that a petition might be
presented, hoping that it would at least be serviceable to me. I was
in my own mind convinced that it would answer no purpose, but as I
wished to please my lord, I desired him to have it drawn up, and I
undertook to make it come to the King’s hand, notwithstanding all the
precautions the King had taken to avoid it. So the first day I heard
that the King was to go to the drawing-room, I dressed myself in black,
as if I had been in mourning, and sent for Mrs. Morgan, the same who
had accompanied me to the Tower, because, as I did not know his Majesty
personally, I might have mistaken some other person for him. She stayed
by me and told me when he was coming. I had also another lady with me,
and we three remained in a room between the King’s apartments and the
drawing-room, so that he was obliged to go through it, and as there
were three windows in it, we sat in the middle one that I might have
time enough to meet him before he could pass. I threw myself at his
feet, and told him in French that I was the unfortunate Countess of
Nithisdale, that he might not pretend to be ignorant of my person. But
perceiving that he wanted to go on without receiving my petition, I
caught hold of the skirt of his coat that he might stop and hear me. He
endeavoured to escape out of my hands, but I kept such strong hold that
he dragged me upon my knees from the middle of the room to the very
door of the drawing-room. At last one of the blue ribbands who attended
his Majesty took me round the waist, whilst another wrested the coat
out of my hands. The petition which I had endeavoured to thrust into
his pocket fell down in the scuffle, and I almost fainted away through
grief and disappointment.”
The Archbishop of Canterbury, many of the Bishops, and the whole of the
Tory party were in favour of mercy, and some of the Whigs urged it too.
The Princess of Wales did everything in her power to obtain pardon for
the condemned lords, especially for Lord Carnwath. “The Princess has a
great mind to save Lord Carnwath,” writes Lady Cowper. “She has desired
me to get Sir David Hamilton to speak to him to lay some foundation
with the King to save him, but he will persist in saying he knows
nothing.” And again: “Sir David Hamilton followed me with a letter for
the Princess from Lord Carnwath. I told her of it, and said if she
had not a mind to receive it, I would take the fault upon myself. She
took the letter and was much moved in reading it, and wept and said:
‘He must say more to save himself,’ and bade Sir David Hamilton go to
him again and beg of him for God’s sake to save himself by confessing.
‘There is no other way, and I will give him my honour to save him if he
will confess, but he must not think to impose upon people by professing
to know nothing, when his mother goes about talking as violently for
Jacobitism as ever, and says that her son falls in a glorious cause.’”
Lord Carnwath confessed, and was reprieved as the Princess promised.
Caroline pleaded hard for the others. Though her interests were all in
the other camp, she had much sympathy for the Jacobites, and a great
pity for the exiled James. But she was able to effect little either
with the King or his Ministers. Lord Nairn was saved by the friendship
of Stanhope, who had been at Eton with him. Stanhope threatened to
resign office unless Nairn were reprieved, and the other Ministers had
to give way.
Walpole took the lead against mercy, and declared in the House of
Commons that he was “moved with indignation to see that there should
be such unworthy members of this great body who can without blushing
open their mouths in favour of rebels and parasites”. To stifle further
remonstrance, he moved the adjournment of the House until March 1st,
it being understood that the condemned peers would be executed in the
interval. He only carried his resolution by a narrow majority of seven,
but it sufficed. Lord Nottingham, in the House of Lords, although a
member of the Government, carried an Address to the King pleading for a
reprieve for the condemned lords. This gave great offence at Court, for
the King strongly objected to being brought into the matter, and wished
to throw all the responsibility of the executions upon his Ministers.
Nottingham was compelled to resign office, but his interposition had
some effect. The King sent an answer to the Address, in which he
merely stated that “on this and on other occasions he would do what he
thought most consistent with the dignity of his crown and the safety
of his people”. But Ministers were so far moved that they called a
council that night, and announced not only the reprieve of Carnwath
and Nairn, which had already been decided on, but also of Widdrington.
Then to cut short further agitation they decreed that the execution of
Derwentwater, Nithisdale and Kenmure should take place at once.
The news of Nottingham’s action in the House of Lords, though not the
meeting of the Cabinet, was quickly known to the condemned lords in
the Tower, but it gave them little hope. Lady Nithisdale, who had no
hope of the King’s clemency, determined, if possible, to effect her
lord’s escape. That same night, accompanied by a woman who was in her
confidence, she went to the Tower. The guards were lenient with regard
to the visitors of those condemned to death, and she had free access
to her husband’s room. Lady Nithisdale represented that her companion
was a friend who wished to take a last farewell of the condemned man.
She and her companion were left alone with him, and then divested
themselves of sundry female garments which they had concealed about
their persons. Presently the other woman left. Lady Nithisdale dressed
her lord up in woman’s clothes, painted his cheeks, and put on him a
false front of hair. She then opened the door, and, accompanied by her
husband who held his handkerchief before his face as though overcome
with grief, walked past the guards. It was dusk, and Lord Nithisdale’s
disguise was so complete that he got safely outside the Tower, and hid
with his wife that night in a small lodging hard by.[67]
Nithisdale’s escape became known within an hour or two after he
left the Tower, and the news ran like wildfire round the town. In
the apartments of the Princess of Wales there was the liveliest
satisfaction, but as to the way the King received it, testimony is
divided. Some said that George laughed good humouredly, and even
said he was glad, but Lady Nithisdale has a different tale to tell.
According to her, “Her Grace of Montrose said she would go to Court to
see how the news of my lord’s escape was received. When the news was
brought to the King, he flew into an excessive passion and said he was
betrayed, for it could not have been done without some confederacy. He
instantly despatched two persons to the Tower to see that the other
prisoners were well secured.”
On the other hand, no very vigilant efforts were made to recapture
Nithisdale. The fugitives remained in their hiding for two days, and
then Nithisdale went to the Venetian ambassador’s--one of the servants
had been bribed to help him, of course unknown to the ambassador. There
Nithisdale put on the Venetian livery and travelled down to Dover. At
Dover he made his escape across the Channel, and his wife soon joined
him. They eventually went to Rome, where they lived until a ripe old
age.
[Illustration: LORD NITHISDALE’S ESCAPE FROM THE TOWER.
_From an old Print._]
Derwentwater and Kenmure were not so fortunate. They were led out to
execution on Tower Hill early on the morning of February 24th--the
morning after Nithisdale’s escape. An immense concourse of people
had assembled, and the scaffold was covered in black. The young and
gallant Derwentwater died first. As he was a Roman Catholic he was
refused even a priest to attend his last moments, and he ascended
the scaffold alone. When he had knelt some minutes in prayer, he
rose and read a paper in a clear voice, in which he declared that he
deeply repented having pleaded guilty, and he acknowledged no King but
James the Third as his lawful Sovereign. He concluded: “I intended
to wrong nobody, but to serve my King and country, and that without
self-interest, hoping by the example I gave, to induce others to do
their duty, and God, who knows the secrets of my heart, knows that I
speak the truth”. As he laid his head down on the block he noticed a
rough place, and he bade the executioner chip it off, lest it should
hurt his neck. Then he exclaimed, “Lord Jesus, receive my soul,” the
appointed signal, and the executioner severed his head with one blow.
Kenmure was executed immediately after. His demeanour was firm, like
that of Derwentwater, and he also said that he repented of his plea
of guilty, and died a loyal subject of King James. As Kenmure was a
Protestant, he was attended by two clergymen in his last moments, as
well as by his son and some friends.
Of the impeached peers there remained now only Lord Wintoun, who had
refused to plead guilty, and his trial did not come off until March
(1716). He was said to be of unsound mind, and a plea for mercy was put
forward by his friends on that ground, but he showed great cunning at
his trial. He was condemned and sent back to the Tower, but he found
a means of making his escape some time afterwards, and there is little
doubt that his flight was winked at by the Government. The reprieves of
Carnwath and Nairn were followed by their pardon; Forster also escaped
from Newgate, walking out in daylight. The executions of Derwentwater
and Kenmure had shocked the public conscience. The Tories were loud
in their condemnation of the violence and severity of the Government.
“They have dyed the royal ermines in blood,” wrote Bolingbroke. Nor did
the King escape odium, but rather drew it upon himself by having the
bad taste to appear at the theatre on the evening of the very day of
the execution of the condemned lords. It is difficult to say whether
he endeavoured to exert his royal prerogative of mercy, or how far he
was able to do so, when the most powerful of his Ministers were crying
for blood. On a subsequent occasion, when urged by Walpole to extreme
measures against the Jacobites, he stoutly refused, saying, “I will
have no more blood or forfeitures”. He would have strengthened his
position if he had refused before. The penalty of treason in those days
was death, but it could hardly be maintained that Derwentwater and
Kenmure had been guilty of ordinary treason, since it was founded on a
loyal attachment to the undoubted heir of the ancient Kings of Scotland
and England.
The Government had put down the rising with an iron hand. They had
driven James from the country; they had imprisoned, shot and beheaded
his adherents, and now the time was drawing nigh when, according to the
Constitution, they would have to appeal to the country, and obtain the
country’s verdict upon their work. In accordance with the Triennial
Bill of 1694, Parliament having sat for almost three years would have
soon to be dissolved, and the judgment of the nation passed upon the
rival claims of James and the Hanoverian dynasty. The omens were not
propitious. The country was seething with discontent, and eager to
revenge the severities of the Government. On the anniversary of Charles
the Second’s restoration green boughs were everywhere to be seen, white
roses were worn openly in the streets, and Jacobite demonstrations were
held, more or less openly, all over the country.
The Princess of Wales was the only member of the Royal Family who kept
her popularity. She had won goodwill by having been on the side of
mercy, and she maintained it by many little acts of grace. The winter
that had passed was the coldest known for years. The Thames was frozen
over from December 3rd to January 21st,[68] and oxen were roasted and
fairs held upon the ice. The long-continued frost occasioned much
distress among the watermen and owners of wherries and boats. The
Princess, who often used the Thames as a waterway, ordered a sum of
money to be distributed among them, and got up a subscription. Her
birthday was made the occasion of some rejoicing. We read that the
Society of Ancient Britons was established in her honour, and the
stewards of the society and many Welshmen met at St. Paul’s, Covent
Garden, where a service was held in the Welsh tongue. My Lord Lumley
also, one of the young beaux attached to the Court, “had a load of
faggots burned before his father’s (Lord Scarborough’s) door in Gerard
Street, and gave three barrels of ale and beer, and a guinea to his
servants, to drink the health of the Princess”.[69] The Prince shared
his consort’s popularity, in a lesser degree, chiefly because he was
known to be hated by the King. But one night at Drury Lane he was
shot at by a half-witted man. The bullet missed the Prince, but hit
one of the guards, who in those days used to stand sentinel at the
back of the royal box. There was great confusion and uproar. Some one
shouted “Fire!” the ladies shrieked and climbed over the boxes, the
actors came down from the stage, and there was an ugly rush in the pit.
Only the Prince remained unmoved, and kept his seat. His example had
the effect of reassuring the audience; the man was arrested, and the
play proceeded. The Prince and Princess did not allow this unpleasant
incident to make any difference to them, and they went about as freely
among the people as before, though they might well have been afraid in
the excited state of public feeling.
Indignation was especially directed against the King and his
mistresses, and the flood of scurrilous pamphlets and abusive ballads
grew greater and greater. So hostile became the crowd that a society,
called “Ye Guild of Ye Loyall Mug Houses,” was formed to protect the
King from personal violence and insult. It was composed mostly of young
bloods from the coffee-houses who used to fight the Jacobites when they
used expressions detrimental to the Royal Family, and as both sides
were spoiling for a fight, street rows were frequent. Even women were
not safe from violence, and it is noteworthy that nearly all the women
who took part in politics were on the side of the exiled James. Addison
was hired to write against these “she-Jacobites,” as he called them in
the _Freeholder_--poor stuff most of it was, too, and justified Swift’s
sneer about Addison “fair-sexing” it. “A man,” writes Addison, “is
startled when he sees a pretty bosom heaving with such party rage as
is disagreeable even in that sex which is of a more coarse and rugged
make. And yet, such is our misfortune, that we sometimes see a pair
of stays ready to burst with sedition, and hear the most masculine
passions expressed in the sweetest voices.” It will hardly be believed
that these effusions were highly inflammatory. Yet on one occasion,
while the _Freeholder_ was running its brief-lived course, a Whig,
seeing a young lady walking down St. James’s Street with a bunch of
white roses on her bosom, sprang out of his coach, tore off the roses
and trampled them in the mud, and lashed the young lady with his whip.
She was rescued by the timely appearance of some Jacobite gentry, who
carried her home in safety, but a street fight, assuming almost the
proportions of a riot, was the consequence.
These things, it may be urged, were merely straws, yet straws show the
way the wind blows, and Ministers saw enough to be sure that it was
not blowing in their favour. They were afraid to face the country.
They therefore brought forward the Septennial Act, which repealed
the Triennial Act, and enacted that Parliament should sit, if the
Government thought fit, for the space of seven years. The Bill was
carried through both Houses and became the law of the land. The action
of the Government in thus shirking an appeal to the country certainly
lent colour to the Jacobite contention, that the nation, as a whole,
was in favour of the return of the Stuarts, and that it desired nothing
so much as to send George and the Hanoverian family back to Hanover at
the earliest opportunity. Allowing for Jacobite exaggeration, it seems
probable that the people who, less than three years before, had voted
in favour of the Hanoverian succession, would now, had an opportunity
been given them, have voted against it. These violent vacillations of
public opinion may be used as an argument against popular government.
But the Whigs posed as the party of popular government, and if it be
admitted, as they declared, that the people have a right to choose
their King, it is difficult to see how the Whigs could logically have
been justified in maintaining upon the throne a prince who was not
supported by the suffrages of the people. But such speculation is
merely academic. For good or evil the Septennial Act was passed, and
its passing, far more than the failure of James’s expedition, fixed the
House of Hanover upon the throne. That was one result, and perhaps the
most important. Another was that it gave an impetus to the bribery and
corruption by which Walpole, and those who succeeded him, were able to
buy majorities in the House of Commons and the constituencies, and thus
for more than a century prevented the voice of the nation making itself
effectively heard. It led to the establishment, not of government by
the people, for the people, but of a Whig oligarchy, who were able to
hold place and power in spite of the people.
The immediate result of the Septennial Act was one which Ministers had
hardly reckoned with. The rising being quelled, and this Act, which
seemed to make his occupation of the throne certain for the next few
years, safely passed, the King announced his intention of revisiting
his beloved Hanover, from which he had now been exiled long. It was
in vain that Ministers pointed out to George the unpopularity which
would attend such a step, and the dangers that might ensue. The King’s
impatience was not to be stemmed, and he told them frankly that,
whether they could get on without him or not, to Hanover he would
go. To enable him to go, therefore, the restraining clause of the
Act of Settlement had to be repealed, and a Regent or a Council of
Regency appointed. The first was easily managed by the docile House of
Commons; the second was more difficult. It was naturally assumed that
the Prince of Wales would be appointed by the King to act as Regent
in his absence. But to this the King objected. It was already an open
secret about the Court that the King and the Prince hated one another
thoroughly, and the King was especially jealous of the efforts which
the Prince and Princess of Wales were making to gain popularity. The
Prince looked forward with eagerness to the regency, and he and the
Princess already reckoned on the increased importance it would give
them. The King, who did not trust his son, refused to entrust him with
the nominal government of the kingdom unless other persons, whom he
could trust, were associated with him in the regency, and limited his
power by a number of petty restrictions. The Prime Minister, Townshend,
however, declared that he could find no instance of persons being
joined in commission with the Prince of Wales, or of any restrictions
on the regency, and that the “constant tenor of ancient practice could
not conveniently be receded from”.
The King, therefore, had grudgingly to yield his son the first place
in his absence, but instead of giving him the title of Regent, he
named him “Guardian of the Realm and Lieutenant,” an office unknown in
England since the days of the Black Prince. He also insisted that the
Duke of Argyll, the Prince of Wales’s trusted friend and adviser, whom
he suspected of aiding and abetting him in his opposition to the royal
will, should be dismissed from all his appointments about the Prince.
The Prince bitterly resented this, and Townshend supported the Prince,
thereby incurring the disfavour of the King. The Princess of Wales also
threw herself into the quarrel, and the bitterness became intensified.
“The Princess is all in a flame, the Prince in an agony,” writes Lady
Cowper, and she adds, “I wish to give them advice. They are all mad,
and for their own private ends will destroy all.” But resistance was
of no avail, the King was obdurate, and in the end the Prince declared
himself “resolved to sacrifice everything to please and live well with
the King, so will part with the Duke of Argyll”.
The King, having gained his point, and made matters generally
unpleasant for his son and his Ministers, relented sufficiently to pay
a farewell visit to the Princess of Wales. She told him that he looked
ill, and he laughed and said, “I may well look ill, for I have had a
world of blood drawn from me to-day,” and then he explained that he
had given audience to more than fifty people, and every one of them
had asked him for something, except the Lord Chancellor. He held a
drawing-room on the evening of his departure. “The King in mighty good
humour,” writes Lady Cowper. “When I wished him a good journey and a
quick return, he looked as if the last part of my speech was needless,
and that he did not think of it.”
George set out for Hanover on July 9th, 1716, accompanied by Stanhope,
as Minister in attendance, Bernstorff, who was to help him in certain
schemes for the benefit of Hanover and the detriment of England, and
a numerous retinue, chiefly Hanoverian, which included Schulemburg,
Kielmansegge and the Turks.
The King-Elector was received at Hanover with demonstrations of joy,
and a succession of _fêtes_ was carried out in his honour. There was
plenty of money at Hanover now--English money--and the Hanoverians
could have as many entertainments as they desired without thinking of
the expense. The King’s brother, Ernest Augustus, welcomed him on the
frontier. He had acted as Regent entirely to George’s satisfaction,
and he showed it by creating him Duke of York. The King’s grandson,
Frederick, was also there, and he had held the courts and levées at
Herrenhausen in the King’s absence. It was not a good training. He was
a precocious youth, showing signs, even at this early age, of emulating
his father and grandfather in their habits and vices. He already
gambled and drank, and when his governor sent a complaint against him
to his mother in England, she good-naturedly took his part. “_Ah_,” she
wrote, “_je m’imagine que ce sont des tours de page_.” The governor
replied, “_Plût à Dieu, madame, que ce fûssent des tours de page! Ce
sont des tours de laquais et de coquin._” His grandfather thought him a
most promising prince, and created him Duke of Gloucester, as a sign of
his approval.
The return of the King brought many people to Hanover--ministers,
diplomatists and princes all came to pay their respects, and to see if
they could not arrange matters in some way for their own benefit. Lady
Mary writes: “This town is neither large nor handsome, but the palace
capable of holding a greater Court than that of St. James’s. The King
has had the kindness to appoint us a lodging in one part, without which
we should be very ill-accommodated, for the vast number of English
crowds the town so much it is very good luck to get one sorry room in
a miserable tavern.... The King’s company of French comedians play
here every night; they are very well dressed, and some of them not ill
actors. His Majesty dines and sups constantly in public. The Court
is very numerous, and its affability and goodness make it one of the
most agreeable places in the world.”[70] To another correspondent she
writes more critically: “I have now got into the region of beauty. All
the women have literally rosy cheeks, snowy foreheads and bosoms, jet
eyebrows and scarlet lips, to which they generally add coal black hair.
These perfections never leave them until the hour of their deaths,
and have a very fine effect by candle-light. But I could wish them
handsome with a little more variety. They resemble one of the beauties
of Mrs. Salmon’s Court of Great Britain,[71] and are in as much danger
of melting away by approaching too close to the fire, which they,
for that reason, carefully avoid, though it is now such excessive
cold weather that I believe they suffer extremely by that piece of
self-denial.”[72] She much admired Herrenhausen. “I was very sorry,”
she writes, “that the ill weather did not permit me to see Herrenhausen
in all its beauty, but in spite of the snow I think the gardens very
fine. I was particularly surprised at the vast number of orange trees,
much larger than any I have ever seen in England, though this climate
is certainly colder.”[73]
The King mightily diverted himself at Hanover, passing much time in
the society of his mistress, Countess Platen, whom he now rejoined
after two years’ separation, and holding a crowded Court every night.
Lady Mary, too, had a great success, and some of the English courtiers
thought that she ran Countess Platen hard in the King’s favour. Lord
Peterborough, who was in the King’s suite, declared that the King was
so happy at Hanover, that “he believed he had forgotten the accident
which happened to him and his family on the 1st August, 1714”.
FOOTNOTES TO BOOK II, CHAPTER V:
[66] The Earl of Stair (English ambassador in Paris) to the elder
Horace Walpole, 3rd March, 1716.
[67] A full account of Lord Nithisdale’s escape from the Tower is given
in a letter written by Lady Nithisdale to her sister, Lady Traquair.
It may be read in the _Transactions of the Societies of Antiquaries of
Scotland_, vol. i., pp. 523–38. These particulars are taken from it.
[68] _The Weekly Journal_, 28th January, 1716.
[69] _The Weekly Journal_, 3rd March, 1716.
[70] Lady Mary Wortley Montagu to the Countess of Bristol, Hanover,
25th November, 1716.
[71] A celebrated waxwork show in London.
[72] Lady Mary Wortley Montagu to the Lady Rich, Hanover, 1st December,
1716.
[73] Lady Mary Wortley Montagu to the Countess of Mar, Blankenburg,
17th December, 1716.