EARLY LETTERS. WINTER AND SPRING 1652-53
This first chapter begins with a long letter, dated from Chicksands some
time in the autumn of 1652, when Temple has returned to England after a
long absence. It takes us up to March 1653, about the end of which time
Dorothy went to London and met Temple again. The engagement she mentions
must have been one that her parents were forcing upon her, and it was
not until the London visit, I fancy, that her friendship progressed
beyond its original limits; but in this matter the reader of Dorothy's
letters will be as well able to judge as myself.
_Letter I._--Goring House, where Dorothy and Temple had last parted, was
in 1646 appointed by the House of Commons for the reception of the
French Ambassador. In 1665 it was the town house of Mr. Secretary
Bennet, afterwards Lord Arlington. Its grounds stood much in the
position of the present Arlington Street, and Evelyn speaks of it as an
ill-built house, but capable of being made a pretty villa.
Dorothy mentions, among other things, that she has been "drinking the
waters," though she does not say at what place. It would be either at
Barnet, Epsom, or Tunbridge, all of which places are mentioned by
contemporary letter-writers as health resorts. At Barnet there was a
calcareous spring with a small portion of sea salt in it, which, as we
may gather from a later letter, had been but recently discovered. This
spring was afterwards, in the year 1677, endowed by one John Owen, who
left the sum of £1 to keep the well in repair "as long as it should be
of service to the parish." Towards the end of last century, Lyson
mentions that the well was in decay and little used. One wonders what
has become of John Owen's legacy. The Epsom spring had been discovered
earlier in the century. It was the first of its kind found in England.
The town was already a place of fashionable resort on account of its
mineral waters; they are mentioned as of European celebrity; and as
early as 1609 a ball-room was erected, avenues were planted, and neither
Bath nor Tunbridge could rival Epsom in the splendour of their
appointments. Towards the beginning of the last century, however, the
waters gradually lost their reputation. Tunbridge Wells, the last of the
three watering-places that Dorothy may have visited, is still
flourishing and fashionable. Its springs are said to have been
discovered by Lord North in 1606; and the fortunes of the place were
firmly established by a visit paid to the springs by Queen Henrietta
Maria, acting under medical advice, in 1630, shortly after the birth of
Prince Charles. At this date there was no adequate accommodation for the
royal party, and Her Majesty had to live in tents on the banks of the
spring. An interesting account of the early legends and gradual growth
of Tunbridge Wells is to be found in a guide-book of 1768, edited by
one Mr. J. Sprange.
The elderly man who proposed to Dorothy was Sir Justinian Isham, Bart.,
of Lamport in Northamptonshire. He himself was about forty-two years of
age at this time, and had lost his first wife (by whom he had four
daughters) in 1638. The Rev. W. Betham, with that optimism which is
characteristic of compilers of peerages, thinks "that he was esteemed
one of the most accomplished persons of the time, being a gentleman, not
only of fine learning, but famed for his piety and exemplary life."
Dorothy thinks otherwise, and writes of him as "the vainest,
impertinent, self-conceited, learned coxcomb that ever yet I saw."
Peerages in Dorothy's style would perhaps be unprofitable writing. The
"Emperor," as Dorothy calls him in writing to Temple, may feel thankful
that his epitaph was in others hands than hers. He appears to have
proposed to her more than once, and evidently had her brother's good
offices, which I fear were not much in his favour with Dorothy. He
ultimately married the daughter of Thomas Lord Leigh of Stoneleigh, some
time in the following year.
Sir Thomas Osborne, a Yorkshire baronet, afterwards Earl of Danby, is a
name not unknown in history. He was a cousin of Dorothy; his mother,
Elizabeth Danvers, being Dorothy's aunt. He afterwards married Lady
Bridget Lindsay, the Earl of Lindsay's daughter, and the marriage is
mentioned in due course, with Dorothy's comments. His leadership of the
"Country Party," when the reins of government were taken from the
discredited Cabal, is not matter for these pages, neither are we much
concerned to know that he was greedy of wealth and honours, corrupt
himself, and a corrupter of others. This is the conventional character
of all statesmen of all dates and in all ages, reflected in the mirror
of envious opposition; no one believes the description to be true.
Judged by the moral standard of his contemporaries, he seems to have
been at least of average height. How near was Dorothy to the high places
of the State when this man and Henry Cromwell were among her suitors!
Had she been an ambitious woman, illustrious historians would have
striven to do justice to her character in brilliant periods, and there
would be no need at this day for her to claim her place among the
celebrated women of England.
SIR,--There is nothing moves my charity like gratitude; and when a
beggar is thankful for a small relief, I always repent it was not more.
But seriously, this place will not afford much towards the enlarging of
a letter, and I am grown so dull with living in't (for I am not willing
to confess yet I was always so) as to need all helps. Yet you shall see
I will endeavour to satisfy you, upon condition you will tell me why you
quarrelled so at your last letter. I cannot guess at it, unless it were
that you repented you told me so much of your story, which I am not apt
to believe neither, because it would not become our friendship, a great
part of it consisting (as I have been taught) in a mutual confidence.
And to let you see that I believe it so, I will give you an account of
myself, and begin my story, as you did yours, from our parting at Goring
House.
I came down hither not half so well pleased as I went up, with an
engagement upon me that I had little hope of shaking off, for I had made
use of all the liberty my friends would allow me to preserve my own, and
'twould not do; he was so weary of his, that he would part with it upon
any terms. As my last refuge I got my brother to go down with him to see
his house, who, when he came back, made the relation I wished. He said
the seat was as ill as so good a country would permit, and the house so
ruined for want of living in't, as it would ask a good proportion of
time and money to make it fit for a woman to confine herself to. This
(though it were not much) I was willing to take hold of, and made it
considerable enough to break the engagement. I had no quarrel to his
person or his fortune, but was in love with neither, and much out of
love with a thing called marriage; and have since thanked God I was so,
for 'tis not long since one of my brothers writ me word of him that he
was killed in a duel, though since I have heard that 'twas the other
that was killed, and he is fled upon 't, which does not mend the matter
much. Both made me glad I had 'scaped him, and sorry for his misfortune,
which in earnest was the least return his many civilities to me could
deserve.
Presently, after this was at an end, my mother died, and I was left at
liberty to mourn her loss awhile. At length my aunt (with whom I was
when you last saw me) commanded me to wait on her at London; and when I
came, she told me how much I was in her care, how well she loved me for
my mother's sake, and something for my own, and drew out a long set
speech which ended in a good motion (as she call'd it); and truly I saw
no harm in't, for by what I had heard of the gentleman I guessed he
expected a better fortune than mine. And it proved so. Yet he protested
he liked me so well, that he was very angry my father would not be
persuaded to give £1000 more with me; and I him so ill, that I vowed if
I had £1000 less I should have thought it too much for him. And so we
parted. Since, he has made a story with a new mistress that is worth
your knowing, but too long for a letter. I'll keep it for you.
After this, some friends that had observed a gravity in my face which
might become an elderly man's wife (as they term'd it) and a
mother-in-law, proposed a widower to me, that had four daughters, all
old enough to be my sisters; but he had a great estate, was as fine a
gentleman as ever England bred, and the very pattern of wisdom. I that
knew how much I wanted it, thought this the safest place for me to
engage in, and was mightily pleased to think I had met with one at last
that had wit enough for himself and me too. But shall I tell you what I
thought when I knew him (you will say nothing on't): 'twas the vainest,
impertinent, self-conceited, learned coxcomb that ever yet I saw; to say
more were to spoil his marriage, which I hear is towards with a daughter
of my Lord Coleraine's; but for his sake I shall take care of a fine
gentleman as long as I live.
Before I have quite ended with him, coming to town about that and some
other occasions of my own, I fell in Sir Thomas's way; and what humour
took I cannot imagine, but he made very formal addresses to me, and
engaged his mother and my brother to appear in't. This bred a story
pleasanter than any I have told you yet, but so long a one that I must
reserve it till we meet, or make it a letter of itself.
The next thing I designed to be rid on was a scurvy spleen that I have
been subject to, and to that purpose was advised to drink the waters.
There I spent the latter end of the summer, and at my coming home found
that a gentleman (who has some estate in this country) had been treating
with my brother, and it yet goes on fair and softly. I do not know him
so much as to give you much of his character: 'tis a modest, melancholy,
reserved man, whose head is so taken up with little philosophic studies,
that I admire how I found a room there. 'Twas sure by chance; and unless
he is pleased with that part of my humour which other people think the
worst, 'tis very possible the next new experiment may crowd me out
again. Thus you have all my late adventures, and almost as much as this
paper will hold. The rest shall be employed in telling you how sorry I
am you have got such a cold. I am the more sensible of your trouble by
my own, for I have newly got one myself. But I will send you that which
was to cure me. 'Tis like the rest of my medicines: if it do no good,
'twill be sure to do no harm, and 'twill be no great trouble to take a
little on't now and then; for the taste on't, as it is not excellent, so
'tis not very ill. One thing more I must tell you, which is that you are
not to take it ill that I mistook your age by my computation of your
journey through this country; for I was persuaded t'other day that I
could not be less than thirty years old by one that believed it himself,
because he was sure it was a great while since he had heard of such a
one as
Your humble servant.
_Letter 2._--This letter, which is dated, comes, I think, at some
distance of time from the first letter. Dorothy may have dated her
letters to ordinary folk; but as she writes to her servant once a week
at least, she seems to have considered dates to be superfluous. When
Temple is in Ireland, her letters are generally dated with the day of
the month. Temple had probably returned from a journey into
Yorkshire,--his travels in Holland were over some time ago,--and passing
through Bedford within ten miles of Chicksands, he neglected to pay his
respects to Dorothy, for which he is duly called to account in Letter 3.
_December 24, 1652._
Sir,--You may please to let my old servant (as you call him) know that I
confess I owe much to his merits and the many obligations his kindness
and civilities has laid upon me; but for the ten pound he claims, it is
not yet due, and I think you may do well to persuade him (as a friend)
to put it in the number of his desperate debts, for 'tis a very
uncertain one. In all things else, pray say I am his servant. And now,
sir, let me tell you that I am extremely glad (whosoever gave you the
occasion) to hear from you, since (without compliment) there are very
few persons in the world I am more concerned in; to find that you have
overcome your long journey, and that you are well and in a place where
'tis possible for me to see you, is such a satisfaction as I, who have
not been used to many, may be allowed to doubt of. Yet I will hope my
eyes do not deceive me, and that I have not forgot to read; but if you
please to confirm it to me by another, you know how to direct it, for I
am where I was, still the same, and always
Your humble servant,
D. OSBORNE.
For Mrs. Paynter,
In Covent Garden.
(Keep this letter till it be called for.)
_Letter 3._
_January 2nd, 1653._
Sir,--If there were anything in my letter that pleased you I am
extremely glad on't, 'twas all due to you, and made it but an equal
return for the satisfaction yours gave me. And whatsoever you may
believe, I shall never repent the good opinion I have with so much
reason taken up. But I forget myself; I meant to chide, and I think this
is nothing towards it. Is it possible you came so near me as Bedford and
would not see me? Seriously, I should not have believed it from another;
would your horse had lost all his legs instead of a hoof, that he might
not have been able to carry you further, and you, something that you
valued extremely, and could not hope to find anywhere but at Chicksands.
I could wish you a thousand little mischances, I am so angry with you;
for my life I could not imagine how I had lost you, or why you should
call that a silence of six or eight weeks which you intended so much
longer. And when I had wearied myself with thinking of all the
unpleasing accidents that might cause it, I at length sat down with a
resolution to choose the best to believe, which was that at the end of
one journey you had begun another (which I had heard you say you
intended), and that your haste, or something else, had hindered you from
letting me know it. In this ignorance your letter from Breda found me.
But for God's sake let me ask you what you have done all this while you
have been away; what you have met with in Holland that could keep you
there so long; why you went no further; and why I was not to know you
went so far? You may do well to satisfy me in all these. I shall so
persecute you with questions else, when I see you, that you will be glad
to go thither again to avoid me; though when that will be I cannot
certainly say, for my father has so small a proportion of health left
him since my mother's death, that I am in continual fear of him, and
dare not often make use of the leave he gives me to be from home, lest
he should at some time want such little services as I am able to lend
him. Yet I think to be in London in the next term, and am sure I shall
desire it because you are there.
Sir, your humble servant.
_Letter 4._--The story of the king who renounced the league with his too
fortunate friend is told in the third book of Herodotus. Amasis is the
king, and Polycrates the confederate. Dorothy may have read the story in
one of the French translations, either that of Pierre Saliat, a cramped
duodecimo published in 1580, or that of P. du Ryer, a magnificent folio
published in 1646.
My Lord of Holland's daughter, Lady Diana Rich, was one of Dorothy's
dearest and most intimate friends. Dorothy had a high opinion of her
excellent wit and noble character, which she is never tired of
repeating. We find allusions to her in many of these letters; she is
called "My lady," and her name is always linked to expressions of
tenderness and esteem. Her father, Henry Rich, Lord Holland, the second
son of the Earl of Warwick, has found place in sterner history than
this. He was concerned in a rising in 1648, when the King was in the
Isle of Wight, the object of which was to rescue and restore the royal
prisoner. This rising, like Sir Thomas Peyton's, miscarried, and he
suffered defeat at Kingston-on-Thames, on July 7th of that year. He was
pursued, taken prisoner, and kept in the Tower until after the King's
execution. Then he was brought to trial, and, in accordance with the
forms and ceremonies of justice, adjudged to death. His head was struck
off before the gate of Westminster Hall one cold March morning in the
following year, and by his side died Capel and the Duke of Hamilton. By
marriage he acquired Holland House, Kensington, which afterwards passed
by purchase into the hands of a very different Lord Holland, and has
become famous among the houses of London. Of his daughter, Lady Diana, I
can learn nothing but that she died unmarried. She seems to have been of
a lively, vivacious temperament, and very popular with the other sex.
There is a slight clue to her character in the following scrap of
letter-writing still preserved among some old manuscript papers of the
Hutton family. She writes to Mr. Hutton to escort her in the Park,
adding--"This, I am sure, you will do, because I am a friend to the
tobacco-box, and such, I am sure, Mr. Hutton will have more respect for
than for any other account that could be pretended unto by
"Your humble servant."
This, with Dorothy's praise, gives us a cheerful opinion of Lady Diana,
of whom we must always wish to know more.
_January 22nd_ [1653].
Sir,--Not to confirm you in your belief in dreams, but to avoid your
reproaches, I will tell you a pleasant one of mine. The night before I
received your first letter, I dreamt one brought me a packet, and told
me it was from you. I, that remembered you were by your own appointment
to be in Italy at that time, asked the messenger where he had it, who
told me my lady, your mother, sent him with it to me; then my memory
failed me a little, for I forgot you had told me she was dead, and meant
to give her many humble thanks if ever I were so happy as to see her.
When I had opened the letter I found in it two rings; one was, as I
remember, an emerald doublet, but broken in the carriage, I suppose, as
it might well be, coming so far; t'other was plain gold, with the
longest and the strangest posy that ever was; half on't was Italian,
which for my life I could not guess at, though I spent much time about
it; the rest was "_there was a Marriage in Cana of Galilee_," which,
though it was Scripture, I had not that reverence for it in my sleep
that I should have had, I think, if I had been awake; for in earnest the
oddness on't put me into that violent laughing that I waked myself with
it; and as a just punishment upon me from that hour to this I could
never learn whom those rings were for, nor what was in the letter
besides. This is but as extravagant as yours, for it is as likely that
your mother should send me letters as that I should make a journey to
see poor people hanged, or that your teeth should drop out at this age.
And to remove the opinions you have of my niceness, or being hard to
please, let me assure you I am far from desiring my husband should be
fond of me at threescore, that I would not have him so at all. 'Tis true
I should be glad to have him always kind, and know no reason why he
should be wearier of being my master, than he was of being my servant.
But it is very possible I may talk ignorantly of marriage; when I come
to make sad experiments on it in my own person I shall know more, and
say less, for fear of disheartening others (since 'tis no advantage to
foreknow a misfortune that cannot be avoided), and for fear of being
pitied, which of all things I hate. Lest you should be of the same
humour I will not pity you, lame as you are; and to speak truth, if you
did like it, you should not have it, for you do not deserve it. Would
any one in the world, but you, make such haste for a new cold before the
old had left him; in a year, too, when mere colds kill as many as a
plague used to do? Well, seriously, either resolve to have more care of
yourself, or I renounce my friendship; and as a certain king (that my
learned knight is very well acquainted with), who, seeing one of his
confederates in so happy a condition as it was not likely to last, sent
his ambassador presently to break off the league betwixt them, lest he
should be obliged to mourn the change of his fortune if he continued his
friend; so I, with a great deal more reason, do declare that I will no
longer be a friend to one that's none to himself, nor apprehend the loss
of what you hazard every day at tennis. They had served you well enough
if they had crammed a dozen ounces of that medicine down your throat to
have made you remember a quinzy.
But I have done, and am now at leisure to tell you that it is that
daughter of my Lord of Holland (who makes, as you say, so many sore eyes
with looking on her) that is here; and if I know her at all, or have any
judgment, her beauty is the least of her excellences. And now I speak of
her, she has given me the occasion to make a request to you; it will
come very seasonably after my chiding, and I have great reason to expect
you should be in the humour of doing anything for me. She says that
seals are much in fashion, and by showing me some that she has, has set
me a-longing for some too; such as are oldest and oddest are most
prized, and if you know anybody that is lately come out of Italy, 'tis
ten to one but they have a store, for they are very common there. I do
remember you once sealed a letter to me with as fine a one as I have
seen. It was a Neptune, I think, riding upon a dolphin; but I'm afraid
it was not yours, for I saw it no more. My old Roman head is a present
for a prince. If such things come in your way, pray remember me. I am
sorry my new carrier makes you rise so early, 'tis not good for your
cold; how might we do that you might lie a-bed and yet I have your
letter? You must use to write before he comes, I think, that it may be
sure to be ready against he goes. In earnest consider on't, and take
some course that your health and my letters may be both secured, for the
loss of either would be very sensible to
Your humble.
_Letter 5._--Sir Justinian is the lover here described. He had four
daughters, and it is one of Dorothy's favourite jests to offer Temple a
mother-in-law's good word if he will pay court to one of them when she
has married the "Emperor."
SIR,--Since you are so easy to please, sure I shall not miss it, and if
my idle dreams and thoughts will satisfy you, I am to blame if you want
long letters. To begin this, let me tell you I had not forgot you in
your absence. I always meant you one of my daughters. You should have
had your choice, and, trust me, they say some of them are handsome; but
since things did not succeed, I thought to have said nothing on't, lest
you should imagine I expected thanks for my good intention, or rather
lest you should be too much affected with the thought of what you have
lost by my imprudence. It would have been a good strengthening to my
Party (as you say); but, in earnest, it was not that I aimed at, I only
desired to have it in my power to oblige you; and 'tis certain I had
proved a most excellent mother-in-law. Oh, my conscience! we should all
have joined against him as the common enemy, for those poor young
wenches are as weary of his government as I could have been. He gives
them such precepts, as they say my Lord of Dorchester gives his wife,
and keeps them so much prisoners to a vile house he has in
Northamptonshire, that if but once I had let them loose, they and his
learning would have been sufficient to have made him mad without my
help; but his good fortune would have it otherwise, to which I will
leave him, and proceed to give you some reasons why the other motion was
not accepted on. The truth is, I had not that longing to ask a
mother-in-law's blessing which you say you should have had, for I knew
mine too well to think she could make a good one; besides, I was not so
certain of his nature as not to doubt whether she might not corrupt it,
nor so confident of his kindness as to assure myself that it would last
longer than other people of his age and humour. I am sorry to hear he
looks ill, though I think there is no great danger of him. 'Tis but a
fit of an ague he has got, that the next charm cures, yet he will be apt
to fall into it again upon a new occasion, and one knows not how it may
work upon his thin body if it comes too often; it spoiled his beauty,
sure, before I knew him, for I could never see it, or else (which is as
likely) I do not know it when I see it; besides that, I never look for
it in men. It was nothing that I expected made me refuse these, but
something that I feared; and, seriously, I find I want courage to marry
where I do not like. If we should once come to disputes I know who would
have the worst on't, and I have not faith enough to believe a doctrine
that is often preach'd, which is, that though at first one has no
kindness for _them_, yet it will grow strongly after marriage. Let them
trust to it that think good; for my part, I am clearly of opinion (and
shall die in't), that, as the more one sees and knows a person that one
likes, one has still the more kindness for them, so, on the other side,
one is but the more weary of, and the more averse to, an unpleasant
humour for having it perpetually by one. And though I easily believe
that to marry one for whom we have already some affection will
infinitely increase that kindness, yet I shall never be persuaded that
marriage has a charm to raise love out of nothing, much less out of
dislike.
This is next to telling you what I dreamed and when I rise, but you have
promised to be content with it. I would now, if I could, tell you when I
shall be in town, but I am engaged to my Lady Diana Rich, my Lord of
Holland's daughter (who lies at a gentlewoman's hard by me for sore
eyes), that I will not leave the country till she does. She is so much a
stranger here, and finds so little company, that she is glad of mine
till her eyes will give her leave to look out better. They are mending,
and she hopes to be at London before the end of this next term; and so
do I, though I shall make but a short stay, for all my business there is
at an end when I have seen you, and told you my stories. And, indeed, my
brother is so perpetually from home, that I can be very little, unless I
would leave my father altogether alone, which would not be well. We hear
of great disorders at your masks, but no particulars, only they say the
Spanish gravity was much discomposed. I shall expect the relation from
you at your best leisure, and pray give me an account how my medicine
agrees with your cold. This if you can read it, for 'tis strangely
scribbled, will be enough to answer yours, which is not very long this
week; and I am grown so provident that I will not lay out more than I
receive, but I am just withal, and therefore you know how to make mine
longer when you please; though, to speak truth, if I should make this
so, you would hardly have it this week, for 'tis a good while since
'twas call'd for.
Your humble servant.
_Letter 6._--The journey that Temple is about to take may be a projected
journey with the Swedish Embassy, which was soon to set out. Temple was,
apparently, on the look-out for some employment, and we hear at
different times of his projected excursions into foreign lands. As a
matter of fact, he stayed in and near London until the spring of 1654,
when he went to Ireland with his father, who was then reinstated in his
office of Master of the Rolls.
Whether the Mr. Grey here written of made love to one or both of the
ladies--Jane Seymour and Anne Percy--it is difficult now to say. I have
been able to learn nothing more on the subject than Dorothy tells us.
This, however, we know for certain, that they both married elsewhere;
Lady Jane Seymour, the Duke of Somerset's daughter, marrying Lord
Clifford of Lonesborough, the son of the Earl of Burleigh, and living to
1679, when she was buried in Westminster Abbey. Poor Lady Anne Percy,
daughter of the Earl of Northumberland, and niece of the faithless Lady
Carlisle of whom we read in these letters, was already married at this
date to Lord Stanhope, Lord Chesterfield's heir. She died--probably in
childbed--in November of next year (1654), and was buried at Petworth
with her infant son.
Lady Anne Wentworth was the daughter of the famous and ill-fated Earl of
Strafford. She married Lord Rockingham.
The reader will remember that "my lady" is Lady Diana Rich.
_March 5th_ [1653].
SIR,--I know not how to oblige so civil a person as you are more than by
giving you the occasion of serving a fair lady. In sober earnest, I know
you will not think it a trouble to let your boy deliver these books and
this enclosed letter where it is directed for my lady, whom I would, the
fainest in the world, have you acquainted with, that you might judge
whether I had not reason to say somebody was to blame. But had you
reason to be displeased that I said a change in you would be much more
pardonable than in him? Certainly you had not. I spake it very
innocently, and out of a great sense how much she deserves more than
anybody else. I shall take heed though hereafter what I write, since you
are so good at raising doubts to persecute yourself withal, and shall
condemn my own easy faith no more; for me 'tis a better-natured and a
less fault to believe too much than to distrust where there is no cause.
If you were not so apt to quarrel, I would tell you that I am glad to
hear your journey goes forwarder, but you would presently imagine that
'tis because I would be glad if you were gone; need I say that 'tis
because I prefer your interest much before my own, because I would not
have you lose so good a diversion and so pleasing an entertainment (as
in all likelihood this voyage will be to you), and because the sooner
you go, the sooner I may hope for your return. If it be necessary, I
will confess all this, and something more, which is, that
notwithstanding all my gallantry and resolution, 'tis much for my credit
that my courage is put to no greater a trial than parting with you at
this distance. But you are not going yet neither, and therefore we'll
leave the discourse on't till then, if you please, for I find no great
entertainment in't. And let me ask you whether it be possible that Mr.
Grey makes love, they say he does, to my Lady Jane Seymour? If it were
expected that one should give a reason for their passions, what could he
say for himself? He would not offer, sure, to make us believe my Lady
Jane a lovelier person than my Lady Anne Percy. I did not think I should
have lived to have seen his frozen heart melted, 'tis the greatest
conquest she will ever make; may it be happy to her, but in my opinion
he has not a good-natured look. The younger brother was a servant, a
great while, to my fair neighbour, but could not be received; and in
earnest I could not blame her. I was his confidante and heard him make
his addresses; not that I brag of the favour he did me, for anybody
might have been so that had been as often there, and he was less
scrupulous in that point than one would have been that had had less
reason. But in my life I never heard a man say more, nor less to the
purpose; and if his brother have not a better gift in courtship, he will
owe my lady's favour to his fortune rather than to his address. My Lady
Anne Wentworth I hear is marrying, but I cannot learn to whom; nor is it
easy to guess who is worthy of her. In my judgment she is, without
dispute, the finest lady I know (one always excepted); not that she is
at all handsome, but infinitely virtuous and discreet, of a sober and
very different humour from most of the young people of these times, but
has as much wit and is as good company as anybody that ever I saw. What
would you give that I had but the wit to know when to make an end of my
letters? Never anybody was persecuted with such long epistles; but you
will pardon my unwillingness to leave you, and notwithstanding all your
little doubts, believe that I am very much
Your faithful friend
and humble servant,
D. OSBORNE.
_Letter 7._--There seem to have been two carriers bringing letters to
Dorothy at this time, Harrold and Collins; we hear something of each of
them in the following letters. Those who have seen the present-day
carriers in some unawakened market-place in the Midlands,--heavy,
rumbling, two-horse cars of huge capacity, whose three miles an hour is
fast becoming too sluggish for their enfranchised clients; those who
have jolted over the frozen ruts of a fen road, behind their comfortable
Flemish horses, and heard the gossip of the farmers and their wives, the
grunts of the discontented baggage pig, and the encouraging shouts of
the carrier; those, in a word, who have travelled in a Lincolnshire
carrier's cart, have, I fancy, a more correct idea of Dorothy's postmen
and their conveyances than any I could quote from authority or draw from
imagination.
Lord Lisle was the son of Robert Sidney, Earl of Leicester, and brother
of the famous Algernon. He sat in the Long Parliament for Yarmouth, in
the Isle of Wight, and afterwards became a member of the Upper House.
Concerning his embassage to Sweden this is again proposed to him in
September 1653, but, as we read in the minutes of the Council, "when he
was desired to proceed, finding himself out of health, he desired to be
excused, whereupon Council still wishing to send the embassy--the Queen
of Sweden being favourably inclined to the Commonwealth--pitched upon
Lord Whitelocke, who was willing to go."
To Lady Sunderland and Mr. Smith there are several amusing references
in these letters. Lady Sunderland was the daughter of the Earl of
Leicester, and sister of Algernon Sydney. She was born in 1620, and at
the age of nineteen married Henry Lord Spencer, who was killed in the
battle of Newbury in 1642. After her husband's death, she retired to
Brington in Northamptonshire, until, wearied with the heavy load of
housekeeping, she came to live with her father and mother at Penshurst.
In the Earl of Leicester's journal, under date Thursday, July 8th, 1652,
we find:--"My daughter Spencer was married to Sir Robert Smith at
Penshurst, my wife being present with my daughters Strangford, and Lacy
Pelham, Algernon and Robin Sydney, etc.; but I was in London." From this
we may imagine the Earl did not greatly approve the match. The
ubiquitous Evelyn was there, too, to see "ye marriage of my old fellow
collegian Mr. Robt. Smith;" and the place being full of company, he
probably enjoyed himself vastly. Lady Sunderland was the Sacharissa of
Waller the poet.
SIR,--I am so great a lover of my bed myself that I can easily apprehend
the trouble of rising at four o'clock these cold mornings. In earnest,
I'm troubled that you should be put to it, and have chid the carrier for
coming out so soon; he swears to me he never comes out of town before
eleven o'clock, and that my Lady Paynter's footman (as he calls him)
brings her letters two hours sooner than he needs to do. I told him he
was gone one day before the letter came; he vows he was not, and that
your old friend Collins never brought letters of my Lady Paynter's in
his life; and, to speak truth, Collins did not bring me that letter. I
had it from this Harrold two hours before Collins came. Yet it is
possible all that he says may not be so, for I have known better men
than he lie; therefore if Collins be more for your ease or conveniency,
make use of him hereafter. I know not whether my letter were kind or
not, but I'll swear yours was not, and am sure mine was meant to be so.
It is not kind in you to desire an increase of my friendship; that is to
doubt it is not as great already as it can be, than which you cannot do
me a greater injury. 'Tis my misfortune indeed that it lies not in my
power to give you better testimony on't than words, otherwise I should
soon convince you that 'tis the best quality I have, and that where I
own a friendship, I mean so perfect a one, as time can neither lessen
nor increase. If I said nothing of my coming to town, 'twas because I
had nothing to say that I thought you would like to hear. For I do not
know that ever I desired anything earnestly in my life, but 'twas denied
me, and I am many times afraid to wish a thing merely lest my Fortune
should take that occasion to use me ill. She cannot see, and therefore I
may venture to write that I intend to be in London if it be possible on
Friday or Saturday come sennight. Be sure you do not read it aloud, lest
she hear it, and prevent me, or drive you away before I come. It is so
like my luck, too, that you should be going I know not whither again;
but trust me, I have looked for it ever since I heard you were come
home. You will laugh, sure, when I shall tell you that hearing that my
Lord Lisle was to go ambassador into Sweden, I remember'd your father's
acquaintance in that family with an apprehension that he might be in the
humour of sending you with him. But for God's sake whither is it that
you go? I would not willingly be at such a loss again as I was after
your Yorkshire journey. If it prove as long a one, I shall not forget
you; but in earnest I shall be so possessed with a strong splenetic
fancy that I shall never see you more in this world, as all the waters
in England will not cure. Well, this is a sad story; we'll have no more
on't.
I humbly thank you for your offer of your head; but if you were an
emperor, I should not be so bold with you as to claim your promise; you
might find twenty better employments for't. Only with your gracious
leave, I think I should be a little exalted with remembering that you
had been once my friend; 'twould more endanger growing proud than being
Sir Justinian's mistress, and yet he thought me pretty well inclin'd
to't then. Lord! what would I give that I had a Latin letter of his for
you, that he writ to a great friend at Oxford, where he gives him a long
and learned character of me; 'twould serve you to laugh at this seven
years. If I remember what was told me on't, the worst of my faults was a
height (he would not call it pride) that was, as he had heard, the
humour of my family; and the best of my commendations was, that I was
capable of being company and conversation for him. But you do not tell
me yet how you found him out. If I had gone about to conceal him, I had
been sweetly serv'd. I shall take heed of you hereafter; because there
is no very great likelihood of your being an emperor, or that, if you
were, I should have your head.
I have sent into Italy for seals; 'tis to be hoped by that time mine
come over, they may be of fashion again, for 'tis an humour that your
old acquaintance Mr. Smith and his lady have brought up; they say she
wears twenty strung upon a ribbon, like the nuts boys play withal, and I
do not hear of anything else. Mr. Howard presented his mistress but a
dozen such seals as are not to be valued as times now go. But _à propos_
of Monsr. Smith, what a scape has he made of my Lady Barbury; and who
would e'er have dreamt he should have had my Lady Sunderland, though he
be a very fine gentleman, and does more than deserve her. I think I
shall never forgive her one thing she said of him, which was that she
married him out of pity; it was the pitifullest saying that ever I
heard, and made him so contemptible that I should not have married him
for that reason. This is a strange letter, sure, I have not time to read
it over, but I have said anything that came into my head to put you out
of your dumps. For God's sake be in better humour, and assure yourself I
am as much as you can wish,
Your faithful friend and servant.
_Letter 8._--The name of Algernon Sydney occurs more than once in these
pages, and it is therefore only right to remind the reader of some of
the leading facts in his life. He was born in 1622, and was the second
son of Robert Earl of Leicester. He was educated in Paris and Italy, and
first served in the army in Ireland. On his recall to England he
espoused the popular cause, and fought on that side in the battle of
Marston Moor. In 1651 he was elected a member of the Council of State,
and in this situation he continued to act until 1653. It is unnecessary
to mention his republican sympathies, and after the dismissal of the
Parliament, his future actions concern us but little. He was arrested,
tried, and executed in 1683, on the pretence of being concerned in the
Rye House Plot.
Arundel Howard was Henry, second son of the Earl of Arundel. His father
died July 12, 1652. Dorothy would call him Arundel Howard, to
distinguish him from the Earl of Berkshire's family.
SIR,--You have made me so rich as I am able to help my neighbours. There
is a little head cut in an onyx that I take to be a very good one, and
the dolphin is (as you say) the better for being cut less; the oddness
of the figures makes the beauty of these things. If you saw one that my
brother sent my Lady Diana last week, you would believe it were meant to
fright people withal; 'twas brought out of the Indies, and cut there for
an idol's head: they took the devil himself for their pattern that did
it, for in my life I never saw so ugly a thing, and yet she is as fond
on't as if it were as lovely as she herself is. Her eyes have not the
flames they have had, nor is she like (I am afraid) to recover them
here; but were they irrecoverably lost, the beauty of her mind were
enough to make her outshine everybody else, and she would still be
courted by all that knew how to value her, like _la belle aveugle_ that
was Philip the 2nd of France his mistress. I am wholly ignorant of the
story you mention, and am confident you are not well inform'd, for 'tis
impossible she should ever have done anything that were unhandsome. If I
knew who the person were that is concern'd in't, she allows me so much
freedom with her, that I could easily put her upon the discourse, and I
do not think she would use much of disguise in it towards me. I should
have guessed it Algernon Sydney, but that I cannot see in him that
likelihood of a fortune which you seem to imply by saying 'tis not
present. But if you should mean by that, that 'tis possible his wit and
good parts may raise him to one, you must pardon if I am not of your
opinion, for I do not think these are times for anybody to expect
preferment in that deserves it, and in the best 'twas ever too uncertain
for a wise body to trust to. But I am altogether of your mind, that my
Lady Sunderland is not to be followed in her marrying fashion, and that
Mr. Smith never appear'd less her servant than in desiring it; to speak
truth, it was convenient for neither of them, and in meaner people had
been plain undoing one another, which I cannot understand to be kindness
of either side. She has lost by it much of the repute she had gained by
keeping herself a widow; it was then believed that wit and discretion
were to be reconciled in her person that have so seldom been persuaded
to meet in anybody else. But we are all mortal.
I did not mean that Howard. 'Twas Arundel Howard. And the seals were
some remainders that showed his father's love to antiquities, and
therefore cost him dear enough if that would make them good. I am sorry
I cannot follow your counsel in keeping fair with Fortune. I am not apt
to suspect without just cause, but in earnest if I once find anybody
faulty towards me, they lose me for ever; I have forsworn being twice
deceived by the same person. For God's sake do not say she has the
spleen, I shall hate it worse than ever I did, nor that it is a disease
of the wits, I shall think you abuse me, for then I am sure it would not
be mine; but were it certain that they went together always, I dare
swear there is nobody so proud of their wit as to keep it upon such
terms, but would be glad after they had endured it a while to let them
both go as they came. I know nothing yet that is likely to alter my
resolution of being in town on Saturday next; but I am uncertain where I
shall be, and therefore it will be best that I send you word when I am
there. I should be glad to see you sooner, but that I do not know myself
what company I may have with me. I meant this letter longer when I begun
it, but an extreme cold that I have taken lies so in my head, and makes
it ache so violently, that I hardly see what I do. I'll e'en to bed as
soon as I have told you that I am very much
Your faithful friend
and servant,
D. OSBORNE.