Satirical ballads soon began to compliment her upon these new attributes;

and upon the insinuations that were therein made, her companions began to

fear her. The governess, alarmed at these reports, consulted Lord

Rochester upon the danger to which her niece was exposed. She could not

have applied to a fitter person: he immediately advised her to take her

niece out of the hands of Miss Hobart; and contrived matters so well that

she fell into his own. The duchess, who had too much generosity not to

treat as visionary what was imputed to Miss Hobart, and too much justice

to condemn her upon the faith of lampoons, removed her from the society

of the maids of honour, to be an attendant upon her own person.

Miss Bagot was the only one who was really possessed of virtue and beauty

among these maids of honour: she had beautiful and regular features, and

that sort of brown complexion, which, when in perfection, is so

particularly fascinating, and more especially in England, where it is

uncommon. There was an involuntary blush almost continually upon her

cheek, without having anything to blush for. Lord Falmouth cast his eyes

upon her: his addresses were better received than those of Miss Hobart,

and some time after Cupid raised her from the post of maid of honour to

the duchess to a rank which might have been envied by all the young

ladies in England.

The Duchess of York, in order to form her new court, resolved to see all

the young persons that offered themselves, and, without any regard to

recommendations, to choose none but the handsomest.

At the head of this new assembly appeared Miss Jennings and Miss Temple;

and indeed they so entirely eclipsed the other two, that we shall speak

of them only.

Miss Jennings, adorned with all the blooming treasures of youth, had the

fairest and brightest complexion that ever was seen: her hair was of a

most beauteous flaxen: there was something particularly lively and

animated in her countenance, which preserved her from that insipidity

which is frequently an attendant on a complexion so extremely fair. Her

mouth was not the smallest, but it was the handsomest mouth in the world.

Nature had endowed her with all those charms which cannot be expressed,

and the graces had given the finishing stroke to them. The turn of her

face was exquisitely fine, and her swelling neck was as fair and as

bright as her face. In a word, her person gave the idea of Aurora, or

the goddess of the spring, "such as youthful poets fancy when they love."

But as it would have been unjust that a single person should have

engrossed all the treasures of beauty without any defect, there was

something wanting in her hands and arms to render them worthy of the

rest: her nose was not the most elegant, and her eyes gave some relief,

whilst her mouth and her other charms pierced the heart with a thousand

darts.

With this amiable person she was full of wit and sprightliness, and all

her actions and motions were unaffected and easy: her conversation was

bewitching, when she had a mind to please; piercing and delicate when

disposed to raillery; but as her imagination was subject to flights,

and as she began to speak frequently before she had done thinking, her

expressions did not always convey what she wished; sometimes exceeding,

and at others falling short of her ideas.

Miss Temple, nearly of the same age, was brown compared with the other:

she had a good shape, fine teeth, languishing, eyes, a fresh complexion,

an agreeable smile, and a lively air. Such was the outward form; but it

would be difficult to describe the rest; for she was simple and vain,

credulous and suspicious, coquettish and prudent, very self-sufficient

and very silly.

As soon as these new stars appeared at the duchess's court, all eyes were

fixed upon them, and every one formed some design upon one or other of

them, some with honourable, and others with dishonest intentions. Miss

Jennings soon distinguished herself, and left her companions no other

admirers but such as remained constant from hopes of success: her

brilliant charms attracted at first sight, and the charms of her wit

secured her conquests.

The Duke of York having persuaded himself that she was part of his

property, resolved to pursue his claim by the same title whereby his

brother had appropriated to himself the favours of Miss Wells; but he did

not find her inclined to enter into his service, though she had engaged

in that of the duchess. She would not pay any attention to the perpetual

ogling with which he at first attacked her. Her eyes were always

wandering on other objects, when those of his royal highness were looking

for them; and if by chance he caught any casual glance, she did not even

blush. This made him resolve to change his manner of attack: ogling

having proved ineffectual, he took an opportunity to speak to her; and

this was still worse. I know not in what strain he told his case; but it

is certain the oratory of the tongue was not more prevailing than the

eloquence of his eyes.

Miss Jennings had both virtue and pride, and the proposals of the duke

were consistent with neither the one nor the other. Although from her

great vivacity one might suppose that she was not capable of much

reflection, yet she had furnished herself with some very salutary maxims

for the conduct of a young person of her age. The first was, that a lady

ought to be young to enter the court with advantage, and not old to leave

it with a good grace: that she could not maintain herself there but by a

glorious resistance, or by illustrious foibles and that, in so dangerous

a situation, she ought to use her utmost endeavours not to dispose of her

heart until she gave her hand.

Entertaining such sentiments, she had far less trouble to resist the

duke's temptations, than to disengage herself from his perseverance: she

was deaf to all treaties for a settlement, with which her ambition was

sounded: and all offers of presents succeeded still worse. What was then

to be done to conquer an extravagant virtue that would not hearken to

reason? He was ashamed to suffer a giddy young girl to escape, whose

inclinations ought in some manner to correspond with the vivacity that

shone forth in all her actions, and who nevertheless thought proper to be

serious when no such thing as seriousness was required of her.

After he had attentively considered her obstinate behaviour, he thought

that writing might perhaps succeed, though ogling, speeches, and

embassies had failed. Paper receives everything, but it unfortunately

happened that she would not receive the paper. Every day billets,

containing the tenderest expressions, and most magnificent promises, were

slipped into her pockets, or into her muff: this, however, could not be

done unperceived; and the malicious little gipsy took care that those who

saw them slip in, should likewise see them fall out, unperused and

unopened; she only shook her muff, or pulled out her handkerchief; as

soon as ever his back was turned, his billets fell about her like

hail-stones, and whoever pleased might take them up. The duchess was

frequently a witness of this conduct, but could not find in her heart to

chide her for her want of respect to the duke. After this, the charms

and prudence of Miss Jennings were the only subjects of conversation in

the two courts: the courtiers could not comprehend how a young creature,

brought directly from the country to court, should so soon become its

ornament by her attractions, and its example by her conduct.

The king was of opinion that those who had attacked her had ill-concerted

their measures; for he thought it unnatural that she should neither be

tempted by promises, nor gained by importunity: she, especially, who in

all probability had not imbibed such severe precepts from the prudence of

her mother, who had never tasted any thing more delicious than the plums

and apricots of Saint Albans. Being resolved to try her himself, he was

particularly pleased with the great novelty that appeared in the turn of

her wit, and in the charms of her person; and curiosity, which at first

induced him to make the trial, was soon changed into a desire of

succeeding in the experiment. God knows what might have been the

consequence, for he greatly excelled in wit, and besides he was king:

two qualities of no small consideration. The resolutions of the fair

Jennings were commendable, and very judicious; but yet she was

wonderfully pleased with wit; and royal majesty prostrate at the feet

of a young person, is very persuasive. Miss Stewart, however, would

not consent to the king's project.

She immediately took the alarm, and desired his majesty to leave to the

duke, his brother, the care of tutoring the duchess's maids of honour,

and only to attend to the management of his own flock, unless his majesty

would in return allow her to listen to certain proposals of a settlement

which she did not think disadvantageous. This menace being of a serious

nature, the king obeyed; and Miss Jennings had all the additional honour

which arose from this adventure: it both added to her reputation, and

increased the number of her admirers. Thus she continued to triumph over

the liberties of others without ever losing her own: her hour was not yet

come, but it was not far distant; the particulars of which we shall

relate as soon as we have given some account of the conduct of her

companion.

Though Miss Temple's person was particularly engaging, it was

nevertheless eclipsed by that of Miss Jennings; but she was still more

excelled by the other's superior mental accomplishments. Two persons,

very capable to impart understanding, had the gift been communicable,

undertook at the same time to rob her of the little she really possessed:

these were Lord Rochester and Miss Hobart: the first began to mislead her

by reading to her all his compositions, as if she alone had been a proper

judge of them. He never thought proper to flatter her upon her personal

accomplishments; but told her that if heaven had made him susceptible of

the impressions of beauty, it would not have been possible for him to

have escaped her chains; but not being, thank God, affected with anything

but wit, he had the happiness of enjoying the most agreeable conversation

in the world without running any risk. After so sincere a confession he

either presented to her a copy of verses, or a new song, in which whoever

dared to come in competition in any respect with Miss Temple was laid

prostrate before her charms, most humbly to solicit pardon: such

flattering insinuations so completely turned her head that it was

a pity to see her.

The duchess took notice of it, and well knowing the extent of both their

geniuses, she saw the precipice into which the poor girl was running

headlong without perceiving it; but as it is no less dangerous to forbid

a connection that is not yet thought of, than it is difficult to put an

end to one that is already well established, Miss Hobart was charged to

take care, with all possible discretion, that these frequent and long

conversations might not be attended with any dangerous consequences: with

pleasure she accepted the commission, and greatly flattered herself with

success.

She had already made all necessary advances to gain possession of her

confidence and friendship; and Miss Temple, less suspicious of her than

of Lord Rochester, made all imaginable returns. She was greedy of

praise, and loved all manner of sweetmeats, as much as a child of nine or

ten years old: her taste was gratified in both these respects. Miss

Hobart having the superintendence of the duchess's baths, her apartment

joined them, in which there was a closet stored with all sorts of

sweetmeats and liqueurs: the closet suited Miss Temple's taste, as

exactly as it gratified Miss Hobart's inclination, to have something that

could allure her.

Summer, being now returned, brought back with it the pleasures and

diversions that are its inseparable attendants. One day, when the ladies

had been taking the air on horseback, Miss Temple, on her return from

riding, alighted at Miss Hobart's, in order to recover her fatigue at the

expense of the sweetmeats, which she knew were there at her service; but

before she began she desired Miss Hobart's permission to undress herself,

and change her linen in her apartment; which request was immediately

complied with: "I was just going to propose it to you," said Miss Hobart,

"not but that you are as charming as an angel in your riding habit; but

there is nothing so comfortable as a loose dress, and being at one's

ease: you cannot imagine, my dear Temple," continued she, embracing her,

"how much you oblige me by thus free unceremonious conduct; but, above

all, I am enchanted with your particular attention to cleanliness: how

greatly you differ in this, as in many other things, from that silly

creature Jennings! Have you remarked how all our court fops admire her

for her brilliant complexion, which perhaps, after all, is not wholly her

own; and for blunders, which are truly original, and which they are such

fools as to mistake for wit: I have not conversed with her long enough to

perceive in what her wit consists; but of this I am certain, that if it

is not better than her feet, it is no great matter. What stories have I

heard of her sluttishness! No cat ever dreaded water so much as she

does: fie upon her! Never to wash for her own comfort, and only to

attend to those parts which must necessarily be seen, such as the neck

and hands."

Miss Temple swallowed all this with even greater pleasure than the

sweetmeats; and the officious Hobart, not to lose time, was helping her

off with her clothes, while the chambermaid was coming. She made some

objections to this at first, being unwilling to occasion that trouble to

a person, who, like Miss Hobart, had been advanced to a place of dignity;

but she was overruled by her, and assured that it was with the greatest

pleasure she showed her that small mark of civility. The collation being

finished, and Miss Temple undressed: "Let us retire," said Miss Hobart,

"to the bathing closet, where we may enjoy a little conversation secure

from any impertinent visit." Miss Temple consented, and both of them

sitting down on a couch: "You are too young, my dear Temple," said she,

"to know the baseness of men in general, and too short a time acquainted

with the court to know the character of its inhabitants. I will give you

a short sketch of the principal persons, to the best of my knowledge,

without injury to any one; for I abominate the trade of scandal.

"In the first place, then, you ought to set it down as an undoubted fact

that all courtiers are deficient either in honesty, good sense, judgment,

wit, or sincerity; that is to say, if any of them by chance possess some

one of these qualities, you may depend upon it he is defective in the

rest: sumptuous in their equipages, deep play, a great opinion of their

own merit, and contempt of that of others, are their chief

characteristics.

"Interest or pleasure are the motives of all their actions: those who are

led by the first would sell God Almighty, as Judas sold his Master, and

that for less money. I could relate you a thousand noble instances of

this, if I had time. As for the sectaries of pleasure, or those who

pretend to be such, for they are not all so bad as they endeavour to make

themselves appear, these gentlemen pay no manner of regard either to

promises, oaths, law, or religion; that is to say, they are literally no

respecters of persons; they care neither for God nor man, if they can but

gain their ends. They look upon maids of honour only as amusements,

placed expressly at court for their entertainment; and the more merit any

one has, the more she is exposed to their impertinence, if she gives any

ear to them; and to their malicious calumnies, when she ceases to attend

to them. As for husbands, this is not the place to find them; for unless

money or caprice make up the match, there is but little hopes of being

married: virtue and beauty in this respect here are equally useless.

Lady Falmouth is the only instance of a maid of honour well married

without a portion; and if you were to ask her poor weak husband for what

reason he married her, I am persuaded that he can assign none, unless it

be her great red ears and broad feet. As for the pale Lady Yarborough,

who appeared so proud of her match, she is wife, to be sure, of a great

country bumpkin, who, the very week after their marriage, bid her take

her farewell of the town for ever, in consequence of five or six thousand

pounds a year he enjoys on the borders of Cornwall. Alas! poor Miss

Blague! I saw her go away about this time twelvemonth, in a coach with

four such lean horses, that I cannot believe she is yet half way to her

miserable little castle. What can be the matter! all the girls seem

afflicted with the rage of wedlock, and however small their portion of

charms may be, they think it only necessary to show themselves at court

in order to pick and choose their men: but was this in reality the case,

the being a wife is the most wretched condition imaginable for a person

of nice sentiments. Believe me, my dear Temple, the pleasures of

matrimony are so inconsiderable in comparison with its inconveniences,

that I cannot imagine how any reasonable creature can resolve upon it:

rather fly, therefore, from this irksome engagement than court it.

Jealousy, formerly a stranger to these happy isles, is now coming into

fashion, with many recent examples of which you are acquainted. However

brilliant the phantom may appear, suffer not yourself to be caught by its

splendour, and never be so weak as to transform your slave into your

tyrant: as long as you preserve your own liberty, you will be mistress of

that of others. I will relate to you a very recent proof of the perfidy

of man to our sex, and of the impunity they experience in all attempts

upon our innocence. The Earl of Oxford fell in love with a handsome,

graceful actress belonging to the duke's theatre, who performed to

perfection, particularly the part of Roxana, in a very fashionable new

play, insomuch that she ever after retained that name: this creature

being both very virtuous and very modest, or, if you please, wonderfully

obstinate, proudly rejected the addresses and presents of the Earl of

Oxford. This resistance inflamed his passion: he had recourse to

invectives, and even to spells; but all in vain. This disappointment had

such effect upon him that he could neither eat nor drink; this did not

signify to him; but his passion at length became so violent, that he

could neither play nor smoke. In this extremity love had recourse to

Hymen; the Earl of Oxford, one of the first peers of the realm, is, you

know, a very handsome man: he is of the order of the garter, which

greatly adds to an air naturally noble. In short, from his outward

appearance, you would suppose he was really possessed of some sense;

but as soon as ever you hear him speak, you are perfectly convinced of

the contrary. This passionate lover presented her with a promise of

marriage, in due form, signed with his own hand: she would not, however,

rely upon this, but the next day she thought there could be no danger,

when the earl himself came to her lodgings attended by a clergyman, and

another man for a witness: the marriage was accordingly solemnized with

all due ceremonies, in the presence of one of her fellow players, who

attended as a witness on her part. You will suppose, perhaps, that the

new countess had nothing to do but to appear at court according to her

rank, and to display the earl's arms upon her carriage. This was far

from being the case. When examination was made concerning the marriage,

it was found to be a mere deception: it appeared that the pretended

priest was one of my lord's trumpeters, and the witness his kettle

drummer. The parson and his companion never appeared after the ceremony

was over; and as for the other witness, they endeavoured to persuade her

that the Sultana Roxana might have supposed, in some part or other of a

play, that she was really married. It was all to no purpose, that the

poor creature claimed the protection of the laws of God and man, both

which were violated and abused, as well as herself, by this infamous

imposition: in vain did she throw herself at the King's feet to demand

justice: she had only to rise up again without redress; and happy might

she think herself to receive an annuity of one thousand crowns, and to

resume the name of Roxana, instead of Countess of Oxford. You will say,

perhaps, that she was only a player; that all men have not the same

sentiments as the earl; and, that one may at least believe them, when

they do but render justice to such merit as yours. But still do not

believe them, though I know you are liable to it, as you have admirers;

for all are not infatuated with Miss Jennings: the handsome Sydney ogles

you; Lord Rochester is delighted with your conversation; and the most

serious Sir Lyttleton forsakes his natural gravity in favour of your

charms. As for the first, I confess his figure is very likely to engage

the inclinations of a young person like yourself; but were his outward

form attended with other accomplishments, which I know it is not, and

that his sentiments in your favour were as real as he endeavours to

persuade you they are, and as you deserve, yet I would not advise you

to form any connections with him, for reasons which I cannot tell you

at present.

"Sir Lyttleton is undoubtedly in earnest, since he appears ashamed of the

condition to which you have reduced him; and I really believe if he could

get the better of those vulgar chimerical apprehensions, of being what is

vulgarly called a cuckold, the good man would marry you, and you would be

his representative in his little government, where you might merrily pass

your days in casting up the weekly bills of housekeeping, and in darning

old napkins. What a glory would it be to have a Cato for a husband,

whose speeches are as many lectures, and whose lectures are composed of

nothing but ill-nature and censure!

"Lord Rochester is, without contradiction, the most witty man in all

England; but then he is likewise the most unprincipled, and devoid even

of the least tincture of honour; he is dangerous to our sex alone; and

that to such a degree that there is not a woman who gives ear to him

three times, but she irretrievably loses her reputation. No woman can

escape him, for he has her in his writings, though his other attacks be

ineffectual; and in the age we live in, the one is as bad as the other in

the eye of the public. In the mean time nothing is more dangerous than

the artful insinuating manner with which he gains possession of the mind:

he applauds your taste, submits to your sentiments, and at the very

instant that he himself does not believe a single word of what he is

saying, he makes you believe it all. I dare lay a wager, that from the

conversation you have had with him, you thought him one of the most

honourable and sincerest men living; for my part I cannot imagine what he

means by the assiduity he pays you not but your accomplishments are

sufficient to excite the adoration and praise of the whole world; but had

he even been so fortunate as to have gained your affections, he would not

know what to do with the loveliest creature at court: for it is a long

time since his debauches have brought him to order, with the assistance

of the favours of all the common street-walkers. See then, my dear

Temple, what horrid malice possesses him, to the ruin and confusion of

innocence! A wretch! to have no other design in his addresses and

assiduities to Miss Temple, but to give a greater air of probability to

the calumnies with which he has loaded her. You look upon me with

astonishment, and seem to doubt the truth of what I advance; but I do not

desire you to believe me without evidence: 'Here,' said she, drawing a

paper out of her pocket, 'see what a copy of verses he has made in your

praise, while he lulls your credulity to rest, by flattering speeches and

feigned respect.'"

After saying this, the perfidious Hobart showed her half-a-dozen couplets

full of strained invective and scandal, which Rochester had made against

the former maids of honour. This severe and cutting lampoon was

principally levelled against Miss Price, whose person he took to pieces

in the most frightful and hideous manner imaginable. Miss Hobart had

substituted the name of Temple instead of Price, which she made to agree

both with the measure and tune of the song. This effectually answered

Hobart's intentions: the credulous Temple no sooner heard her sing the

lampoon, but she firmly believed it to be made upon herself; and in the

first transports of her rage, having nothing so much at heart as to give

the lie to the fictions of the poet: "Ah! as for this, my dear Hobart,"

said she, "I can bear it no longer: I do not pretend to be so handsome as

some others; but as for the defects that villain charges me with, I dare

say, my dear Hobart, there is no woman more free from them: we are alone,

and I am almost inclined to convince you by ocular demonstration." Miss

Hobart was too complaisant to oppose this motion; but, although she

soothed her mind by extolling all her beauties, in opposition to Lord

Rochester's song, Miss Temple was almost driven to distraction by rage

and astonishment, that the first man she ever attended to should, in his

conversation with her, not even make use of a single word of truth, but

that he should likewise have the unparalleled cruelty falsely to accuse

her of defects; and not being able to find words capable of expressing

her anger and resentment, she began to weep like a child.

Miss Hobart used all her endeavours to comfort her, and chid her for

being so much hurt with the invectives of a person whose scandalous

impostures were too well known to make any impression: she however

advised her never to speak to him any more, for that was the only method

to disappoint his designs; that contempt and silence were, on such

occasions, much preferable to any explanation, and that if he could

once obtain a hearing, he would be justified, but she would be ruined.

Miss Hobart was not wrong in giving her this counsel: she knew that an

explanation would betray her, and that there would be no quarter for her

if Lord Rochester had so fair an opportunity of renewing his former

panegyrics upon her; but her precaution was in vain: this conversation

had been heard from one end to the other, by the governess's niece, who

was blessed with a most faithful memory; and having that very day an

appointment with Lord Rochester, she conned it over three or four times,

that she might not forget one single word, when she should have the

honour of relating it to her lover. We shall show in the next chapter,

what were the consequences resulting from it.

MEMOIRS OF COUNT GRAMMONT, VOLUME 6.

By Anthony Hamilton

EDITED, WITH NOTES, BY SIR WALTER SCOTT

CHAPTER TENTH.

OTHER LOVE INTRIGUES AT THE ENGLISH COURT.

The conversation before related was agreeable only to Miss Hobart; for if

Miss Temple was entertained with its commencement, she was so much the

more irritated by its conclusion this indignation was succeeded by the

curiosity of knowing the reason why, if Sidney had a real esteem for her,

she should not be allowed to pay some attention to him.

As soon as they retired from the closet, Miss Sarah came out of the bath,

where during all this conversation, she had been almost perished with

cold, without daring to complain. This little gipsy had, it seems,

obtained leave of Miss Hobart's woman to bathe herself unknown to her

mistress; and having, I know not how, found means to fill one of the

baths with cold water, Miss Sarah had just got into it, when they were

both alarmed with the arrival of the other two. A glass partition

enclosed the room where the baths were, and Indian silk curtains, which

drew on the inside, screened those that were bathing. Miss Hobart's

chamber-maid had only just time to draw these curtains, that the girl

might not be seen to lock the partition door, and to take away the key,

before her mistress and Miss Temple came in.

These two sat down on a couch placed along the partition, and Miss Sarah,

notwithstanding her alarms, had distinctly heard, and perfectly retained

the whole conversation. As the little girl was at all this trouble to

make herself clean, only on Lord Rochester's account, as soon as ever she

could make her escape she regained her garret; where Rochester, having

repaired thither at the appointed hour, was fully informed of all that

had passed in the bathing room. He was astonished at the audacious

temerity of Hobart, in daring to put such a trick upon him; but, though

he rightly judged that love and jealousy were the real motives, he would

not excuse her. Little Sarah desired to know whether he had a real

affection for Miss Temple, as Miss Hobart said she supposed that was the

case. "Can you doubt it," replied he, "since that oracle of sincerity

has affirmed it? But then you know that I am not now capable of

profiting by my perfidy, were I even to gain Miss Temple's compliance,

since my debauches and the street-walkers have brought me to order."

This answer made Miss Sarah very easy, for she concluded that the first

article was not true, since she knew from experience that the latter was

false. Lord Rochester was resolved that very evening to attend the

duchess's court, to see what reception he would meet with after the fine

portrait Miss Hobart had been so kind as to draw of him. Miss Temple

did not fail to be there likewise, with the intention of looking on him

with the most contemptuous disdain possible, though she had taken care to

dress herself as well as she could. As she supposed that the lampoon

Miss Hobart had sung to her was in everybody's possession, she was under

great embarrassment lest all those whom she met should think her such a

monster as Lord Rochester had described her. In the mean time, Miss

Hobart, who had not much confidence in her promises never more to speak

to him, narrowly watched her. Miss Temple never in her life appeared so

handsome every person complimented her upon it; but she received all the

civilities with such an air, that every one thought she was mad; for when

they commended her shape, her fresh complexion, and the brilliancy of her

eyes: "Pshaw," said she, "it is very well known that I am but a monster,

and formed in no respect like other women: all is not gold that glisters;

and though I may receive some compliments in public, it signifies

nothing." All Miss Hobart's endeavours to stop her tongue were

ineffectual; and continuing to rail at herself ironically, the whole

court was puzzled to comprehend her meaning.

When Lord Rochester came in, she first blushed, then turned pale, made a

motion to go towards him, drew back again, pulled her gloves one after

the other up to the elbow; and after having three times violently flirted

her fan, she waited until he paid his compliments to her as usual, and as

soon as he began to bow, the fair one immediately turned her back upon

him. Rochester only smiled, and being resolved that her resentment

should be still more remarked, he turned round and posting himself face

to face: "Madam," said he, "nothing can be so glorious as to look so

charming as you do, after such a fatiguing day: to support a ride of

three long hours, and Miss Hobart afterwards, without being tired,

shows indeed a very strong constitution."

Miss Temple had naturally a tender look, but she was transported with

such a violent passion at his having the audacity to speak to her, that

her eyes appeared like two fireballs when she turned them upon him.

Hobart pinched her arm, as she perceived that this look was likely to be

followed by a torrent of reproaches and invectives.

Lord Rochester did not wait for them, and delaying until another

opportunity the acknowledgments he owed Miss Hobart, he quietly retired.

The latter, who could not imagine that he knew anything of their

conversation at the bath, was, however, much alarmed at what he had said;

but Miss Temple, almost choked with the reproaches with which she thought

herself able to confound him and which she had not time to give vent

to, vowed to ease her mind of them upon the first opportunity,

notwithstanding the promise she had made; but never more to speak

to him afterwards.

Lord Rochester had a faithful spy near these nymphs: this was Miss Sarah,

who, by his advice, and with her aunt's consent, was reconciled with Miss

Hobart, the more effectually to betray her: he was informed by this spy,

that Miss Hobart's maid, being suspected of having listened to them in

the closet, had been turned away; that she had taken another, whom in all

probability, she would not keep long, because, in the first place, she

was ugly, and, in the second, she eat the sweetmeats that were prepared

for Miss Temple. Although this intelligence was not very material, Sarah

was nevertheless praised for her punctuality and attention; and a few

days afterwards she brought him news of real importance.

Rochester was by her informed, that Miss Hobart and her new favourite

designed, about nine o'clock in the evening to walk in the Mall, in the

Park; that they were to change clothes with each other, to put on scarfs,

and wear black-masks: she added, that Miss Hobart had strongly opposed

this project, but that she was obliged to give way at last, Miss Temple

having resolved to indulge her fancy.

Upon the strength of this intelligence, Rochester concerted his measures:

he went to Killegrew, complained to him of the trick which Miss Hobart

had played him, and desired his assistance in order to be revenged: this

was readily granted, and having acquainted him with the measures he

intended to pursue, and given him the part he was to act in this

adventure, they went to the Mall.

Presently after appeared our two nymphs in masquerade: their shapes were

not very different, and their faces, which were very unlike each other,

were concealed with their masks. The company was but thin in the Park;

and as soon as Miss Temple perceived them at a distance, she quickened

her pace in order to join them, with the design, under her disguise,

severely to reprimand the perfidious Rochester; when Miss Hobart stopping

her: "Where are you running to?" said she; "have you a mind to engage in

conversation with these two devils, to be exposed to all the insolence

and impertinence for which they are so notorious?" These remonstrances

were entirely useless: Miss Temple was resolved to try the experiment:

and all that could be obtained from her, was, not to answer any of the

questions Rochester might ask her.

They were accosted just as they had done speaking: Rochester fixed upon

Hobart, pretending to take her for the other; at which she was overjoyed;

but Miss Temple was extremely sorry she fell to Killegrew's share, with

whom she had nothing to do: he perceived her uneasiness, and, pretending

to know her by her clothes: "Ah! Miss Hobart," said he, "be so kind as

look this way if you please: I know not by what chance you both came

hither, but I am sure it is very apropos for you, since I have something

to say to you, as your friend and humble servant."

This beginning raising her curiosity, Miss Temple appeared more inclined

to attend him; and Killegrew perceiving that the other couple had

insensibly proceeded some distance from them: "In the name of God," said

he: "what do you mean by railing so against Lord Rochester, whom you know

to be one of the most honourable men at court, and whom you nevertheless

described as the greatest villain, to the person whom of all others he

esteems and respects the most? What do you think would become of you, if

he knew that you made Miss Temple believe she is the person alluded to in

a certain song, which you know as well as myself was made upon the clumsy

Miss Price, above a year before the fair Temple was heard of? Be not

surprised that I know so much of the matter; but pay a little attention,

I pray you, to what I am now going to tell you out of pure friendship:

your passion and inclinations for Miss Temple are known to every one but

herself; for whatever methods you used to impose upon her innocence, the

world does her the justice to believe that she would treat you as Lady

Falmouth did, if the poor girl knew the wicked designs you had upon her:

I caution you, therefore, against making any farther advances, to a

person, too modest to listen to them: I advise you likewise to take back

your maid again, in order to silence her scandalous tongue; for she says

everywhere, that she is with child, that you are the occasion of her

being in that condition, and accuses you of behaving towards her with the

blackest ingratitude, upon trifling suspicions only: you know very well,

these are no stories of my own invention; but that you may not entertain

any manner of doubt, that I had all this from her own mouth, she has told

me your conversation in the bathing-room, the characters you there drew

of the principal men at court, your artful malice in applying so

improperly a scandalous song to one of the loveliest women in all

England; and in what manner the innocent girl fell into the snare you had

laid for her, in order to do justice to her charms. But that which might

be of the most fatal consequences to you in that long conversation, is

the revealing certain secrets, which, in all probability, the duchess did

not entrust you with, to be imparted to the maids of honour: reflect upon

this, and neglect not to make some reparation to Sir Lyttleton, for the

ridicule with which you were pleased to load him. I know not whether he

had his information from your femme-de-chambre, but I am very certain

that he has sworn he will be revenged, and he is a man that keeps his

word; for after all, that you may not be deceived by his look, like that

of a Stoic, and his gravity, like that of a judge, I must acquaint you,

that he is the most passionate man living. Indeed, these invectives are

of the blackest and most horrible nature: he says it is most infamous,

that a wretch like yourself should find no other employment than to

blacken the characters of gentlemen, to gratify your jealousy; that if

you do not desist from such conduct for the future, he will immediately

complain of you; and that if her royal highness will not do him justice,

he is determined to do himself justice, and to run you through the body

with his own sword, though you were even in the arms of Miss Temple; and

that it is most scandalous that all the maids of honour should get into

your hands before they can look around them.

"These things, madam, I thought it my duty to acquaint you with: you are

better able to judge than myself, whether what I have now advanced be

true, and I leave it to your own discretion to make what use you think

proper of my advice; but were I in your situation, I would endeavour to

reconcile Lord Rochester and Miss Temple. Once more I recommend to you

to take care that your endeavours to mislead her innocency, in order to

blast his honour, may not come to his knowledge; and do not estrange from

her a man who tenderly loves her, and whose probity is so great, that he

would not even suffer his eyes to wander towards her, if his intention

was not to make her his wife."

Miss Temple observed her promise most faithfully during this discourse:

she did not even utter a single syllable, being seized with such

astonishment and confusion, that she quite lost the use of her tongue.

Miss Hobart and Lord Rochester came up to her, while she was still in

amazement at the wonderful discoveries she had made; things in

themselves, in her opinion, almost incredible, but to the truth of which

she could not refuse her assent, upon examining the evidences and

circumstances on which they were founded. Never was confusion equal to

that with which her whole frame was seized by the foregoing recital.

Rochester and Killegrew took leave of them before she recovered from her

surprise; but as soon as she had regained the free use of her senses, she

hastened back to St. James, without answering a single question that the

other put to her; and having locked herself up in her chamber, the fast

thing she did, was immediately to strip off Miss Hobart's clothes, lest

she should be contaminated by them; for after what she had been told

concerning her, she looked upon her as a monster, dreadful to the

innocence of the fair sex, of whatever sex she might be: she blushed at

the familiarities she had been drawn into with a creature, whose maid was

with child, though she never had been in any other service but hers: she

therefore returned her all her clothes, ordered her servant to bring back

all her own, and resolved never more to have any connection with her.

Miss Hobart, on the other hand, who supposed Killegrew had mistaken Miss

Temple for herself, could not comprehend what could induce her to give

herself such surprising airs, since that conversation; but being desirous

to come to an explanation, she ordered Miss Temple's maid to remain in

her apartments, and went to call upon Miss Temple herself, instead of

sending back her clothes; and being desirous to give her some proof of

friendship before they entered upon expostulations, she slipt softly into

her chamber, when she was in the very act of changing her linen, and

embraced her. Miss Temple finding herself in her arms before she had

taken notice of her, everything that Killegrew had mentioned, appeared

to her imagination: she fancied that she saw in her looks the eagerness

of a satyr, or, if possible, of some monster still more odious; and

disengaging herself with the highest indignation from her arms, she began

to shriek and cry in the most terrible manner, calling both heaven and

earth to her assistance.

The first whom her cries raised were the governess and her niece. It was

near twelve o'clock at night: Miss Temple in her shift, almost frightened

to death, was pushing back with horror Miss Hobart, who approached her

with no other intent than to know the occasion of those transports. As

soon as the governess saw this scene, she began to lecture Miss Hobart

with all the eloquence of a real duenna: she demanded of her, whether she

thought it was for her that her royal highness kept the maids of honour?

whether she was not ashamed to come at such an unseasonable time of night

into their very apartments to commit such violences? and swore that she

would, the very next day, complain to the duchess. All this confirmed

Miss Temple in her mistaken notions: and Hobart was obliged to go away at

last, without being able to convince or bring to reason creatures, whom

she believed to be either distracted or mad. The next day Miss Sarah did

not fail to relate this adventure to her lover, telling him how Miss

Temple's cries had alarmed the maids of honour's apartment, and how

herself and her aunt, running to her assistance, had almost surprised

Miss Hobart in the very act.

Two days after, the whole adventure, with the addition of several

embellishments, was made public: the governess swore to the truth of it,

and related in every company what a narrow escape Miss Temple had

experienced, and that Miss Sarah, her niece, had preserved her honour,

because, by Lord Rochester's excellent advice, she had forbidden her

all manner of connection with so dangerous a person. Miss Temple was

afterwards informed, that the song that had so greatly provoked her,

alluded to Miss Price only: this was confirmed to her by every person,

with additional execrations against Miss Hobart, for such a scandalous

imposition. Such great coldness after so much familiarity, made many

believe, that this adventure was not altogether a fiction.

This had been sufficient to have disgraced Miss Hobart at court, and to

have totally ruined her reputation in London, had she not been, upon the

present, as well as upon a former occasion, supported by the duchess:

her royal highness pretended to treat the whole story as romantic and

visionary, or as solely arising from private pique: she chid Miss Temple,

for her impertinent credulity: turned away the governess and her niece,

for the lies with which she pretended they supported the imposture; and

did many improper things in order to re-establish Miss Hobart's honour,

which, however, she failed in accomplishing. She had her reasons for not

entirely abandoning her, as will appear in the sequel.

Miss Temple, who continually reproached herself with injustice, with

respect to Lord Rochester, and who, upon the faith of Killegrew's word,

thought him the most Honourable man in England, was only solicitous to

find out some opportunity of easing her mind, by making him some

reparation for the rigour with which she had treated him: these

favourable dispositions, in the hands of a man of his character, might

have led to consequences of which she was not aware; but heaven did not

allow him an opportunity of profiting by them.

Ever since he had first appeared at court he seldom failed being banished

from it, at least once in the year; for whenever a word presented itself

to his pen, or to his tongue, he immediately committed it to paper, or

produced it in conversation, without any manner of regard to the

consequences the ministers, the mistresses, and even the king himself,

were frequently the subjects of his sarcasms; and had not the prince,

whom he thus treated, been possessed of one of the most forgiving and

gentle tempers, his first disgrace had certainly been his last.

Just at the time that Miss Temple was desirous of seeing him, in order to

apologize for the uneasiness which the infamous calumnies and black

aspersions of Miss Hobart had occasioned both of them, he was forbid the

court for the third time: he departed without having seen Miss Temple,

carried the disgraced governess down with him to his country seat, and

exerted all his endeavours to cultivate in her niece some dispositions

which she had for the stage; but though she did not make the same

improvement in this line, as she had by his other instructions, after he

had entertained both the niece and the aunt for some months in the

country, he got her entered in the king's company of comedians the next

winter; and the public was obliged to him for the prettiest, but at the

same time, the worst actress in the kingdom.

[Though no name is given to this lady, there are circumstances

enough mentioned to fix on the celebrated Mrs. Barry, as the person

intended by the author. Mrs. Barry was introduced to the stage by

Lord Rochester, with whom she had an intrigue, the fruit of which

was a daughter, who lived to the age of thirteen years, and is often

mentioned in his collection of love-letters, printed in his works,

which were written to Mrs. Barry. On her first theatrical attempts,

so little hopes were entertained of her, that she was, as Cibber

declares, discharged the company at the end of the first year, among

others that were thought to be a useless expense to it. She was

well born; being daughter of Robert Barry, Esq., barrister at law; a

gentleman of an ancient family and good estate, who hurt his fortune

by his attachment to Charles I.; for whom he raised a regiment at

his own expense. Tony Aston, in his Supplement to Cibber's Apology,

says, she was woman to lady Shelton of Norfolk, who might have

belonged to the court. Curl, however, says, she was early taken

under the patronage of Lady Davenant. Both these accounts may be

true. The time of her appearance on the stage was probably not much

earlier that 1671; in which year she performed in Tom Essence, and

was, it may be conjectured, about the age of nineteen. Curl

mentions the great pains taken by Lord Rochester in instructing her;

which were repaid by the rapid progress she daily made in her

profession. She at last eclipsed all her competitors, and in the

part of Monimia established her reputation. From her performance in

this character, in that of Belvidera, and of Isabella, in the Fatal

Marriage, Downes says she acquired the name of the famous Mrs.

Barry, both at court and in the city. "Mrs. Barry," says Dryden, in

his Preface to Cleomenes, "always excellent, has in this tragedy

excelled herself, and gained a reputation beyond any woman I have

ever seen on the theatre." "In characters of greatness," says

Cibber, "Mrs. Barry had a presence of elevated dignity; her mien

and motion superb, and gracefully majestic; her voice full, clear,

and strong; so that no violence of passion could be too much for

her; and when distress or tenderness possessed her, she subsided

into the most affecting melody and softness. In the art of exciting

pity, she had a power beyond all the actresses I have yet seen, or

what your imagination can conceive. In scenes of anger, defiance,

or resentment, while she was impetuous and terrible, she poured out

the sentiment with an enchanting harmony; and it was this particular

excellence for which Dryden made her the above-recited compliment,

upon her acting Cassandra in his Cleomenes. She was the first

person whose merit was distinguished by the indulgence of having an

annual benefit play, which was granted to her alone in King James's

time, and which did not become common to others till the division of

this company, after the death of King William and Queen Mary."]

About this time Talbot returned from Ireland: he soon felt the absence of

Miss Hamilton, who was then in the country with a relation, whom we shall

mention hereafter. A remnant of his former tenderness still subsisted in

his heart, notwithstanding his absence, and the promises he had given the

Chevalier de Grammont at parting: he now therefore endeavoured to banish

her entirely from his thoughts, by fixing his desires upon some other

object; but he saw no one in the queen's new court whom he thought worthy

of his attention: Miss Boynton, however, thought him worthy of hers.

Her, person was slender and delicate, to which a good complexion and

large motionless eyes gave at a distance an appearance of beauty, that

vanished upon nearer inspection: she affected to lisp, to languish, and

to have two or three fainting-fits a day. The first time that Talbot

cast his eyes upon her she was seized with one of these fits: he was told

that she swooned away upon his account: he believed it, was eager to

afford her assistance; and ever after that accident showed her some

kindness, more with the intention of saving her life, than to express any

affection he felt for her. This seeming tenderness was well received,

and at first she was visibly affected by it. Talbot was one of the

tallest men in England, and in all appearance one of the most robust; yet

she showed sufficiently that she was willing to expose the delicacy of

her constitution, to whatever might happen, in order to become his wife;

which event perhaps might then have taken place, as it did afterwards,

had not the charms of the fair Jennings at that time, proved an obstacle

to her wishes.

I know not how it came to pass that he had not yet seen her; though he

had heard her much praised, and her prudence, wit, and vivacity equally

commended; he believed all this upon the faith of common report. He

thought it very singular that discretion and sprightliness should be so

intimately united in a person so young, more particularly in the midst of

a court where love and gallantry were so much in fashion; but he found

her personal accomplishments greatly to exceed whatever fame had reported

of them.

As it was not long before he perceived he was in love, neither was it

long before he made a declaration of it: as his passion was likely enough

to be real, Miss Jennings thought she might believe him, without exposing

herself to the imputation of vanity. Talbot was possessed of a fine and

brilliant exterior, his manners were noble and majestic: besides this, he

was particularly distinguished by the favour and friendship of the duke;

but his most essential merit, with her, was his forty thousand pounds

a-year, landed property, besides his employments. All these qualities

came within the rules and maxims she had resolved to follow with respect

to lovers: thus, though he had not the satisfaction to obtain from her an

entire declaration of her sentiments, he had at least the pleasure of

being better received than those who had paid their addresses to her

before him.

No person attempted to interrupt his happiness; and Miss Jennings,

perceiving that the duchess approved of Talbot's pretensions; and after

having well weighed the matter, and consulted her own inclinations, found

that her reason was more favourable to him than her heart, and that the

most she could do for his satisfaction was to marry him without

reluctance.

Talbot, too fortunate in a preference which no man had before

experienced, did not examine whether it was to her heart or to her head

that he was indebted for it, and his thoughts were solely occupied in

hastening the accomplishment of his wishes: one would have sworn that the

happy minute was at hand; but love would no longer be love, if he did not

delight in obstructing, or in overturning the happiness of those who live

under his dominion.

Talbot, who found nothing reprehensible either in the person, in the

conversation, or in the reputation of Miss Jennings, was however rather

concerned at a now acquaintance she had lately formed; and having taken

upon him to give her some cautions upon this subject, she was much

displeased at his conduct.

Miss Price, formerly maid of honour, that had been set aside, as we have

before mentioned, upon her leaving the duchess's service, had recourse to

Lady Castlemaine's protection: she had a very entertaining wit: her

complaisance was adapted to all humours, and her own humour was possessed

of a fund of gaiety and sprightliness which diffused universal mirth and

merriment wherever she came. Her acquaintance with Miss Jennings was

prior to Talbot's.

As she was thoroughly acquainted with all the intrigues of the court, she

related them without any manner of reserve to Miss Jennings, and her own

with the same frankness as the others: Miss Jennings was extremely well

pleased with her stories; for though she was determined to make no

experiment in love, but upon honourable terms, she however was desirous

of knowing from her recitals, all the different intrigues that were

carrying on: thus, as she was never wearied with her conversation, she

was overjoyed whenever she could see her.

Talbot, who remarked the extreme relish she had for Miss Price's company,

thought that the reputation such a woman had in the world might prove

injurious to his mistress, more especially from the particular intimacy

there seemed to exist between them: whereupon, in the tone of a guardian

rather than a lover, he took upon him to chide her for the disreputable

company she kept. Miss Jennings was haughty beyond conception, when once

she took it into her head; and as she liked Miss Price's conversation

much better than Talbot's, she took the liberty of desiring him "to

attend to his own affairs, and that if he only came from Ireland to read

lectures about her conduct, he might take the trouble to go back as soon

as he pleased." He was offended at a sally which he thought ill-timed,

considering the situation of affairs between them; and went out of her

presence more abruptly than became the respect due from a man greatly in

love. He for some time appeared offended; but perceiving that he gained

nothing by such conduct, he grew weary of acting that part, and assumed

that of an humble lover, in which he was equally unsuccessful; neither

his repentance nor submissions could produce any effect upon her, and the

mutinous little gipsy was still in her pouts when Jermyn returned to

court.

It was above a year since he had triumphed over the weakness of Lady

Castlemaine, and above two since the king had been weary of his triumphs:

his uncle, being vile of the first who perceived the king's disgust,

obliged him to absent himself from court, at the very time that orders

were going to be issued for that purpose; for though the king's

affections for Lady Castlemaine were now greatly diminished, yet he did

not think it consistent with his dignity that a mistress, whom he had

honoured with public distinction, and who still received a considerable

support from him, should appear chained to the car of the most ridiculous

conqueror that ever existed. His majesty had frequently expostulated

with the countess upon this subject: but his expostulations were never

attended to; it was in one of these differences that he, advising her

rather to bestow her favours upon Jacob Hall, the rope-dancer, who was

able to return them, than lavish away her money upon Jermyn to no

purpose, since it would be more honourable for her to pass for the

mistress of the first, than for the very humble servant of the other, she

was not proof against his raillery. The impetuosity of her temper broke

forth like lightning: she told him "that it very ill became him to throw

out such reproaches against one, who, of all the women in England,

deserved them the least; that he had never ceased quarrelling thus

unjustly with her, ever since he had betrayed his own mean low

inclinations; that to gratify such a depraved taste as his, he wanted

only such silly things as Stewart, Wells, and that pitiful strolling

actress,--[Probably Nell Gwyn.]--whom he had lately introduced into their

society." Floods of tears from rage, generally attended these storms;

after which, resuming the part of Medea, the scene closed with menaces of

tearing her children in pieces, and setting his palace on fire. What

course could he pursue with such an outrageous fury, who, beautiful as

she was, resembled Medea less than her dragons, when she was thus

enraged!

The indulgent monarch loved peace; and as he seldom contended for it on

these occasions without paying something to obtain it, he was obliged to

be at great expense, in order to reconcile this last rupture: as they

could not agree of themselves, and both parties equally complained, the

Chevalier de Grammont was chosen, by mutual consent, mediator of the

treaty. The grievances and pretensions on each side were communicated to

him, and what is very extraordinary, he managed so as to please them

both. Here follow the articles of peace, which they agreed to:

"That Lady Castlemaine should for ever abandon Jermyn; that as a proof of

her sincerity, and the reality of his disgrace, she should consent to his

being sent, for some time, into the country; that she should not rail any

more against Miss Wells, nor storm any more against Miss Stewart; and

this without any restraint on the king's behaviour towards her that in

consideration of these condescensions, his majesty should immediately

give her the title of duchess, with all the honours and privileges

thereunto belonging, and an addition to her pension, in order to enable

her to support the dignity."

[The title of Duchess of Cleveland was conferred on her 3rd August,

22 Charles II., 1670.]

As soon as this peace was proclaimed, the political critics, who, in all

nations, never fail to censure all state proceedings, pretended that the

mediator of this treaty, being every day at play with Lady Castlemaine,

and never losing, had, for his own sake, insisted a little too strongly

upon this last article.

Some days after, she was created Duchess of Cleveland, and little Jermyn

repaired to his country-seat: however, it was in his power to have

returned in a fortnight; for the Chevalier de Grammont, having procured

the king's permission, carried it to the Earl of St. Alban's: this

revived the good old man; but it was to little purpose he transmitted it

to his nephew; for whether he wished to make the London beauties deplore

and lament his absence, or whether he wished them to declaim against the

injustice of the age, or rail against the tyranny of the prince, he

continued above half a year in the country, setting up for a little

philosopher, under the eyes of the sportsmen in the neighbourhood, who

regarded him as an extraordinary instance of the caprice of fortune. He

thought the part he acted so glorious, that he would have continued there

much longer had he not heard of Miss Jennings: he did not, however, pay

much attention to what his friends wrote to him concerning her charms,

being persuaded he had seen equally as great in others: what was related

to him of her pride and resistance, appeared to him of far greater

consequence; and to subdue the last, he even looked upon as an action

worthy of his prowess; and quitting his retreat for this purpose, he

arrived in London at the time that Talbot, who was really in love, had

quarrelled, in his opinion, so unjustly with Miss Jennings.

She had heard Jermyn spoken of as a hero in affairs of love and

gallantry. Miss Price, in the recital of those of the Duchess of

Cleveland, had often mentioned him, without in any respect diminishing

the insignificancy with which fame insinuated he had conducted himself in

those amorous encounters: she nevertheless had the greatest curiosity to

see a man, whose entire person, she thought, must be a moving trophy, and

monument of the favours and freedoms of the fair sex.

Thus Jermyn arrived at the right time to satisfy her curiosity by his

presence; and though his brilliancy appeared a little tarnished by his

residence in the country; though his head was larger, and his legs more

slender than usual, yet the giddy girl thought she had never seen any man

so perfect; and yielding to her destiny, she fell in love with him, a

thousand times more unaccountably than all the others had done before

her. Everybody remarked this change of conduct in her with surprise; for

they expected something more from the delicacy of a person who, till this

time, had behaved with so much propriety in all her actions.

Jermyn was not in the least surprised at this conquest, though not a

little proud of it; for his heart had very soon as great a share in it as

his vanity. Talbot, who saw with amazement the rapidity of this triumph,

and the disgrace of his own defeat, was ready to die with jealousy and

spite; yet he thought it would be more to his credit to die than to vent

those passions unprofitably; and shielding himself under a feigned

indifference, he kept at a distance to view how far such an extravagant

prepossession would proceed.

In the mean time Jermyn quietly enjoyed the happiness of seeing the

inclinations of the prettiest and most extraordinary creature in England

declared in his favour. The duchess, who had taken her under her

protection ever since she had declined placing herself under that of the

duke, sounded Jermyn's intentions towards her, and was satisfied with the

assurances she received from a man, whose probity infinitely exceeded his

merit in love: he therefore let all the court see that he was willing to

marry her, though, at the same time, he did not appear particularly

desirous of hastening the consummation. Every person now complimented

Miss Jennings upon having reduced to this situation the terror of

husbands, and the plague of lovers: the court was in full expectation of

this miracle, and Miss Jennings of a near approaching happy settlement:

but in this world one must have fortune in one's favour, before one can

calculate with certainty upon happiness.

The king did not use to let Lord Rochester remain so long in exile: he

grew weary of it, and being displeased that he was forgotten, he posted

up to London to wait till it might be his majesty's pleasure to recall

him.

He first took up his habitation in the city, among the capital tradesmen

and rich merchants, where politeness indeed is not so much cultivated as

at court; but where pleasure, luxury, and abundance reign with less

confusion, and more sincerity. His first design was only to be initiated

into the mysteries of those fortunate and happy inhabitants: that is to

say, by changing his name and dress, to gain admittance to their feasts

and entertainments; and, as occasion offered, to those of their loving

spouses; as he was able to adapt himself to all capacities and humours,

he soon deeply insinuated himself into the esteem of the substantial

wealthy aldermen, and into he affections of their more delicate,

magnificent, and tender ladies: he made one in all their feasts, and at

all their assemblies; and, whilst in the company of the husbands, he

declaimed against the faults and mistakes of government, he joined their

wives in railing against the profligacy of the court ladies, and in

inveighing against the king's mistresses: he agreed with them, that the

industrious poor were to pay for these cursed extravagances; that the

city beauties were not inferior to those of the other end of the town,

and yet a sober husband in this quarter of the town was satisfied with

one wife; after which, to out-do their murmurings, he said, that he

wondered Whitehall was not yet consumed by fire from heaven, since such

rakes as Rochester, Killegrew, and Sidney were suffered there, who had

the impudence to assert that all married men in the city were cuckolds,

and all their wives painted. This conduct endeared him so much to the

cits, and made him so welcome at their clubs, that at last he grew sick

of their cramming and endless invitations.

But, instead of approaching nearer the court, he retreated into one of

the most obscure corners of the city: where, again changing both his name

and his dress, in order to act a new part, he caused bills to be

dispersed, giving notice of "The recent arrival of a famous German

doctor, who, by long application and experience, had found out wonderful

secrets, and infallible remedies."

[Bishop Burnet confirms this account.--"Being under an unlucky

accident, which obliged him to keep out of the way, he disguised

himself so, that his nearest friends could not have known him, and

set up in Tower Street for an Italian mountebank, where he practised

physic for some weeks, not without success. In his latter years he

read books of history more. He took pleasure to disguise himself as

a porter, or as a beggar; sometimes to follow some mean amours,

which, for the variety of them, he affected. At other times, merely

for diversion, he would go about in odd shapes; in which he acted

his part so naturally, that even those who were in the secret, and

saw him in these shapes, could perceive nothing by which he might be

discovered."--Burnet's Life of Rochester, ed. 1774, p. 14.]

His secrets consisted in knowing what was past, and foretelling what was

to come, by the assistance of astrology: and the virtue of his remedies

principally consisted in giving present relief to unfortunate young women

in all manner of diseases, and all kinds of accidents incident to the

fair sex, either from too unbounded charity to their neighbours, or too

great indulgence to themselves.

His first practice being confined to his neighbourhood, was not very

considerable; but his reputation soon extending to the other end of the

town, there presently flocked to him the women attending on the court,

next, the chamber-maids of ladies of quality, who, upon the wonders they

related concerning the German doctor, were soon followed by some of their

mistresses.

Among all the compositions of a ludicrous and satirical kind, there never

existed any that could be compared to those of Lord Rochester, either for

humour, fire, or wit; but, of all his works, the most ingenious and

entertaining is that which contains a detail of the intrigues and

adventures in which he was engaged while he professed medicine and

astrology in the suburbs of London.

The fair Jennings was very near getting a place in this collection; but

the adventure that prevented her from it, did not, however, conceal from

the public her intention of paying a visit to the German doctor.

The first chamber-maids that consulted him were only those of the maids

of honour; who had numberless questions to ask, and not a few doubts to

be resolved, both upon their own and their mistresses' accounts.

Notwithstanding their disguise, he recognised some of them, particularly

Miss Temple's and Miss Price's maids, and her whom Miss Hobart had lately

discarded: these creatures all returned either filled with wonder and

amazement, or petrified with terror and fear. Miss Temple's chamber-maid

deposed that he assured her she would have the small-pox, and her

mistress the great, within two months at farthest, if her aforesaid

mistress did not guard against a man in woman's clothes. Miss Price's

woman affirmed that, without knowing her, and only looking in her hand,

he told her at first sight that, according to the course of the stars, he

perceived that she was in the service of some good-natured lady, who had

no other fault than loving wine and men. In short, every one of them,

struck with some particular circumstance relating to their own private

affairs, had either alarmed or diverted their mistresses with the

account, not failing, according to custom, to embellish the truth, in

order to enhance the wonder.

Miss Price, relating these circumstances one day to her new friend, the

devil immediately tempted her to go in person, and see what sort of a

creature this new magician was. This enterprise was certainly very rash;

but nothing was too rash for Miss Jennings, who was of opinion that a

woman might despise appearances, provided she was in reality virtuous.

Miss Price was all compliance, and thus having fixed upon this glorious

resolution, they only thought of the proper means of putting it into

execution.

It was very difficult for Miss Jennings to disguise herself, on account

of her excessive fair and bright complexion, and of something particular

in her air and manner: however, after having well considered the matter

the best disguise they could think of was to dress themselves like orange

girls.

[These frolics appear to have been not unfrequent with persons of

high rank at this period. In a letter from Mr. Henshaw to Sir

Robert Paston, afterwards Earl of Yarmouth, dated October 13, 1670,

we have the following account: "Last week, there being a faire

neare Audley-end, the queen, the Dutchess of Richmond, and the

Dutchess of Buckingham, had a frolick to disguise themselves like

country lasses, to red petticoats, wastcotes, &c., and so goe see

the faire. Sir Barnard Gascoign, on a cart jade, rode before the

queen; another stranger before the Dutchess of Buckingham; and Mr.

Roper before Richmond. They had all so overdone it in their

disguise, and looked so much more like antiques than country volk,

that, as soon as they came to the faire, the people began to goe

after them; but the queen going to a booth, to buy a pair of yellow

stockings for her sweet hart, and Sir Bernard asking for a pair of

gloves sticht with blew, for his sweet hart, they were soon, by

their gebrish, found to be strangers, which drew a bigger flock

about them. One amongst them had seen the queen at dinner, knew

her, and was proud of her knowledge. This soon brought all the

faire into a crowd to stare at the queen. Being thus discovered,

they, as soon as they could, got to their horses; but as many of the

faire as had horses got up, with their wives, children, sweet harts,

or neighbours, behind them, to get as much gape as they could, till

they brought them to the court gate. Thus, by ill conduct, was a

merry frolick turned into a penance."--I've's Select Papers, p. 39.

Bishop Burnet says, "at this time, (1668) the court fell into much

extravagance in masquerading: both the king and queen, all the

court, went about masked, and came into houses unknown, and danced

there, with a great deal of wild frolic. In all this people were so

disguised, that, without being in the secret, none could distinguish

them. They were carried about in hackney chairs. Once the queen's

chairmen, not knowing who she was, went from her. So she was alone,

and was much disturbed, and came to Whitehall in a hackney coach;

some say in a cart."--Burnet's History, vol. i., p. 368.]

This was no sooner resolved upon, but it was put in execution they

attired themselves alike, and, taking each a basket of oranges under

their arms, they embarked in a hackney coach, and committed themselves to

fortune, without any other escort than their own caprice and

indiscretion.

The duchess was gone to the play with her sister: Miss Jennings had

excused herself under pretence of indisposition she was overjoyed at the

happy commencement of their adventure; for they had disguised themselves,

had crossed the Park, and taken their hackney coach at Whitehall gate,

without the least accident. They mutually congratulated each other upon

it, and Miss Price, taking a beginning so prosperous as a good omen of

their success, asked her companion what they were to do at the

fortune-teller's, and what they should propose to him.

Miss Jennings told her that, for her part, curiosity was her principal

inducement for going thither; that, however, she was resolved to ask him,

without naming any person, why a man, who was in love with a handsome

young lady, was not urgent to marry her, since this was in his power to

do, and by so doing he would have an opportunity of gratifying his

desires. Miss Price told her, smiling, that, without going to the

astrologer, nothing was more easy than to explain the enigma, as she

herself had almost given her a solution of it in the narrative of the

Duchess of Cleveland's adventures.

Having by this time nearly arrived at the playhouse, Miss Price, after a

moment's reflection, said, that since fortune favoured them, a fair

opportunity was now offered to signalize their courage, which was to go

and sell oranges in the very playhouse, in the sight of the duchess and

the whole court. The proposal being worthy of the sentiments of the one,

and of the vivacity of the other, they immediately alighted, paid off

their hack, and, running through the midst of an immense number of

coaches, with great difficulty they reached the playhouse door. Sidney,

more handsome than the beautiful Adonis, and dressed more gay than usual,

alighted just then from his coach: Miss Price went boldly up to him, as

he was adjusting his curls; but he was too much occupied with his own

dear self to attend to anything else, and so passed on without deigning

to give her an answer. Killegrew came next, and the fair Jennings,

partly encouraged by the other's pertness, advanced towards him, and

offered him her basket, whilst Price, more used to the language, desired

him to buy her fine oranges. "Not now," said he, looking at them with

attention; "but if thou wilt to-morrow morning bring this young girl to

my lodgings, I will make it worth all the oranges in London to thee" and

while he thus spoke to the one he chucked the other under the chin,

examining her bosom. These familiarities making little Jennings forget

the part she was acting, after having pushed him away with all the

violence she was able, she told him with indignation that it was very

insolent to dare--"Ha! ha!" said he, "here's a rarity indeed! a young

w----, who, the better to sell her goods, sets up for virtue, and

pretends innocence!"

Price immediately perceived that nothing could be gained by continuing

any longer in so dangerous a place; and, taking her companion under the

arm, she dragged her away, while she was still in emotion at the insult

that had been offered to her.

Miss Jennings, resolving to sell no more oranges on these terms, was

tempted to return, without accomplishing the other adventure; but Price

having represented to her the disgrace of such cowardly behaviour, more

particularly after having before manifested so much resolution, she

consented to go and pay the astrologer a short visit, so as they might be

enabled to regain the palace before the play was ended.

They had one of the doctor's bills for a direction, but there was no

occasion for it; for the driver of the coach they had taken told them he

knew very well the place they wanted, for he had already carried above an

hundred persons to the German doctor's: they were within half a street of

his house, when fortune thought proper to play them a trick.

Brounker had dined by chance with a merchant in that part of the city,

and just as he was going away they ordered their coach to stop, as

ill-luck would have it, just opposite to him. Two orange girls in a

hackney coach, one of whom appeared to have a very pretty face,

immediately drew his attention; besides, he had a natural curiosity for

such objects.

[Gentleman of the chamber to the Duke of York, and brother to Lord

Viscount Brounker, president of the royal society. Lord Clarendon

imputes to him the cause of the great sea-fight, in 1665, not being

so well improved as it might have been, and adds, "nor did the duke

come to hear of it till some years after, when Mr. Brounker's ill

course of life, and his abominable nature, had rendered him so

odious, that it was taken notice of in parliament, and, upon

examination, found to be true, as is here related; upon which he was

expelled the house of commons, whereof he was a; member, as an

infamous person, though his friend Coventry adhered to him, and used

many indirect acts to have protected him, and afterwards procured

him to have more countenance from the king than most men thought he

deserved; being a person, throughout his whole life, never notorious

for anything but the highest degree of impudence, and stooping to

the most infamous offices, and playing very well at chess, which

preferred him more than the most virtuous qualities could have

done."--Continuation of Clarendon's Life, p. 270.]

Of all the men at court, he had the least regard for the fair sex, and

the least attention to their reputation: he was not young, nor was his

person agreeable; however, with a great deal of wit he had a violent

passion for women. He did himself justice respecting his own merit; and,

being persuaded that he could only succeed with those who were desirous

of having his money, he was at open war with all the rest. He had a

little country-house four or five miles from London always well stocked

with girls: in other respects he was a very honest man, and the best

chess-player in England.

Price, alarmed at being thus closely examined by the most dangerous enemy

they could encounter, turned her head the other way, bid her companion do

the same, and told the coachman to drive on. Brounker followed them

unperceived on foot; and the coach having stopped twenty or thirty yards

farther up the street, they alighted. He was just behind them, and

formed the same judgment of them which a man much more charitable to the

sex must unavoidably have done, concluding that Miss Jennings was a young

courtesan upon the look-out, and that Miss Price was the mother-abbess.

He was, however, surprised to see them have much better shoes and

stockings than women of that rank generally wear, and that the little

orange girl, in getting out of a very high coach, showed one of the

handsomest legs he had ever seen: but as all this was no obstruction to

his designs, he resolved to purchase her at any rate, in order to place

her in his seraglio.

He came up to them, as they were giving their baskets in guard to the

coachman, with orders to wait for them exactly in that place. Brounker

immediately pushed in between them: as soon as they saw him, they gave

themselves up for lost; but he, without taking the least notice of their

surprise, took Price aside with one hand, and his purse with the other,

and began immediately to enter upon business, but was astonished to

perceive that she turned away her face, without either answering or

looking at him: As this conduct appeared to him unnatural, he stared her

full in the face, notwithstanding all her endeavours to prevent him: he

did the same to the other: and immediately recognised them, but

determined to conceal his discovery.

The old fox possessed a wonderful command of temper on such occasions,

and having teazed them a little longer to remove all suspicions he

quitted them, telling Price; "That she was a great fool to refuse his

offers, and that her girl would not, perhaps, get so much in a year, as

she might with him in one day; that the times were greatly changed, since

the queen's and the duchess's maids of honour forestalled the market, and

were to be had cheaper than the town ladies." Upon this he went back to

his coach, whilst they blessed themselves, returning heaven their most

hearty thanks for having escaped this danger without being discovered.

Brounker, on the other hand, would not have taken a thousand guineas for

this rencounter: he blessed the Lord that he had not alarmed them to such

a degree as to frustrate their intention; for he made no doubt but Miss

Price had managed some intrigue for Miss Jennings: he therefore

immediately concluded, that at present it would be improper to make known

his discovery, which would have answered no other end but to have

overwhelmed them with confusion.

Upon this account, although Jermyn was one of his best friends, he felt a

secret joy in not having prevented his being made a cuckold, before his

marriage; and the apprehension he was in of preserving him from that

accident, was his sole reason for quitting them with the precautions

aforementioned.

Whilst they were under these alarms, their coachman was engaged in a

squabble with some blackguard boys, who had gathered round his coach in

order to steal the oranges: from words they came to blows: the two nymphs

saw the commencement of the fray as they were returning to the coach,

after having abandoned the design of going to the fortuneteller's. Their

coachman being a man of spirit, it was with great difficulty they could

persuade him to leave their oranges to the mob, that they might get off

without any further disturbance: having thus regained their hack, after a

thousand frights, and after having received an abundant share of the most

low and infamous abuse applied to them during the fracas, they at length

reached St. James's, vowing never more to go after fortune-tellers,

through so many dangers, terrors, and alarms, as they had lately

undergone.

Brounker, who, from the indifferent opinion he entertained of the fair

sex, would have staked his life that Miss Jennings did not return from

this expedition in the same condition she went, kept his thoughts,

however, a profound secret; since it would have afforded him the highest

satisfaction to have seen the all-fortunate Jermyn marry a little

street-walker, who pretended to pass for a pattern of chastity, that he

might, the day after his marriage, congratulate him upon his virtuous

spouse; but heaven was not disposed to afford him that satisfaction, as

will appear in the sequel of these memoirs.

Miss Hamilton was in the country, as we before mentioned, at a

relation's: the Chevalier de Grammont bore this short absence of hers

with great uneasiness, since she would not allow him permission to visit

her there, upon any pretence whatever; but play, which was favourable to

him, was no small relief to his extreme impatience.

Miss Hamilton, however, at last returned. Mrs. Wetenhall (for that was

the name of her relation) would by all means wait upon her to London, in

appearance out of politeness; for ceremony, carried beyond all bearing,

is the grand characteristic of country gentry: yet this mark of civility

was only a pretence, to obtain a peevish husband's consent to his wife's

journey to town. Perhaps he would have done himself the honour of

conducting Miss Hamilton up to London, had he not been employed in

writing some remarks upon the ecclesiastical history, a work in which he

had long been engaged: the ladies were more civil than to interrupt him

in his undertaking, and besides, it would entirely have disconcerted all

Mrs. Wetenhall's schemes.

This lady was what may be properly called a beauty, entirely English,

made up of lilies and roses, of snow and milk, as to colour; and of wax,

with respect to the arms, hands, neck, and feet, but all this without

either animation or air; her face was uncommonly pretty; but there was no

variety, no change of countenance in it: one would have thought she took

it in the morning out of a case, in order to put it up again at night,

without using it in the smallest degree in the daytime. What can I say

of her! nature had formed her a baby from her infancy, and a baby

remained till death the fair Mrs. Wetenhall. Her husband had been

destined for the church; but his elder brother dying just at the time he

had gone through his studies of divinity, instead of taking orders, he

came to England, and took to wife Miss Bedingfield, the lady of whom we

are now speaking.

His person was not disagreeable, but he had a serious contemplative air,

very apt to occasion disgust: as for the rest, she might boast of having

one of the greatest theologists in the kingdom for her husband: he was

all day poring over his books, and went to bed soon, in order to rise

early; so that his wife found him snoring when she came to bed, and when

he arose he left her there sound asleep: his conversation at table would

have been very brisk, if Mrs. Wetenhall had been as great a proficient

in divinity, or as great a lover of controversy, as he was; but being

neither learned in the former, nor desirous of the latter, silence

reigned at their table, as absolutely as at a refectory.

She had often expressed a great desire to see London; but though they

were only distant a very short day's journey from it, she had never been

able to satisfy her curiosity: it was not therefore without reason, that

she grew weary of the life she was forced to lead at Peckham. The

melancholy retired situation of the place was to her insupportable; and

as she had the folly, incident to many other women, of believing

sterility to be a kind of reproach, she was very much hurt to see that

she might fall under that suspicion; for she was persuaded, that although

heaven had denied her children, she nevertheless had all the necessary

requisites on her part, if it had been the will of the Lord. This had

occasioned her to make some reflections, and then to reason upon those

reflections; as for instance, that since her husband chose rather to

devote himself to his studies, than to the duties of matrimony, to turn

over musty old books, rather than attend to the attractions of beauty,

and to gratify his own pleasures, rather than those of his wife, it might

be permitted her to relieve some necessitous lover, in neighbourly

charity, provided she could do it conscientiously, and to direct her

inclinations in so just a, manner, that the evil spirit should have no

concern in it. Mr. Wetenhall, a zealous partisan for the doctrine of the

casuists, would not perhaps have approved of these decisions; but he was

not consulted.

The greatest misfortune was, that neither solitary Peckham nor its

sterile neighbourhood, presented any expedients, either for the execution

of the afore-mentioned design, or for the relief of poor Mrs. Wetenhall:

she was visibly pining away, when, through fear of dying either with

solitude or of want, she had recourse to Miss Hamilton's commiseration.

Their first acquaintance was formed at Paris, whither Mr. Wetenhall had

taken his wife half a year after they were married, on a journey thither

to buy books: Miss Hamilton, who from that very time greatly pitied her,

consented to pass some time in the country with her, in hopes by that

visit to deliver her, for a short time at least, out of her captivity;

which project succeeded according to her wish.

The Chevalier de Grammont, being informed of the day on which they were

to arrive, borne on the wings of love and impatience, had engaged George

Hamilton to go with him, and meet them some miles out of London. The

equipage he had prepared for the purpose, corresponded with his usual

magnificence; and on such an occasion, we may reasonably suppose he had

not neglected his person: however, with all his impatience, he checked

the ardour of the coachman, through fear of accidents, rightly judging

that upon a road prudence is preferable to eagerness. The ladies at

length appeared, and Miss Hamilton, being in his eyes, ten or twelve

times more handsome than before her departure from London, he would have

purchased with his life so kind a reception as she gave her brother.

Mrs. Wetenhall had her share of the praises, which at this interview

were liberally bestowed upon her beauty, for which her beauty was very

thankful to those who did it so much honour; and as Hamilton regarded

her with a tender attention, she regarded Hamilton as a man very well

qualified for putting in execution the little projects she had concerted

with her conscience.

As soon as she was in London, her head was almost turned, through an

excess of contentment and felicity: everything appeared like enchantment

to her in this superb city; more particularly, as in Paris she had never

seen anything farther than the Rue Saint Jacques, and a few booksellers'

shops. Miss Hamilton entertained her at her own house, and she was

presented, admired, and well received at both courts.

The Chevalier de Grammont, whose gallantry and magnificence were

inexhaustible, taking occasion, from this fair stranger's arrival, to

exhibit his grandeur, nothing was to be seen but balls, concerts, plays,

excursions by land and by water, splendid collations and sumptuous

entertainments: Mrs. Wetenhall was transported with pleasures, of which

the greatest part were entirely new to her; she was greatly delighted

with all, except now and then at a play, when tragedy was acted, which

she confessed she thought rather wearisome: she agreed, however, that the

show was very interesting, when there were many people killed upon the

stage, but thought the players were very fine handsome fellows, who were

much better alive than dead.

Hamilton, upon the whole, was pretty well treated by her, if a man in

love, who is never satisfied until the completion of his wishes, could

confine himself within the bounds of moderation and reason: he used all

his endeavours to determine her to put in execution the projects she had

formed at Peckham: Mrs. Wetenhall, on the other hand, was much pleased

with him. This is the Hamilton who served in the French army with

distinction; he was both agreeable and handsome. All imaginable

opportunities conspired to favour the establishment of an intimacy, whose

commencement had been so brisk, that in all probability it would not

languish for a conclusion; but the more he pressed her to it, the more

her resolution began to fail, and regard for some scruples, which she had

not well weighed, kept her in suspense: there was reason to believe that

a little perseverance would have removed these obstacles; yet this at the

present time was not attempted. Hamilton, not able to conceive what

could prevent her from completing his happiness, since in his opinion the

first and greatest difficulties of an amour were already overcome, with

respect to the public, resolved to abandon her to her irresolutions,

instead of endeavouring to conquer them by a more vigorous attack. It

was not consistent with reason, to desist from an enterprise, where so

many prospects of success presented themselves, for such inconsiderable

obstacles; but he suffered himself to be intoxicated with chimeras and

visions, which unseasonably cooled the vigour of his pursuit, and led him

astray in another unprofitable undertaking.

[I apprehend he is the same George Hamilton already described, who

married Miss Jennings, and not the author of this work, as Lord

Orford supposes. In a letter from Arlington to Sir William

Godolphin, dated September 7, 1671, it is said, "the Conde de Molina

complains to us of certain levies Sir George Hamilton hath made in

Ireland. The king hath always told him he had no express license

for it; and I have told the Conde he must not find it strange that a

gentleman who had been bred the king's page abroad, and losing his

employment at home, for being a Roman Catholic, should have some

more than ordinary connivance towards the making his fortune abroad

by the countenance of his friends and relations in Ireland: and yet

take the matter in the worst sense he could give, it would not

amount to the breach of any article betwixt the king my master and

the court of Spain."--Arlington's letters, vol. ii., p. 332. In

a letter from the same nobleman to Lord Sandwich, written about

October, 1667, we find the cause of Sir George Hamilton's entering

into the French service "Concerning the reformadoes of, the guards

of horse, his majesty thought fit, the other day, to have them

dismissed, according to his promise, made to the parliament at the

last session. Mr. Hamilton had a secret overture made him, that he,

with those men, should be welcome into the French service; his

majesty, at their dismissal, having declared they should have leave

to go abroad whither they pleased. They accepted of Mr. Hamilton's

offer to carry them into France. "Arlington's Letters," vol. i., p.

185. Lodge, in his Peerage of Ireland, says, Sir George Hamilton

died in 1667, which, from the first extract above, appears to be

erroneous. He has evidently confounded the father and son; the

former of whom was the person who died in 1667.]

I know not whether poor Wetenhall took the blame upon herself; but it is

certain, she was extremely mortified upon it. Soon after being obliged

to return to her cabbages and turkeys at Peckham, she had almost gone

distracted: that residence appeared a thousand times more dreadful to

her, since she had been initiated into the amusements of London; but as

the queen was to set out within a month for Tunbridge Wells, she was

obliged to yield to necessity, and return to the philosopher, Wetenhall,

with the consolation of having engaged Miss Hamilton to come and live at

her house, which was within ten or twelve miles of Tunbridge, as long as

the court remained there.

Miss Hamilton promised not to abandon her in her retirement, and further

engaged to bring the Chevalier de Grammont along with her, whose humour

and conversation extremely delighted her. The Chevalier de Grammont, who

on all occasions started agreeable raillery, engaged on his part to bring

George Hamilton, which words overwhelmed her with blushes. The court set

out soon after to pass about two months in the place of all Europe the

most rural and simple, and yet, at the same time, the most entertaining

and agreeable. Tunbridge is the same distance from London, that

Fontainebleau is from Paris, and is, at the season, the general

rendezvous of all the gay and handsome of both sexes. The company,

though always numerous, is always select: since those who repair thither

for diversion, ever exceed the number of those who go thither for health.

Everything there breathes mirth and pleasure: constraint is banished,

familiarity is established upon the first acquaintance, and joy and

pleasure are the sole sovereigns of the place.

The company are accommodated with lodgings in little, clean, and

convenient habitations, that lie straggling and separated from each

other, a mile and a half all round the Wells, where the company meet in

the morning: this place consists of a long walk, shaded by spreading

trees, under which they walk while they are drinking the waters: on one

side of this walk is a long row of shops, plentifully stocked with all

manner of toys, lace, gloves, stockings, and where there is raffling, as

at Paris, in the Foire de Saint Germain: on the other side of the walk is

the market; and, as it is the custom here for every person to buy their

own provisions, care is taken that nothing offensive appears on the

stalls. Here young, fair, fresh-coloured country girls, with clean

linen, small straw hats, and neat shoes and stockings, sell game,

vegetables, flowers and fruit: here one may live as one pleases: here is,

likewise, deep play, and no want of amorous intrigues. As soon as the

evening comes, every one quits his little palace to assemble at the

bowling-green, where, in the open air, those who choose, dance upon a

turf more soft and smooth than the finest carpet in the world,

Lord Muskerry had, within two or three short miles of Tunbridge, a very

handsome seat called Summer-hill: Miss Hamilton, after having spent eight

or ten days at Peckham, could not excuse herself from passing the

remainder of the season at his house; and, having obtained leave of Mr.

Wetenhall, that his lady should accompany her, they left the melancholy

residence of Peckham, and its tiresome master, and fixed their little

court at Summer-hill.

They went every day to court, or the court came to them. The queen

even surpassed her usual attentions in inventing and supporting

entertainments: she endeavoured to increase the natural ease and freedom

of Tunbridge, by dispensing with, rather than requiring, those ceremonies

that were due to her presence; and, confining in the bottom of her heart

that grief and uneasiness she could not overcome, she saw Miss Stewart

triumphantly possess the affections of the king without manifesting the

least uneasiness.

Never did love see his empire in a more flourishing condition than on

this spot: those who were smitten before they came to it, felt a mighty

augmentation of their flame; and those who seemed the least susceptible

of love, laid aside their natural ferocity, to act in a new character.

For the truth of the latter, we shall only relate the change which soon

appeared in the conduct of Prince Rupert.

[Lord Orford's contrast to this character of Prince Rupert is too

just to be here omitted. "Born with the taste of an uncle whom his

sword was not fortunate in defending, Prince Rupert was fond of

those sciences which soften and adorn a hero's private hours, and

knew how to mix them with his minutes of amusement, without

dedicating his life to their pursuit, like us, who, wanting capacity

for momentous views, make serious study of what is only the

transitory occupation of a genius. Had the court of the first

Charles been peaceful, how agreeably had the prince's congenial

propensity flattered and confirmed the inclination of his uncle!

How the muse of arts would have repaid the patronage of the monarch,

when, for his first artist, she would have presented him with his

nephew! How different a figure did the same prince make in a reign

of dissimilar complexion! The philosophic warrior, who could relax

himself into the ornament of a refined court, was thought a savage

mechanic, when courtiers were only voluptuous wits. Let me

transcribe a picture of Prince Rupert, drawn by a man who was far

from having the least portion of wit in that age, who was superior

to its indelicacy, and who yet was so overborne by its prejudices,

that he had the complaisance to ridicule virtue, merit, talents.

--But Prince Rupert, alas! was an awkward lover!" Lord Orford here

inserts the character in the text, and then adds, "What pity that

we, who wish to transmit this prince's resemblance to posterity on a

fairer canvas, have none of these inimitable colours to efface the

harsher likeness! We can but oppose facts to wit, truth to satire.

--How unequal the pencils! yet what these lines cannot do they may

suggest: they may induce the reader to reflect, that if the prince

was defective in the transient varnish of a court, he at least was

adorned by the arts with that polish which alone can make a court

attract the attention of subsequent ages."--Catalogue of Engravers,

p 135, 8vo ed.]

He was brave and courageous, even to rashness; but cross-grained and

incorrigibly obstinate: his genius was fertile in mathematical

experiments, and he possessed some knowledge of chemistry: he was polite

even to excess, unseasonably; but haughty, and even brutal, when he ought

to have been gentle and courteous: he was tall, and his manners were

ungracious: he had a dry hard-favoured visage, and a stern look, even

when he wished to please; but, when he was out of humour, he was the true

picture of reproof.

The queen had sent for the players, either that there might be no

intermission in the diversions of the place, or, perhaps, to retort upon

Miss Stewart, by the presence of Nell Gwyn, part of the uneasiness she

felt from hers. Prince Rupert found charms in the person of another

player called Hughes, who brought down and greatly subdued his natural

fierceness.

[Mrs. Hughes was one of the actresses belonging to the king's

company, and one of the earliest female performers. According to

Downs, she commenced her theatrical career after the opening of

Drury lane theatre, in 1663. She appears to have been the first

female representative of Desdemona. By Prince Rupert she had a

daughter, named Ruperta, married to Lieutenant-general Howe, who

survived her husband many years, dying at Somerset house, about the

year 1740.]

From this time, adieu alembics, crucibles, furnaces, and all the black

furniture of the forges: a complete farewell to all mathematical

instruments and chemical speculations: sweet powder and essences were now

the only ingredients that occupied any share of his attention. The

impertinent gipsy chose to be attacked in form; and proudly refusing

money, that, in the end she might sell her favours at a dearer rate, she

caused the poor prince to act a part so unnatural, that he no longer

appeared like the same person. The king was greatly pleased with this

event, for which great rejoicings were made at Tunbridge; but nobody was

bold enough to make it the subject of satire, though the same constraint

was not observed with other ridiculous personages.

There was dancing every day at the queen's apartments, because the

physicians recommended it, and no person thought it amiss: for even those

who cared least for it, chose that exercise to digest the waters rather

than walking. Lord Muskerry thought himself secure against his lady's

rage for dancing; for, although he was ashamed of it, the princess of

Babylon was, by the grace of God, six or seven months advanced in

pregnancy; and, to complete her misfortune, the child had fallen all

on one side, so that even Euclid would have been puzzled to say what

her figure was. The disconsolate lady, seeing Miss Hamilton and Mrs.

Wetenhall set out every morning, sometimes on horseback and sometimes in

a coach, but ever attended by a gallant troop to conduct them to court,

and to convey them back, she fancied a thousand times more delights at

Tunbridge than in reality there were, and she did not cease in her

imagination, to dance over at Summer-hill all the country dances which

she thought had been danced at Tunbridge. She could no longer support

the racking torments which disturbed her mind, when relenting heaven,

out of pity to her pains and sufferings, caused Lord Muskerry to repair

to London, and kept him there two whole days: as soon as ever he had

turned his back, the Babylonian princess declared her resolution to make

a trip to court.

She had a domestic chaplain who did not want sense, and Lord Muskerry,

for fear of accidents, had recommended her to the wholesome counsels and

good prayers of this prudent divine; but in vain were all his preachings

and exhortations to stay at home; in vain did he set before her eyes her

husband's commands, and the dangers to which she would expose herself in

her present condition; he likewise added that her pregnancy, being a

particular blessing from heaven, she ought therefore to be so much the

more careful for its preservation, since it cost her husband, perhaps,

more trouble than she was aware of, to obtain it. These remonstrances

were altogether ineffectual: Miss Hamilton and her cousin Wetenhall,

having the complaisance to confirm her in her resolution, they assisted

in dressing her the next morning, and set out along with her all their

skill and dexterity were requisite to reduce her shape into some kind of

symmetry; but, having at last pinned a small cushion under her petticoat

on the right side, to counteract the untoward appearance the little

infant occasioned by throwing itself on the left, they almost split their

sides with laughter, assuring her at the same time that she looked

perfectly charming.

As soon as she appeared, it was generally believed that she had dressed

herself in a farthingale, in order to make her court to the queen; but

every person was pleased at her arrival: those who were unacquainted with

the circumstances assured her in earnest that she was pregnant with

twins; and the queen, who envied her condition, notwithstanding the

ridiculous appearance she then made, being made acquainted with the

motive of her journey, was determined to gratify her inclinations.

As soon as the hour for country dances arrived, her cousin Hamilton was

appointed her partner: she made some faint excuses at first on account of

the inconvenient situation she was then in: but soon suffered them to be

overcome, in order, as she said, to show her duty to the queen; and never

did a woman in this world enjoy such complete satisfaction.