[Illustration:
_J.X.Fabre. pinx._ _Emery Walker Ptr.sc._
_Henry Richard, third Lord Holland_
_1796_]
THE JOURNAL
OF
ELIZABETH LADY HOLLAND
(1791–1811)
EDITED BY
THE EARL OF ILCHESTER
_WITH PORTRAITS_
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. II. 1799–1811
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
NEW YORK, BOMBAY, AND CALCUTTA
1908
All rights reserved
LIST OF PLATES
TO VOLUME II.
HENRY RICHARD, THIRD LORD HOLLAND, 1796 _Frontispiece_
_From a painting by F. X. Fabre._
HENRIETTA, THIRD COUNTESS OF BESSBOROUGH _To face p._ 96
_From a painting by Louis Gauffier._
JOHN, VISCOUNT BORINGDON (AFTERWARDS EARL OF
MORLEY), 1798 „ 190
_From a painting by J. Hoppner._
JOURNAL OF ELIZABETH
LADY HOLLAND
_26th July, 1799._--Left H. H. this morning to make a tour into
Wales and the west of England. Ld. H. went to dine at St. Anne’s, and
Drew, Charles, and myself came to this place (General Fitzpatrick’s,
Sunninghill) to meet him. On Saturday, ye 27th, we arrived to dinner
at Oxford. Close by the General’s, upon Ascot Heath, there is a camp.
The cavalry were watered whilst we went on the road, a pretty incident;
their brilliant coats contrasted with the dusky brown of the heath,
and produced a very lively effect. A cross road to Henley; just as
we entered the town we passed under Park Place, a late purchase of
Ld. Malmesbury’s. Somewhere near Henley is the highest ground south
of Trent. On ye 28th went from Oxford, by Chapel House, to Warwick.
I could not help laughing at the _event_ of our going, because
the subject of seeing the Castle without being obliged by urgent
solicitations to make a long visit there (as Ld. H. was sure we should
be very much pressed) had occupied his thoughts for many hours. Ld.
H. had written letters to Ly. W. and Mrs. Smith, so calculated as to
make a refusal of the pressing invitations (which he dreaded having)
quite civil; but we need not have been embarrassed. So far from being
solicited to stay, the whole family flew to their fortresses in some
battlemented towers, gave out that they were walking, and shunned us.
It was a most fortunate escape to me, tho’ I believe Ld. H. was vexed
at the impertinence of the proceeding. The Castle is magnificent,
decorated with ornaments appropriate to the building, and in the very
best taste possible. His taste in virtu is better than in breeding, as
he manifested a gross deficiency of that quality to us.
From thence we went across a very moderate road to Kenilworth; by
the remains of the castle it appears to have far exceeded Warwick in
splendour and extent.
On ye 29th we went through Birmingham. Having seen it last year we
did not stop, but went straight on to the Leasowes, a spot rendered
celebrated by Shenstone; it is very unworthy of the praise he bestowed
upon it, and is now fallen into decay. About three miles further is
Hagley; the park is very beautiful, the house simple. The comfortless
taste prevalent in England of placing the house in a lawn where sheep
and cattle feed close to the windows, instead of ornamental gardens,
gives rather a disconsolate appearance to it; otherwise it is almost as
desirable as a country residence (a bad thing at best) can be. It was
built by the _good_ Ld. Lyttelton,[1] as he is generally called to
distinguish him from his son, who, in contradistinction, is termed the
_bad_. His much-loved wife, whom he celebrates under the name of
Lucy, is buried in the church. It destroys the pathos excited by his
elegy, if one recollects that within two years of her death he married
a fat, vulgar, rich widow, for her wealth.
[Sidenote: IRON BRIDGES]
Went thro’ Bridgenorth, situated picturesquely upon the Severn, which,
by-the-bye, is a yellow, muddy stream flowing with some rapidity, its
only beauty. From thence we went to Coalbrookdale to sleep. There is
the first iron bridge that was constructed; it is more curious from its
novelty and use than beautiful. I deprecate their becoming general, as
they are far inferior in point of beauty to those of stone; the dull
black of the iron assorts ill with limpid streams and verdant banks,
whereas on the contrary nothing can offer a more beautiful object than
a stone bridge of well-turned arches. The inhabitants are chiefly
quakers. During the American war they were offered a high gratification
if they would cast cannon; they replied that they worked for the
benefit of mankind, and not for their destruction, and peremptorily
refused. It is an increasing place.
On Tuesday, 30th, got to Shrewsbury, a place for ever distinguished
by the fall of the gallant Percy. One of the most admirable of
Shakespeare’s plays commemorates this event. What can be better than
the scene between the Triumvirate partitioning out the spoils of
Britain, the impetuosity of Hotspur, and the arrogant credulity of
Glendower? The crafty Worcester is a well-drawn character.
Passing Llanrwst, Conway, and Bangor they reached Carnarvon
on August 3rd.
_4th August. Sunday._--We left Carnarvon to go to Welsh Pool. From
that place to Tan y Bwlch the road is over a high mountain. Snowdon in
sight to our left.
Before Tan y Bwlch we came to Pont y Aberglassen, a remarkable salmon
leap; Ld. H. screamed with delight at the sight of the salmons leaping
up. It is a pretty sight. Myself, I could have looked at them with
delight for an hour or two. At Tan y Bwlch, a small solitary inn,
we found every room occupied. The Judges were there. The civility of
some gentlemen enabled us to be under cover in a decent room whilst
we dined, but the house was so full that we were compelled to go on
nineteen miles at half-past seven, a mountainous road and a stormy
night, to Dolgelly; I wonder how we achieved it amidst the torrents
and precipices safely. The weather was so bad the next day that we saw
nothing.
_6th August._--This morning, set off from M----; such a deluge
of rain that we saw nothing to our right or left. To-night we are at
Welsh Pool, so disgusted with the roads and climate that we have some
thoughts of giving up doing Aberystwith. The beauties of Wales are very
inferior both to those of Scotland and Cumberland. The mts. are not so
lofty, the torrents are small and noiseless, no cascades: in short, the
old castles are alone worthy of notice. The country generally is thinly
inhabited; the postillions are chiefly boys, their men being either in
the army or employed in the navy. The Evil visibly afflicts a large
portion of the people.
On ye 7th of August we had a day very unusual; it did not rain. We
drove to Powys Castle, which is about a mile from Welsh Pool. It is
finely situated upon an eminence that commands the country around; the
place is neglected and the house is rambling and comfortless. In the
park is a fathomless pool, which gives name to the adjacent town. We
were obliged to stay the whole of the 7th, as horses were not to be
had. In the eve. Ld. H. and I had a very snug walk again to the castle.
[Sidenote: WELSH SCENERY]
On the 8th we set off for Aberystwith, and as the same horses were to
carry us great part of the way we stopped to dine at Newtown, the road
to which was extremely pleasing. Round hills covered to their summits
with thick wood, and a verdant vale with pretty rivers and cattle
grazing; it might have made a good study for quiet home views. We
crossed a rapid river without a bridge.
_Tuesday, 13th._--Left Aberystwith. We intended originally to have
gone to Cardigan, Haverfordwest, etc., but the judges were upon that
circuit, the roads bad, and the weather wretched. On that night we
slept at Lampeter, close upon a rapid river in which Ld. H. fished. The
eve. was tolerably fine. Drew and I walked about the environs.
_14th._--It had rained all night, and the rivers were so swelled
that they were deep to pass through; we went thro’ several and arrived
at Carmarthen to dine. Very heavy rain the whole day. Poor little
Charles was unwell, and we decided upon giving up Tenby.
On 15th heavy rain. After crossing ye Towy we looked back upon the
town, which appeared prettily situated, but the weather was so bad it
was impossible to see any object. The inhabitants were not surprised at
the infamy of the weather; they said it was nothing unusual.
Finding no horses at Neath, we were compelled to remain. We walked
to see the ruins of a small castle; the castle is not remarkable
except for the beauty of its situation, and probably was raised by
some of those Norman Barons who followed the fortunes of Fitzhamon,
the conqueror of Glamorganshire. The inn is kept by an Italian, who,
tho’ he left the happy climate in which he was born at nine years old,
yet retains enough of national _tournure_ to be known amongst a
multitude of red-faced ale-drinkers as an alien. There is an archness,
not to say roguery, which, such as it is, is a thousand times better
than the stupidity and sulkiness and _dubious honesty_ of the
British countenance in common life.
On ye 17th we passed thro’ Margam, a possession of Mr. Talbot’s. There
in his park are the beautiful remains of the Priory, about which I must
look in Grove and Camden. He pulled down the mansion, but has built a
magnificent greenhouse for the preservation of some orange-trees which
belonged to William III.[2] The architecture is Grecian, which, close
to a fine Gothic edifice, denotes more his adherence to the fashion of
the times than his judgment in conceiving an appropriate decoration,
as the two styles clash and diminish the beauty of both. Not that I
am an enthusiastic admirer of Grecian architecture in any way but
in a temple. There, indeed, the fine column, its slim shaft, rich
architrave, cornice, and volute, surmounted with a graceful pediment,
create a species of beauty which no other can. Indeed the circular
arch, as in the Pont de Garde, where they form a bridge and aqueduct
by several tiers one above the other, is very grand; otherwise, in
vast works, I like the Gothic architecture, which, to use an affected
phrase, is more _impressive_ in lofty structures. Mr. Talbot
married a cousin of Ld. H.’s, a daughter of Lord Ilchester’s.[3] It
was a strange match, she about sixteen, he sixty; as yet, however, the
disproportion has not affected their felicity. They live happily; a
good deal in the country.
[Sidenote: CARDIFF]
Arrived at Cardiff after dark. Received a note from Ly. Plymouth[4]
to tell me she was there; came the next morning, 18th, to breakfast.
She is scampering upon a blood horse, followed by an attorney, over
her son’s estates, settling his affairs. She complains of having found
everybody formerly employed rogues, from whence one may presume she
has fallen into the hands of some very great one. The Castle is very
handsome; in the area Ld. Bute has built a modern castellated house,
preserving in the centre one or two of the old towers.
_19th._--Fortunately, a fine day. Dear Charles was so unwell that
Drew wished him to have a day’s rest. Went over a very rough road to
Tintern Abbey, a delicious ruin, situated upon the banks of the Wye.
The church is almost entire; all the external walls are up and one
of the side aisles; roof off, of course. The architecture is not so
light and pleasing as Fountains Abbey, and of the monastery there are
scarcely any remains. They show a tomb and effigy of a warrior whom
they call Strongbow, Earl of Clare, who married Eva, the daughter of an
Irish King, and became himself King of Leinster, and obtained for Henry
II. the sovereignty of Ireland. In the eve. we had a charming walk upon
the Wye and saw the castle, a fine ruin, celebrated for holding out
against Cromwell, defended by Kemyss and Morgan. The former was cut to
pieces in the inner court. Upon the Restoration one of the regicides
was confined for 25 years in a chamber we saw. Southey wrote some
pretty lines enough on him.
The party reached Ross on the 20th, having come through
Chepstow and Monmouth.
_21st._--Went to the churchyard, from whence there is a celebrated
view, which, however, I think little of; the walk in it is shady and
pretty. 21st, came through Hereford to Foxley. At Hereford D. of
Norfolk insisted upon our giving him one day. 22nd, 23rd, stayed at
Foxley. The General was there. 24th, went to Ld. Oxford’s[5] at Eywood.
Charles unwell, and left at Foxley with Drew. 25th, stayed at Eywood.
26th, I returned alone to see Charles, and joined the whole party at
Downton Castle, Mr. Knight’s,[6] in the eve. late. 27th, returned to
Foxley. 28th, came to this place, Holme Court, the D. of Norfolk’s.
Stayed yesterday, and go away to-day, 30th.
[Sidenote: LADY OXFORD]
Ly. O. has lost her vivacity and beauty. She is in a deplorable state
of spirits, proceeding, I fancy, from an enthusiastic, romantic
admiration of Sr. Francis’s ideal perfections. She fancies herself
a victim of sensibility, and is really so drooping that I should
scarcely be surprised if she perished from imagining grief. Mr. Knight
encourages her in those _bursts_ of sensibility; he compares
her tears to April showers that sprinkle and revive the freshness of
the violet. Be the cause what it may, her beauty is impaired; her
eyes, which were always full and prominent, now from thinness start
out. It is also probable that her languor may arise from having
lost the relish which the novelty gave of being a great lady. She
appears from an affectation of _naïveté_ weaker than she is; in
a whining, monotonous, childish tone she uses fine phrases for common
conversation. She said to Ld. H. upon the Slave Trade, ‘I am always for
justice and humanity, ar’n’t you?’ And to the General: ‘In case of a
revolution, you, of course, would take the side of the people against
the King, would not you?’ The house is comfortable, and they live with
a degree of splendour they are unequal to, as he has ruined himself by
his ostentation and her total ignorance of the value of money.
Mr. Knight wrote a famous work upon the traces still to be found in
Italy of a primitive worship. He has assembled a large collection of
these symbols in bronze, marble, etc. He is a passionate admirer of
the ancients, and studies in nature antique forms and contours. Ly.
Hamilton was his favourite; she absent, the admiration is transferred
to Ly. O. He is a middle-aged man, and has a large fortune. His
pursuits are classical even to pedantry. He has made a good house and
fine grounds, and lives with a degree of luxurious _recherche_.
The Duke of Norfolk[7] is an extraordinary instance of the
impossibility of _situation_ being sufficient to secure happiness:
he, however, finds in his own good temper an antidote to all the
vexations of his life. He has all that rank, dignity, and wealth can
give; he married a beautiful woman whose person he liked, possessed
of 15,000_l._ pr. anm. About eight years after she became mad,
and from being intestate her immense possessions escheat to the Crown,
there being no male heir to the Scudamores. It appears to be a hardship
that the laws afford no relief to a person united to one insane, as no
pretext can be more valid towards the dissolution of a marriage than an
obstacle of that nature that impedes the fulfilling of every function
belonging to the institution. He maintains with solid magnificence
the splendour of his rank; everything about him bespeaks wealth and
luxurious comfort. His servants are old domestics, fat, sleek, and
happy; his table is profuse and exquisite. His taste is bad; he loves
society, but has no selection, and swallows wine for quantity, not
quality: he is gross in everything. The Dss.’s madness has taken a
sombre, _farouche_ turn; she hates all mankind. The clergyman
during a lucid interval advised her to read religious books, supplied
her with some, and mingled his advice with pious exhortations. She
acquiesced, and took the books. A few days after she returned them
with scorn, saying, ‘I wish I could believe your d----d trumpery, as I
should then be certain two-thirds of mankind would roast in H----! It
was curious that in the Gospels she could find matter to gratify her
malignity. The Duke behaves uncommonly well to her.
[Sidenote: DR. INGENHOUSZ]
Mrs. Clive, Ly. Plymouth’s sister, went there to meet me. She is a
shrewd, sensible woman. Her husband is a Jacobin of the worst sort,
envy actuating all his equalising principles.[8] Wm. Scott, Ly. O.’s
brother, another Jacobin, was there: he is merry and good-humoured,
and tho’ a zealous disciple of Horne Tooke’s a few good briefs to get
him a _pied à terre_ will cure him of his democracy. I knew him
many years ago at Nice. Capt. Morris,[9] the famous singer of his own
witty songs, entertained us with some of them; he is drunken and dull,
and since the death of a favourite son, has renounced singing any of
his _light_ songs. He made a superstitious vow to God Almighty
that he would not.
We slept at Gloucester on the 30th. On ye 31st passed through pretty
Rodborough Vale, and Badminton Park, not a fine place, tho’ large, and
arrived here, Bowood, 31st August, Saturday. Found Ld. Lansdown in
high good humour and cordiality with me, and in very good health and
spirits. The Smiths were just come from Warwick. Mr. Dumont is here,
and two or three other indifferent people. Poor old Ingenhousz is dying
rapidly. He is shrunk to a skeleton. Ld. L. with great humanity and
feeling affords him an asylum, which his other friends were averse to,
as the beholding of a dying man is a painful spectacle. He talks with
intrepidity of death, but, _hélas!_ where can the courage come
from? The subject is a painful one.
Dumont and I walked every morning, that is to say, the three I stayed,
in ye garden: his conversation is always amusing and instructive. We
talked over books that we each liked, especially Bonnet’s beautiful
work, _Contemplation de la nature_, which contains many interesting
expositions of the wonderful economy of nature in the structure of
plants and animals. Had he not too frequently allowed his imagination
to run off with him when he turns to the attributes of the divinity,
he would tire less, but his apostrophes which aim at sublimity are
generally incomprehensible and bombast.
Whilst I have been travelling I have not been idle in the way of
reading; we have read already ye first seven volumes of Henry’s
_History of England_. It is written upon a more extensive plan
than that suggested by Voltaire and partly adopted by Hume.
Of public affairs the changes have been so varied and rapid that it
is difficult to recollect the exact position of things. Bonaparte was
repulsed from before Acre, and obliged to return with a diminished and
dispirited army into Egypt. The circumstance the most humiliating is
that his great name should be coupled with that of the bullying bluster
of that charlatan, Sr. Sidney Smith, who has obtained the command of
some marines and gun-boats against him in Syria. How fickle is the
glory of a hero! That ‘... name at which mankind grew pale’ is now lost
in obscurity, and the events in the East, which occupied and tortured
the breast of every politician in Europe, are now so overlooked that
barely are they discussed in the survey of politics at present.
[Sidenote: STATE OF NAPLES]
In Italy Suwarrow and ye Austrians have driven out the French; the
Cis-Alpine district is returning to the dominion of its former
possessors; dear, pretty Florence is restored to its mild sovereign.
Lord Nelson has brought back the fugitive monarch to his capital, and
Naples now exhibits a scene of revenge, more bloody than the Sicilian
Vespers.[10] The hearts of Frenchmen are brought as trophies to a
cruel people, who crouched in servile subjection whilst they were too
abject to fight their own cause. Ly. Hamilton has not been remiss in
adding her quota to the barbarity which enflames every breast. Rome is
yet without its Pontiff, and for the happiness of a large portion of
the natives of those happy climates it is to be hoped will for ever
so remain, as no one can wish to see the restoration of a government
founded upon the superstitions of mankind, and burthensome in itself.
An expedition into Holland for the restoration of the Stadtholder has
just been undertaken.[11] It commenced ill; a fort was taken with
the loss of some officers and five hundred men. Since that the Dutch
fleet has surrendered, whether voluntarily or by the treachery of
its officers is yet a secret. The Duke of York is to go and take the
command. I don’t know how his presence will inspire courage to those
troops he absconded with so hastily but a few years back. The expense
is said to be so enormous that the income tax, which, by-ye-bye, has
fallen short of the calculation, will go to take a fifth, instead of a
tenth, of our incomes in future.
Left Bowood, Tuesday, ye 3rd; passed through a richly cultivated,
well-built, and populous vale to Wincanton. Passed thro’ Longleat
and Stourton; slept at the first town, and arrived here, Sherborne
Castle, on Wednesday. It is an old Gothic mansion; the _corps de
logis_ was built by Sir Walter Raleigh, who, if one may judge from
oral tradition, seemed attached to the spot, as there is a venerable
grove planted by his hand and honoured with his name. Upon his death
his estates were confiscated, and granted by the narrow-minded pedant,
who sacrificed to policy and intrigue his glorious life, to his
infamous minion Somerset. Upon his fall they were bestowed upon the
singular George Digby, Earl of Bristol,[12] whose adventures form some
of the most diverting anecdotes in Clarendon’s history. It has since
remained in the Digby family. On the opposite side of the lake are the
ruins of the castle of Sherborne, held out by a lady of the family
against the dismantling summons of Cromwell. The ground is classic; an
eminence called Jerusalem Hill is crowned on the summit with a clump of
firs planted by Pope. He was a frequent inmate, and the friend of an
affectionate brother and sister, whose affection he has commemorated in
an epitaph in Sherborne Church.
[Sidenote: LORD WESTMORELAND]
We found only Mr. Hoare with Ld. Digby, a brother of Sr. R. Hoare,[13]
the owner of Stourhead, a handsome, gentlemanlike young man. The next
day Ld. Westmoreland[14] came. He is coarse in mind, manners, and
language. The first is overbearing and sanguinary; he appears to be
one who thinks strong measures indicate a strong mind, and that vigour
denotes intrepidity, whereas in my opinion the reverse is proved, for
genuine fortitude inculcates clemency. His manners are those that
spring from power engrafted upon a low education, and his language is a
symbol of both. I do not wonder he is accused of having sowed the seeds
of the late rebellion in Ireland; he seems of a character calculated to
irritate wavering loyalty into rebellion. He spoke so brutally of some
of the wretched prisoners who had escaped his fury, that my heart beat
high with indignation, and even _I_ for a moment felt a movement
in behalf of a nation I never liked.
There have been a few newcomers every day; Mr. Newbolt came over to
see us. Yesterday Mr. Wingfield,[15] who married Ld. Digby’s sister,
arrived. He is like Archibald Hamilton, who, by-the-bye, is now become
Ld. A. H.,[16] in person, and unfortunately, in manner resembles Mr.
Chaplin,[17] the same precise, deliberate way of speaking.
Since I have been here I have read a _Life of Voltaire_, written,
I believe, by Condorcet. It proves what I was not at all aware of--that
Voltaire was really persecuted for his freedom of opinions, and that
a timely escape and concealment was necessary to save his liberty
at different periods. Absurd and unjust as most of the attacks are
against _philosophy_, as it is called, one must admit that those
free principles and the spirit of investigation which pervades all
Voltaire’s writings, tended very much to induce people to attempt
eradicating prejudices and making reforms before they had well examined
into the abuses or prepared a remedy against them. It is without an
example in the records of mankind that a single man, unaided by the
fanaticism of religious superstition, should have produced such a
change in the sentiments of a large bulk of Europe as Voltaire did:
one can scarcely say it has been for the better when the devastation
of France is now before our eyes. Whatever mischief may have arisen
from the freedom of discussion, I think many now living will outlive
the practice, as there is an anti-conspiracy to that of which the
philosophers are accused now making among the rich and powerful--one
that, if pursued with the ardour I see many enter into it with, will
inevitably be the ruin of all taste, literature, and civil liberty.
The young men of fashion and birth are bit with a military mania; they
all aim at attaining a martial air, and a reputation for strictness in
their Militia discipline. Without reflecting much, they are persuaded
a military force is necessary to keep the people down, and that as
religion is co-existent with the State, so it is wise to support
it even in its abuses. Fifty years hence I have no hesitation in
foretelling that there will be little toleration, a curbed press, a
great standing army, and what is called a _vigilant_ government.
[Sidenote: BOBUS SMITH]
Poor Doctor Ingenhousz is gone for ever; he died last week at Bowood.
Ld. L., with his warm benevolence to those to whom he is attached,
afforded him every friendly comfort to the last. He did not shun the
sight of a dying man, altho’ at his time of life the spectacle is
but painful to contemplate, as it brings to mind a crisis that to him
cannot be very distant. Ingenhousz was a Dutchman by birth; he was
first distinguished as an inoculator to the Imperial Court.
We stayed exactly a week at Sherborne; I passed my time agreeably and
left it with regret. I did nothing the whole morning but float upon
the water in a state of luxurious indolence. Ld. Digby told me he had
heard that Ld. Ossory had asked the Chancellor for a Commissioner
of Bankruptcy for Bobus.[18] I can believe it _now_, tho’ two
years ago I was credulous enough to receive as sincere the fustian
declamations upon independence, and that a lofty, aspiring mind would
owe nothing to the influence of others; that it would extort reward by
its sole merit, and that the only check upon his felicity in uniting
himself to his antiquated wife was that her connections were great and
powerful, which, to little minds, might be supposed operated as an
inducement to the union.
Not, however, to speak fairly, do I think these motives actuated him:
I truly believe he imagined he felt the _belle passion_. Be that
as it may, I now think he is disposed to avail himself very readily
of any advantage those connections can procure him, for his whole
deportment recently demonstrates what is always said, ‘That no one
despises situation and family, but those who have no claim nor chance
of either.’ He reminds me of the old story of the opera contractor,
Gallini, who captivated a lady of noble family, Lady Betty Germaine,
and was astonished at hearing that his marriage with her did not
ennoble him, and that he did not legally become what he styled himself,
Ld. Betty Gallini. The alteration has not escaped the keenness of
Dumont, who observes that after a visit to Warwick Castle he is more
than usually inflated with dignity and a soaring spirit; he says the
_Lord-erie_ of the coronets, escutcheons, towers, gateways, etc.,
at that place inspire him by anticipation with all the haughtiness he
will feel when he fulfils the dignities he expects to acquire.
Fifty thousand years, if so many were allowed, would not efface from
my mind the advice a man gave me about my poor little girl; he said,
‘Suppress her entirely; do not let her suffer in a pecuniary way. She
is not injured, as she is ignorant of what she loses. Success for
her is doubtful, and the misconstruction and chattering of the world
against her is certain.’ These worldly maxims revolted my feelings, but
convinced me he who could give them was made to thrive, and would not
kick at that stumbling-block in the road to ambition which throws many
off their course, called _genuine_ honesty, as there is a material
difference in the essential properties of that quality. The one he
will make use of will help him on. Depraved as men are in a corrupt
state of things, they yet like the names of virtues as much as they
abhor the practice. La Rochefoucauld says, ‘L’hypocrisie est un hommage
que le vice rend à la vertu.’ I heard of Dr. Parr’s saying a thing to
Mackintosh that was more coarse than witty, but yet it was pointed and
quick. Mackintosh, in canvassing O’Coigly’s character, alluding to some
transactions, said, ‘That was shabby; besides, his confession proved
that he died with a lie in his mouth.’ ‘No, no, Jemmy, he was not
shabby, because he was an Irishman and _not_ a Scotchman; he did
_not_ die with a lie in his mouth, because he was a Catholic and
_not_ a philosopher.’
Leaving Sherborne they went to Saltram by way of Honiton,
Exeter, Ashburton and Ivybridge.
[Sidenote: SALTRAM]
This house (Saltram, Ld. Boringdon’s) is quite the best I ever
resided in. The apartments are numerous and excellent; they contain
many pictures, and some very fine. It is an immense pile of building.
The beauty of the view depends upon the tide, which when full is very
pleasing, Mount Edgcombe, Plymouth, etc. Switzerland, Italy, the Tyrol,
and Nice have rendered me difficult about picturesque and grand views,
therefore I am less inclined to be enthusiastic than most people.
Living in a house built and liked by the great Raleigh[19] brought him
more forcibly to my recollection. I turned over various histories to
obtain all I could relating to him,--_State Trials_, _Biographia
Britannica_, Gibbon’s _Memoirs_, Osborne’s detached remarks.
I stayed at Saltram till the 22nd September. Ye time slipped away
easily. Ld. Bor. was really happy at seeing us, and cordiality combined
with goodheartedness and temper are such excellent ingredients in a
character, that if there are any deficiencies they are overlooked. I
had the misfortune--and a most severe, heartfelt one it was--to lose
my faithful companion, my attached Pierrot.[20] He died! I loved him
for his own merits, and was grateful for his devotion to me; indeed,
I am convinced that he could not have survived my loss. Ld. H. made
impromptu the following lines for his epitaph:--
Pierrot, of race, of form, of manners rare,
Envied alike in life and death lies here.
Living he proved the favourite of the fair,
And dying drew from beauty’s eye a tear.
He was the gift of Ld. Henry.[21] He faithfully maintained the love for
me his master felt whilst living. Peace to them both!
I viewed the dockyard and Mt. Edgecombe from it; I was too timid to
venture in a boat across the Hamoaze. Many people came to dinner;
Colonels of the Militia Regiments quartered at Plymouth, the celebrated
Tommy Onslow,[22] who was full of jokes and puns. Some are good; to me
he was entertaining, as I did not know his stock, but that is slender,
and they are often repeated. Seeing him but once or twice did not
exhaust them. Sir John Frederick[23] is a mild, gentlemanlike man; he
has the manners of a man of the world, pleasant conversation, and a
fair portion of information. Colonel Montagu[24] I saw but once. Ld.
Bor. announced him as a superior man, and I was therefore prepared for
something remarkable, tho’ his praises are often queerly bestowed,
frequently for the love of paradox, to surprise by admiring what others
disapprove. However, Col. M. appears to be clever: he launched forth
upon the topics he is _au fait_ of, and during a three-hours’
assemblage of people at and after dinner he gave the natural history
of every bird that flies and every fish that swims. He is a man of
bad temper, nor does it sound creditable to him that none of his
officers speak to him, and they are upon the eve of bringing him to
a Court-martial. He is separated from his wife, and might inherit an
estate of his brother’s if he would be united to her; but the condition
is too hard, and he renounces the possession of a benefit _so_
encumbered.
[Sidenote: DUKE OF SOMERSET]
The Duke of Somerset[25] came over and stayed at two different times.
He would have liked to have made a longer visit, but his mother was
arrived at Plymouth, and she is a jealous bigot. He possesses a plain
understanding and a mind in a progressive state of improvement. He
reads and reflects and judges for himself, mixed with great diffidence
and caution. He has had no advantage from an intercourse with the
world. He lives retired, and it is quite singular to observe the
impression a common, sensible remark, which might be made by anybody,
makes upon him; he looks at one, pauses, and exclaims ‘Very true!’
in a sincere way, that manifests that he is struck with the justness
of the observation, and that he admires the sagacity of the person.
I perceived this during the conversation I had with him, and the
points that struck him were merely such as any person at all _au
courant_ of common events would make, rather commonplace, tho’
true. His politics are just and temperate; his principles precisely
those of a reflecting man, not actuated by any party motives, viewing
things not men. He deprecates the inadvertencies of Opposition, as they
have rendered themselves so obnoxious that they are dreaded in the
country, and have been the means of throwing an unfounded popularity
upon King and Ministers. He feels the necessity of abridging the
power of the Crown, which he thinks has made rapid strides towards
absolute, independent Monarchy. The first step to be taken, he thinks,
is to obtain peace almost upon any terms, and the next to retrench
the dangerous extension of prerogative this unfortunate war has
given to the King. He has a taste for literature, rather free upon
religious subjects, a great admirer of Gibbon--not his style, but his
sentiments; many passages he knew by heart and repeated, tho’ from
diffidence he could hardly finish a sentence, but that soon wore off.
He seems well-read in polemics, knew the arguments urged on both sides
in all the modern controversies, Parr, Travis, Curtis, Porson, Paley,
Gisborne, etc. Upon the whole, I should be pleased to improve my
knowledge of him. His brother[26] is a great mathematician and man of
science. He would not come, but proposed solving an abstract problem
with Mr. Playfair,[27] which had occupied him for some days.
[Sidenote: MR. DUGALD STUART]
On ye 25th we arrived here, Bowood, where we have found a numerous
party. The Archbishop of Bordeaux,[28] a man who practises the piety
and resignation his profession bids him teach. Tho’ fallen from a
high dignity which he supported with honour, he has not been heard to
utter an unavailing regret upon the past; he is truly respectable.
His Grand Vicaire, L’Abbé Landrecelles, is also entitled to praise
for his philosophy. Another Abbé, who is sensible, also was here.
Indeed, the whole class of clergy have alone distinguished themselves
by their conduct; they acted from principle, and are rewarded with
universal esteem and respect. Mr. Dugald Stuart[29] and his wife, from
Edinburgh, were here: he is reserved, and I did not hear him speak, but
he is supposed deservedly to enjoy a high reputation. She is clever,
well-informed, and pleasing.
I read Voltaire’s _Memoirs_, written by himself; I do not think
any of his works abound with more genuine wit. The whole narrative of
his connection with the King of Prussia is a _chef d’œuvre_, but
tho’ he tells his own story, yet it is evident that he was in the wrong
in their quarrel.
The Duke of York has met with a check in his attack on Alkmaer; he
seems to have quarrelled with Abercromby,[30] as his official dispatch
is silent in his praise. I fear the whole expedition will fail, and
prove a useless waste of blood and treasure.
There is some perverse quality in the mind that seems to take an active
pleasure in destroying the amusement it promises to itself. It never
fails to baffle my expectations; so sure as I propose to my imagination
an agreeable conversation with a person where past experience warrants
the hope, so sure am I disappointed. I feel it perpetually, for
example, with Dumont; with him I have passed very many cheerful hours.
This knowledge tempts me to renew our walks, the consequence is we both
yawn. I can only account for it from a mutual effort to revive the same
topics, or that we both endeavour to infuse a liveliness equal to
what we remember pervaded our past conversations; and where there is
labour there is always failure. It is now got over; we have ascertained
that we each vary in _agrément_, either from condition, weather,
or other circumstances; and we have made up our minds to it, and are
four times in five highly gratified. I am convinced there is a period
in all intimacies where that feeling takes place. I am so persuaded of
the impracticability of arranging, ‘_Now_ we will be pleasant,’
that I shun settling a meeting: chance does favourably what method
would destroy. He possesses a fund quite inexhaustible of amusement,
literature, anecdotes, lively observation, disquisition upon grave
subjects; all this combined with a good heart and temper. He spends
his leisure too much upon an occupation that I should doubt repaying
him with fruit equal to the labour. He is translating and elucidating
a metaphysical system upon legislation, jurisprudence, etc., of
Bentham’s. His imagination appears better calculated to adorn the
_belles lettres_ with just criticism than to define the Penal
Code. But no person of abilities finds out exactly their excellence.
Boccaccio despised the only work which makes him immortal. He never
showed his friend Petrarch his _Decamerone_, tho’ upon second
thoughts Petrarch must have known parts at least of the work, as he
tells him in their letters he frequently reads _Griselda_, but
never without shedding tears. Beautiful as the _Griselda_ is in ye
Italian, I am almost disposed to prefer our Chaucer’s English version;
there is a pathetic simplicity that touches the heart. The expressions
are very natural where one can understand the language.
The day before we left Bowood Mr. Jekyll came. He is never so pleasant
where Ld. L. is, as elsewhere; he aims at being the grave senator, and
becomes pompous, didactic, and, with his merry little figure, one may
add ridiculous.
[Sidenote: MR. FOX’S ACCIDENT]
On Tuesday we left Bowood. Our long conversations and disputes upon
Stonehenge and the Druidical worship made us desirous of seeing that
remarkable place: we therefore went by it to London. It is, to be sure,
a most wonderful edifice, let it be raised by who it may. I shall
transcribe great part of the description of its situation, etc., from
Gough’s edition of Camden’s _Britannia_.
We arrived that night at Basingstoke, and arrived here on Wednesday.
We found Ste. in perfect health and spirits; he is fat and ugly, but
very merry and strong. His head is beautifully shaped; his ears are
as pretty as his father’s; he will be darker than Charles. In the
eve. Ld. H. went to see his uncle Mr. Fox, who was confined in town
under the care of two surgeons. A gun burst in his hand and shattered
his fingers. There was for some time a danger of his losing one of
them. Hamilton came and stayed a night. There is a great perplexity in
the family about his brother’s name, whether it is to be Douglas or
Clydesdale.[31] The Chancellor has started the difficulty, but Scotch
etiquettes are a _mer à boire_. The late Duke made no will, but
left bonds to a great amount, for which his personal property must
answer; thus the fine pictures at the Palace of Hamilton will go to the
hammer. There is no danger of Ld. Stanley claiming the dukedom.
I went on Thursday to the play; General Fitzpatrick came with us. Sr.
Lionel[32] dined with us on Saturday, and Hamilton. On Sunday, General
Fox.[33] He is going immediately to Minorca, where he is appointed
Governor. His wife is not to accompany him now; she imputes her not
doing so to Sr. James St. Clair’s pompous dispatches, in which he
announces the intention of the Spaniards to attack that place, a vapour
to give himself importance.
_10th October, ’99._--On Monday last Ld. H. moved for leave to
bring in an Address to his Majesty upon the Russian Treaties;[34]
consequently the House is summoned, and to-morrow he is to bring it
forward. He is extremely nervous, not having spoken in public for some
months till the other two days last week. The Treaty for ye 17,000 men
employed in Holland contains an article contrary to ye constitution:
‘His Majesty _engages_, in case the troops should be compelled to
leave Holland at a season when the Baltic is frozen over, that they
shall pass ye winter in England.’ This article is a direct violation
of the laws, and without precedent. He means to introduce at the same
time a wish that measures may be taken to manifest a desire of peace.
[Sidenote: EXPEDITION TO HOLLAND]
Alkmaer is taken with a great loss of men; the details are not yet
come. Tierney was here this morning in a sort of perplexity at a
suspicion of Nepean’s,[35] the Under-Secretary of State. It seems that
in a private letter from General Coote to Sr. Charles Grey[36] the
_truth_ is told of the conduct of the Russians, who absolutely
refused to advance, throwing themselves flat on their bellies and
declaring they would not stir. This letter Tierney saw, and it was
known to Nepean that he had seen it. Combining that with Ld. H.’s
motion to-morrow, they feared this circumstance would be made public,
and Sr. C. Grey came to town this morning, in a fright, to explain
matters. The fact is, Ld. H. knew nothing of the affair till to-day,
and at Tierney’s request from Sr. C. G. of course will not make any use
of the knowledge.
_11th October, ’99._--On Wednesday, 9th October, Ld. King[37]
passed the day and dined. He is young and handsome. His political
principles are strongly anti-Government; his liking to Ld. H. makes
him act with him, tho’ his opinion disposes him to exceed the limits
Opposition have drawn to themselves; _pour trancher le mot_,
he is what is called a Jacobin. His dislike to what is established
is more against the Church than to the State: he quite abhors the
Christian religion. He has a considerable share of information in
theology, metaphysics, and political economy. Seeing him but once
sociably, I cannot accurately estimate his worth. He is a most
affectionate, excellent son. He came to town on purpose to second Ld.
H. to-night. Tho’ he is not a remarkable speaker, yet he is stout,
and Ld. H. expects to find a consolation in having him; as any person
who is warm on the same side must be a relief from the _agony_
of a solitary opposition. Yesterday I had a visit from a strange man,
a Dr. Hager;[38] he was employed by ye King of Naples to detect a
literary fraud in Sicily. One of the impostures was a supposed Arabic
translation of all the works of Livy containing the lost books: this
curiosity he discovered to be an ingenious fabrication. The other was
some grants to the Church during the period where there is a hiatus
in ye Sicilian history. His head is crammed full of metaphysics and
erudition, to the total exclusion of every particle of common sense. I
could perceive _rays_ of _illumination_ about him, when he
talked of his admiration of truth and the necessity among enlightened
people to substitute a moral catechism for _that_ built upon the
credulity and superstition of mankind. His _generous spirit_ of
converting those misled by error, alias religion, will involve him in
scrapes should he not be wiser before he publishes in this country, as
I suspect it has done already in Germany. He is one of Ld. Wycombe’s
strange men; he picked him up in Sicily.
[Sidenote: LORD AMHERST]
Amherst came; I complimented him upon his speech. He seconded the
Address.[39] He was sure to do it with propriety, therefore a
congratulation was safe; as he is as certain of not exposing as he
is of not distinguishing himself. He has a good heart, with a narrow
mind; of all the young men he is the most _borné_ in point of
intellect. Nature seems to have determined upon confining him within
_proprieties_. He was born to be a courtier, to live upon the
terrace at Windsor, and wear the uniform; beyond that he will never
get, unless Canning may want a _tête-de-perruque_ to fill up a gap
in any motley Administration he may have the forming of hereafter.
Tierney spent the whole morn.; I am very happy to discover that he
has dropped the folly that made him tiresome and ridiculous this
summer. To-day Mr. Grey came to assist Ld. H. in some calculations and
in drawing up the Address; he is very pleasing when at his ease. We
laughed over Tierney’s unsteadiness; one day his determination to make
motions upon every great question, the next his _abattement_ and
timidity. Grey told a good answer of Mr. Beddinfield’s to Dundas. A few
years ago the mob attacked ye King’s carriage and were going to commit
some violence. Mr. B. was in the park; he immediately pulled out a
pistol, and dispelled the rioters. The next day Dundas asked him what
he would have bestowed upon him as token of favour. He said, ‘I wish
only, Sir, that you would make me a Scotchman.’
He read the surgeon’s letter giving an account of his brother’s wound;
the ball went through the knee, and was extracted from the hollow ham
within. It seems to have been an escape. Grey was going over to see
him, unless this good report had come.
_Sunday, October 13th, ’99._--Ld. H. made a motion for peace. He
was satisfied with himself, especially in his reply to Ld. Grenville.
From his account I should fear that, tho’ it was able, it was too
personal.
On that very night came the news of the strange reverse the Allies have
experienced, 19,000 Austrians and Russians captured and slaughtered,
Zurich retaken, and many other places in Switzerland; Hotze, the
Austrian General, killed;[40] Suwarrow had crossed the St. Gothard to
relieve that army, and when they were defeated he was advancing to
assist. Ld. Macartney has just brought me the further news, which is
that the cruel, bloody Suwarrow is totally defeated and probably taken
prisoner. The monster who in cold blood cut the throats of women and
children in Warsaw and the suburbs, and who exceeded his orders to make
them more barbarous at Ismail, will not excite my pity even under the
most rigorous captivity. There let him groan. The day of retribution
ought to be in this life, to convince one that punishment is not
withheld to a dubious period. These famous Russians, who have been so
puffed since they have been subsidised, turn out to be the only fit
food for powder, as nowhere do they fight; in Italy all the glory of
the expulsion of the French from thence is due to the brave Austrians.
Thus has this mighty horde of barbarians dwindled to a handful of
tattered, ill-disciplined, worse-officered, half-starved savages.
[Sidenote: PARIS FASHIONS]
Ld. Macartney was present at the debate; he said Ld. H.’s reply was
excellent, that it proved him to have very superior abilities, but he
altogether disapproves so much of the line he has taken that he cannot
be hearty in any praise.
Bonaparte has gained a great victory at Aboukir;[41] the tower is
defended, but must fall. It is supposed Sr. Sidney Smith is in it.
When he is Bonaparte’s prisoner it is to be hoped he will assist
him to correct his narrative of the affair of Acre, as Sr. Sidney’s
rhodomontades do not accord much with probability. It was an unnatural
state of things that Bonaparte should have for a moment such a buskin
hero for a competitor; whilst he was eclipsed, one might say:--
An eagle tow’ring in its height of pride
Was by a mousing owl hawk’d at, and killed.
I went yesterday morning to see a milliner who is just arrived from
Paris; she brings strange dresses and fashions, and some sumptuous,
costly to a degree that she cannot get a purchaser. She complains that
a Deputy’s wife at Paris spends more upon her attire than a duchess
does here. She has veils that cost 50 guineas, morning head-dresses 20,
and so on in proportion. She says Paris never was yet at such a pitch
of luxury and _recherche_ in dress as at present.