_Nov. 1._--We began this month by steadily settling ourselves at Kew. A
very pleasant circumstance happened to me on this day, in venturing to
present the petition of an unfortunate man who had been shipwrecked;
whose petition was graciously attended to, and the money he solicited
was granted him. I had taken a great interest in the poor man, from the
simplicity and distress of his narration, and took him into one of the
parlours to assist him in drawing up his memorial.
The queen, when, with equal sweetness and humanity, she had delivered
the sum to one of her pages to give to him, said to me, “Now, though
your account of this poor man makes him seem to be a real object, I must
give you one caution: there are so many impostors about, who will try
to speak to you, that, if you are not upon your guard, you may be robbed
yourself before you can get any help: I think, therefore, you had better
never trust yourself in a room alone with anybody you don't know.”
I thanked her for her gracious counsel, and promised, for the future, to
have my man always at hand.
I was afterwards much touched with a sort of unconscious confidence with
which she relieved her mind. She asked me my opinion of a paper in
the “Tatler,” which I did not recollect; and when she was dressed, and
seated in her sitting-room, she made me give her the book, and read to
me this paper. It is an account of a young man of a good heart and sweet
disposition, who is allured by pleasure into a libertine life, which
he pursues by habit, but with constant remorse, and ceaseless shame and
unhappiness. It was impossible for me to miss her object: all the mother
was in her voice while she read it, and her glistening eyes told the
application made throughout.[223] My mind sympathised sincerely, though
my tongue did not dare allude to her feelings. She looked pensively down
when she had finished it, and before she broke silence, a page came to
announce the Duchess of Ancaster.