BERKELEY SQUARE, _June_ 8, 1791.
Your No. 34, that was interrupted, and of which the last date was of May
24th, I received on the 6th, and if I could find fault, it would be in
the length; for I do not approve of your writing so much in hot weather,
for, be it known to you ladies, that from the first of the month, June
is not more June at Florence. My hay is crumbling away; and I have
ordered it to be cut, as a sure way of bringing rain. I have a selfish
reason, too, for remonstrating against long letters. I feel the season
advancing, when mine will be piteous short; for what can I tell you from
Twickenham in the next three or four months? Scandal from Richmond and
Hampton Court, or robberies at my own door? The latter, indeed, are
blown already. I went to Strawberry on Saturday, to avoid the Birthday
[4th June] crowd and squibs and crackers. At six I drove to Lord
Strafford's, where his goods are to be sold by auction; his sister, Lady
Anne [Conolly], intending to pull down the house and rebuild it. I
returned a quarter before seven; and in the interim between my Gothic
gate and Ashe's Nursery, a gentleman and gentlewoman, in a one-horse
chair and in the broad face of the sun, had been robbed by a single
highwayman, _sans_ mask. Ashe's mother and sister stood and saw it; but
having no notion of a robbery at such an hour in the high-road, and
before their men had left work, concluded it was an acquaintance of the
robber's. I suppose Lady Cecilia Johnstone will not descend from her
bedchamber to the drawing-room without life-guard men.
The Duke of Bedford eclipsed the whole birthday by his clothes,
equipage, and servants: six of the latter walked on the side of the
coach to keep off the crowd--or to tempt it; for their liveries were
worth an argosie. The Prince [of Wales] was gorgeous too: the latter is
to give Madame d'Albany[1] a dinner. She has been introduced to Mrs.
Fitzherbert.[2] You know I used to call Mrs. Cosway's concerts Charon's
boat: now, methinks, London is so. I am glad Mrs. C. [osway] is with
you; she is pleasing--but surely it is odd to drop a child and her
husband and country all in a breath!
[Footnote 1: Mme. d'Albany was the widow of Prince Charles Edward, who
had died in 1788 in Italy. She was presented at Court, and was
graciously received by the Queen. She was generally believed to be
married to the great Italian tragic poet, Alfieri. Since her husband's
death she had been living in Paris, but had now fled to England for
safety.]
[Footnote 2: Mrs. Fitzherbert, the Roman Catholic lady whom the Prince
of Wales had married.]
I am glad you are dis_franchised_ of the exiles. We have several, I am
told, here; but I strictly confine myself to those I knew formerly at
Paris, and who all are quartered on Richmond-green. I went to them on
Sunday evening, but found them gone to Lord Fitzwilliam's, the next
house to Madame de Boufflers', to hear his organ; whither I followed
them, and returned with them. The Comtesse Emilie played on her harp;
then we all united at loto. I went home at twelve, unrobbed; and Lord
Fitzwilliam, who asked much after you both, was to set out the next
morning for Dublin, though intending to stay there but four days, and be
back in three weeks.
I am sorry you did not hear all Monsieur de Lally Tollendal's[1]
Tragedy, of which I have had a good account. I like his tribute to his
father's memory. Of French politics you must be tired; and so am I.
Nothing appears to me to promise their chaos duration; consequently I
expect more chaos, the sediment of which is commonly despotism. Poland
ought to make the French blush; but that, they are not apt to do on any
occasion....
[Footnote 1: M. de Lally Tollendal was the son of that unfortunate Count
Lally, so iniquitously condemned for his conduct in the government of
India, as is mentioned in a former note.]
The Duke of St. Albans has cut down all the brave old trees at Hanworth,
and consequently reduced his park to what it issued
from--Hounslow-heath: nay, he has hired a meadow next to mine, for the
benefit of embarkation; and there lie all the good old corpses of oaks,
ashes, and chestnuts, directly before _your_ windows, and blocking up
one of my views of the river! but so impetuous is the rage for building,
that his Grace's timber will, I trust, not annoy us long. There will
soon be one street from London to Brentford; ay, and from London to
every village ten miles round! Lord Camden has just let ground at
Kentish Town for building fourteen hundred houses--nor do I wonder;
London is, I am certain, much fuller than ever I saw it. I have twice
this spring been going to stop my coach in Piccadilly, to inquire what
was the matter, thinking there was a mob--not at all; it was only
passengers. Nor is there any complaint of depopulation from the country:
Bath shoots out into new crescents, circuses, and squares every year:
Birmingham, Manchester, Hull, and Liverpool would serve any King in
Europe for a capital, and would make the Empress of Russia's mouth
water. Of the war with Catherine Slay-Czar I hear not a breath, and
thence conjecture it is dozing into peace.
Mr. Dundas[1] has kissed hands for Secretary of State; and Bishop
Barrington, of Salisbury, is transferred to Durham, which he affected
not to desire, having large estates by his wife in the south--but from
the triple mitre downwards, it is almost always true, what I said some
years ago, that "_nolo episcopari_ is Latin for _I lie_." Tell it not in
Gath that I say so; for I am to dine to-morrow at the Bishop of London's
at Fulham, with Hannah _Bonner_, my _imprimée_.[2] This morning I went
with Lysons the Reverend to see Dulwich College, founded in 1619 by
Alleyn, a player, which I had never seen in my many days. We were
received by a smart divine, _très bien poudré_, and with black satin
breeches--but they are giving new wings and red satin breeches to the
good old hostel too, and destroying a gallery with a very rich ceiling;
and nothing will remain of ancient but the front, and an hundred mouldy
portraits, among apostles, sibyls, and Kings of England. On Sunday I
shall settle at Strawberry; and then woe betide you on post-days! I
cannot make news without straw. The Johnstones are going to Bath, for
the healths of both; so Richmond will be my only staple. Adieu, all
three!
[Footnote 1: Mr. Dundas, President of the Board of Control, subsequently
raised to the peerage as Lord Melville. In Pitt's second administration
he became First Lord of the Admiralty, but in 1805 was impeached by the
House of Commons on a charge of malversation while Treasurer of the Navy
in Pitt's first Ministry. Of that he was acquitted; but it was proved
that some of the subordinate officers of the department had misapplied
large sums of the public money, which they could not have done if he had
not been grossly negligent of his duties as head of the department, and
he was consequently removed from the Privy Council.]
[Footnote 2: Miss Hannah More is meant; but I do not know what peculiar
cruelty of temper or practice entitled her to the name of Mary's
persecuting and pitiless Bishop.]
_SIR W. AND LADY HAMILTON--A BOAT-RACE--THE MARGRAVINE OF ANSPACH._