About this period, the fever of the French Revolution was beginning to
manifest its effects, in some of those horrible paroxysms of frenzy,
which produced crimes that will for ever throw a stain upon the pages
of French history. The alarm was contagious, and, in every part of
Europe, infected the serious, reflecting, and, more particularly, the
aged part of the community. In this country it was verily believed, that
the apprehension of seeing the French atrocities perpetrated among us,
accelerated the death of many individuals. The amiable and excellent
Mr. C⸺, endured such extreme and constant anxiety on this head, that it
greatly disturbed his tranquillity, threw a gloom over his ordinary
occupations and pursuits, undermined his health, and hastened his
dissolution.
Neither did Lord ⸺ escape the panic.—How great and serious was the
perturbation of his mind, will sufficiently appear from the following
letters, which, in other respects also, appear to be worth preserving.
Sept. 24, 1792.
You do me too much honour, dear Sir, in proposing to me to
furnish you with observations on ⸺, which you are so much
more capable of executing yourself. I flatter myself you do
not think me vain enough to attempt it. Your own learning,
and your familiarity with all the classic authors, render you
more proper for the task than any man. I, on the contrary, am
most unqualified. It is long since I have been conversant with
classic literature—Greek I have quite forgotten; but, above
all, I hold Seventy-five so debilitating an age to whatever may
have been taken for parts, and have so long pitied authors of
Senilia, that I am sure I will not degrade your work by mixing
my dregs with it; nor, by your good nature and good breeding,
lay you under the difficulty of admitting or rejecting what you
probably would find unworthy of being adopted. I have great
satisfaction in reading what you write; but beg to be excused
from writing for you to read.
Most entirely do I agree with you, Sir, on all French politics,
and their consequences here—it is indeed to be forced to call
assassinations and massacres, politics. It is my opinion, like
yours, that homicides should be received no where, much less
monsters who proclaim rewards for murderers.—What can put a
stop to such horrors sooner than shutting every country upon
earth against unparalleled criminals?
There may be inconveniencies, no doubt, from a vast influx of
the present poor refugees, but I confess I see more advantages.
They will spread their own, and the calamities of their
country—a necessary service, when some newspapers, paid by
Jacobin, perhaps by Presbyterian, money, labour to defend, or
conceal, or palliate such infernal scenes, which can only be
done by men who would kindle like tragedies here. The sufferers
that arrive, many being conscientious ecclesiastics, must, I
should hope, be a warning to the Catholics in Ireland not to
be the tools of the Dissenters there, and of another use they
may certainly be: they will be the fittest and surest detectors
of their diabolic countrymen, who are labouring mischief here,
both openly and covertly. Of their covert transactions we
have a gloomy proof in the Drawer, who, having subscribed a
guinea to the defence of Poland, and redemanding it, received a
guinea’s worth of Paine’s pamphlet in return. This fact evinces
that the opening of that subscription was not, as it seemed to
be, the most ridiculously impotent attempt that ever was made,
but a deep-laid plan of political swindling. Had it produced a
thousand or five thousand pounds, it would have removed Mount
Athos as soon as have stopped one Russian soldier. No! under
colour of pity towards the honest and to be lamented Poles,
it is evident that it was a scheme for raising a new sum for
disseminating sedition, and therefore I wish the vile trick
might be made public.—It may warn well meaning persons against
being drawn into those subscriptions; and such a base trick of
swindling should be laid open and exposed in severe terms.
I am just going to General ⸺ for a few days, and am,
Dear Sir,
Your most sincere and obliged
Humble servant,
⸺
* * * * *
Oct. 16, 1792.
I agree most sincerely and sadly with you, Dear Sir, in being
shocked at the lamentable change of scene, but am far from
knowing more than you do, which are general reports; nor
whether there have been other causes than the evident, constant
deluge, which have annihilated, for all good purposes, the Duke
of Brunswick’s army. It is not less horrid to hear that the
abominations of France, which had made us so rich, and promised
such security to us, should now tend to threaten us with
_something_ of similar evils. I say with _something_, for, till
this year, I did not conceive human nature capable of going
such execrable lengths as it has done in France; and therefore
I grow diffident, and dare not pronounce any thing impossible.
But, alas! the subject is too vast for a letter.—May our
apprehensions be too quick—may a favourable turn happen!
Foresight and conjecture we find are most fallible; and I have
on all emergencies found them so. In my long life I have seen
very black æras, but they vanished, and the sky cleared again.
I am very sorry I cannot directly accept the kind offer you and
Mr. K. are so good as to make me, but you shall hear from me
again as soon as I am sure of my own movements.
I am, Dear Sir,
Most sincerely,
⸺.
* * * * *
_Extract from a Letter, dated_
Nov. 2, 1792.
Dear Sir,
I thank you for your information on the two Latin words, and am
persuaded you are perfectly right: Xenophon might be so too, in
his solution of the Spartan permission of robbery. As he was
very sensible, it is no wonder he tried to explain so seemingly
gross a contradiction, as an allowance of theft, where there
was a community of property.
But, to say the truth, I little regard the assertions of
most ancient authors, especially in their accounts of other
countries than their own; and even about their own, I do not
give them implicit credit. They dealt little in the spirit
of criticism, information was difficult to be obtained, nor
did they pique themselves on accuracy, but set down whatever
they heard, without examination. With many of the contrary
advantages, how little historic truth is to be gleaned even now!
I wish the report of the delivery of the King and Queen of
France were not still unauthenticated. One did wish to believe
it, not only for their sakes, but as some excuse for the
otherwise inexplicable conduct of the King of Prussia.—He still
wants a Xenophon; so do the Austrians too, who, with four times
his numbers, do not make quite so sagacious a retreat.
... Vain-glory shall not be one of my last acts. Visions I
have certainly had, but they have been amply dispelled. I have
seen a noble seat built by a very wise man, who thought he had
reason to expect it would remain to his posterity, as long as
human foundations do in the ordinary course of things; alas!
Sir, I have lived to be the last of that posterity, and to see
the glorious collection of pictures, that were the principal
ornaments of the house, gone to the North Pole, and to have the
house remaining, half a ruin, on my hands.
Forgive me, dear Sir, for dwelling so long on this article;
not too long for my gratitude, which is perfect, but perhaps
too full on my own sentiments. But how could I do otherwise
than open my mind to so obliging a friend, from whom I cannot
conceal weaknesses, to which both my nature and my age have
made me liable? But they have not numbed my sensibility; and,
while I do exist, I shall be,
Dear Sir,
Your most obliged, &c.
⸺.
* * * * *
Nov. 17, 1793.
Dear Sir,
I have been so much out of order for near four months, that
quiet is absolutely necessary to me; and I have remained here,
to avoid every thing that could agitate or disturb me, French
politics especially, which are so shocking, that I avoid all
discussion of them as much as possible, and have quite declined
seeing any of the Emigrés in my neighbourhood, that I may not
hear details. Some of the most criminal have, indeed, brought
swift destruction on themselves; and, as they have exceeded all
former ages in guilt, we may trust they will leave a lesson to
mankind that will prevent their fury from being imitated. Pray
excuse my saying more than that I am,
Dear Sir,
Yours most sincerely,
⸺.
Many letters, of course, passed in the interval; but the next which
presents itself as worthy of attention, is the following:
Dear Sir,
You would have heard of me before this time, but I have not
been well since I came hither, and I am going to London
to-morrow, for a few days, as I am sorry to say the atmosphere
of the town agrees better with me than the air of the country;
at least, I find that change now and then is of use. However,
I think of coming back on Monday, and if you have half an hour
to spare before that day, I shall be very glad to see you in
Berkeley-square.
I approve extremely of ⸺, and its temper, which will contribute
to establish its reputation; though I do not doubt but he will
sometimes be provoked to sting those who would wield daggers,
if they dared.—Though perhaps ridicule may have more effect
than nettles.—Teach the people to laugh at incendiaries, and
they will hiss, and not huzza them. Montesquieu’s brief answer
to the critics of his Esprit des Loix, and Voltaire’s Short
Summary of the Nouvelle Eloise, were more felt and tasted
than regular confutations, and are oftener resumed; for the
world does not supply readers enough for the daily mass of
new publications: it must expect to be diverted, I mean at
times, for it has not quick digestion enough to feed long on
solid food only. Nay, men who have sense to comprehend sound
reasoning, are too few and too sedate to trumpet the reputation
of grave authors; and by pronouncing just and temperate
judgments, (for such men do not exaggerate,) they excite no
curiosity in the herd of idle readers. The deepest works that
have become standards, owe their characters to length of time;
but periodic publications must make rapid impression, or are
shoved aside by their own tribe; and to acquire popularity,
must gain noisy voices to their side. This is not the most
eligible; but as the object of the ⸺ is to serve his country by
stemming error, and exposing its apostles, the favour of the
multitude must be gained, and it is necessary to tickle them
before they will bite.
I am, Dear Sir,
Yours most sincerely,
⸺.
Lord ⸺ retained, to the latest period of his life, his vivacity
of conversation and powers of memory. The last anecdote which our
Sexagenarian heard him relate, was his explaining the reason which
induced him to seek for a town residence in Berkeley-square. In the
time of Sir Robert Walpole it was the established etiquette that the
prime minister returned no visits: it may probably be so now. But, on his
leaving office, Sir Robert took the earliest opportunity of visiting his
friends; and one morning he happened to pass, for this purpose, through
Berkeley-square, the whole of which had actually been built whilst he
was minister, and he had never before seen it. He stopped the coachman,
and desired to know where he was.—This incident alone prevailed upon his
son, Horace, to take the first opportunity which offered, of purchasing a
mansion in this place.
One of his amusements in the latter part of his life, was to preserve all
the seals of the numerous letters he received, in a china vase, which was
placed upon his writing-table. Once a week he examined them carefully,
and putting aside such as were remarkable or curious, he destroyed the
rest; and thus, as he observed, he obtained, on easy terms, a curious
collection of antique seals and gems.
His breakfast service was of very beautiful Dresden china, which he never
would permit any of the domestics to touch.—He always washed them, and
put them away himself.
His Lordship was applied to in a very complimentary letter from the late
and last King of Poland, for a set of his Anecdotes of Painting. It was
not till this occasion presented itself, that he had any idea of the
scarcity or value of the books, which he printed at Strawberry Hill.
The only copy he had was interleaved, and full of marginal notes,
additions, and corrections. He would often good humouredly relate the
extreme difficulty he found in procuring a copy of the work, suitable, as
to condition, to the rank of the Royal petitioner for it, as well as the
chagrin he experienced in being obliged to purchase it at the enormous
price of forty guineas.
The only classical work Lord ⸺ printed, was a beautiful edition of Lucan.
The proof sheets were corrected by Cumberland, and considerable pains
were bestowed upon it; nevertheless, though exceedingly scarce, and of
high price, it is in no very great estimation for its accuracy.
His establishment at his villa was not very splendid; nor had his
Lordship a very high character for hospitality. It was facetiously said
by an author, who went to dine at ⸺, on invitation, that he returned
as he went—exceedingly hungry. He had, however, his gala days, when
splendour went hand in hand with plenty. But his servants were on
board-wages; and when alone, his Lordship lived on the very humblest
fare, drinking only water. He was a dreadful martyr to the gout, and the
chalk-stones on his fingers were distressing to see: he held his pen with
difficulty between his first and second finger. On the first symptoms
of the approach of gout, he plunged his feet into cold water—by many
thought a most desperate experiment, but from which he, of course, either
received benefit, or conceived that he did.
He was, in the truest sense of the word, a perfect courtier. He was
consummately insincere; and would compliment and flatter those in
conversation, whom, in his correspondence, he sneered at and abused.
This was, in a more particular manner, the case with some literary
acquaintances, who, when he wanted their aid and information in the
prosecution of any pursuit, were ostensibly very high indeed in his
esteem; but, when he had got all he wanted, were either noticed with
coldness, or made objects of his ridicule and contempt. This was
remarkably the fact with respect to Richard Gough, and Cole of Milton.
He was accustomed to speak of those admirable specimens of satire, the
Baviad and Mæviad, in terms of rapture: his expression was, “it is so
soothing.” At the same time, more than one of the objects of that satire
were among his “dearest friends,” and complimented by him on their poetic
talents.
On the first appearance of Dr. Darwin’s celebrated poem on “The Loves of
the Plants,” he was extravagant in his commendation of it—“we had seen
nothing equal to it since the time of Pope.” His Lordship’s admiration
of it cooled afterwards. He certainly had an elegant taste for poetry;
and his smaller compositions of this kind, are models in their way.
He had no great extent of capacity, and very little learning; but he
was undoubtedly a most entertaining companion, and a very polished and
accomplished gentleman.—So much for H. W.
Tu procerum de stirpe solus prægressus et ipsos,
Unde genus claræ nobilitatis erat,
Ore decens, bonus ingenio, facundus—et omni
Dexteritate vigens.