ends, and so it slipped through my pen. We called at Langley,' but did not like it, nor the Grecian temple at all; it is by no means gracious. I forgot to take your orders about your poultry; the partlets have not laid since I went, for little chanticleer Is true to love, and all for recreation, And does not mind the work of propagation. But I trust you will come yourself in a few days, and then you may settle their route. I am got deep into the Sidney papers: there are old wills full of bequeathed owches and goblets with fair enamel, that will delight you; and there is a little pamphlet of Sir Philip Sidney's in defence of his uncle Leicester, that gives me a much better opinion of his parts than his dolorous Arcadia, though it almost recommended him to the crown of Poland; at least I have never been able to discover what other great merit he had. In this little tract he is very vehement in clearing up the honour of his lineage; I don't think he could have been warmer about his family, if he had been of the blood of the Cues. I have diverted myself with reflecting how it would have entertained the town a few years ago, if my cousin Richard Hammond had wrote a treatise to clear up my father's pedigree, when the Craftsman used to treat him so roundly with being Nobody's son. Adieu! dear George! Yours ever, THE GRANDSON OF NOBODY. TO GEORGE MONTAGU, ESQ. Arlington Street, June 5, 1746. DEAR GEORGE, You may perhaps fancy that you are very happy in the country, and that because you commend every thing you see, you like every thing: you may fancy that London is a desert, 1 A seat of the Duke of Marlborough. Mr. Montagu used to call his own family the Cues. and that grass grows now where Troy stood; but it does not, except just before my Lord Bath's door, whom nobody will visit. So far from being empty, and dull, and dusty, the town is full of people, full of water, for it has rained this week, and as gay as a new German Prince must make any place. Why, it rains princes: though some people are disappointed of the arrival of the Pretender, yet the Duke is just coming, and the Prince of Hesse come. He is tall, lusty, and handsome; extremely like Lord Elcho in person, and to Mr. Hussey,1 in what entitles him more to his freedom in Ireland, than the resemblance of the former does to Scotland. By seeing him with the Prince of Wales, people think he looks stupid; but I dare say in his own country he is reckoned very lively, for though he don't speak much, he opens his mouth very often. The King has given him a fine sword, and the Prince a ball. He dined with the former the first day, and since with the great officers. Monday he went to Ranelagh, and supped in the house; Tuesday at the Opera he sat with his court in the box on the stage next the Prince, and went into theirs to see the last dance; and after it was over to the Venetian ambassadress, who is the only woman he has yet noticed. Tonight there is a masquerade at Ranelagh for him, a play at Covent Garden on Monday, and a ridotto at the Haymarket; and then he is to go. His amours are generally very humble, and very frequent; for he does not much affect our daughter.? A little apt to be boisterous when he has drank. I have not heard, but I hope he was not rampant last night with Lady Middlesex or Charlotte Dives.3 Men go to see him in the morning, before he goes to see the lions. The talk of peace is blown over; nine or ten battalions were ordered for Flanders the day before yesterday, but they are again countermanded; and the operations of this cam Edward Hussey, afterwards Earl of Beaulieu. [He married Isabella, widow of William, second Duke of Manchester, the heroine of Sir Charles Hanbury Williams's poem, entitled "Isabella; or, the Morning;" and died in 1802.] 2 The Princess Mary, who was married to the Prince of Hesse Cassel, in 1740.-E. 3 Afterwards married to Samuel, second and last Lord Masham, who died in 1776.-E. paign again likely to be confined within the precincts of Covent Garden, where the army-surgeons give constant attendance. Major Johnson commands (I can't call it) the corps de reserve in Grosvenor Street. I wish you had seen the goddess of those purlieus with him t'other night at Ranelagh; you would have sworn it had been the divine Cucumber in person. The fame of the Violetta1 increases daily; the sister-Countesses of Burlington and Talbot exert all their stores of sullen partiality in competition for her: the former visits her, and is having her picture, and carries her to Chiswick; and she sups at Lady Carlisle's, and lies—indeed I have not heard where, but I know not at Leicester House, where she is in great disgrace, for not going once or twice a week to take lessons of Denoyer, as he bid her: you know, that is politics in a court where dancing-masters are ministers. Adieu! dear George: my compliments to all at the farm. Your cocks and hens would write to you, but they are dressing in haste for the masquerade: mind, I don't say that Asheton is doing any thing like that; but he is putting on an odd sort of a black gown: but, as Di Bertie says on her message cards, mum for that. Yours ever. TO SIR HORACE MANN. Arlington Street, June 6, 1746. It was a very unpleasant reason for my not hearing from you last post, that you was ill; but I have had a letter from you since of May 24th, that has made me easy again for your health: if you was not losing the good Chutes, I should have been quite satisfied; but that is a loss you will not easily repair, though I were to recommend you Hobarts3 every day. 1 Afterwards Mrs. Garrick. 2 The Prince of Wales; with whom the dancing-master was a great favourite. 3 The Hon. John Hobart, afterwards second Earl of Buckinghamshire. Walpole had given him a letter of introduction to Sir Horace Mann. -E. Sure you must have had flights of strange awkward animals, if you can be so taken with him! I shall begin to look about me, to see the merits of England: he was no curiosity here; and yet Heaven knows there are many better, with whom I hope I shall never be acquainted. As I have cautioned you more than once against minding my recommendatory letters, (which one gives because one can't refuse them,) unless I write to you separately, I have no scruple in giving them. You are extremely good to give so much credit to my bills at first sight; but don't put down Hobart to my account; I used to call him the Clearcake; fat, fair, sweet, and seen through in a moment. By what you tell me, I should conclude the Countess was not returning; for Hobart is not a morsel that she can afford to lose. I am much obliged to you for the care you take in sending my eagle by my commodore-cousin, but I hope it will not be till after his expedition. I know the extent of his genius; he would hoist it overboard on the prospect of an engagement, and think he could buy me another at Hyde Park Corner with the prize-money; like the Roman tar that told his crew, that if they broke the antique Corinthian statues, they should find new ones. We have been making peace lately, but I think it is off again; there is come an unpleasant sort of a letter, transmitted from Van Hoey1 at Paris; it talks something of rebels not to be treated as rebels, and of a Prince Charles that is somebody's cousin and friend-but as nobody knows any thing of this-why, I know nothing of it neither. There are battalions ordered for Flanders, and countermanded, and a few less ordered again: if I knew exactly what day this would reach you, I could tell you more certainly, because the determination for or against is only of every other day. The Duke is coming: I don't find it certain, however, that the Pretender is got off. We are in the height of festivities for the Serenity of Hesse, our son-in-law, who passes a few days here on his return to Germany. If you recollect Lord Elcho, you have a perfect The Dutch minister at Paris. idea of his person and parts. The great officers banquet him at dinner; in the evenings there are plays, operas, ridottos, and masquerades. You ask me to pity you for losing the Chutes: indeed I do; and I pity them for losing you. They will often miss Florence, and its tranquillity and happy air. Adieu! Comfort yourself with what you do not lose. TO GEORGE MONTAGU, ESQ. MY DEAR GEORGE, Arlington Street, June 12, 1746. DON'T commend me: you don't know what hurt it will do me; you will make me a pains-taking man, and I had rather be dull without any trouble. From partiality to me you won't allow my letters to be letters. If you have a mind I should write you news, don't make me think about it; I shall be so long turning my periods, that what I tell you will cease to be news. The Prince of Hesse had a most ridiculous tumble t'other night at the Opera; they had not pegged up his box tight after the ridotto, and down he came on all four; George Selwyn says he carried it off with an unembarrassed counteHe was to go this morning; I don't know whether he did or not. The Duke is expected to-night by all the tallow candles and faggots in town. nance. Lady Caroline Fitzroy's match is settled to the content of all parties; they are taking Lady Abergavenny's house in Brook Street; the Fairy Cucumber houses all Lady Caroline's out-pensioners; Mr. Montgomery1 is now on halfpay with her. Her Major Johnstone is chosen at White's, to the great terror of the society. When he was introduced, Sir Charles Williams presented Dick Edgecumbe to him, and said, "I have three favours to beg of you for Mr. Edgecumbe the first is that you would not lie with Mrs. Day; The Honourable Archibald Montgomerie. He succeeded his brother, as eleventh Earl of Eglinton, in 1769, and died in 1796.-E. 2 Richard Edgecumbe, second Lord Edgecumbe. |