YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

LITTLE MEMOIRS OF THE
EIGHTEENTH CENTURY

BY THE SAME AUTHOR-
MRS. DELANY
A MEMOIR : 170O-I788.
SECOND EDITION

With Seven Illustrations in Photogravure.
Crown 8vo. Clotk gilt. 7s. 6d. .

' We cordially thank Mr. Paston for his
skill in compressing the record into so
agreeable and readable a volume.' —
Literature. 'A delightful hook, which the eighteenth-
century student will do well to preserve.' —
Daily Chronicle.
'From every point of. view she was a
memorable woman, and her life, in the
agreeable form in which Mr. Paston pre
sents it, is well worth reading. It will
send many readers to the larger book.' —
The Times.
' 'Tis like reading a book by Thackeray
to go through this entertaining mirror of
fashionable life in the last century.'— Scots
man.

LONDON: GRANT RICHARDS
9 HENRIETTA STREET, W.C.

LITTLE MEMOIRS
OF THE
EIGHTEENTH CENTURY
BY
GEORGE PASTON,p»«iKUf
Ewnly Morse Syryiov eis.

WITH PORTRAITS IN PHOTOGRAVURE

LONDON
GRANT RICHARDS
E. P. DUTTON AND CO.
NEW YORK
1901

Edinburgh: T. and A. Constable, (late) Printers to Her Majesty

PREFACE
In the following Memoirs I have invited the reader to
meet a little company of men and women who may seem, at
first sight, to have little or nothmg in common with one
another, consisting as they do of two grandes dames of the
second George's Court, a poet playwright who dabbled in
diplomacy, an aristocratic declassee who died in the odour
of royalty, an ex-shoemaker turned bookseller, a Highland
lady with literary proclivities, and a distinguished scholar
who was chiefly remarkable for his misfortunes. Yet the
points of resemblance, though less obvious, are scarcely less
decided than the points of contrast, for all were children of
the same century, all belonged to the genus ' self revealer] all
have left their ' confessions,'' in the form, of letters or auto
biography, all were celebrated, or at least notorious, in their
own day {with the exception of John Tweddell, whose
notoriety was posthumous), and all have fallen, whether
deservedly or not, into neglect, fnot oblivion.
It has seemed almost like an act of charity to resuscitate
these sociable garrulous beings, if only for half an hour,
and allow them to gossip to a modern reader. The long
stories that they told to a more leisured age would strain
the patience of a twentieth-century audience ; yet there are

PREFACE
in these long-winded chronicles many quaint reflections,
many curious traits of character, many intimate records of
men and manners, which, like the dried petals in a bowl
of pot-pourri, still preserve their savour and pungency.
I have made no attempt to act as special pleader for any
member of my little company. While allowing them to tell
their own stories in their own complacent fashion, I have
quoted, by way of corrective, certain of the more candid,
comments of their contemporaries. Horace Walpole dis
poses of Lady Pornfrefs pretensions to learning, and pricks
the bubble of Lady Craven's reputation ,• Cumberland is
satirised by Sheridan, and a member of the Pindar family
pokes fvn at Mr. Lackington ; while the kind-hearted Sir
Walter gives Mrs. Grant a rap on the knuckles, and poor
John Tweddell is jilted by his sweetheart — the most practical
of all adverse comments. Thus, having presented the
evidence to the best of my ability, I leave to the judicious
reader the task of summing up and finding a verdict.

vi

CONTENTS
PAGE
LADY HERTFORD (1699-1754) : LADY POMKRET (eir. 1700-1761), 3
RICHARD CUMBERLAND (1732-1811), . . .57
LADY CRAVEN (Mabsbavine of Anspaob) (1750-1828), . . 119
JAMES LACKINGTON (1746-1815), .... 205
MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN (1755-1838), . . .237
THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL (with Extbacts fbom
his unpublished Lote-Letters) (1769-1799), . . . 299
INDEX, ... . .385

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
LADY CRAVEN AND SON, . . . Frontispiece
HENRIETTA, COUNTESS OF POMFRET, . paoe 10
RICHARD CUMBERLAND, . ,,101
LADY ELIZABETH BERKELEY, AFTERWARDS LADY
CRAVEN, . . „ 136
JAMES LACKINGTON, . . . ,,225
MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN, . ,,290
JOHN TWEDDELL, ,,302

IX

LADY HERTFORD AND
LADY POMFRET

LADY HERTFORD
(1699-1754)
AND
LADY POMFRET
{circa 1700-1761)
There is a little group of noble dames whom, by reason
of the frequency with which they smile and curtsey to us
out of the letters and memoirs of past days, we come at
last to look upon as old acquaintances, if not as intimate
friends. We hear of their flirtations from one chronicler,
of their follies from another, a feminine correspondent
describes their ' birthday clothes,' a wicked epigram hits
off their personal defects, a flowery dedication credits
them with all the virtues. Among the ladies whose
doings supplied much material for contemporary gossips,
and who themselves wielded only too fluent pens, were my
Lady Hertford and my Lady Pomfret. Their corre
spondence, which was published in 1804, met with a
success that would have delighted them had they been
alive to witness it ; but its popularity was not of a last
ing quality, like that of their contemporary, Lady Mary
Wortley Montagu, and in a few years its vogue was
over, and the writers forgotten by the public. At the
time of its publication the editor, a Mr. Bingley, had
not the opportunities which we enjoy of comparing his
3

LADY HERTFORD AND
material with the numerous letters of Horace Walpole
which have been printed since the beginning of the
century. The Lady Pomfret of the correspondence is
represented to us as a grande dame of the utmost
refinement and culture, but the Lady Pomfret drawn
for us by Walpole's malicious pen is the most per
fect specimen of a precieuse ridicule that her century
has produced. We have more than a suspicion that
Lady Hertford belonged to the same genus, but in her
case there are fewer data to go upon. It is certain
that she too prided herself upon being something
more than a mere woman of fashion ; for she ostenta
tiously patronised the poets, took an interest in the fine
arts, and dabbled, not too successfully, in the rhymed
couplets so dear to the poetaster of the period.
Frances Thynne was the elder of the two daughters
and co-heiresses of the Hon. Henry Thynne, only son
of the first Lord Weymouth, and was born at Longleat
in 1699. In 1713 — though then only fourteen, if her
biographer's dates are correct — she was married to
Lord Hertford, son of that domestic Tartar, the
' proud ' Duke of Somerset. Soon after her marriage
she became one of the Ladies of the Bedchamber to
Queen Caroline, then Princess of Wales, and continued
in her office until the Queen's death in 1737, when
she retired into private life. She had distinguished*
herself during her stay at Court by interposing with
the Queen on behalf of Savage when he was found
guilty of murder in a drunken brawl. ' His merit and
calamities,1 says Johnson, in his Life of the poet,
' happened to reach the ear of the Countess of Hert
ford, who engaged in his support with all the tender
ness that is excited by pity, and all the zeal which is
4

LADY POMFRET
kindled by generosity ; and demanding an audience of
the Queen, laid before her the whole series of his
mother's cruelty, exposed the improbability of an
accusation by which he was charged with an intent
to commit a murder that could produce no advantage,
and soon convinced her how little his former conduct
could deserve to be mentioned as a reason for extra
ordinary severity. The interposition of this lady was
so successful that he was soon after admitted to bail,
and on March 9, 1728, pleaded the King's pardon.'
In the same year, 1728, Thomson dedicated his
poem ' Spring ' to Lady Hertford, ' whose practice it
was to invite some poet into the country every summer
to hear her verses and assist her studies. This honour
was once conferred upon Thomson, who took more
delight in carousing with Lord Hertford and his friends
than in assisting her ladyship's poetical operations, and
therefore never received another summons.' It must
have been before she had marked her sense of his
misdemeanours that the poet addressed her in the
lines : — ' Oh, Hertford, fittest or to shine in courts
With unaffected grace, or walk the plain
With innocence and meditation joined
In soft assemblage, listen to my song,
Which thy own season paints ; when nature all
Is blooming and benevolent, like thee.'
Both Shenstone and Dr. Watts dedicated poems
to Lady Hertford, who was also the patroness of
minor poets of her own sex, such as Mrs. Elizabeth
Carter and Mrs. Rowe. According to Lady Mary
Wortley Montagu, Lady Hertford was the original
5

LADY HERTFORD AND
of Arabella in Mrs. Lennox's once famous novel, The
Fair Quixote, though without Arabella's beauty.
Henrietta, Countess of Pomfret, was also an heiress,
being the only surviving child of Lord Jeffries of
Wem, and granddaughter of the first and infamous
Lord Jeffries. In 1720 she married Thomas Fermor,
Lord Lempster, who, a year later, was created Earl
of Pomfret. Shortly after her marriage she, like
Lady Hertford, was appointed one of the Ladies of
the Bedchamber to Caroline, Princess of Wales.
During the early years of her marriage she was
a friend and protegee of Mrs. Clayton's, afterwards
Lady Sundon, and many of her letters to that
lady, in which she asked advice in Court difficulties,
have been preserved. In April 1726 Lady Pomfret
went to Bath in attendance on the Princess Amelia,
daughter of George ii., and from thence she writes to
Mrs. Clayton : —
' The Princess Amelia is the Oddest, or at least one
of the Oddest Princesses that was ever known ; she has
her Ears shut to flattery, as her heart open to Honesty ;
she has Honour, justice, good-nature, sence, wit, resolu
tion, and more good qualities than I have time to tell
you ; so mixed that (if one is not a divel) 'tis impossible
to say she has too much or too little of any ; yet all
these does not in anything (without exception) make
her forget the King of England's daughter, which
dignity she keeps up with such an obliging behaviour
that she charms everybody. Don't believe her com
plaisance to me makes me say one silible more than
the Rigid truth, tho' I confess, she has gained my
Heart ; and has added one more to the number of
those few whose Deserts forces one's affection.'
6

LADY POMFRET
This letter, which was probably intended for Caroline's
ears, is signed ' Dearest Mrs. Clayton's
Most grateful, faithful and sincere
friend and servant.'
In 1727 Lord Pomfret was appointed Master of the
Horse to Queen Caroline, a post which he is said to
have bought of Mrs. Clayton with a pair of diamond
earrings worth £1400. This transaction gave rise to
a well-known bon mot of Lady Mary Wortley's, who,
hearing the old Duchess of Marlborough express sur
prise that Mrs. Clayton should call on her 'with her
bribe in her ear,' exclaimed, ' How are people to know
where wine is to be sold if she does not hang out a sign ? '
In 1728 Lady Pomfret was again at Bath with the
Princess Amelia, and in the following letter to Mrs.
Clayton gives a curious glimpse into the troubles of a
lady-in-waiting : 1 —
' I hear from London that it is said at St. James's I
have offended a woman of great Quality by leaving her
out in an invitation to play at Cards with the Princess.
I am so altered about vexing myself for triffles, and
there is in reality so little in this, that till you tell me
the Queen is displeased I will not be so about it ; yet as
it has an odd appearance in the terms I have put it,
have patience to read the matter of fact, and then judge
for yourself and me. When the Princess first came
down every Person of Quality (that ever went to Court)
both sent and came to enquire after her Health. In
two or three days she went to drink the Waters, and
between every glass, walked in Harrison's Gardens,
where all people of Fashion came and walked with
1 Now first published. 7

LADY HERTFORD AND
her; the others (that were not known to her) walked
at a little distance. The third morning Lady Frances
Manners asked me if I knew Lady Wigtoun (a Scotish
Countess) ; I said I had never heard of her in my life,
and believed she had not yet sent to the Princess, upon
which both she and the Duchess of Rutland smiled, and
said, " No, nor she won't, I can tell you ; for seeing the
Princess coming to the Pump the morning before, she
had run away like a fury, for fear of seeing her, and
declares so public an aversion to the King that she
would not go to the Ball made on the Queen's Birth
day." They laughed much at her open violence, and
said she would not speak to any one she thought a
Whig. All the Company agreed in this discourse, but
while 'twas about she herself came into the gardens, and
walked very rudely past the Princess, and pushed away
the Duchess of Rutland and myself that was near, and
neither offered to make the least curtsey, for two or three
turns and then went out. After the Princess came home
she told me to send for six Ladies to play at cards with,
which I did of the most considerable at Bath. Next
day Lady Wigtoun went to Scotland for her whole life,
as 'twas fixed she should long before the Princess came.
Neither the Princess nor myself said one word when she
passed by in that rude manner.' . . . Lady Pomfret
concludes by begging her friend to clear her from the
accusation of having shown neglect or incivility towards
a great lady.
The greater part of this unpublished correspondence 1
has little intrinsic interest ; but one more letter to Mrs.
Clayton (now become Lady Sundon) may be quoted,
which is dated from Hanover Square, August 1735.
1 Now in the British Museum.
8

LADY POMFRET
Lady Pomfret had evidently just come up to town for her
term of waiting, and writes to describe her first visit to
Kensington, where the Queen was then living during the
King's absence at Hanover. 'All I can say of Ken
sington,' she writes, ' is that 'tis just the same as it was ;
only pared so close as the King does the Sacrament. My
Lord Pomfret and I were the greatest strangers there ;
no Secretary of State, no Chamberlain or Vice-Cham
berlain, but Lord Robert, and he just in the same Coat
on the same spot of ground, with the same words in his
mouth, that he had when I left 'em. Miss Meadows in
the window at work, etc., but tho' half an hour after
two, the Queen was not quite dressed ; so I had the
Honour of seeing her before she came out of her little
blew room, where I was graciously received, and ac
quainted her Majesty to her great sorrow how ill you
have been ; and then to alleviate that sorrow I informed
her how much Sundon was altered for the better, and
that it looked like a Castle. From hence we proceeded
to a very short Drawing-room, where the Queen joked
much with my Lord Pomfret about Barbadoes ; and
told me she would have wished me joy of it, but that
Lady Pembroke being in waiting, she feared to put her
in mind of her Brother. I heard, but not at Court,
that the two Ladies of the Bedchamber and the Gover
ness are yet on so bad a Foot, that upon the latter
coming into the room, the others went away, tho' just
going to sit down. I am very unwilling to mention one
thing, because I fear 'twill displease Miss Dive,1 who has
so much pleased me, but it is the Discour at present that
the Prince his Wedding is put off till May, as the King's
return is to the latter end of October ; this, with Mr.
1 One of the maids of honour and niece of Lady Sundon. 9

LADY HERTFORD AND
Hervey's intention of resigning his Equerry's Place, is all
the news I have  Thus, dear Lady Sundon, you see
I am plunged as deep in chitchat as if I had not been
out of it : and 'tis but like a Delightful Dream, that
calmness, that freedom of Thought, of Look, of Action,
enjoyed at Home, and improved at Sundon — but here
'tis otherwise, and our first Parents at leaving Paradise
could not find it more necessary to hide part of their
Bodies than we at Court do to hide part of our Minds.'
Lady Pomfret, like Lady Hertford, retired from
public life after the death of the Queen in 1737, and it
was about this time that the ardent friendship began
between the two ladies who, during the period of their
employment at Court, seem to have considered it prudent
to refrain from any close intimacy. In the autumn of
1738 Lady Pomfret went abroad with her husband and
elder daughters for three years, during which time she
kept up a regular correspondence with Lady Hertford.
Her first letter to that lady is dated September 2,
1738, and is written from Monts, near Paris, where the
Pom frets stayed during the first six months of their
sojourn abroad.
' Your ladyship's obliging commands that I should
write to you,' she begins, ' I with great pleasure obey,
but I am ashamed to think how little entertainment I
can send you from a country that is esteemed an inex
haustible fund of amusement to all the polite world
who visit it. I am not insensible to its charms, a clear
air, a beautiful well-cultivated soil, with a civil and
diverting people ; yet all this is nothing but what
Gordon's Grammar can tell you better than I.' Re
fraining on this occasion from describing well-known
sights, Lady Pomfret contents herself with sketching in
10

LADY POMFRET
few words her old-fashioned house, her large garden, and
her quiet occupations — ' working a little, reading more,
and walking very much' — and signs herself with the
flourishes then fashionable : —
' Dear Madam,
Your Ladyship's
Most obliged and
Most obedient humble servant.'
This formality was somewhat relaxed in the course of
a correspondence which was carried on with marvellous
diligence by the friends, who seldom allowed a week to
elapse without posting a letter, though the punctual
delivery of their epistles was quite another matter. A
lesson on the courtly good manners of the period may
be learned from the compositions of both ladies, though
one may be permitted to rejoice that so much cere
mony and such high-flown acknowledgments of small
favours are not expected between intimate friends in
the present day. Lady Pomfret, more especially after
her arrival in Italy, draws her material rather too
unblushingly from histories and guide-books ; but Lady
Hertford, living for the most part a retired life in the
country, relies more upon her own reflections, and upon
such scraps of gossip as may come her way ; conse
quently, her letters are more interesting as well as more
illustrative of the social history of her period than are
those of her friend.
Her first letters are dated from a house in Windsor
Forest, called St. Leonard's Hill, where there was little
to record except the folly of the Duke of Marlborough,1
who had bought a small island at Bray, and built a
little pleasure-house on it in full view and hearing of the
1 This was the second Duke of Marlborough, nephew of the great Duke.
11

LADY HERTFORD AND
bargemen on the river ; and the gallantries of the
young Duke of Cumberland,1 with which the forest was
ringing. A trip to London in January 1739 to attend
the Birthday is productive of little news except that
the Duke of Marlborough has lost seven hundred pounds
on Twelfth Night, and that ' the Princess Amelia was
on Banstead Downs during all the rain on Wednesday
engaged in a fox-chase. It is a happy thing to have so
robust a constitution as receives no injury from such
Amazonian entertainments ; and if the poor Queen were
not too late an instance to the contrary, I should begin
to fancy that princesses were not of the same composi
tion with their inferiors.' The modern reader might
find Lady Pomfret's descriptive letters somewhat tedious,
but Lady Hertford declares that she passes no part of
her time so agreeably as when she is reading them, and
that there is scarce a day in which she does not go
through them more than once. In one of these absorb
ing communications there is an account of a jaunt to
Paris, which Lady Pomfret describes as a fine town
where the generality of the people live with more gaiety
than those of London.
' The public diversions, however,' she continues, ' are
inferior to ours ; the theatres are less, ill-shaped, and
worse ornamented ; and though their comedians excel,
their music is below that of a dog-kennel. To their
masquerades they admit the meanest of people, and the
greatest part are so ill-dressed that they rather resemble
the crowd of a mob than a civil assembly. As to the
more private entertainments in particular houses, they
are very elegant, and have an air of magnificence not
common in our country. The dress of the company
1 The hero of Culloden was then only eighteen.
12

LADY POMFRET
makes a great show ; and I have been at several balls
where in this respect they far outshone some of our latter
birthdays. The different - coloured furs with which
they trim their clothes in winter have a nobler appear
ance than one can imagine without seeing them. But
to give you an instance of true French splendour, I
must conduct you to Versailles, the fine apartments of
which, for above these twenty years, have rather been
looked upon as the monument of the dead Louis than
the Court of the living one. But all things have their
period, and love, mighty love, has roused the sleeping
monarch. He is to Madame de Neuilly the most tender
and most submissive of men. He frequents and gives
entertainments; and as I was a spectator at his Majesty's
masquerade, I must say that I never saw a more glorious
sight than his palace when lighted up with more than
40,000 wax candles. There never was a greater plenty
of fine things to eat and drink, nor better order in
the distribution of them, and the constant attendance
to supply light and food as each diminished was
admirable.' While Lady Pomfret is slowly journeying vid Lyons
and Marseilles to Sienna, and writing many sheets
of condensed guide-book on the way, Lady Hertford
indites a sort of fashionable and literary chronicle for
the amusement of her friend. Mr. Pope, she records,
has 'lately thought fit to publish a new volume of poems,
and she gives as a specimen an epigram which had been
engraved upon the collar of the Duke of Cumberland's
dog :— ' I am his highness' dog at Kew :
Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you ? '
' Does it not remind you,' asks her ladyship, ' of one
13

LADY HERTFORD AND
of a more ancient date which I believe is repeated in all
the nurseries in England ? —
" Bow, wow, wow, wow,
Whose dog art thou ? "
' I do not infer from hence that Mr. Pope finds him
self returning into childhood, and therefore imitates the
venerable author of the last, in order to shine among
the innocent inhabitants of the apartments where his
works are most in vogue. ... I have been agreeably
amused by reading Signor Algarotti's Newtonianismo per
le Dame, translated into English in very good style by a
young woman not more than twenty years old.1 I am
well informed that she is an admirable Greek and Latin
scholar, and writes both those languages, as well as
French and Italian, with great elegance. But what
adds to the wonder she excites is that all this learning
has not made her the less reasonable woman, the less
dutiful daughter, or the less agreeable and faithful
friend. ... I conclude you have heard of Miss Camp
bell's 2 preferment, who is married to my Lord Bruce.
She is eighteen, and he is fifty-seven ; however, I hear
my Lady Suffolk3 and Lady Westmoreland have con
vinced her that she is very happy. I cannot say that I
wish either your daughter or my own a happiness so
circumstanced.' In June 1739 people are talking of war, and the
preparations for it engross a great part of the public
attention, but the enemy is as yet incognito. ' Mr.
1 Elizabeth Carter.
2 Caroline Campbell, daughter of General John Campbell, afterwards
Duke of Argyle. She was the third wife of Lord Bruce.
3 Better known as Mrs. Howard.
14

LADY POMFRET
Whitfield and his fellow-Methodists, we read, ' are likewise
a subject of much conversation, and people either espouse
or oppose their cause with a great degree of warmth.
With some people he is considered as a saint or an
apostle ; but with others a hypocrite, an enthusiast, a
madman, or a blockhead. My Lord Lonsdale, and
others who have heard him, believe him to be a man of
great designs and to have a capacity equal to anything.
. . . At first he and his brethren seemed only to aim
at restoring the practice of the primitive Christians
as to daily sacraments, stated fasts, frequent prayer,
relieving prisoners, visiting the sick, and giving alms to
the poor ; but upon some ministers refusing these men
their pulpits, they have betaken themselves to preaching
in the fields ; and they have such crowds of followers
they have set all the clergy in the kingdom in a flame.
. . . The Bishop of London has thought it necessary to
write a pastoral letter, to warn the people of his diocese
from being led away by them, though at the same time
he treats them personally with great tenderness and
moderation. I cannot say Dr. Trapp has done as much
in a sermon entitled " The Great Folly and Danger of
being Righteous overmuch," a doctrine which does not
seem absolutely necessary to be preached to the people
of the present age. What appears to be most blamable
in the Methodists is the uncharitable opinions they
entertain in regard to the salvation of all who do
not think and live after their way. The recorder of
Bristol says that Mr. Whitfield has been much among
the colliers in that neighbourhood, and has collected so
much money from them as to erect a building large
enough to contain five thousand people. It is to serve
them as a church and gchpolhouse. He says also they
15

LADY HERTFORD AND
are so much reformed in their manners that one may pass
a whole day among them without hearing an oath.'
Meanwhile Lady Pomfret has arrived at Sienna after
a perilous voyage from Marseilles to Genoa. ' Imagine
me,' she exclaims, ' embarked in bad weather on board a
small tottering boat, the Mediterranean raging, and the
mariners frightened out of their wits ; with great diffi
culty getting to shore at Savona, where we stayed three
days for want of a wind, with stinking victuals, no wine,
and beds worse than none ; after this setting out in a
storm, with the sea coming into the boat the whole way,
and arriving at last at Genoa.' Lady Pomfret was
charmed with Genoa, and extols the gracious Italian
custom of placing a foreign visitor under the protection
of a native lady, whose office it was to act as a social
cicerone to her charge. ' As I did not like play,' she
writes, ' the Signora Durazzi, a woman of infinite wit
and agreeable conversation, always entertained me ; for
it is not here, as in France, that you must pay the lady
of the house, or never get into it. ... I am very-
proud of the genius that honours our sex in the person
of the young woman you mention [Elizabeth Carter],
and in return will inform you of a parallel to her. This
is another female [Signora Bassi], of about twenty-four,
of mean birth, but of such superior knowledge and
capacity that she has been elected the philosophy pro
fessor at Bologna, where she now gives lectures as such.'
The Hertfords' house in Windsor Forest being much
out of repair, in the course of this year they bought
from Lord Bathurst, the friend and patron of many
poets,1 the estate of Richkings near Colnbrook, which
1 Pope addressed to Bathurst the third of his moral essays, ' On the
Use of Riches,' and Sterne drew his portrait in the * Letters to Eliza,'
16

LADY POMFRET
Pope had called his ' extravagante bergerie.'1 The sur
roundings, says Lady Hertford, perfectly answer that
title, and come nearer her idea of a scene in Arcadia
than any place she ever saw. Not only was there a
boat, a cave, a greenhouse to drink tea in, but, more
delightful still in the eyes of a literary lady, there was
' an old covered bench in the garden, which has many.
remains of the wit of my Lord Bathurst's visitors, who
inscribed verses upon it. Here is the writing of Pope,
Prior, Congreve, Gay, and (what he esteemed no less)
of several great ladies. I cannot say that the verses
answered my expectations from such authors ; we have,
however, all resolved to follow the fashion, and to add
some of ours to the collection. That you may not be
surprised at our courage in daring to write after such
great names, I will transcribe one of the old ones, which
I think as good as any of them : —
" Who set the trees shall he remember
That is in haste to fell the timber ?
What then shall of thy woods remain
Except the box that threw the main ? " '
In January 1740 Lady Pomfret has arrived at
Florence, which she much prefers to the dearness and
dulness of Sienna ; and has received civilities from
Horace Walpole, then on his travels, from his notorious
sister-in-law Lady Walpole, and from Mr. (afterwards
Sir Horace) Mann. From this time forward we get an
occasional report of her ladyship's sayings and doings, as
well as of the flirtations of her handsome daughters, the
Ladies Fermor, in the letters of Horace Walpole. Among
Lady Pomfret's early visits at Florence was one to the
Electress Palatine, the only survivor of the House of
Medici. This lady was generally thought proud and
b 17

LADY HERTFORD AND
forbidding; 'but to me,' writes this particular visitor,
' she was easy and entertaining. She kept me ten times
longer than her usual audiences, and talked over my own
family and that of our Court, one by one. . . . When
I departed her Lord-Chamberlain followed me a room
further than usual ; and she has since done me the
honour to say to others that my behaviour had given
her no ill opinion of the English Court.'
Lady Pomfret prides herself upon having discovered
a very scarce and valuable book, of which there is but
one copy to be sold in Florence at a price too great for
her to give. This is the novels of Bandello,1 which,
however, was less scarce than she imagined ; for Lady
Hertford replies that she has just been reading this
book, of which a new edition was about to be published
in London. She offers, with a touch of patronage, to
procure a copy for Lady Pomfret, as well as a copy of
the papers of Thurloe, Cromwell's secretary, which were
to be published by subscription. Then follows a little
fling at Mr. Pope, who was evidently not one of the
tame poets who were invited to correct their hostess's
verses on summer visits : —
'The severity of the weather [February 174Q] has
occasioned greater sums to be given in charity than was
ever heard of before. Mr. Pope has written two stanzas
on the occasion, which I must send you because they
are his, for they have no merit to entitle them to be
conveyed so far : —
' "Yes ! — 'tis the time," I cried, "impose the chain
Destined and due to wretches self-enslaved ;
But when I saw such charity remain,
I half could wish this people should be saved.
1 Born 1480, died 1562. His novels were published in 1554.
18

LADY POMFRET
Faith lost, and hope, our charity begins,
And is a wise design of pitying heaven —
If this can cover multitudes of sins,
To take the only way to be forgiven." '
In a letter dated May 1, 1740, Lady Hertford
complains : ' We talk of nothing but encampments,
bringing in Spanish prizes, taking forts, and such-like
heroic exploits, and this eternal turn of conversation
makes me envy the description given in the First Book
of Kings of Solomon's people who dwell safely, each
under his own vine and fig tree.'
Lady Pomfret deals conscientiously, and at great
length, with the churches and galleries of Florence, but
she is more readable when she describes the characters
and customs of Florentine society. In one letter there
is a curious sketch of the old Marchese Riccardi, a rich
and eccentric personage, who also figures in Walpole's
correspondence. ' He has a fine palace,' we read, ' full
of the best pictures, statuary, and furniture in Florence,
as well as a noble collection of books, medals, intaglios,
cameos, and so vast a quantity of plate that it appears
like the furniture of a sovereign prince. This man's
dress and person greatly resemble those of an old
broken-down shopkeeper. The object of his constant
attention is news of every kind ; and in order to retain
what he learns, he keeps a great number of people who
have filled hundreds of volumes with his observations,
or rather his collections. He has correspondents in all
parts of Europe, in order to be informed who gives
dinners or balls, who are invited, what the dishes are,
how every person is drest, etc. He regularly goes out
every morning and evening, attended by six footmen, and
in a quarter of an hour he has not one left, dispersing 19

LADY HERTFORD AND
them all into different parts of the town to get at
these remarkable intelligences, which are no sooner
obtained than they are committed to writing by his
secretaries.' In another letter Lady Pomfret writes with great
delight of an improvisation which had been arranged
for her at the house of an Italian friend. ' A man and
a woman (the former celebrated for his learning, and the
latter for her genius) maintained a dialogue to music.
I was requested to give the subject, and I proposed the
question, " Why are women generally more constant than
men ? " They began, and with an infinite deal of wit on
both sides they each supported their opinions with quota
tions from both sacred and profane history, which they
applied in a most lively and varied manner for near two
hours, without any pauses more than were necessary for the
music. I wished to have their composition in writing ;
but they told me that was impossible, for were they to
begin again immediately, they should not be able to
repeat what they had' said before. In this woman there
is something very extraordinary and interesting. The
Princess Violante, driving one day in the country, heard
her singing as she spun ; and being then but seventeen,
she was immediately taken to Court, where she was
advanced to be dresser. In this situation, though her
genius has improved, her humility and virtue have not
decreased, but she has lived with the esteem and love of
every one who has known her. She is married to a
substantial tradesman, and enjoys a small fortune, which
she owes to the bounty of the princess ; and from a
respect to her memory and commands, she has refused
all proposals for performing in public'
Horace Walpole, writing from Florence to his cousin,
20

LADY POMFRET
Mr. Conway, in July 1740, says : ' Lady Pomfret has a
charming conversation once a week. She has taken a
vast palace and a vast garden, which is vastly commode,
especially to the cicisbeo part of mankind, who have
free indulgence to wander in pairs about the arbours.
You know her daughters : Lady Sophia is still, nay,
she must be, the beauty she was ; Lady Charlotte is
much improved, and is the cleverest girl in the world,
speaks the purest Tuscan like any Florentine. . . .
On Wednesday we expect a third she-meteor. Those
learned luminaries, the Ladies Pomfret and Walpole,
are to be joined by the Lady Mary Wortley Montagu.
You have not been witness to the rhapsody of mystic
nonsense which these two fair ones debate incessantly,
and consequently cannot figure what must be the issue
of this triple alliance ; we have some idea of it. Only
figure the coalition of prudery, debauchery, sentiment,
history, Greek, Latin, French, Italian, and metaphysics;
all, except the second, understood by halves, by quarters,
or not at all. You shall have the journals of this
notable academy.'
Lady Mary was a correspondent of Lady Pomfret's,
and had professed to come to Italy in 1739 in order
to be near her friend; but as she had stayed several
months at Venice on her way to Florence, the compli
ment had lost some of its flattery. Lady Hertford is
evidently keenly interested in all that relates to her
sister-scribe, with whom she does not appear to have
been personally acquainted. In writing to thank Lady
Pomfret for sending her Lady Mary's essay on La
Rochefoucault's maxim, 'Qu'il y a des manages com
modes mais point de delicieux,' she observes : —
' I own it gives me great pleasure to find a person
21

LADY HERTFORD AND
with more wit than Rochefoucault himself undertaking
to confute any of his maxims ; for I have long enter
tained an aversion to them, and lamented in secret that
a man of his genius should indulge so invidious an
inclination as that of putting his readers out of conceit
with the virtuous actions of their neighbours, and
scarcely allowing them to find a happiness in their own.
. . . Montaigne is another author whom I cannot
sincerely admire, and I never see a volume of his work
lie on the table of a person whom I wish to be my
friend without concern. If I were to educate a child to
be suspicious, splenetic, and censorious, I would put
those authors into his hands ; and in order to prepare
him to read them with a proper relish, instead of the
History of the Seven Champions, or the exploits of
Robin Hood, Gullivers Travels should be put into his
hands ; and when he had a mind to sing, the ballads of
" Chevy Chase," or the " Children in the Wood," should
be laid aside, and some of Dean Swift's modern poetry
should be set to music to supply their place. I own
when I see people delight in painting human nature in
such sombre colours I am apt to believe they are giving
us the picture of their own minds ; for a man of true
virtue and benevolence would not find it easy to persuade
himself that there are such characters in the world as
these gentlemen seem pleased to exhibit to us.'
With some rather pessimistic and sceptical verses of
Lady Mary's, Lady Hertford is much less pleased,
remarking that it was a pity the writer did not look
into the New Testament for the conviction that she
sought in vain from pagan authors. ' How agreeable
and just,' responds Lady Pomfret, ' are your reflections
upon the verses I sent you ! What pity and terror does
22

LADY POMFRET
it create to see wit, beauty, nobility, and riches, after a
full possession of fifty years, talk that language, and
talk it so feelingly that all who read must know it
comes from the heart ! But indeed, dear madam, you
make me smile when you propose putting the New
Testament into the hands of the author. Pray, how
should you or I receive Hobbes' Philosophy if she, with
all her eloquence, should recommend it for our instruc
tion ? I remember having heard a very observing
person say that our first twenty years belong to our
hearts, and the next twenty to our heads ; meaning that
till the first are over, the adorning of our persons, and
love, occupy most of our thoughts, and that the other
twenty by degrees form our minds, and settle certain
principles which seldom or never change. According to
this rule, Lady Mary Wortley has been ten years (at
least) immovably fixed. I therefore have contented
myself with the amusement that arose from the genius
which God Almighty has bestowed upon her, leaving to
her the care and consequence of being grateful to the
donor.' A lurid light is thrown on the manners of the golden
youth of Italy and England a century and a half ago by
a couple of anecdotes related in these letters. The first
is told by Lady Pomfret, and deals with the behaviour
of a young Guadagni to the Marchesa Corsi, grand
daughter of old Riccardi. The young man treated his
Jlancie so roughly during the time of their betrothal,
telling her that she ' danced like a devil,' and that he
should lock her up after the marriage, that she broke off
her engagement, a proceeding almost without precedent
in Florentine society. Lady Hertford caps this story
with the following account of the conduct of Lord
23

LADY HERTFORD AND
Euston, son of the Duke of Grafton, to his betrothed,
Lady Dorothy Boyle, daughter of Lord Burlington, the
' architect Earl ' : —
' Though Lady Dorothy, besides her vast fortune, is
said to have all the good sense and gentleness of temper
that can be desired in a wife, and has so fine a face that
were her person answerable to it, one could hardly
imagine anything more beautiful ; yet he takes every
opportunity to show his contempt and even aversion for
her, while she entertains very different sentiments for
him, which, notwithstanding the great modesty of her
temper, she cannot always conceal. Amongst the many
balls that were given last spring, there was a very mag
nificent one at the Duke of Norfolk's, where I saw so
many instances of the slighting manner in which he
treated her, and of her attention to him, as raised both
my indignation and my pity. But I heard that at
another ball he carried his impoliteness much further ;
for when the company was sitting at supper, after
looking upon her for some time in a very odd manner,
he said, " Lady Dorothy, how greedily you eat ! It is
no wonder that you are so fat." This unexpected com
pliment made her blush extremely, and brought the
tears to her eyes. My Lady Burlington, who sat near
enough to hear what passed, and see the effect it had
upon her daughter, coloured as much as the young lady,
and immediately answered, " It is true, my lord, that she
is fat, and I hope she will always be so, for it is her
constitution, and she will never be lean until she is less
happy than we have always tried to make her, which I
shall endeavour to prevent her being." Those last words
were spoken in a tone which gave the company reason
to believe that her ladyship's eyes were at last opened to

LADY POMFRET
what everybody else had seen too long. ... I know of
nothing since but that they are not married, and indeed
I hope they never will be so. Were the young lady my
daughter, I should with less reluctance prepare for her
funeral than for such a marriage.'
There is something like a prophetic ring in those
words, for poor Lady Dorothy was married to Lord
Euston in October 1741, and died from his ill treat
ment of her six months later, being then only just
eighteen. Horace Walpole, writing to Sir Horace Mann
only a fortnight after the marriage, says : ' I wrote you
word that Lord Euston is married ; in a week more I
believe I shall write you word that he is divorced. He
is brutal enough, and has forbid Lady Burlington his
house, and that in very ungentle terms ! The whole
family is in confusion, the Duke of Grafton half dead,
and Lord Burlington half mad. The latter has chal
lenged Lord Euston, who accepted the challenge, but
they were prevented. . . . Do you not pity the poor
girl, of the softest temper, vast beauty, birth, and
fortune, to be so sacrificed ? ' After Lady Dorothy's
death her mother painted a portrait of her from memory,
on which was placed the following inscription : —
LADY DOROTHY BOYLE.
Born May the 14th, 1724.
She was the comfort and joy of her parents, the delight of
all who knew her angeliek temper, and the admiration of all
who saw her beauty.
She was married October the 10th, 1741, and delivered (by
death) from misery, May the 2nd, 1742.
This portrait was afterwards engraved, and prints
were distributed by Lady Burlington to all her friends.
25

LADY HERTFORD AND
The inscription, of which two versions are quoted by
Walpole, is said to have been written by Pope.
The present of a pair of alabaster vases from Lady
Pomfret to Lady Hertford calls forth a letter of thanks
which may be taken as a typical specimen of the ac
knowledgment which the good breeding of the period
demanded in return for even a trifling gift. ' There is,'
writes the recipient of the vases, ' an elegance in them
superior to anything I ever saw ; and yet, estimable and
beautiful as they are in themselves, their being a mark
of your friendship enhances their value to me even
beyond their own merit. I sit and look at them with
admiration for an hour together. ... I have not a
room in the house worthy of them ; no furniture good
enough to suit with them ; in short, I find a thousand
wants that never entered my head before. I am grown
ambitious all at once, and want to change my bergerk
for a palace, and to ransack all the cabinets in Europe
for paintings, sculptures, and other curiosities to place
with them.' This letter belongs to the same genus as
that written by the Princess Craon to Horace Walpole,
in which, after thanking him for some bagatelles he has
sent her, she concludes : ' The generosity of your friend
ship for me, sir, leaves me nothing to desire of all that
is precious in England, China, and the Indies ! ' Even
Lady Pomfret, herself a phrase-monger, seems to have
been a little overwhelmed by her friend's gratitude, for
she replies, 'You quite confound me, dear madam,
with the encomiums you bestow upon a couple of ala
baster vases, fit only for the obscurity of a grotto ; and
very justly make me blush for having sent so trifling a
present.' In November 1740 Lady Hertford writes that she is
26

LADY POMFRET
going to town for the winter, her lord being so subject
to attacks of the gout at this season — the result pro
bably of his revellings with Thomson and others — that
she thinks it best he should be near skilled advice.
' Otherwise,' she continues, ' I confess that a winter
passed in the country has in it nothing terrible to my
apprehension. I find our lawns (though at present
covered with snow) a more agreeable prospect than
dirty streets, and our sheep-bells more musical than the
noise of hawkers. I fear my taste is so depraved that
I am as well pleased while I am distributing tares to
my pigeons, or barley to my poultry, and to the robin
redbreasts and thrushes that hop under my window, as
I shall be when I am playing cards in an assembly, or
even in the  ' The blank which discretion dictated
in the days when the post-office suffered from political
curiosity may probably be filled up by the word
< Court.' That Lady Hertford's taste was in some respects in
advance of her age is proved by the regret she expresses
at the prevailing rage for pulling down venerable castles
and abbeys, and replacing them by modern Gothic.
She attributes her unfashionable love of ancient build
ings to the fact that she spent her early childhood at
Longleat, parts of which dated from the reign of Edward
the Sixth, and which is said to have been the first well-
built private house erected in England. ' Though I
was only nine when my father died,' she continues, ' I
still remember his lamenting that my grandfather had
taken down the Gothic windows on the first floor and
put up sashes, in order to have a better view of his
garden. As soon as the present Lord Weymouth mar
ried and came to live here, he ordered the sashes to be
27

LADY HERTFORD AND
pulled down and the old windows to be restored. I
flattered myself that this was a good omen of his regard
for a seat which for two hundred years had been the
delight and pride of his ancestors. But, alas ! how
short-lived is human judgment ! Longleat, with its
gardens, park, and manor, is mortgaged (though its
owner never plays) to gamesters and usurers for
£25,000. So that probably in twenty years' time, as
Mr. Pope says, it may "slide to a scrivener or city
knight," which I must own would mortify me exceed
ingly, notwithstanding the assertion of the same author
that " Whatever is, is right." ' Fortunately this gloomy
prophecy was not fulfilled ; for Lady Hertford's cousin,
the second Viscount Weymouth, died in 1751, when
Longleat descended to his son, afterwards created
Marquis of Bath.
A letter from London, dated Christmas Day 1740,
contains an amusing description of the difficulties of
social entertainers in the days when party feeling ran
inordinately high. ' It is so unfashionable to pass this
season in London,' writes Lady Hertford, 'that the
streets seem quite depopulated. All the young, the
gay, and the polite are retired to their villas to serious
parties of whist and cornette ; and the politicians are
gone to their several boroughs to make converts and
drunkards. . . . The Dukes of Queensberry and Bed
ford, Lords Holdernesse, Rochford, Conway, Brooke,
and others set on foot a subscription for a ball once
a week at Heidegger's rooms. Every subscriber had
liberty to invite a lady and a married man, and every
lady was to bring a married woman by way of chaperon.
For these last there were tables and cards provided, and
a magnificent supper for the whole company. Monday

LADY POMFRET
was the first, and is likely to prove the last ; for the
day before, the Duchess of Queensberry J found it neces
sary to desire that my Lord Conway would send word
to Sir Robert Walpole to keep away, because if he did
not, neither she nor any of her friends would come.
My Lord Conway very politely said that he should be
exceedingly sorry to lose so great an honour and orna
ment as she would have been to the entertainment, but
that neither his good breeding nor his inclination would
permit him to send so mortifying a message to his uncle.
An hour or two afterwards she sent word that if Lord
Conway would undertake for Sir Robert's absence she
would take care that Mr. Pulteney should also keep
away. In reply, Lord Conway said that he was so far
from desiring any such bargain, that he should be ex
tremely glad of Mr. Pulteney's company. Her Grace at
last desisted, and brought herself to endure the sight of
the minister ; but took care to show that it was so much
a contre-cceur as to cast a cloud on the whole assembly.
This conduct has made the greater part of the sub
scribers resolve to withdraw their names and spend no
more money, since they have no better prospect than
that of being forced to shock some people and disoblige
others, when they were only ambitious to amuse.'
In the spring of 1741 Lady Pomfret is in Rome,
painstakingly ' doing ' the sights and ceremonies of the
Holy City. But she finds time to thank her friend for
her letters and a copy of original verses with as much
hyperbole as were ever bestowed upon the alabaster
vases. ' How agreeable you can make even the disorder
of factious envy ! ' she exclaims. ' But how much above
all praise is your verse ! such sentiments ! such language !
1 This was, of course, Prior's ' Kitty.'
29

LADY HERTFORD AND
such goodness for me ! I have read it three times over,
and can now only leave to thank you for it ; but to do
that no words are sufficient, unless, like you, I could
make a Clio attend me whenever I pleased ; and were
that in my power, I do assure you I should think I
repaid her gifts when I employed them on so noble a
subject as doing justice to your merit, which you treat
too lightly.'
The reader may be curious to see the verses which
evoked such ecstatic praise. The following lines are a
characteristic specimen, not only of the poem in question,
but of Lady Hertford's genius. She is writing of Rich-
kings, which Lord Bathurst had arranged as a retreat for
statesmen, poets, and the beauties of the Court : —
' For such he formed the well-contrived design,
Nor knew that Fate (perverse) had marked it mine.
Amazing turn ! Could human eyes foresee
That Bathurst planted, schemed, and built for me?
That he whose genius vast designs engaged,
Whom business surfeited, and rest enraged,
Should range those alleys, bend those blooming bow'rs,
To shelter me in my declining hours ?
He to whom China's wall would seem a bound
Too narrow for his thoughts' inclusive round ;
Who, in the senate, Tully's fame would reach,
In courts, magnificence to Paris teach ;
In deep philosophy with Plato vie,
With Newton, follow meteors through the sky ;
With gay Demetrius charm (and leave !) the fair,
Yet, with good breeding, shield them from despair.
Again, I ask, could human eyes foresee
That such a one should plant and build for me ?
For me whom Nature soberly designed
With nothing striking in my face or mind ;
Just fitted for a plain domestic life,
A tender parent and contented wife. . . . '
30

LADY POMFRET
Lord Bathurst was evidently an object of interest to
feminine poets ; for Lady Hertford, in another letter,
acknowledges the receipt of a poetical epistle to his
lordship, written by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. ' It
is,' she observes, 'a very just picture of my Lord
Bathurst's importance and pursuits. I begin to fear
that the air of Richkings is whimsically infectious ; for
its former owner had scarcely more projects than my
lord and myself find continually springing up in our
minds about improvements here. Yesterday I was busy
in buying paper to furnish a little closet in that house
where I spend the greatest part of my time ; and what
will seem more strange, bespeaking a paper ceiling for
a room which my lord has built in one of the woods.
The perfection which the manufacture of that commodity
is arrived at in the last few years is surprising. The
master of the warehouse told me that he is to make
some paper at the price of twelve or thirteen shillings
a yard for two different gentlemen. I saw some at four
shillings, but contented myself with that of only eleven
pence, which I think is enough to have it very pretty,
and I have no idea of paper furniture being very rich.
I enclose you some verses by Mrs. Carter, who gave them
to me. She was here the other morning, and surprised
me with her looks and conversation. The former
resemble those of Hebe ; the latter has a tendency
to a little pedantry ; however, she certainly has real
and extensive learning.'
Lady Pomfret describes with her usual prolixity, and
— if Horace Walpole be accepted as a critic — infelicity,
the Easter ceremonies at Rome ; but more interesting
is a passing reference to a meeting with a tall, fair
young man called ' il Principio,' who was none other
31

LADY HERTFORD AND
than the Chevalier de St. George alias the Young
Pretender. Another historical character then living at
Rome was ' my Lady Nithsdale, who managed so cleverly
in getting her husband out of the Tower the night before
he was to have been beheaded. She is now grown very
old, but has been much of a woman of quality, and is in
great esteem here.' Lord Nithsdale, it will be remem
bered, was impeached for treason in 1715, and escaped
from the Tower in a woman's dress, conveyed to him
by his wife.
In March 1741 the Pomfrets set out upon a leisurely
journey home, stopping a few days at most of the places
of interest on their route. At Bologna, Lady Pomfret
was taken to the house of the famous feminine professor,
Signora Laura Bassi.1 ' She is not yet thirty,' we read,
' and did not begin to study till she was sixteen, when,
having a serious illness and being attended by a physician
who was a man of great learning, he perceived her genius,
and began to instruct her with such success that she is
able now to dispute with any person whatever on the
most sublime points. This she does with so much
unaffected modesty, and such strength of reason as must
please all hearers, of which number we were ; for the
Signora Gozzadini, who is herself very clever and pro
digiously obliging, had got two doctors to meet us here.
With the first, called Beccari [President of the Institute
of Science and Art at Bologna], she discoursed in Latin
upon light (for which I was not much the better) ; but
afterwards Doctor Zanotti [probably Eustachio Zanotti,
Professor of Astronomy at the University of Bologna],
with an infinite deal of wit, started a question in Italian,
1 Born in 171 1, took her doctor's degree in 1732, married to Dr.
Verati in 1748, died in 1778.
32

LADY POMFRET
"Whether we were not in some danger of losing the
benefit of the moon, since the English had affirmed
that the sun attracted all planets to itself?" He
desired her not to compliment the English, but to
free him from the fears which their assertions justly
caused him. I wish I was capable of translating the
dialogue, for I flatter myself our tastes are so much
alike that you would no more tire of reading than
I of hearing it.'
The correspondents were both, as has been seen,
keenly interested in the question of feminine learning,
and there was no clever woman who exercised their
curiosity more than that intellectual meteor, Lady Mary
Wortley Montagu. Lady Pomfret had cooled towards
her to some extent since the visit to Florence, but Lady
Hertford is again dilating upon her merits about this
time, in consequence of a perusal of A Week of Town
Eclogues. ' There is,' she declares, ' more fire and wit
in all the writings of that author than one meets with in
almost any other ; and whether she is in the humour of
an infidel or a devotee, she expresses herself with so much
strength that one can hardly persuade oneself she is not
in earnest on either side of the question. Nothing can
be more natural than her complaint of the loss of her
beauty [vide the ' Saturday ' in her Town Eclogues] ; but
as that was only one of her various powers to charm, I
should have imagined she would only have felt a very
small part of the regret that many other people have
suffered on a like misfortune ; who have nothing but the
loveliness of their persons to claim admiration ; and con
sequently, by the loss of that, have found all their hopes
of distinction vanish much earlier in life than Lady
Mary's ; — for if I do not mistake, she was near thirty
c 33

LADY HERTFORD AND
before she had to deplore the loss of beauty greater than
I ever saw in any face beside her own.'
Play and inoculation seem to have been the principal
excitements of the London season of 1741. ' Assemblies
are now so much in fashion,' we read, ' that most persons
fancy themselves under a necessity of inviting all their
acquaintances three or four times to their houses, not in
small parties, which would be supportable, but they are
all to come at once ; nor is it enough to engage married
people, but the boys and girls sit down as gravely to
whist-tables as fellows of colleges used to do formerly,
It is actually a ridiculous, though, I think, a mortifying
sight, that play should become the business of the nation,
from the age of fifteen to fourscore. . . . (April 13th.)
Inoculation is more in fashion than ever; half my
acquaintances are shut up to nurse their children, grand
children, nephews, or nieces. I should be content to
stay in town upon the same account if I were happy
enough to see my son desire it, but that is not the
case, and -at his age it must either be a voluntary act
or left undone.' Lady Hertford's anxiety on her only
son's account was not unfounded, for only three years
later he died of smallpox at Bologna on his nineteenth
birthday. Lady Pomfret meanwhile journeyed from Bologna to
Venice, where she stayed long enough to exhaust all the
principal sights. Among the ' lions ' interviewed was
the pastel painter, Rosalba,1 who, says her ladyship, 'is
now old, but certainly the best, if not the only artist in
her way. This, her excellence, does not make her the
least impertinent, her behaviour being as good as her
1 Rosa Alba Camera, born in 1671 at Venice, where she died in
1757-
34

LADY POMFRET
work.' Several convents were visited, and a curious
account is given of the non-ascetic manner in which the
majority of them were conducted at that period. At
one of these establishments, for example, each nun was
allowed an apartment and a garden to herself, while
there was frequent dancing, and even performances of
operas, though no profane auditors were admitted. The
vows of celibacy and seclusion were not invariably
regarded as perpetual, and in certain cases the nuns
were allowed to go out and take part in the carnivals.
Lady Pomfret's enjoyment of her stay in Venice was
spoilt by the news of the death of Lord Aubrey Beau-
clerk at the battle of Carthagena, her second son being
on Lord Aubrey's staff. ' This misfortune,' she writes,
' leaves my son without a protector, in an unwholesome
climate, exposed to a thousand dangers besides the
common ones of his profession, and perhaps to neces
sities, it being impossible to remit money to him in his
present situation ; but God knows whether he is alive
to want it, for I hear the ship he was in has suffered
much, and lost many men. I own I am not patriotic
enough to rejoice at a victory that may have cost me
so dear ; though could I hear that my child was safe,
nobody would be better pleased with it than myself.'
Lady Hertford, on May the 27th, encloses a letter
from the hero of Carthagena, Admiral Vernon, thinking
that her friend might like to see the style of a man
whose actions formed so great a part of the conversation
of all Europe. ' I own,' she remarks, ' that I am pleased
to find hini begin by attributing his success, not to his
own bravery or conduct, but to the Giver of all victory,
and praising Him that the English colours are now
flying on Castillio Grande. However a sense of religion
35

LADY HERTFORD AND
may be out of fashion amongst some polite people, it
certainly adds a great lustre to the characters of any
persons who are so happy as to act under its influence.
The lower part of the people have been transported
beyond measure by what they call an auspicious omen
— two young lions have been whelped in the Tower on
the day that the news of the taking of Carthagena
arrived, and they have been called Vernon and Ogle.
Yet to prove that the English mob can never be so
thoroughly pleased as not to have a delight in doing
mischief, they assembled in vast bodies, and demolished
every window in London where there were not lights
for four nights successively. This vengeance fell chiefly
on empty houses, or on those whose owners were out of
town ; for everybody else illuminated their rails and
houses in the greatest profusion. I do not know by
what accident the Bishop of Oxford and Doctor Pearce
happened to be out of the way, or not to think of this
testimony of their joy in time ; but neither of them has
a pane of glass or a window-frame left in their houses.
The High Constable of Westminster not only made a
very great bonfire, but gave a hogshead of strong beer
at his door. This the mob had no sooner consumed
than they broke all the windows, and fell to demolishing
his house in such a manner that if a guard had not
immediately been sent for, it would have been pulled
down in about two hours. They had several men in
the middle of them with great flashets of paving-stones
ready for the slingers to demolish what was out of their
reach by throwing with their hands. In short, the
disorders were so great that the regents have thought it
necessary to issue a proclamation for the discovery of
the ringleaders.' It is gratifying to reflect how much
36

LADY POMFRET
the London populace has improved in character between
the (so-called) victory of Carthagena and the relief of
Mafeking. A glimpse of the fashions of the period is given in a
letter of Lady Hertford's, dated June 3, 1741, which is
in answer to an inquiry from Lady Pomfret on that
subject. 'I must begin by asking your pardon for
having forgot to answer you in my last about the dress
of the fashionable young ladies. This, on the whole, is
neither quite French nor quite English, their hair being
cut and curled after the mode of the former, and their
bodies dressed in the way of the latter, though with
French hoops. Few unmarried women appear abroad
in robes or sacques, and as few married ones would be
thought genteel in anything else. I am myself so
awkward as to be yet unable to use myself to that dress,
unless for visits of ceremony ; since I do not feel at
home in my own house without an apron ; nor can
endure a hoop that would overturn all the chairs and
stools in my closet.' To show the minute accuracy of
Horace Walpole as a chronicler of contemporary trifles,
the above passage may be compared with a paragraph
in a letter of his to Sir Horace Mann, dated October 13,
1741 (just after the Pomfrets' return to England), in
which he observes that Lady Sophia Fermor's head is
to be- dressed French and her body English, for which
he is sorry, since her figure is so fine in a robe. It will
be noted that the fashions had not changed between
June and October.
The Pomfrets travelled from Venice over the Tyrol,
and through Germany to Brussels, where they made a
long stay. In one of the letters written from Brussels,
Lady Pomfret describes a visit to Antwerp, where she
37

LADY HERTFORD AND
made the acquaintance of a very remarkable character,
a Mrs. Blount, sister-in-law of Pope's friend and corre
spondent. ' Mrs. Blount,' she relates, ' lives a little way
out of the city, in a small but convenient house, moated
round. To this she has a drawbridge that pulls up
every night. This lady was the daughter of Sir John
Guise, and was endowed with a most surprising genius,
which he took care to improve by having her taught
the Latin, Spanish, Italian, and French languages, all
of which she is perfect mistress of, as well as all the
best books in them (!). Music and poetry assisted in
the completing of her mind ; and love led her choice to
a younger brother of Sir Walter Blount, whom you may
remember as often mentioned in Mr. Pope's letters.
Since the death of this gentleman, and the disposal of
her daughters, she is retired (with three or four ser
vants) to prepare for the next world, and she calls her
self the Solitaire. Her dress is plain, and she never
goes into company ; but if any persons come to her, she
receives them with the greatest apparent pleasure, and
with such vivacity and variety of wit that you would
imagine she was still in the midst of the beau monde.
. . . The oddness of this lady's turn and way of life gave
many different sentiments to our company. Some of us
pitied her, and some of us pitied the world for losing
her ; but all wondered at her except myself, who really
wonder that no persons ever thought of secluding them
selves in this manner before. To be weary of the hurry
of the world at a certain age, for people of any degree
of sense, is the most natural thing imaginable ; and no
longer to seek company when the dearest and best of
company has left us, is equally conformable to a tender
heart and strong understanding. But to shut oneself
38

LADY POMFRET
up irrevocably in a prison,1 to torment the body and try
the constitution, because our minds are already too
much distressed, is what I cannot so well comprehend ;
therefore, I confess myself an admirer of Mrs. Blount's
disposal of her remaining days. Nobody can say or
imagine that she repents of a retirement which her
children and friends solicit her every day to leave, and
which she has no sort of obligation but what arises from
choice to stay in. Nobody that visits her finds by her
reception of them that her own thoughts are insupport
able to her ; but she rather seems to have been storing
up entertainment for her guests, which she presents
with as much readiness, and in as great plenty, as if
she expected to receive cent, per cent, for it ; whereas
few are able to return her half the real value.'
Lady Hertford is charmed with this account of Mrs.
Blount's mode of living, and quotes the somewhat similar
case of the Dowager Duchess of St. Albans, who, in her
declining years, never went outside her house at Windsor,
though she was always ready to receive visitors at home.
' It has long been my fixed opinion,' continues her lady
ship, ' that in the latter part of life, when the duty to a
family no longer calls upon us to act on the public stage,
it is not only more decent, but infinitely more eligible,
to live in an absolute retirement.' This letter is dated
from the house at Marlborough, whither the Hertfords
had retired for the summer months. ' We had the
finest weather imaginable for our journey,' writes Lady
Hertford ; ' and though the distance was fifty-nine miles,
we performed the journey in eleven hours and three-
quarters, including the time we baited. I never saw
such an air of plenty as appeared on both sides of the
1 Lady Pomfret means a convent.
39

LADY HERTFORD AND
road, from the vast quantities of corn with which the
fields are covered, and the addition of many hop-gardens.
... I find my own garden full of sweets, and I have a
terrace between a border of pinks and a sweetbriar
hedge. Whether it is because this was the first habita
tion I was mistress of, in those cheerful years when
everything assumed a smiling aspect from the vivacity
that attends that season of life ; or because almost
every little ornament has been made either by my lord's
or my own contrivance, I cannot tell ; but I certainly
feel a partiality for this place which an indifferent
person would be at a loss to account for.'
An agreeable company was staying in the house,
among others Lady Hertford's nephew, the diminutive
Lord Brooke, afterwards created Earl of Warwick.
The conversation would seem to have been superior in
quality to that talked in the average country house.
' An argument was started one night after supper,'
reports the hostess, ' which produced a dialogue of
above an hour that I secretly wished you had heard,
because I thought it might give you some entertain
ment, being managed on both sides with a great deal of
wit and politeness. The subject was, " Whether a
sincere love could subsist where there was not an
attention paid to the object ? " Two of the company,
having a particular friendship for a gentleman who has
lately married a very agreeable woman with a very great
fortune, who loves him to distraction, thought it neces
sary 'to vindicate their friend, who they say loves her
extremely though he has not this attention, to prove
that the truest love was often without it. This
appeared so paradoxical to Mr. Leslie and a very
ingenious young clergyman who was present, that it
40

LADY POMFRET
produced a dispute which, could I have written short
hand, I should have thought well worth taking down.
Yet after all that was said, with a great deal of life and
spirit on both sides, I believe both still retained their
first opinions, as I confess I did mine ; so that love
without attention still appears a chimera to me.'
The Pomfrets were detained at Brussels longer than
they wished on account of the disturbed state of the
Continent, and the fact that Spanish privateers were
patrolling the seas and rendering the passage of non-
combatants insecure. The last letter from Brussels is
dated October 6, 1741, and the next day the Pomfrets
left for England. The correspondence came to an end
with the meeting of the friends, but the career of Lady
Pomfret and her beautiful daughters may be traced
through the gossiping letters of Horace Walpole, while
there is an occasional allusion to the Hertfords. Lady
Sophia Fermor returned to England to take up a posi
tion as one of the chief beauties of her time, and Walpole
watches with his usual malicious interest the flirtations
of the young lady and the ambitions of her mother.1
At a ball given by Sir Thomas Robinson in November,
there were many belles, but Lady Sophia outshone them
all, though a little out of humour at the scarcity of
minuets. ' However, as usual, she danced more than
anybody, and as usual, too, took out what men she
liked, or thought the best dancers. Lord Lincoln 2 and
Lord Holdernesse were admirers-in-chief, and it was
generally believed that a match would be arranged with
the former, but he took fright at the net that seemed
1 There is a tradition in the Fermor family that Horace was in love with
the second daughter, afterwards Lady Charlotte Finch.
2 Son of the Duke of Newcastle. 41

LADY HERTFORD AND
to be laid for him, and ended by marrying his cousin,
Miss Pelham.'
Lady Pomfret is described by Walpole as a sort of
aristocratic Mrs. Malaprop ; and many of her sayings
are recorded by him in his letters to Sir Horace Mann,
who had been well acquainted with her ladyship at
Florence. Writing on November 23, 1741, Walpole
observes : ' Lady Townshend told me an admirable
history ; it is of our friend Lady Pomfret. Somebody that
belonged to the Prince of Wales said they were going
to Court ; it was objected that they ought to say, going
to Carlton House ; that the only Court is where the
King resides. Lady Pomfret, with her paltry air of
significant learning and absurdity, said, " Oh, Lord ! is
there no Court in England but the King's ? Sure there
are many more ! There is the Court of Chancery, the
Court of Exchequer, the Court of King's Bench, etc."
Don't you love her ? Lord Lincoln does her daughter.
He is come over and met her the other night ; he
turned pale, spoke to her several times in the evening,
but not long, and sighed to me at going away.'
Describing a masquerade given in February 1742, he
writes : ' Of all extravagant figures, commend me to our
Countess [of Pomfret]. She and my Lord trudged in like
pilgrims, with vast staffs in their hands ; and she was so
heated that you would have thought her pilgrimage had
been like Pantagruel's voyage to the Oracle of the
Bottle ! Lady Sophia was in a Spanish dress, so was
Lord Lincoln ; not to be sure by design, but so it
happened.' The Lincoln affair dragged on for some time longer.
Lady Mary Wortley, writing to Lady Pomfret in June,
remarks : ' Apropos of angels, I am astonished Lady
42

LADY POMFRET
Sophia does not condescend to leave some copies of her
face for the benefit of posterity ; 'tis quite impossible
she should not command what matches she pleases when
such pugs as Miss Hamilton 1 become peeresses, and I
am still of opinion that it depended on her to be my
relation.' Lady Mary had, of course, numerous relations,
eligible and otherwise, but she was probably alluding to
her kinsman, Lord Lincoln. Lady Pomfret in the intervals
of match-making continued to amuse her friends with
her preciosity. 'You have no notion,' writes Walpole
in allusion to a story of Mann's, ' how I laughed at the
man that " talks nothing but Madeira." I told it to
my Lady Pomfret, concluding that it would divert her
too, and forgetting that she repines when she should
laugh, and reasons when she should be diverted. She
asked gravely what language that was ! " That Madeira
being subject to an European Prince, to be sure they
talk some European dialect ! " The grave personage !
It was of a piece with her saying " that Swift would
have written better if he had never written ludicrously." '
In November we read : ' The Pomfrets stay in the
country most of the winter ; Lord Lincoln and Mr.
George Pitt [an admirer of Lady Charlotte Fermor]
have declared off in form. So much for the schemes of
my lady. The Duke of Grafton used to say that they
put him in mind of a troop of Italian comedians ; Lord
Lincoln was Valere, Lady Sophia Columbine, and my
lady the old mother behind the scenes.'
There is no more mention of the Pomfrets for about
eighteen months, and then in March 1744 comes the
announcement : ' Who do you think is going to marry
1 Daughter of Lord Archibald Hamilton. Married to Lord Brooke in
May 1742.
43

LADY HERTFORD AND
Lady Sophia Fermor ? — Only my Lord Carteret ! — this
very week ! — a drawing-room conquest. Do but imagine
how many passions will be gratified in that family ! Her
own ambition, vanity, and resentment — love she never
had any ; the politics, management, and pedantry of
the mother, who will think to govern her son-in-law
out of Froissart.1 Figure the instructions she will give
her daughter ! Lincoln is quite indifferent, and laughs.
My Lord Chesterfield says, " It is only another of
Carteret's vigorous measures." I am really glad of it;
for her beauty and cleverness deserve a better fate than
she was on the point of having determined for her for
ever. How graceful, how charming, and how haughtily
condescending she will be ! How, if Lincoln should
ever hint past history, she will
" Stare upon the strange man's face,
As one she ne'er had known." '
Lord Carteret, afterwards Earl Granville, was at that
time Secretary of State, the period of his ascendency
being known as the Drunken Administration. He was
then fifty-four years of age, with several grown-up
daughters, and had lost his first wife only nine months
before. The engagement caused a great sensation in
society, partly on account of the bridegroom's high
position, and partly on account of the difference in age
between the pair. An epigram upon Lady Sophia at
this time is quoted by Walpole : —
' Her beauty, like the Scripture feast.
To which the invited never came,
Deprived of its intended guest,
Was given to the old and lame.'
1 Lady Pomfret had translated Froissart.
44

LADY POMFRET
The wedding had to be deferred because, to quote a
letter of Mrs. Delany's, who was a cousin of the bride
groom, ' Lord Carteret has hurried Lady Sophia's spirits
into a scarlet fever, and she was in great danger for
twenty-four hours; and she has thrown him into the
gout, with which he has been confined this week.' The
jointure was fixed at sixteen hundred pounds a year, and
the pin-money at four hundred, while there were to be
two thousand pounds' worth of jewels. The couple
corresponded every day, Lord Carteret reading his lady's
letters to the Cabinet Council.
The marriage seems to have been a happy one for the
short time it lasted. Lord Carteret made up for what
he lacked in youth by his brilliant parts, his high
spirits, his overflowing vitality, and his devotion to his
young bride ; while she, clever, cold-hearted, and ambi
tious, was more than satisfied. We hear of the pair at
Ranelagh, where they are all fondness — walk together,
and stop every five minutes to kiss. We meet the
bride and her mother at Knapton's, the fashionable
crayon artist. Lady Carteret is drawn crowned with
corn, like the goddess of plenty, and a mild dove in her
arms like Venus. ' We had much of my Lord and my
Lord] says Walpole. ' The Countess-mother (Lady
Pomfret) was glad my Lord was not there — he was never
satisfied with the eyes ; she was afraid he would have
had them drawn bigger than the cheeks.' On Novem
ber 9, we read that ' the new Lady Granville [Lord
Carteret had just succeeded to the Earldom] was at home
the other night for the first time. I was invited, for I
am much in favour with them all, but found myself
extremely deplace : there was nothing but the Winchil-
seas and Baths, and the gleanings of a party stuffed out
45

LADY HERTFORD AND
into a faction, and the whole blood of Fermor.' Lady
Pomfret in the course of conversation remarked that
Horace's conduct in respect to a certain action had been
' very ministerial] an awkward word, it was felt, to apply
just then to the son of a newly-fallen minister, but
pronounced by the Queen-mother, says Walpole, 'with
all the importance with which she was used to blunder
out pieces of heathen mythology.'
Three weeks later Lord Granville himself had fallen,
driven from office by the jealousy of the Pelhams. From
that time, according to Macaulay, his lordship re
linquished all ambitious hopes, and retired laughing to
his books and his bottle. ' No statesman ever enjoyed
a success with so exquisite a relish, or submitted to
defeat with so genuine and unforced a cheerfulness.'
His wife and her mother were not so happy ; indeed,
they are said to have felt bitter mortification at the
failure of all their ambitions. ' However,' writes Wal
pole, ' the daughter carries it off heroically ; the very
night of her fall she went to the Oratorio. I talked to
her much, and recollected all that had been said to me
upon the like occasion three years ago; I succeeded,
and am invited to her assembly next Tuesday.' The
poor beauty's short but brilliant career was nearly over.
There are a few allusions to the expectation of a young
Carteret, and the delighted importance of the Countess-
mother ; then the news of the birth of a daughter in
September; and finally, in a letter dated October 11,
1745, we read the melancholy conclusion of the story ; —
' Before I talk of any public news, I must tell you what
you will be very sorry for— Lady Granville is dead. She
had a fever for six weeks before her lying in, and could
never get it off. Last Saturday they called in another
46

LADY POMFRET
physician, Doctor Oliver, and on Monday he pronounced
her out of danger. About seven in the evening, as
Lady Pomfret and Lady Charlotte (Fermor) were sitting
by her, the first notice they had of her immediate
danger was her sighing and saying, " I feel death come
very fast upon me ! " She repeated the same words
frequently, remained perfectly in her senses and calm,
and died about eleven at night. Her mother and
sister sat by her till she was cold. It is very shocking
for anybody so young, so handsome, so arrived at the
height of happiness, so sensible of it, and on whom all
the joy and grandeur of her family depended, to be so
quickly snatched away. Poor Uguccioni ! x he will be
very sorry and simple about it.'
Lady Pomfret's grief at the death of Lady Granville
was probably somewhat softened by the marriage, in
1746, of her second daughter, Lady Charlotte, to
William Finch, brother and heir of Lord Winchelsea.
Lady Charlotte afterwards held the post of governess to
the children of George in., and is said to have acquitted
herself admirably in her difficult and responsible task.
The fourth daughter, Lady Juliana, married Thomas
Penn, son of the famous William Penn, and one of the
proprietors of Pennsylvania. In 1753 Lord Pomfret
died, and was succeeded by his ne'er-do-weel son, Lord
Lempster. ' The Countess,' says Walpole, ' has two
thousand pounds a year rent-charge for jointure, five
hundred as lady of the bedchamber to the late Queen,
and fourteen thousand pounds in money, in her own
power — what a fund for follies ! The new Earl has
about two thousand four hundred a year, but deep
debts and post-obits. . . . There are rents worth ten
1 A Florentine admirer, who afterwards wrote an Elegy on her.
47

LADY HERTFORD AND
thousand pounds left to little Lady Sophia Carteret,
and the whole personal estate between the two un
married daughters, so the seat (Easton Neston) must be
stripped. . . . The statues, which were part of the
Arundel collection, are famous, but few good.'
These statues had been bought from Lord Arundel
by Sir William Fermor, father of Lord Pomfret. At
the Easton Neston sale they were purchased by Lady
Pomfret, who was not on terms with her son. Wal
pole, in a letter to Mann, dated March 10, 1755, says :
' If you are there [at Rome] when you receive this, pray
make my Lady Pomfret's compliments to the statues in
the Capitol, and inform them that she has purchased
her late lord's collection of statues, and presented them
to the University of Oxford. The present Earl, her son,
is grown a speaker in the House of Lords, and makes
comparisons between Julius Cassar and the watchmen of
Bristol, in the same style as he compared himself [or
rather his debts] to Cerberus, who, when he had his head
cut off, three others sprang up in its room.''
A year later, in July 1756, we learn from the same
authority that ' our old friend the Countess has ex
hibited herself lately to the public exactly in a style you
would guess. Having given her lord's statues to the
University of Oxford, she has been there at the public
act to receive adoration. A box was built for her near
the Vice-Chancellor, where she sat for three days to
gether for four hours at a time, to hear verses and
speeches, and to hear herself called Minerva ; nay, the
public orator had prepared an encomium on her beauty,
but being struck with her appearance, had presence of
mind to whisk his compliments to the beauties of her
mind. Do but figure her ; her dress had all the tawdry
48

LADY POMFRET
poverty and frippery with which you remember her. . . .
It is amazing that she did not mash a few words of
Latin, as she used to ficassee French and Italian ! or
that she did not torture some learned simile, like her
comparing the tour of Sicily, the surrounding a triangle,
to squaring the circle ; or as when she said it was as
difficult to get into an Italian coach as for Caesar to
take Attica, which she meant for Utica.'
In December 1761 Lady Pomfret died suddenly
while on a journey to Bath. She was buried at
Easton Neston ; but a ' neat cenotaph ' in the University
Church of Oxford commemorates her virtues and accom
plishments in sonorous Latin phrases, which would have
given her intense satisfaction and delight could she have
been alive to read — and misconstrue — them.
To return to Lady Hertford. There is extant a little
volume of manuscript letters addressed by her to Lady
Luxborough,1 Shenstone's patroness, between 1742 and
1754, from which we may gain a glimpse into her life
after the discontinuance of her correspondence with
Lady Pomfret.
In September 1742 Lady Hertford writes: ' I have
not seen Thomson almost these three years. He keeps
company with scarce any one but Hallett and one or
two players, and indeed hardly anybody else will keep
1 Lady Luxborough was half-sister of Lord Bolingbroke. Some letters
of hers were published in a collection of Shenstone's correspondence.
Horace Walpole says that she was ' a high-coloured lusty black woman,
who was parted from her husband upon a gallantry she had with Parson
Dalton (chaplain to the Duchess of Somerset), the reviver of " Comus." '
Lady Luxborough, he continues, ' retired into the country, corresponded
as you see by her letters with the small poets of that time ; but having no
Theseus among them, consoled herself, it is said, like Ariadne, with
Bacchus. '
d 49

LADY HERTFORD AND
company with him. He turns day into night, and
night into day, and is (I am told) never awake till after
midnight, and I doubt has quite drowned his genius.'
Evidently Thomson's former patroness had never quite
forgiven him for neglecting to correct her poems in order
to carouse with her lord.
The death of the Hertfords' only son, Lord Beau-
champ, in 1744, was a terrible blow to his mother, and
henceforward her letters are full of allusion to her loss.
Walpole, in chronicling the event, observes that if the
parents were out of the question, no one would be sorry
for such a mortification to the pride of old Somerset,
Lord Hertford's father. ' He has written the most
shocking letter imaginable to Lord Hertford, telling
him that it is a judgment on him for his undutifulness,
and that he must always look upon himself as the cause
of his son's death. Lord Hertford is as good' a man as
lives, and has always been most unreasonably used by
that old tyrant. The title of Somerset will revert to Sir
"Edward Seymour, whose line has been most unjustly
deprived of it since the first creation.'
In a letter to Lady Luxborough, written a year after
her son's death, Lady Hertford says that she has been to
town to show herself at St. James's, and has had some fine
clothes for the occasion; 'but,alas! you may guess how un
suitably they sate upon me, as I had till that time (though
a month beyond the year from the sad time when I put it
on) worn a dress much better suited to the sentiments
of my heart, which must ever labour under its irrepar
able misfortune. The King was obliging to the last
degree; but the compassion which his good-nature made
him feel for me was so visible, both in his looks and in
the alteration it occasioned in the tone of his voice, that
50

LADY POMFRET
it was impossible for me to restrain my tears till he had
done speaking to me. There was a great crowd, but I
had so thick a mist before my eyes the whole time that I
don't know how anybody was dressed.''
The old Duke of Somerset died unregretted in 1748,
and Lady Hertford was transformed into the Duchess
of Somerset. Her only surviving child, Lady Betty,
married a Yorkshire baronet, Sir Hugh Smithson, whose
grandfather was said to have either let or driven
stage-coaches. A part of the great Northumberland
estates, and the Percy barony, descended to Lady Betty,
her grandmother, the proud Duke of Somerset's first
wife, having been the heiress of the house of Percy.
Rather to the scandal of society, Sir Hugh was created
successively Earl and Duke of Northumberland, and is
reported to have given himself all the airs of a genuine
Percy. On the death of Lady Hertford's husband in
1749, the Dukedom of Somerset passed to Sir Edward
Seymour, the representative of the elder branch of the
family, while Francis Seymour, Lord Conway, was created
Earl of Hertford.
Lady Hertford, now Dowager-Duchess of Somerset,
lived quietly during the five years of her widowhood at
Richkings, the name of which house had been changed
to Percy Lodge. She still kept up with the literature
of her day. 'Have you met,' she asks Lady Lux
borough, ' with two little volumes which contain four
contemplations written by a Mr. James Hervey,1 a young
Cornish or Devonshire clergyman ? The subjects are
upon walking upon the tombs, upon a flower-garden,
upon night, and upon the starry heavens. There is
1 Hervey's Meditations among the Tonlbs appeared in 1 745, and his
Contemplations in 1747. 51

LADY HERTFORD AND
something poetical and truly pious in them. . . _. I have
been very well entertained lately with the two first
volumes of The Foundling [Tom Jones], written by
Mr. Fielding, but not to be published till January
(1749). If the same spirit runs through the whole
work, I think it will be much preferable to Joseph
Andrews.'' In 1753 the Duchess sends a message through Lady
Luxborough to Shenstone, thanking him for the honour
he had . done her in inscribing his Ode upon Rural
Elegance to her, and continues : ' I am persuaded he is
master of the subject, for I have heard from people who
saw his gardens not long ago that they are the most
perfect models of it. I hope you will prevail on Mr.
Shenstone to let me see his Ode.' After she had read
the poem, the Duchess wrote to Shenstone (with whom
she was not personally acquainted) begging him to insert
stars or dashes wherever her name or that of Percy
Lodge was mentioned in it, observing ; ' The world in
general, since they can find no fault with your poem,
will blame the choice of the person to whom it is
addressed, and draw mortifying comparisons between the
ideal lady and the real one.' These alterations may
have been made at the time, but in Shenstone's pub
lished works the names appear in full. A verse or two
from the Ode to Rural Elegance may here be quoted
as a specimen of the complimentary poetry of a period
when the poet's chief hope of pecuniary reward rested
upon aristocratic patronage. Shenstone celebrates the
Duchess's encouragement of the fine arts in the lines : —
' And tho' by faithless friends alarmed,
Art have with Nature waged presumptuous war ;
By Seymour's winning influence charmed,
52

LADY POMFRET
In whom their gifts united shine,
No longer shall their counsels jar.
'Tis her to mediate the peace ;
Near Percy Lodge, with awestruck mien,
The rebel seeks her awful queen,
And havoc and contention cease.
I see the rival powers combine,
And aid each other's fair design ;
Nature exalt the mound where art shall build ;
Art shape the gay alcove, while Nature paints the field.
Begin, ye songsters of the grove !
O warble forth your noblest lay !
Where Somerset vouchsafes to rove,
Ye leverets, freely sport and play.
— Peace to the strepent horn !
Let no harsh dissonance disturb the morn,
No sounds inelegant and rude
Her sacred solitudes prophane !
Unless her candour not exclude
The lonely shepherd's votive strain,
Who tunes his reed amidst his rural cheer,
Fearful, yet not averse, that Somerset should hear.'
The Duchess survived this ode (which scarcely reaches
the level of her own verse) just four years, dying in
1754 at the age of fifty-five. She was buried in St.
Nicholas' Chapel, Westminster Abbey. For several
years after the publication of Lady Hertford's and Lady
Pomfret's correspondence, the two friends were held up
to young people as models of virtue, culture, and refine
ment ; and it must have come as a sensible shock to many
excellent people when the bubble of their pretensions
was pricked by Horace Walpole, and they were exhibited
as two well-meaning ladies with a tendency to talk and
write upon subjects which they did not altogether
understand.
53

RICHARD CUMBERLAND

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
(1732-1811) PART I
Richard Cumberland, playwright, novelist, poet, essayist,
and editor, civil servant and amateur diplomatist, belongs
to that numerous body of authors who have had to pay
for temporary popularity by permanent neglect. His
comedies have not held the stage like those of his con
temporaries, Sheridan and Goldsmith ; his novels are no
longer read like those of his model, Henry Fielding;
his Observer essays have not become a classic like the
Spectator and the Rambler ; his poems are dead ; his
pamphlets are forgotten ; and even his delightful Memoirs
have hardly taken the place they deserve in the bio
graphical literature of his period. Yet this last book
is a veritable human document, the confessions of an
original character, the candid record of an eventful life.
The intimate friend of Johnson, Boswell, Garrick, and
Reynolds, who was commemorated as the ' Terence of
England ' by Goldsmith, and caricatured as Sir Fretful
Plagiary by Sheridan, who lived to edit a rival to the
Quarterly Review, and to appoint the poet Rogers as his
executor, — is not this a man worth listening to when he
chooses to gossip to us of his works, his friendships, his
adventures and experiences? 57

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
Of one fact the reader of the Memoirs is speedily convinced,
namely, that the author of them missed his true vocation
in life. The great-grandson of Dr. Richard Cumberland,1
appointed Bishop of Peterborough in 1691, and author'
of a learned refutation of the tenets of Hobbes ; and
grandson, on the maternal side, of that giant of criticism
and controversy, Dr. Richard Bentley, Master of Trinity,
young Cumberland seems to have had a congenital in
clination towards a life of learned ease, secluded by
college or cloister walls from the noise and bustle of the
outside world. He would have been happy could he
have spent his days in a quiet study, editing some obscure
Greek author, or preparing erudite theological pamphlets
wherein to crush a heretic bishop or cross swords with a
wire-drawing metaphysician. But this was not to be.
The world claimed the would-be recluse, and the earnest
student fell a prey to politicians and the theatrical
public. Cumberland, who was born at Trinity Lodge in 1732,
draws an unexpectedly attractive portrait of his famous
grandfather, for 'Slashing Bentley with his desperate.
hook' was longsuffering with children, advocated the
answering of their incessant questions, and patiently
interpreted their first attempts at reasoning. ' When
I was rallied by my mother for roundly asserting that
I never slept,' says his grandson, 'I remember full well
his calling me to account for it ; and when I explained
myself by saying that I never knew myself to be asleep,
and therefore supposed I never slept, he gave me credit
for my defence, and said to my mother, " Leave the boy
in possession of his opinion ; he has as clear a concep-
1 A college friend of Samuel Pepys. The diarist was anxious that
Cumberland should marry his sister ' Poll.'
58

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
tion of sleep, and at least as comfortable a one, as the
philosophers who puzzle their brains about it, and do not
rest so well." ' The good doctor showed perhaps more
zeal than judgment when he took down picture-books
from his shelves in order to amuse his grandchildren,
these books containing for the most part anatomical
drawings of dissected bodies, and proving, we may
believe, a fruitful source of nightmare.
Bentley's daughter and Cumberland's mother, Joanna,
was the Phoebe of Byrom's pretty pastoral, written when
the poet was a student at Trinity College, and first
printed in the Spectator. The poem begins : —
' My time, O ye Muses, was happily spent
When Phoebe went with me wherever I went,
Ten thousand sweet pleasures I felt in my breast :
Sure never fond shepherd like Colin was blest.
But now she is gone and has left me behind,
What a marvellous change on a sudden I find !
When things were as fine as could possibly be,
I thought 'twas the spring, hut, alas ! it was she.'
Joanna was no unworthy specimen of the Bentley
stock. ' All that son can owe to parent or disciple to
teacher, I owe to her,' says Richard, as so many other
successful men have said of their mothers. ' She had a
vivacity of fancy and a strength of intellect in which few
men were her superiors; she read much, remembered well,
and discerned acutely; I never knew the person who could
better embellish any subject she was upon, or render com
mon incidents more entertaining by the happy art of re
lating them. . . . Though strictly pious, there was no
gloom in her religion, and she possessed the happy faculty
of making every doctrine pleasant and every duty sweet.'
Richard Cumberland the elder, for many years Rector
59

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
of Stanwick in Northamptonshire, was, one suspects,
scarcely so highly endowed in intellect as his wife, but
we are assured that ' in moral piety he was truly a
Christian, in generosity and honour he was perfectly a
gentleman.' With two such parents it seems a pity that
young Richard should have been sent off to a school at
Bury St. Edmunds when only six years old. He con
fesses that for some time he was supremely idle, and
always at the bottom of his class. But being publicly
lectured on his iniquities by the headmaster, and asked
what sort of report he could expect to have sent to his
grandfather Bentley, he at once set to work in good
earnest, and, quickly rising to the top of each class in
turn, presently became the head boy of the school, which
proud position he held against all competitors. The
holidays were generally spent at Cambridge ; but when
at home the boy used to go out hunting with his father,
both being admirably mounted. Mr. Cumberland shared
a pack of harriers with a neighbouring gentleman, and
was himself a first-rate horseman.
' In my first attendance on him to the field,' observes
Richard, ' the joys of hunting scarcely compensated for
the terrors I sometimes felt in following him upon a
racing galloway whose attachment to her leader was such
as left me no option as to the pace I would go or the
leaps I wished to take.'
At home the boy read aloud the best authors to his
mother, thus early acquiring a taste for literature, and
more especially for the works of Shakespeare. 'The
comments and illustrations of Bentley's daughter were
such aids to a pupil in poetry as few could have given.
With all her father's critical acumen she could trace
and teach me to unravel all the meanders of the poet's
60

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
metaphor, and point out where it illuminated, and where
it only obscured the text.' In his twelfth year Richard
composed a kind of cento in blank verse, called Shake
speare in the Shades, in which some of the poet's
characters plead their cause before him in Elysium, and
have judgment passed upon them. Speeches from the
plays are ingeniously woven into the texture of the work,
which was an extraordinary production for a twelve-
year-old schoolboy.
From Bury St. Edmunds Richard was sent to West
minster, and, unlike most boys, speaks of the school, the
masters, and his fellow-pupils in the most glowing terms.
There was a high standard of scholarship in the school ;
and his Latin verses, which at Bury had been thought to
contain too much ' fancy,' here found appreciative notice.
A court of honour was held among the boys, to which
every member of the community was amenable, Dr.
Nichols having the art of making all his scholars gentle
men. A first visit to the play was a great event in the
life of a boy who had already tried his hand at dramatic
writing. Richard was lucky enough to see Lothario
acted by the chief stars of the time — Mrs. Cibber, Quin,
and Garrick. The actress, we are told, recited Rowe's lines
in the manner of an improvisatore, while Quin rolled out
his heroics with little variety of tone. ' But when after
long and eager expectation I first beheld little Garrick,1
then young, and light, and active in every muscle and
every feature, come bounding on the stage, heavens, what a
change ! It seemed as if a whole century had been stept
over in the transition of a single scene. This heaven-
born actor was then struggling to emancipate his audience
1 This must have been about 1744-45, when Garrick, who was born in
17 16, would be under thirty. 61

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
from the slavery they were resigned to ; and though at
times he succeeded in throwing some light upon them,
yet in general they seemed to love darkness better than
light.' Cumberland condescends to but few dates in the
course of his story ; but we know when we have reached
the year 1745 by the fact that the Scottish rebels were
marching through England, and had got as far south
as Derby. The outlook was a gloomy one ; but that
muscular Christian, the Rector of Stanwick, assembled
his neighbours and persuaded them to turn out in
defence of their country. At the expense merely of the
enlisting shillings, he raised two full companies of a
hundred each, and marched them to Northampton,
where he was received with shouts and acclamations by
the populace. Lord Halifax, who was to command the
regiment, insisted upon bestowing one of the companies
on Richard, who, however, was too young to take up the
commission. Many of the recruits afterwards lost their
lives at the siege of Carlisle, and the distress in which
their families were left brought a considerable and lasting
charge upon Mr. Cumberland.
In the following year the Cumberlands paid a visit to
London, where their eldest daughter, Joanna, a girl of six
teen, fell a victim to confluent smallpox. The shock of
this event, and the abhorrence of London aroused by it
in the father's mind, determined him to remove his son
from Westminster, and, though the boy was only in his
fourteenth year, to enter him at Trinity College, Cam
bridge. During his first two years at the University,
Richard was entirely neglected by his tutors, and amused
himself in his own fashion with his favourite authors,
and an occasional ride into the country. In his third
62

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
year, however, he was turned over to more conscientious
tutors, and urged to work for his degree. Determined
to make up for lost time, he now allowed himself only
six hours' sleep, lived almost entirely on milk, and
'frequently used the cold bath.' By the help of this
discipline he mastered the best treatises on mechanics,
optics, and astronomy, worked out all his propositions in
Latin, and acquired great facility in expounding and
arguing in that language. He also entered for the
public exercises, keeping two acts and two opponencies
in the year, and triumphing over all his adversaries.
After going in for his B.A. examination he collapsed, as
might have been expected, and lay between life and
death for the best part of six months. His convalescence
was cheered by the news of the high station he had been
adjudged among the wranglers of his year, and he felt
that at last he had conquered a position of ease and
credit in his college, his chief object at this time being
to follow his learned ancestors in their profession, and
not to fall behind them in their fame. In the course of
three years he had every reason to expect a fellowship ;
and quite content with his prospects, he returned to
college, where he began to form a Collectanea of his
studies, and with youthful modesty contemplated writing
a Universal History !
But Fate had very different intentions with regard to
him. At a recent general election Mr. Cumberland had
given his active support to the Whig candidate for
Derby ; and Lord Halifax, then Lord-Lieutenant of the
county, wishing to make some return for his services,
offered his private secretaryship to the energetic parson's
son. This offer, with all it might be supposed to lead
to, was considered too good to be refused ; and after
63

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
another term at Cambridge, Richard went to London to
take up his duties, though his post seems to have been
little more than a sinecure. He was, he tells us, quite
unfitted for dependence, had studied books, not men, and
asked nothing better than to be left in his learned
seclusion. ' With a head filled with Latin and Greek,'
he continues, ' and a heart left be'hind me in college, I
was completely out of my element. I saw myself unlike
the people about me, and was embarrassed in circles
which, according to the manners of those days, were
not to be approached without a set of ceremonies and
manoeuvres not very pleasant to perform, and when
awkwardly practised not very interesting to behold.'
Lord Halifax,1 then President of the Board of Trade,
is described as a fine classical scholar, as well as a model
of all the graces. He was married to Miss Dunk, a
great heiress and most exemplary lady ; and as long as
she lived Richard seems to have got on fairly well with
his patron, though he was not intrusted with much con
fidential employment. It is evident that he was not
happy in the career that had thus been thrust upon him.
He still lived a sequestered life ; and though he had
plenty of opportunities of advancement, never turned
them to his own advantage. In the recess he went to
Cambridge for his final examination, and was elected a
Fellow of Trinity. Now was his time to have broken off
his connection with Lord Halifax and returned to his
chosen walk in life. But fearing to disappoint his
family, he let the chance slip, and settled down again in
London, where he published a churchyard elegy which
1 Born in 1716, died in 1771. He earned the title of the Father of
the Colonies.
64

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
failed to interest the public, and contemplated an epic
poem on India.
The death of Lady Halifax in 1753 was a misfortune
for her whole household, and little short of a disaster
for her husband. ' About this time,' to use our hero's
own method of dating events, Mr. Cumberland the
elder exchanged the living of Stanwick, which he had
held for thirty years, for that of Fulham, in order that
he might be near his son. In the adjoining village
of Hammersmith, Bubb Dodington, afterwards Lord
Melcombe, had a splendid villa, which for some reason
best known to himself he was pleased to call ' La
Trappe.' Young Cumberland made the acquaintance
of this distinguished neighbour, and became a frequent
visitor at his house. In the summer of 1756, when
Lord Halifax had thrown up his office in consequence of
a squabble with the Duke of Newcastle, Richard, now
the ex-secretary of an ex-statesman, was glad to accept
Dodington's invitation to stay at Eastbury, his country-
house in Dorsetshire. Our hero had a pretty touch in
character-drawing, and he gives an amusing sketch of
the eccentricities of his host.
The future Lord Melcombe had a brilliant wit,
and was an elegant Latin scholar, but he dearly loved
a lord, and Lord Bute was' the god of his idolatry.
He kept up great state at Eastbury, we are told, though
at less cost than could have been done by most men.
His salon was hung with the finest Gobelin; and he
slept in a bed encanopied with peacocks' feathers.
His wardrobe was loaded with rich and flaring suits
of past dates, but he contrived never to put his old
dresses out of countenance by any variation in the
fashion of the new. Pictures he only estimated by their
i. 65

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
cost, and he possessed none himself; but he told his
guest that if he had half a score worth a thousand
pounds a-piece, he would gladly decorate his rooms with
them. In the absence of works of art, however, 'he
had stuck up immense patches of gilt leather, shaped
into bugle-horns, upon hangings of rich crimson velvet ;
and round his state-bed he displayed a carpet of gold
and silver embroidery which glaringly betrayed its deriva
tion from coat, waistcoat, or breeches, by the testimony
of pockets, loops, and button-holes ! '
It was Dodington's custom to entertain his company
with reading aloud in the evening, and in this art he
excelled. His selections, however, were more curious
than appropriate ; for he treated his feminine guests,
among whom were Lady Hervey1 and the Dowager
Lady Stafford, with the whole of Jonathan Wild, in
which choice he consulted his own turn for irony rather
than theirs for elegance, but the old ladies were polite
enough to be pleased, or at any rate to appear so.
Cumberland was shown the famous, or rather the infamous
Diary ; and being asked what he would do with it if it
were left to his discretion, instantly replied that he
would destroy it, whereat the writer was obviously
disgusted. A more attractive work was a manuscript
collection of witticisms, of which Dodington was part
author, part compiler. With this he was accustomed to
refresh his memory when he expected to meet any man
of conspicuous wit or conversational talent.
'During my stay at Eastbury,' writes Cumberland,
' we were visited by the late Mr. Henry Fox 2 and Mr.
1 Mary Lepel, widow of John, Lord Hervey.
2 Afterwards the first Lord Holland.
66

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
Alderman Beckford -,1 the solid good sense of the former,
and the dashing loquacity of the latter, formed a strik
ing contrast between the characters of these gentlemen.
To Mr. Fox our host paid all that courtly homage which
he knew so well how to time and where to apply ; to
Beckford he did not observe the same attentions, but in
the happiest flow of his raillery and wit combated this
intrepid talker with admirable effect. It was an inter
lude truly comic and amusing. Beckford, loud, voluble,
self-sufficient, and galled by hits that he could not
parry, and probably did not expect, laid himself more
and more open in the vehemence of his argument ; Dod-
ington, lolling in his chair in perfect apathy and self-
command, dozing and even snoring at intervals in his
lethargic way, broke out every now and then into such
gleams and flashes of wit and irony, as by the contrast
of his phlegm with the other's loquacity made his
humour irresistible, and set the table in a roar.'
On his return to town Cumberland wrote his first
legitimate drama, The Banishment of Cicero. Although
he was not, as he confesses, very happy in the choice of
a subject, the play was read and praised by Lord Halifax
and by Dr. Warburton. The former proposed to take
it to Garrick, who was then living at Hampton, and
recommend it to him for representation. Patron and
secretary accordingly bearded the manager in his own
home ; but Cumberland was quick to perceive the embar
rassment which the introduction of his manuscript occa
sioned, and recognised that his cause was desperate,
though his advocate continued sanguine, and Garrick
promised an attentive perusal. ' But those tell-tale
features, so miraculously gifted in the art of assumed
1 Father of the author of Vathek, and twice Lord Mayor of London.
67

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
emotions, could not mask their real ones, and I had
no expectation of my play being accepted.' A day or
two later Garrick returned the manuscript with many
apologies to his lordship for his inability to use it, and
a few qualifying words to its author, which, as Cumber
land admits, was as much as could be expected from
him, though it did not satisfy the patron of the play, who
warmly resented this non-compliance with his wishes,
and for a length of time forbore to live in his former
habits of good neighbourhood with Garrick. Poor
Garrick ! how often in his career must he have had to
choose between offending a powerful patron and boring
his public !
In February 1759, on his twenty-seventh birthday,
Cumberland was married to his cousin, Elizabeth Ridge.
He had previously obtained a small place as Crown
Agent for the colony of Nova Scotia, worth two hundred
a year, which in addition to his own means was con
sidered just sufficient to support a modest establishment,
until such time as Lord Halifax came into place again.
Upon the death of George n. in the following year, all
eyes were turned upon the favourite, Lord Bute. With
his accession to power, Lord Halifax obtained the Lord-
Lieutenancy of Ireland, and prepared to open his
Majesty's first Parliament in that country. The vicar
of Fulham was appointed one of the chaplains, with a
prospect of a mitre later on, while Richard obtained
places for two of his brothers-in-law. He was dis
appointed at only receiving the Ulster Secretaryship for
his own share, ' Single-speech ' Hamilton having nego
tiated himself into the office of Chief Secretary. Leaving
his two children with their grandmother Ridge in Eng
land, Cumberland sailed for Ireland in 1761 with his
68

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
wife and parents, and established his family in a house
at Dublin.
He had taken leave of his friend Dodington, now
Lord Melcombe, the day before the Coronation, and had
found him before a looking-glass in his new robes,
practising attitudes, and debating within himself upon
the most graceful mode of carrying his coronet in the
procession. ' He was in high glee with his fresh
and blooming honours, and I left him in the act of
dictating a billet to Lady Hervey, apprising her that a
young lord was coming to throw himself at her feet.'
At this time Cumberland's uncle, Richard Bentley, was
patronised by Lord Melcombe as a man likely to do
good service to the party with his pen. Bentley is now
chiefly remembered as the friend and correspondent of
Horace Walpole, with whom, as Cumberland said, he
carried on for a long time a sickly kind of friendship,
which had in it too much of the bitter of dependence to
be gratifying to the taste of a man of spirit and sensi
bility. The friendship, however, had its hot fits and
cold fits, and in one of the former Walpole writes : ' I
adore Mr. Bentley; he has more sense, judgment, and wit,
more taste and more misfortunes than sure ever met in
any man. I have heard that Dr. Bentley, regretting his
want of taste for all such learning as his, which is the
very want of taste, used to sigh and say " Tully had his
Marcus." '
Unfortunately, Bentley was an unpractical genius,
whose debts, together with an unsatisfactory wife, kept
him in constant hot water. In June 1761, however,
fortune seemed to smile upon him. He wrote a clever,
though unequal comedy, with a political motif, called
The Three Wishes, which Walpole heard Lord
69

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
Melcombe read aloud in a circle at Lady Hervey's.
' Cumberland,' writes Horace, ' had carried it to him
(Lord Melcombe) with a recommendatory copy of verses,
containing more incense to the King and my Lord Bute
than the Magi brought in their portmanteaux to Jeru
salem. The idols were propitious. A banknote of
£200 was sent from the Treasury to the author, and
the play was ordered to be performed by the summer
company.' The Wishes was acted at Drury Lane by
Foote, Murphy, and O'Brien ; but though Lord Halifax
and Lord Melcombe were in the stage-box, the one
prompting the actors, and the other running backwards
and forwards behind the scenes, the play was a failure,
only surviving five performances.
The pictures drawn by Cumberland of Irish life and
society in the early years of George m.'s reign are
both characteristic and amusing. Like most of his
contemporaries who visited Dublin, the young Ulster
secretary found the society of the Irish capital very
different in tone and manner from that of London.
The profusion of the tables struck him with amaze
ment, while ' the professional gravity of character main
tained by our English dignitaries was laid aside ; and
in several prelatical houses the mitre was so mingled
with the cockade, and the glass circulated so freely,
that I perceived the spirit of conviviality was by no
means excluded from the pale of the Church.' Of the
intellectual powers of his fellow-secretary, Hamilton,
Cumberland held a high opinion, declaring that he spoke
well, though not often, and that his style strongly
resembled the style of Junius. Edmund Burke he only
saw once by accident while the young orator was in
attendance upon Hamilton, but it was about this time
70

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
that Burke broke off his connection with his patron of
single-speech fame.
One of the most entertaining of Cumberland's Irish
acquaintances was George Faulkener, the piratical
publisher, whose name was blasphemed by most of
the English authors of the period. Faulkener's niece
had been engaged as governess to Lord Halifax's
daughter, and for some time past had been carrying on
a liaison with her employer. For her sake he had broken
off a proposed match with the daughter and heiress of
Sir Thomas Drury. Miss Faulkener accompanied him
to Ireland, and obtained an evil celebrity as a place-
monger. Her uncle, according to Cumberland, was the
only person whom Foote's extravagant pencil could not
caricature, for he had a solemn intrepidity of egotism
and a daring contempt of absurdity that fully outfaced
imitation. ' I sate at his table once from dinner till
two in the morning,' he tells us, ' whilst George swal
lowed immense potations, with one solitary strawberry
at the bottom of his glass, which he said was recom
mended to him by his doctor for its cooling propensities.
He never lost recollection or equilibrium the whole time,
but was in excellent foolery. It was a singular coinci
dence that there was a person in company who had
been reprieved from the gallows, as well as the judge
who had passed sentence upon him. This did not in
the least disturb the harmony of the society, nor embar
rass any human creature present.'
In 1762 Lord Halifax was appointed Secretary of
State, and returned to England. The short sojourn in
Ireland did not result in much advantage to the Ulster
secretary, who was offered a baronetcy at the conclusion
of his patron's term of office, 'a mouthful of moon-
71

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
shine 7 which he refused. His father, however, obtained
the Bishopric of Clonfert, and ' wore the mitre to his
last hour with unblemished reputation, adored by his
people for his benevolence, equity, and integrity.' When
Lord Halifax returned to London to take the seals, he
appointed Sedgewicke as his Under Secretary, passing
over Cumberland on the ground that he was not fit
for every office, and could not speak French. ' I had
a holding on Lord Halifax,' says Richard, ' founded on
a long and faithful attachment ; but as I had hitherto
kept the straight and fair track in following his fortunes,
I would not consent to deviate into indirect roads and
disgrace myself in the eyes of his and my own con
nections.' It is probable that Cumberland had found
his position in Lord Halifax's household more difficult
since Miss Faulkeners accession to power, and that,
refusing to pay his court to the lady, he lost what little
influence he ever possessed with his patron.
Finding himself cast out of employment, our hero
thought it worth while to try and succeed Sedgewicke
in his situation as Clerk of. Reports at the Board of
Trade. The new place, worth about two hundred a
year, was obtained ; but our hero, now the father of
three young children, began to look about him for some
other means of increasing his income. Bickerstaff
having lately brought out his Love in a Village with
considerable success, Cumberland determined to attempt
a little piece of the same kind. The result was a
pasticcio called The Summer's Tale, a tale about nothing,
even its author confesses, and very indifferently told.
It was then suggested that he should try his hand at
high comedy instead of wasting his talents over popular
trifles. Accordingly, he set to work during a summer

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
visit to his parents at 'Clonfert, and produced the first
of a long series of comedies called The Brothers.
It was at Clonfert that Cumberland studied the Irish
life and character which he was afterwards to turn to
good account upon the stage. The church of Clonfert,
by custom called a cathedral, and the episcopal resi
dence, by courtesy called a palace, stood on the banks of
the Shannon in a nook of land surrounded on three
sides by an impassable bog. The peasants were but
little removcJ from savages, and their mode of life
and methods of cultivating the land were of the most
primitive order. The bishop undertook to improve
matters in his own immediate neighbourhood. He held
a large portion of land in his own hands, and employed
a numerous tribe of labourers. His first object was to
induce the people to adopt the same methods of hus
bandry as were practised in England — a difficult matter,
since they predicted that the new-fangled haystacks
would catch fire, and the corn be unfit for use. Gradu
ally, however, they were prevailed upon to provide their
cabins with chimneys, while outside each door was to be
seen a stack of hay made in English fashion, and a plot
of potatoes, carefully planted and kept free from weeds.
Then the bishop turned his attention to their persons,
a Sunday dinner being offered as a premium to all who
should present themselves in clean linen and well-combed
hair, without the customary addition of a scarecrow wig.
The old barbarous habit of working with a greatcoat
hung loosely over the shoulders and the sleeves dangling
at the sides was now discarded, and the bishop's labourers
turned into the fields stripped to their shirts, and proud
to show themselves in whole linen.
In October Richard Cumberland and his family
73

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
returned to town, when his comedy was brought out with
fair success at Covent Garden. Horace Walpole says in
a letter to George Montagu, dated Dec. 14, 1769 : ' Mr.
Cumberland has produced a comedy called The Brothers.
It acts well, but reads ill, though I can distinguish
strokes of Mr. Bentley in it.' George Montagu says in
his reply : ' I am glad it [the comedy] succeeds, as he has
a tribe of children, and is almost as extravagant as his
uncle, and a much better man.' Garrick was among the
audience, and an unexpected compliment 1 to himself in
the epilogue led him to cultivate a friendship with the
author. Cumberland was now fairly launched on his
career as a playwright, a career which he pursued till
near the end of his long life. In his old age he declared
that he had never written a line to puff or praise him
self, or to decry a brother dramatist. ' I have stood for
the corps wherein I have enrolled myself, and never
disguised my colours by abandoning the cause of the
legitimate comedy to whose service I am sworn, and in
whose defence I have kept the field during nearly half
a century, till at last I have survived all true national
taste, and lived to see buffoonery, spectacle, and puerility
so effectually triumph, that now to be repulsed from the
stage is to be recommended to the closet, and to be
applauded by the theatre is little else than a passport
to the puppet show.'
The following summer, probably that of 1770,
Cumberland visited Clonfert again ; and in a tiny closet
at the back of the palace, his view bounded by a peat-
1 ' Who but hath seen the celebrated strife
Where Reynolds calls the canvas into life,
And 'twixt the tragic and the comic Muse
Courted of both, and dubious where to choose,
The immortal actor stands.9
74

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
stack, began to plan and compose his most successful
comedy, The West Indian. His idea in writing this
play, he tells us, was to introduce characters who had
usually been exhibited on the stage as the butts for
abuse or ridicule, and to endeavour to present them in
such a light as might reconcile the world to them and
them to the world. ' I thereupon looked into society,'
he continues, ' for the purpose of discovering such as
were the victims of its national, professional, or religious
prej udices ; and out of these I determined to select and
form heroes for my future dramas.' The characters of
a West Indian and an Irishman were chosen for the
play on which he was then at work, the former being
described as extravagant and dissipated, but also honour
able and generous, while ' the Irishman I put into the
Austrian service, and exhibited him in the livery of a
foreign master, in order to impress on the audience the
melancholy and impolitic alternative to which his re
ligious disqualifications had reduced him — a gallant and
loyal subject of his natural king. I gave him courage,
for it belongs to his nation ; I endowed him with honour,
for it belongs to his profession ; and I made him proud,
jealous, and susceptible, for such the exiled veteran will
be who lives by the earnings of his sword, and is not
allowed to draw it in the service of that country which
gave him birth, and which he was bound to defend.'
This Major O'Flaherty was the father of a large family
of stage Irishmen, of whom Sir Lucius O'Trigger is the
most celebrated. It may be permissible to wonder
whether the principal character was intended as a com
pliment to the West Indian, Samuel Martin, who was
Secretary to the Treasury when Lord Bute was First
Lord. When Lord Bute resigned in 1768, Horace
75

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
Walpole says, ' Young Martin, who is older than I am,
is named my successor [as Usher of the Exchequer] ; but
I intend he shall wait some years.'
The neighbourhood of Clonfert seems to have offered
plenty of opportunity for the study of national character
in every rank. A near neighbour was Lord Eyre of
Eyre Court, an eccentric gentleman who had never been
out of Ireland, nor even far away from his own house.
' His Lordship's day,' we read, ' was so apportioned as
to give the afternoon by far the largest share of it,
during which, from an early dinner to the hour of rest,
he never left his chair, nor did the claret ever quit the
table. This did not produce inebriety, for it was sipping
rather than drinking that filled up his time, and this
mechanical process of gradually moistening the human
clay was carried on with very little aid from conversation.
He lived in an enviable independence as to reading;
indeed, he had no books. Not one of the windows of
his castle was made to open, but luckily he had no
liking for fresh air, and the consequences may be better
conceived than described.'
Lord Eyre, who had a great passion for cock-fighting,
and whose cocks were the crack of all Ireland, engaged
Cumberland in a main. ' I was a perfect novice in that
elegant sport,' he explains, ' but the gentlemen from all
parts sent me in their contributions, and I won every
battle but one.' The rival parties got gloriously drunk
afterwards, and Cumberland slipped away, having first
begged a young officer among Lord Eyre's guests to
endeavour to keep the peace, and above all things to
avoid the introduction of party politics. The officer
so far forgot his undertaking, when in his cups, as to
ask the company to drink to the glorious and immortal
76

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
memory of King William. This was a mortal affront
to one section of the party, and a duel in the early dawn
was the immediate consequence. Fortunately, the shots
did no execution — probably the combatants' hands were
shaky — and the affair ended without bloodshed.
Fairies were frequent visitors to this part of the
country, and it was not the peasant class alone that
believed in them. Richard, riding out with his father
one day, met the Roman Catholic priest of the parish.
The Bishop begged his colleague to caution his flock
against the idle superstition of the fairies, when the
good man confessed that he was himself far from being
a sceptic as to the fact of their existence. Dr. Cumber
land thereupon turned the conversation to the padre's
steed, which was in sorry condition. Its owner explained
that, having a mighty deal of work and very little pay,
he could not afford to feed his beast as well as he would
like. ' Why, then, brother,' said the Bishop, ' 'tis fit
that I, who have the advantage of you in both respects,
should mount you on a better horse, and furnish you
with provender to maintain him.' Orders were at once
given for a stock of hay to be made ready at the priest's
cabin, and in a few days a steady horse was purchased
and presented to him. No wonder that the good Bishop
was popular with Catholics and Protestants alike. One
of his labourers trudged the whole way to Dublin to ask
his lordship's blessing, while another threw himself out
of a tree for joy at the Bishop's arrival, and was laid up
with a bruised hip for several months.
The West Indian was brought out by Garrick at
Drury Lane, and had the unusual run of twenty-eight
nights. From his author's nights Cumberland received
very large profits ; the theatrical manager who brought
77

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
the sums to his house in a huge bag of gold, declaring
that he had never paid any author so much at one time.
Lord Lyttelton observed that the comedy would have
been a faultless composition if one of the characters had
not listened behind a screen. ' I consider listening,' he
said, ' a resource never to be allowed in any pure drama,
nor ought any good author to make use of it.' Cumber
land urged that there was plenty of precedent for it;
and alluding to this point in his Memoirs, declares that
if Aristotle had written a whole chapter professedly
against screens, and Jerry Collier had edited it with
notes and illustrations,he personally would not have placed
Lady Teazle out of earshot to have saved his ears from
the pillory. This, from Cumberland, is a rare tribute to
a brother dramatist's genius, which must be set against a
good deal of envy and uncharitableness.
The success of The West Indian brought the author a
numerous literary acquaintance, and it is evident that
his house was an agreeable one. He was happy in his
domestic life ; and though at this time he had six
children under six, ' they were,' he tells us, ' by no
means trained and educated with that laxity of discipline
which renders so many houses terrible to the visitor, and
almost justifies Foote in his professed veneration for the
character of Herod. My young ones stood like little
soldiers to be reviewed by those who wished to have
them drawn up for inspection, and were dismissed, like
soldiers, at a word.' 1 Cumberland explains that he was
careful to study the proper assortment of his guests, two
of the most attractive among whom were Garrick and
1 Mrs. Thrale told Fanny Burney that Mr. Cumberland was a very
amiable man in his own house, but as a father mighty simple, which
accounted for the ridiculous conduct and manners of his daughters,
78

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
Soame Jenyns. The latter, who was one of the Com
missioners of the Board of Trade, published a treatise
on the Art of Dancing, an Enquiry into the Nature and
Origin of Evil, and other forgotten works. His prose
style was commended by Burke, and regarded by his
contemporaries generally as a model of ease and elegance.
According to Cumberland, Jenyns was an exceptionally
unattractive-looking man, with eyes that protruded like
a lobster's, and a figure of the exact mould of an ill-
made pair of stiff stays ; yet he innocently remarked,
when Gibbon published his History, that he wondered
anybody so ugly could write a book !
'This expert in dancing and metaphysics,' writes
Cumberland, ' was the man who bore his part in all
societies with the most even temper and undisturbed
hilarity of all the good companions whom I ever knew.
He came into your house at the very moment you had
put upon your card ; and he dressed himself to do your
party honour in all the colours of the jay. . . . His
pleasantry was of a sort peculiar to himself; it har
monised with everything ; it was like the bread to your
dinner ; you did not perhaps make it the whole or the
principal part of your meal, but it was an admirable
and wholesome auxiliary to your other viands. Soame
Jenyns told you no long stories, engrossed not much of
your attention, and was not angry with those that did.
He wrote verses upon dancing, and prose upon the
origin of evil, yet he was a very indifferent metaphysician,
and a worse dancer. Ill-nature and personality, with
the exception of the lines upon Johnson,1 I never heard
fall from his lips.'
1 The epitaph, of which the two best-known lines are : —
' Bos well and Thrakj retailers of his wit,
Will tell you how he wrote and talked and coughed and spit.'
79

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
Another amusing new acquaintance was Foote, of
whom the following characteristic anecdote is told : —
'I went with Garrick to visit Foote at Parson's
Green. Sir Robert Fletcher made the fourth at dinner.
After about two hours, Sir Robert rose to depart ; there
was an unlucky screen that hid the door, behind which
Sir Robert hid himself ; but Foote, supposing him gone,
instantly began to play off his ridicule at the expense of
the departed guest. I must confess it was a way he had,
and just now a very unlucky way ; for Sir Robert, bolting
from behind the screen, cried out, " I am not gone, Foote ;
spare me till I am out of hearing ; and now with your
leave I will stay till these gentlemen depart, and then
you shall amuse me at their cost, as you have amused
them at mine." A remonstrance of this sort was an
electric shock that could not be parried. This event,
however, which deprived Foote of all his presence of
mind, gave occasion to Garrick to display his genius and
good-nature in their brightest lustre. I never saw him
in a more amiable light ; the infinite address and
ingenuity which he exhibited in softening the enraged
guest, and reconciling him to pass over an affront as
gross as could be well put upon a man, were at once
the most comic and the most complete I ever witnessed.
Why was not James Boswell present to have recorded
the dialogue and action of the scene ? '
Cumberland now became a member of a pleasant
artistic and literary coterie that used to dine on stated
days at the British Coffee-house. Among the members
were Goldsmith, Reynolds, Garrick, ' Ossian ' Macpherson,
and Dr. Beattie. Of Goldsmith, his vanity, his whimsi
cality, his good-heartedness and frivolity, our author
gives much the same account as others of his con-
80

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
temporaries. ' That he was a poet there is no doubt,'
is his verdict. ' But the paucity of his verses does not
allow us to rank him in that high station where his
genius might have carried him. There must be bulk,
variety, and grandeur of design to constitute a first-rate
poet. The Deserted Village, The Traveller, and The
Hermit are all beautiful specimens, but they are only
birds' eggs on a string, and eggs of small birds too. . . .
Distress drove Goldsmith upon undertakings neither
congenial with his studies nor worthy of his talents. I
remember him, when in his chambers in the Temple
he showed me the beginning of his Animated Nature,
it was with a sigh, such as genius draws when hard
necessity diverts it from its bent to drudge for bread,
and talk of birds and beasts and creeping things,
which Pidcock's showman would have done as well.'
This passage throws a lurid light upon the estimation
in which the study of natural history was held in
the last century, and reminds the reader of the Rev.
Edward Topsell's dedication to his History of Four-
footed Beasts and Serpents, in which he apologises as a
priest for devoting his talents to so frivolous a subject
as zoology.
Cumberland knew Johnson well, and draws an unusu
ally pleasing portrait of the great man. He doubts
whether Johnson would have been such a champion of
literature had he not been driven on to glory with the
bayonet of sharp necessity pointed at his back ; but
rather inclines to believe that if fortune had turned him
into a field of clover, he would have lain down and rolled
in it. ' I respected him highly,' he proceeds, ' and loved
him sincerely. It was never my chance to see him in
those moments of moroseness and ill-humour that are
F 81

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
imputed to him.1 ... In quickness of intellect few
ever equalled him, in profundity of erudition many may
have surpassed him. I do not think he had a pure and
classical taste, nor was apt to be pleased with the best
authors, but as a general scholar he ranks very high.
. . . He was always in perfectly good trim, and with
the ladies whom he generally met he had nothing of
the slovenly philosopher about him ; he fed heartily,
but not voraciously, and was extremely courteous in his
commendations of any dish that pleased his palate. . . .
' At the tea-table he made considerable demands upon
his favourite beverage ; and I remember when Sir Joshua
Reynolds at my house reminded him that he had drunk
eleven cups, he replied ; " Sir, I did not count your
glasses of wine ; why should you number up my cups of
tea ? " And then laughing in perfect good-humour, he
added : " Sir, I should have released the lady from any
further trouble if it had not been for your remark ; but
you have reminded me that I want one of the dozen,
and I must request Mrs. Cumberland to round up my
number." When he saw the readiness and complacency
with which my wife obeyed his call, he turned a kind
and cheerful look on her, and said : " Madam, I must
tell you for your comfort you have escaped much better
than a certain lady did a while ago, upon whose patience
I intruded greatly more than I have done on yours ;
but the lady asked me for no other purpose than to
make a zany of me, and set me gabbling to a parcel of
people I knew nothing of; so, Madam, I had my revenge
1 'Mr. Cumberland assures me,' says Boswell, 'that he was always
treated with great courtesy by Dr. Johnson, who in his Letters to Mrs.
Thrale thus speaks of that learned, ingenious, and accomplished gentle
man: " The want of company.is an inconvenience, but Mr. Cumberland
is a million. " '
82

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
on her, for I swallowed five-and-twenty cups of her tea,
and did not treat her with as many words." I can only
say ' (adds Cumberland) ' that my wife would have made
tea for him as long as the New River could have supplied
her with water.'
On the first night of She Stoops to Conquer the
whole Society dined together, and went afterwards to
the theatre in order to lend their support to Goldsmith.
According to our author's account, Adam Drummond,
who had a sonorous and contagious laugh, was posted
in an upper box ; and as he could not be trusted to laugh
in the right place, Cumberland sat at his elbow to give
him the signal. ' Having begun to laugh where he
found no joke, he began to fancy that he found a joke
in almost everything that was said, so that some of his
bursts were malapropos. These were dangerous moments,
for the pit began to take umbrage ; but we carried our
play through, and triumphed not only over Colman's
(the manager) judgment, but our own.' The story reads
circumstantially enough, but doubt has since been thrown
upon its accuracy. According to the papers of the day,
Cumberland, instead of sitting by Drummond's side, and
telling him when to laugh, was visibly chagrined by the
success of the piece, apd as wretched as any man could be.
It was now suggested to Cumberland that he should
do for Scotland what he had done for Ireland, and bring
the character of a North Briton on the stage. Accord
ingly, he studied the language and idiosyncrasies of a
Highland servant at a friend's house, and presently pro
duced The Fashionable Lover, in which a certain Colin
Macleod plays a prominent part. The play was less
successful than The West Indian, though the dramatist
preferred it to his earlier work. ' I should be inclined
83

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
to say,' he writes, 'that it was a drama of a moral,
grave, and tender cast, inasmuch as I discovered in it
sentiments laudably directed against national prejudice,
breach of trust, seduction, and the general dissipation
of the time.' This description does not sound exactly
promising as applied to a comedy, and it is small
wonder that some of the critics fell foul of the piece.
The author was foolish enough to make serious appeals
against the judgment of those whom he admitted to be
cavillers and slanderers below notice, and attacked the
critics in the advertisement to the published edition of
his work, a proceeding which induced Garrick to nick
name him ' The Man without a Skin.' Probably Cum
berland had inherited some of the pugnacity of ' slashing
Bentley ' ; and indeed he had already taken up the
cudgels against a pamphlet by Bishop Lowth, which,
though professedly aimed againt Warburton, contained
an onslaught upon Bentley. Cumberland's reply in
defence of his grandfather went through two editions,
and was left unanswered by Lowth.
The death of Goldsmith in April 1774 was followed
by the publication of his poem Retaliation, to which Cum
berland alludes with gratitude for the lines bestowed on
himself. The poem owed its inception to a literary party
at the St. James's Coffee-house, where it was suggested
that extempore epitaphs should be written upon the
persons present. Garrick and Dr. Bernard, Dean of
Derry, both wrote comic epitaphs upon Goldsmith,
which Sir Joshua illustrated with a caricature of the
poet. Observing that Goldsmith appeared a little sore,
Cumberland wrote a serious and complimentary epitaph,
which was the more pleasing for being entirely unex
pected. At the next meeting Goldsmith produced his
84

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
own epitaphs as they stand in the posthumously printed
Retaliation. The lines relating to Cumberland may be
quoted here, if only to show that our hero was sometimes
grateful for small mercies : —
' Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts,
The Terence of England, the mender of hearts ;
A flattering painter who made it his care
To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are ;
His gallants are faultless, his women divine,
And comedy wonders at being so fine :
Like a tragedy queen he has dizened her out,
Or rather like tragedy giving a rout.
His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd
Of virtues and feelings that folly grows proud,
And coxcombs alike in their failings alone,
Adopting his portraits, are pleased with their own ;
Say, where has our poet this malady caught ?
Or wherefore his characters thus without fault ?
Say, was it that vainly directing his view
To find out men's virtues, and finding them few,
Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf,
He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself? '
Of Sheridan, from the first appearance of The Rivals
in 1775, Cumberland is said to have been uncontrollably
jealous. The story goes that the author of The West
Indian was present at the first night of The School for
Scandal, and might have sat for the portrait of Uncle
Oliver by reason of his ' villainous disinheriting counte
nance.' When this was reported to Sheridan, the wit
observed that this behaviour showed ingratitude, for
that when he went to see Cumberland's tragedy, The
Carmelite, he laughed from beginning to end. Sheridan
revenged himself by pillorying Cumberland in the char
acter, which all his contemporaries recognised, of Sir
85

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
Fretful Plagiary.1 It will be remembered that Sneer
says of Sir Fretful, before the entry of the latter : ' He 's
as envious as an old maid verging on the desperation of
six-and-thirty ; and then the insidious humility with
which he seduces you to give a free opinion of his works
can only be exceeded by the petulant arrogance with
which he is sure to reject your observations. . . . Then
his affected contempt of all the newspaper strictures,
though at the same time he is the sorest man alive, and
shrinks like scorched parchment from the fiery ordeal of
true criticism ; yet is he so covetous of popularity that
he had rather be abused than not mentioned at all.' Sir
Fretful in his first scene is made to exclaim : 'News
papers ! Sir, they are the most villainous, licentious,
abominable, infernal  Not that I ever read them. No,
I make it a rule never to look into a newspaper. . . .
Their abuse is, in fact, the best panegyric. I like it of
all things. An author's reputation is only in danger
from their support.'
Cumberland seems to have earned Walpole's lasting dis
like by his inability to appreciate Gray's Letters, although
he wrote an ode in praise of Gray's Odes, 'charitably
no doubt,' says Horace, ' to make the latter taken notice
of. Garrick read it the other night at Mr. Beauclerk's,
who comprehended so little what it was about that he
desired Garrick to read it backwards, and try if it would
not be equally good ; he did, and it was.' Three months
later, in March 1776, Walpole returns to the same
1 Fanny Burney thought that Cumberland was intensely jealous of
her fame, and observes : ' This poor man is so wonderfully narrow-minded
in his authorship capacity, that though otherwise good, humane, and
generous, he changes countenance at either seeing or hearing of any other
Writer.*
86

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
subject in a letter to Mason, observing : 'Mr. Cumber
land has published two Odes, in which he has been so
bountiful as to secure immortality for Gray, for Dr.
James's Powder, and indeed for his own Odes, for Father
Time would fall asleep before he could read them
through. There is a dedication to Romney the painter
that hisses with the pertness of a dull man.' 1
Fresh cause of offence was given to the Lord of
Strawberry Hill by a note to the Life of Dr. Bentley (in
the Biographia Brittanica), communicated by Cumber
land, who, says Horace, ' giving an account, too, of his
uncle, Mr. Bentley's writings, because the latter has the
honour of being related to him, says, speaking of Philo-
damus,2 " it was esteemed by the late eminent poet,
Mr. Gray, to be one of the most capital poems in the
English language. Accordingly, Mr. Gray wrote a
laboured and elegant commentary upon it, which
abounds with wit, and is one of his best productions."
I say nothing of the excellent application of the word
accordingly, nor of the false English in the last which,
which should refer to it, and not, as he means it should,
to commentary, nor to the pedantic and Bentleian
epithets of laboured and elegant, terms far below any
thing of Gray's writing, and only worthy of prefaces
written by witlings who are jealous of and yet compli
ment one another ; but laboured I dare to swear it was
not, and for the wit of it, though probably true,
1 ' Sir Joshua mentioned Mr. Cumberland's Odes, which were just pub
lished. Johnson : " Why, sir, they would have been thought as good as
Odes commonly are if Cumberland had not put his name to them ; but a
name immediately draws censure unless it be a name that bears down all
before it." '— Boswell.
2 A poem of Richard Bentley's.
87

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
Cumberland, of all men living, is the worst judge, who
told me it was a pity Gray's Letters were printed, as they
disgraced him. I should be glad to see what this
jackadandy calls a commentary, and which I suppose
was a familiar letter, and perhaps a short one ; for
Gray could express in ten lines what the fry of scholiasts
would make twenty times as long as the text ! . . . Mr.
Cumberland has written a laboured and elegant drama,
which by the title I concluded was to be very comical,
and more likely to endanger the celebrity of Aristo
phanes than of any living wight. It is called The
Widow of Delphi, or the Descent of the Deities, and I
am told is to demolish the reputation of Caractaais,
A precis of the subject was published two days ago in
the Public Advertiser for the benefit of the illiterati,
who are informed that poor Shakespeare was mistaken
in calling the spot of the scene Delphos instead of
Delphi. I hope there will be a dance of Cyclopso. (I
don't know whether commentators will allow that
termination), hammering, by the order of Venus, armour
to keep the author invulnerable, who has hitherto been
terribly bruised in all his combats with mortals.'

PART II
The next few years of Cumberland's life may be passed
over rapidly, since they contain no events of special
importance. • His father, transferred to the Bishopric of
Kilmore, died shortly after entering upon his new see,
and was soon followed by his wife. There was now a new
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
chief at the Board of Trade in the person of Lord
George Germaine, afterwards Lord Sackville, the hero,
in a contrary sense, of Minden. Between Lord George
and Cumberland grew up a steady friendship, which was
only broken by the death of the former in 1785. The
duties of his office being presumably light, Cumberland
continued his dramatic work, the Choleric Man being
brought out with success by Garrick, though the malevo
lence of the public prints suffered no abatement, which
is hardly surprising, since the playwright lost no oppor
tunity of retorting upon his critics. A dedication to
Detraction was prefixed to the printed copies of this
comedy; and Tom Murphy observed that if the reader
wished to have a true idea of the Choleric Man, he
would find it in the dedication.
After Garrick retired from the stage, Sheridan brought
out Cumberland's tragedy, The Battle of Hastings, at
Drury Lane. His adaptation of Shakespeare's Timon
of Athens had previously been produced by Garrick and
coldly received. Walpole, however, writing to Lady
Ossory in December 1771, says : ' There is a new Timon
of Athens, altered from Shakespeare by Mr. Cumberland,
and marvellously well done, for he has caught the manners
and diction of the original so exactly that I think it is
full as bad a play as it was before he corrected it.'
Truly, a back-handed kind of compliment !
The Cumberland children were now growing up ; the
four boys at Westminster, the two girls about to be
introduced to the world. It was their father's wish
that one or more of his sons should enter at Trinity
and adopt the studious life that he himself had so un
willingly renounced. But those were stirring times ;
the War of Rebellion had broken out in America, and
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
in Europe we had the Spanish quarrel on our hands.
The Cumberland boys saw no charm in the student's
career when the trumpets were calling to the youth of
England to fight their country's battles, and when the
sound of shot and shell was ever in their ears. Two
of them went into the army and two into the navy;
the second son, George, being killed at the siege of
Charleston. The year 1780 was an eventful and, as it proved, a
disastrous year for the Cumberland family. Our hero
had discovered, through a secret channel, certain things
passing between the agents of France and Spain, which
led him to believe that the Family Compact might be
broken, and that negotiations might be opened through
the Spanish Minister, Florida Blanca, with a view to
arranging a peace between Spain and England. So per
suaded was he of the feasibility of the scheme, that he
made application to the Government for permission to
attempt this delicate and dangerous task.
In the result he was allowed to repair to the port of
Lisbon, where he was bidden to remain till the Abbe
Hussey, the Irish chaplain of his Catholic Majesty, pro
ceeded to Aranjuez to reconnoitre. According to the
report that he received from Hussey, Cumberland was to
be governed in the alternative of going into Spain to
carry out his mission, or returning to England by the
ship that had brought him out. He was to take with
him his wife and daughters, in order to give colour to
the pretence of travelling into Italy in search of health
on a passport through the Spanish dominions. It will
readily be understood that this mission meant fame
and fortune if it succeeded, but something not far
short of disgrace if it failed, even though the failure
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
should not be the fault of the unaccredited ambassador
of peace.
The party started from Portsmouth in the frigate
Milford on 22nd April 1780, but were detained in the
Channel by unfavourable winds until the 2nd of May.
When at last they got clear away, the sea ran mountains
high, and broke over the low and leaky frigate, till one
at least of the passengers thought that the ship could
not possibly live out such a gale. When the wind
abated, a new danger appeared in the shape of a French
frigate, which was attacked by the Milford, and after a
bloody fight surrendered to the English ship. In these
days it seems strange to read of a naval fight taking
place with ladies on board one of the combatant vessels ;
but Cumberland writes as though the incident were a
mere matter of course, and rather apologises for describ
ing the affair, which, he says, would seem but trifling to
a naval reader. Yet, in the course of the action the
French ship lost her captain, second captain, and fifty
men killed or wounded, while the Milford had three men
killed and four wounded. That the ' handy man ' was
made of the same stuff in those days as in these may be
gathered from Cumberland's account of the battle.
' When I witnessed the despatch with which a ship is
cleared for action,' he says, ' the silence and good order
so strictly observed, and the commands so distinctly
given, I was impressed with the greatest respect for the
discipline and precision observed on our ships of war.'
One of the marines had his arm shattered, but refused
to leave the quarter-deck till the action was over ; when
going down to have his wound dressed he met Miss
Cumberland coming up, and gallantly presented the
injured arm to assist her. She, noticing that he flinched
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
upon her touching it, said, ' Sergeant, I am afraid you
are wounded ' ; to which he replied, ' To be sure I am,
madam, else I should not have been so bold as to have
crossed you on the stairs.' The shifting of the prisoners
was a task of danger, as they were very drunk, but at last
the Milford was able to proceed on her voyage in company
with her prize. Cumberland tells us that he wrote a sea-
song descriptive of the fight ; but although there were
some good singers among the crew, their delicacy would
not allow the song to be heard until their prisoners were
removed, after which they sang it every night.
After being chased by a French battle-ship, which
she managed to outsail, the Milford arrived safely in the
mouth of the Tagus, and for the next few weeks the
travellers stayed at Lisbon while the Abbe Hussey
proceeded to Aranjuez to see whether the stars were
propitious for the prosecution of a peace mission. Cum
berland's latest instructions were to return to England
or to advance into Spain according as that country
should, or should not, make the cession of Gibraltar
the basis of a negotiation. The Abbe had special
orders to be explicit on this point ; but in the course
of time a letter arrived from him which gave no precise
information, though on the whole he encouraged his
colleague to proceed. Cumberland now found himself
in a dilemma. He had no time to communicate with
his own Government, and probably his wisest course
would have been to return home at once. But his
ambition was too strong for his prudence, and he decided
to go on with his mission, though he knew that if it was
unsuccessful he alone would be blamed.
Having got across the frontier with considerable diffi
culty, the party found a coach and six mules awaiting
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
them at Badajos, and on June 18 arrived at Aranjuez.
Here the envoy was met with an account of the Gordon
riots in London, which news all but extinguished his
prospects of success at the outset. Apart from this, all
had promised well. Spain was on delicate terms with
France, she had recently received a check from Rodney,
and Gibraltar had been relieved. But the recent insur
rections in Madrid lent undue importance to the riots
in London, Florida Blanca professing to believe that the
downfall of the British capital was imminent, and that the
American rebellion was spreading to England. Cumber
land, knowing nothing of the true state of affairs, could
only express his conviction that the tumult would be
promptly quashed, and in a few days learned that his
prophecy had been fulfilled. He now tried by every
means in his power to bring back the negotiation to the
stage it had reached before the report of the riots had
arrived at Madrid; but during a stay of nearly a year no
moment occurred so favourable to the business as that
of which ill-fortune had deprived him at the outset.
Towards the end of June the family removed to
Madrid; and while Cumberland awaited the answer of
Government to his first despatch, the capture of our
great East and West Indian convoys by the Spanish
fleet, together with other influences that were brought
to bear upon Spain, changed the general outlook for the
worse. When the despatch arrived, it proved unsatis
factory. Cumberland was expressly forbidden to enter
upon any negotiations in which even the name of Gib
raltar was mentioned, while there was an implied reproof
for his conduct of the business as far as it had gone.
Meanwhile, the Court had removed to San Ildefonso,
and thither Cumberland followed to attend upon the
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
Minister, from whom, however, he could only obtain
evasive replies; while Gibraltar, like King Charles's head
in Mr. Dick's narrative, forced its way into every draft
treaty. The Abbe Hussey was sent home as the bearer
of fresh propositions, and our hero, unwilling to give
up his mission, returned to Madrid to await events.
Apart from political vexations and the surveillance of
spies, the stay in Spain was pleasant enough. Whatever
might be the attitude of the Minister, the Cumberlands
were graciously entertained by the Royal Family, who
invited them to the Escurial, showed them the art trea
sures of the palace, and ordered engravings to be made
of any pictures that they might specially admire. The
King sent a couple of his finest horses as a present to
his avowed enemy George in., and offered to supply
blocks of the finest marble for the building or orna
menting of any of the royal palaces in England. Walk
ing one day through the Escurial, Cumberland surprised
the King in his bedroom. His Majesty was very poorly
lodged, in a room furnished with a small camp bedstead
and faded curtains, but by his bedside hung the Mater
Dolorosa of Titian, which he carried about with him as
his private altar-piece. He showed his visitor some
small American deer which he kept under a netting,
and a little green monkey, undesirable room-fellows, one
would think, either for kings or commoners.
Among the chief friends of the family at Madrid was
Count Kaunitz, the Imperial Ambassador,1 who fell
desperately in love with the elder Miss Cumberland, and,
being rejected by her, died shortly after her departure
for England. Another lover was the Empress-Queen's
1 Son of the famous Austrian Minister, who was called ' Le Cocher de
T Europe.'
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
gallant General Pallavicini, who tried to win the hand
first of the elder and then of the younger daughter, but
with no success. The Miss Cumberlands seem to have
made a sensation in Spain by riding in the English
fashion, and we are told that the princesses asked leave
to take the pattern of their habits.1
The theatre, though small and dark, was celebrated at
that time for its wonderful gypsy actress, La Tiranna. This
woman, having heard of the high expectations that the
English playwright had formed of her genius, sent to desire
that he would not come to the theatre till she let him
know, as she wished him to see her at her best. He was
at length permitted to witness her performance of a
tragedy, in the course of which she murdered her infant
children, and exhibited them dead on the stage ; while
she, sitting on the bare floor between them, presented
such a high- wrought picture of hysteric frenzy, ' laugh
ing wild amidst severest woe,' as placed her, in his
judgment, at the very summit of her art. ' In fact,'
he continues, ' I have no conception that the powers of
acting can be carried higher ; and such was the effect
upon the audience that, while the spectators in the pit
having caught a kind of sympathetic frenzy from the
scene, were rising up in a tumultuous manner, the word
was given out by authority for letting the curtain fall,
and a catastrophe, probably too strong for exhibition,
was not allowed to be completed.'
The expenses of this actress were defrayed by the
1 Writing from Brighton in 1779, Fanny Burney says that the Miss
Cumberlands 'are reckoned the flashers of the place, yet everybody
laughs at them for their airs, affectations, tonish graces, and impertinences. '
They are reported (by Mrs. Thrale) to have been hissed out of a playhouse
on account of the extreme height of their feathers.
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
Duke of Osuna, Commander of the Spanish Guards,
who found it indispensable for his honour to have the
finest woman in Spain on his pension list, but thought
it unnecessary to be acquainted with her, and at this
time had never even seen her. He had once accepted
an invitation to take a cup of chocolate at her house,
but fell asleep on the way ; and not waking when his
carriage stopped at her door, was driven home again,
having slept away his curiosity to see the lady who was
nominally under his protection.
The peace negotiations still hung fire, intrigues were
going on between Spain and Russia, and at last Cum
berland became convinced that his mission was hopeless.1
He received his recall in February 1781. Before his
departure Florida Blanca informed him that the King
of Spain had been so entirely satisfied with his conduct,
that, apprehending he would find himself forsaken by
his employers, he offered him full compensation for his
expenses. Cumberland refused the offer, having come
into Spain, as he said, relying solely upon the goodwill
of his own Government, pledged to him through the
Secretary of State. He had received a promise that all
bills drawn by him upon his banker in London would
be instantly replaced to nis credit as long as they were
accompanied by a letter of advice to the Secretary.
Secure in this promise, Cumberland set out on the return
journey on March 24 with his family, increased by the
1 Horace Walpole has a sneer at ' Mr. Cumberland's successful negotia
tions in Spain, where he stayed begging peace till Gibraltar was battered
to the ground. I hope he will write an Ode himself on that treaty he
did not make ; and, like Pindar, fill it with the genealogy of the mule on
which he ambled from the Prado to the Escurial, and when I am a mule
I will read it.' — From the letter to Mason, dated June 14, 1781.
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
birth of an infant daughter, in two Spanish coaches,
each drawn by six mules, with outriders. In this
fashion they were to travel as far as Bayonne, a journey
that took them seventeen days to perform, and was not
accomplished without adventures.
At Burgos, Cumberland found a 'parcel' of British
seamen, prisoners of war, whom the Bishop of Burgos
in his zeal for making converts had taken into his list of
pensioners as true proselytes. The sailors begged their
countryman to let them make their way out of Spain
under his protection ; and the bishop, who was heartily
sick of his converts, gladly gave his consent to their
departure, on the understanding that a like number of
Spanish prisoners should be liberated. At the next
stopping- place Cumberland offered his snuff-box to a
grave, elderly man who had sat down beside him. The
stranger, looking steadily in his face, took a small
portion of the snuff, and said, ' I am not afraid, sir, of
trusting myself to you whom I know to be an English
man, and a person in whose honour I may perfectly
repose. But there is death concealed in many a man's
snuff-box, and I would seriously advise you on no
account to take a pinch from the box of any stranger
who may offer it to you ; and if you have done that
already, I sincerely hope that no such consequences as I
allude to will result from your want of caution.' The
poisoned snuff, he further explained, always operated on
the brain.
This conversation returned to Cumberland's mind
when, on reaching Bayonne, he was seized with ex
cruciating pains in the head, and for three wretched
weeks was confined to his bed in continual delirium.
To add to his troubles, it was found that, as none of the
'a 97

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
bills drawn upon his bankers had been honoured by the
Treasury, his credit was completely exhausted, and he
was liable to arrest for debt at this stage of his journey.
Fortunately, he was able to tide over this difficulty by
borrowing five hundred pounds of Marchetti, his friend
and fellow-traveller. As soon as the invalid was suf
ficiently recovered, the journey was resumed with post-
horses to Paris, and thence via Ostend and Margate to
London. On arriving at home, Cumberland discovered
that from the day that he left England to the day of
his return, a period of fourteen months, not a single
shilling had been replaced to his banking account by the
Treasury, though he had attached his letter of advice to
every draft that he had made. Except for a thousand
pounds advanced to him on setting out, his private
fortune had supplied the whole of the expenses, which
amounted to between four and five thousand pounds.
A long memorial to Lord North, setting forth his
claims in detail, received no reply ; but Cumberland was
convinced that his lordship had never read it, or he
could hardly have disregarded such just demands. The
end of the matter was that no compensation was ever
received, and the unfortunate envoy had sacrificed
fortune, and in some sort reputation, for nothing. To
quote his own words : ' I wearied the door of Lord
North till his very servants drove me from it. I with
stood the offer of a benevolent monarch [the King of
Spain], whose munificence would have rescued me, and I
embraced ruin in my own country to preserve my
honour as a subject of it ; selling every acre of my own
hereditary estate, jointured on my wife, who generously
concurred in the sacrifice which my improvident reliance
upon the faith of Government compelled me to make.'
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
When Lord North's Ministry was overturned in
1782, the Board of Trade was abolished, and Cumber
land, then Secretary, was set adrift upon a compensation
which represented less than half his former salary.
At the same time his friend and chief, Lord George
Germaine, was called to the Upper House under the
title of Viscount Sackville. The ex-secretary now re
tired with his family to Tunbridge Wells, where he
spent the next twenty years of his life, devoting him
self with a fatal industry to the ceaseless production
of plays, novels, essays, and poems. Tunbridge he
regarded as an ideal place of residence, observing that
' it is not altogether a public place, yet it is at no
period of the year a solitude. A reading man may
command his hours of study, and a social man will find
full satisfaction for his philanthropy. Its vicinity to
the capital brings quick intelligence of all that passes
there : the morning papers reach us before the hour
of dinner, and the evening ones before breakfast next
day.' For the men of Kent he conceived a great ad
miration ; and in his novel Arundel described them as
being ' distinguishable above their fellows for the beauty
of their persons, the dignity of their sentiments, the
courage of their hearts, and the elegance of their
manners.' In his new leisure Cumberland cultivated his garden
with lover-like devotion, finding a little friendly spot in
which his laurels flourished, ' the only one yet dis
covered ' ; and collected materials for the essays which
he afterwards published under the title of The Observer.
He had already brought out his Anecdotes of Eminent
Painters in Spain, of which work the implacable Wal
pole observes, in a letter to Mason, dated April 13,
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
1782 : ' Cumberland's book is called Anecdotes of Spanish
Painters. To show he has been in Spain (of which he
boasts, though with little reason) he spells every name
(that is not Spanish) as they do ; the Fleming Rubens
he calls (to Englishmen) Pedro Pablo Rubens, and
Vitruvius Viturbis. Two pages are singularly delect
able ; one of them was luckily criticised this morning in
the Public Advertiser, and saves me the trouble of
transcribing ; the other is a chef ficeuvre of proud
puppyism. Speaking of the subjection of Spain to the
Carthaginians, he says : " When Carthage was her mis
tress it is not easy to conceive a situation more degrad
ing for a noble people than to bear the yoke of
mercantile republicans, and do homage at the shop-
boards of upstart demagogues." Would not one think
it was a Vere or a Percy who wrote this impertinent
condolence, and not a little commis ? He goes on :
" Surely it is in human nature to prefer the tyranny of
the most absolute despot that ever wore a crown to the
mercenary and imposing insults of a trader. Who
would not rather appeal to a court than a counting-
house ? " A most worthy ejaculation. This in a free
country, from a petty scribe in office ! '
From his retirement in the country Cumberland still
kept in touch with his friends of the literary and
artistic world. He attended Garrick's funeral in 1779,
where he saw ' old Samuel Johnson standing beside the
grave, at the foot of Shakespeare's monument, bathed
in tears.' Romney, whom our author was one of the
first to encourage, is described as being in art the rival
but in nature the very contrast of Reynolds. Shy,
studious, contemplative and hypochondriacal, with aspen
nerves that every breath could ruffle, he was a man of
100

^5\0?&a'£^olfaa^^d!<?mpt*M

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
few wants and strict economy, with no dislike to money.
' He had opportunities enough to enrich him even to
satiety ; but he was at once so eager to begin, and so
slow in finishing his portraits, that he was for ever dis
appointed of receiving payment for them by casualties
and revolutions in the families they were designed for.
So many of his sitters were killed off, so many favourite
ladies dismissed, so many fond wives divorced, before he
would bestow half an hour's pains upon their petticoats,
that his unsaleable stock was immense ; whilst with a
little more regularity and decision he would have more
than doubled his fortune.'
Cumberland gives an amusing account of his taking
Garrick to Romney's studio in the early and struggling
days of the painter's career. ' When I first knew
Romney,' he writes, ' he was poorly lodged in Newport
Street, and painted at the small price of eight guineas
for a three-quarters portrait. I sat to him, and was
the first who encouraged him to advance his terms by
paying him ten guineas for his performance. I brought
Garrick to see his pictures, hoping to interest him in
his favour. A large family piece unluckily arrested
his attention ; a gentleman in a close buckled bob-wig
and a scarlet waistcoat laced with gold, together with
his wife and children, had taken possession of some
yards of canvas, very much as it appeared to their own
satisfaction, for they were perfectly amused in a con
tented abstinence from all thought or action. When
Garrick had fixed his lynx eye upon this unfortunate
group, he began to put himself in the attitude of the
gentleman; and turning to Mr. Romney, "Upon my
word, sir," said he, " this is a very regular, well-ordered
family, and that is a very bright, well-rubbed mahogany
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
table at which that motherly good lady is sitting, and
this worthy gentleman in the scarlet waistcoat is doubt
less a very excellent subject of the State (if all these are
his children), but not for your art, Mr. Romney, if you
mean to pursue it with that success which I hope will
attend you." The modest artist took the hint in good
part, and turned his family with their faces to the wall.
When Romney produced my portrait, " It was very well,"
Garrick observed. " That is very like my friend, and
that blue coat with a red cape is very like the one he
has on, but you must give him something to do ; put
a pen in his hand, a paper on his table, and make him
a poet ; if you can set him well down to his writing,
who knows but in time he may write something in your
praise ? " '
Cumberland pays a graceful tribute to the hospitable
bookseller, Mr. Dilly, whose table, as he says, was ever
open to the patrons and pursuers of literature. ' Under
this roof the biographer of Johnson and the pleasant
tourist to Corsica, and the Hebrides passed many jovial
hours ; here he has located some of the liveliest scenes
and most brilliant passages in his entertaining anecdotes
of his friend Samuel Johnson, who yet lives and speaks
in them. The book of Boswell is ever, as the year
comes round, my winter evening's entertainment. I
loved the man ; he had great convivial powers, and an
inexhaustible fund of good-humour in society. Nobody
could detail • the spirit of a conversation in the true
style and character of the parties more happily than
my friend, James Boswell, especially when his vivacity
was excited and his heart exhilarated by the circula
tion of the glass and the grateful odour of a well-broiled
lobster.'
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
To these parties of Dilly's, Cumberland owed many
agreeable acquaintances among the younger litterateurs
of his period, the mention of one of whom seems to
bring us down with a jerk to quite recent times. ' I
can visit,' he writes, ' the justly admired author of
The Pleasures of Memory, and find myself with a friend
who, together with the brightest genius, possesses ele
gance of manners and excellence of heart. He tells me
he can remember the day of our first meeting at Mr.
Dilly's; I also remember it. And though his modest,
unassuming nature held back, and shrank from all
appearance of ostentation and display of talents, yet
even then I take credit for discovering a promise of
good things to come, and suspected him of holding
secret commerce with the Muse before the proof ap
peared in the shape of one of the most beautiful and
harmonious poems in our language. I do not say he
has not ornamented the age he lives in, though he were
to stop where he is, but I hope he will not so totally
deliver himself over to the arts as to neglect the
Muses ; and I now publicly call upon Samuel Rogers l
to answer to his • name, and stand forth in the title-
page of some future work that shall be in substance
greater, in dignity of subject more sublime, and in
purity of versification not less charming than the poem
aforesaid.' Among the most successful of the dramas that con
tinued to pour forth from Tunbridge Wells were The
Wheel of Fortune, The Mysterious Husband, The Natural
Son, and The Jew, the latter being inspired by its
author's wish to awaken sympathy in the minds of the
1 Rogers, who was born in 1763 and died in 1855, published his
Pleasures of Memory in 1792.
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
public for an oppressed race. He was fortunate in
having his pieces presented by such actors as Mrs.
Siddons, Mrs. Abington, Miss Farren, Henderson, and
John Kemble. Cumberland, who apologises for his
prolificness on the ground that he ' never did nothing,'
and never injured his health nor blunted his senses by
intemperance, also wrote numerous sermons, versified
fifty of the Psalms, and published a tract called A Few
Plain Reasons for Believing in the Evidence of the
Christian Religion, which is said to have almost per
suaded Foote to be a Christian. His Observer, which
consisted of critical researches, brief accounts of the
philosophers and poets, and historical anecdotes, was
well received by the critics, his inquiry into the history
of the Greek comic poets being considered a contribution
of genuine value.
It is curious, perhaps, that the son of a well-read
and highly intellectual woman, who had specially de
clared that he owed everything to his mother's teaching,
should have gone out of his way to throw ridicule on
learned women. In three of the early numbers of the
Observer a female pedant is exhibited, who is in danger
of forfeiting the hand of a lover unless she burns all her
books and engages never again to quote a line of poetry
as long as she lives. ' For God's sake,' exclaims the
lover, ' what have women to do with learning ? ' The
required promise is given, and shortly after her mar
riage the lady is asked at a dinner-party to help out a
fellow-guest with a quotation from Pope's Essay on Man.
She remembers the passage perfectly ; but catching her
husband's eye, is reminded of her promise, and finally
becomes so embarrassed that she bursts into tears.
' Nothing ever equalled the tenderness of Henry on that
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
occasion ' — the lady is supposed to be telling the anec
dote against herself — 'nay, I thought I could discover
that he was secretly pleased with the event, as it
betrayed a consciousness of former vanities, and seemed
to prove that I had repented of them.' In Cumber
land's comedy, The Natural Son, there is a passage on
the same subject, in which, however, the author's bias
is less apparent. One lady, assuring another that read
ing is ruinous to the complexion, observes : ' Dr. Calomel
says that a lady, to preserve her beauty, should not
even think ; he has wrote a book purposely to dissuade
people from reading.' — ' Every book he writes will do
that,' is the witty reply.
A new departure was the production of a novel called
Arundel, which was rapidly written during a few weeks'
stay at Brighton. ' I believe,' says the author, ' that
Arundel has entertained as many readers, and gained as
good a character in the world as most heroes of that
description, not excepting the immaculate Sir Charles
Grandison, in whose company I have never found myself
without being puzzled to decide whether I am most
edified by his morality or disgusted by his pedantry.'
The success obtained by this first novel, composed
with so little labour, determined Cumberland to write
a second, upon which he was resolved to bestow his
utmost care and diligence. He took Fielding's Tom
Jones as his model in point of detail, copying its
arrangement into chapters and books. He had this
work, which he entitled Henry, in hand for two years,
and bestowed unusual polish and correction upon the
style. A few rules which he laid down for his own
guidance may be worth the attention of novel-writers
even in these enlightened times. 105

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
' I would have . the story,' he observes, ' carried on in
a regular uninterrupted progression of events, without
those dull recitals that call the attention off from what
is going on, and compel it to look back, perhaps in the
very crisis of curiosity, to circumstances antecedent to,
and not always materially connected with, the history
in hand. I am decidedly averse to episodes and stories
within stories, like that of the " Man of the Hill " in Tom
Jones ; and in general all expedients of procrastination
which come under the description of mere tricks to
torture the curiosity, are, in my opinion, to be very
sparingly resorted to, if not totally avoided. Casualties
and broken bones, faintings and high fevers, with
ramblings of delirium and rhapsodies of nonsense, are
perfectly contemptible. I think descriptive writing,
properly so distinguished, is very apt to describe nothing,
and that landscapes on paper leave no picture in the
mind, and only load the page with daubings that in the
author's fancy may be sketches after nature, but to the
reader's eye offer nothing but confusion.
' A novel, professing itself to the delineation of men
and women, as they are in nature, should in general
confine itself to the relation of things probable ; and
though in skilled hands it may be made to touch upon
things barely possible, the seldomer it risks those ex
periments, the better opinion I should have of the
contriver's conduct. I do not think quotations orna
ment it, and poetry must be extremely good before I
can allow it is of any use to it. In short, there should
be authorities in Nature for everything that is intro
duced ; and the only case I can recollect in which the
creator of the fictitious man may and ought to differ
from the biographer of the real man is that the former
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
is bound to deal out his rewards to the virtuous and
punishments to the vicious, while the latter has no
choice but to adhere to the truth of facts and leave his
hero neither better nor worse than he found him.
Monsters of cruelty and crime, monks and Zelucos,
horrors and thunderings and ghosts are creatures of
another region, tools appropriated to another trade, and
are only to be handled by dealers in old castles and
manufacturers of romance. ... I am encouraged to
believe that in these volumes I have succeeded in what
I laboured to effect — a simple, clear, harmonious style ;
which, taken as a model, may be followed without lead
ing the novice into turgidity or obscurity, holding a
middle tone of period, neither swelling into high-flown
metaphor, nor sinking into inelegant or unclassical
rusticity. Whether or not I have succeeded, I have
certainly endeavoured to reform and purify my native
language from certain false, pedantic prevalences which
were much in fashion when I first became a writer.'
Henry was a fine spirited novel of the Fielding school,
but the book apparently was not animated by the vital
spark, and is now as dead as most of its fellows. The
author was attacked by some of the critics for the
unnecessary warmth of his love-scenes ; and in reply to
these strictures he says : ' If in my zeal to exhibit virtue
triumphant over the most tempting allurements, I have
painted these allurements in too vivid colours, I am
sorry, and ask pardon of all those who thought the
moral did not heal the mischief.' Of Cumberland's
literary style readers will be able to judge by the
extracts here quoted. To the modern ear his language
sounds sufficiently dignified, though free from Johnsonian
pedantry, and it is passing strange to read that he was
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
blamed by many of his contemporaries for using a too
familiar, gossiping, and colloquial style.
Cumberland gives a pleasant account of his occupa
tions and amusements in his later years. His wife's
health never recovered from the fatigues and hardships
of the Spanish journey, and she died a few years after
the family had settled at Tunbridge Wells. The eldest
daughter married Lord Edward Bentinck,1 brother of the
Duke of Portland, while the second made a less fortunate
match with a Mr. Badcock, and was early left a widow,
in straitened circumstances. But the youngest, Frances,
who had been born in Spain, remained at home,
and became her father's companion and amanuensis in
his old age. Of all his friends and neighbours there
was none whom Cumberland loved so well as Lord
Sackville, whose place, Stonelands, was within an hour's
ride of Tunbridge. An amusing description is given of
the life led by the old nobleman in his retirement,
which was evidently copied from that of a famous
model. However indisposed he might be, he stepped
into his breakfast-room every morning at half-past nine
with a complacent countenance, and accoutred at all
points. He allowed an hour and a half for breakfast,
and regularly at eleven took his morning's circuit on
horseback. It was his custom to make the tour of his
cottages, to ascertain whether the roofs were in repair
and the gardens well cropped. To this last it was his
tenants' interest to attend ; for, continues Cumberland,
' he bought the produce of their fruit-trees, and I have
heard him say with great satisfaction that he has paid
thirty shillings in a season for strawberries to a poor
cottager who paid one shilling annual rent for his house
and garden ; this was the constant rent at which he let
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
them to his labourers, and he made them pay it to his
steward at his yearly audit, that they might feel them
selves in the class of regular tenants, and sit down to
the good cheer provided on audit day. . . . Upon the
very first report of an illness or accident relief was sent,
and the sufferers put upon the sick list, regularly visited,
and supplied with all the best medicines administered
upon the best advice. It was his custom to buy his
cast-off liveries of his own servants, and these he dis
tributed to the old worn-out labourers who turned
out daily on the lawn in the Sackville livery to pick
up boughs, sweep up leaves, and, in short, do just as
much work as served to keep them wholesome and
alive. . . .
' On the Sunday morning he appeared in gala, as if
dressed for a drawing-room, and marched out his whole
family in grand cavalcade to church, leaving only a
sentinel at home to mount guard upon the spits. He
had a habit of standing up in sermon time to review the
congregation and awe the idlers into decorum, that
reminded me of Sir Roger de Coverley. Sometimes,
when he has been struck with passages in the discourse
which he wished to point out to the audience as rules
for moral practice worthy to be noticed, he would mark
his approbation of them with such cheerful nods and
signals of assent to the preacher, as were often more
than my muscles could withstand ; but when to the
total overthrow of all gravity, in his zeal to encourage a
very young preacher, I heard him cry out to the Rev.
Henry Eatoff in the middle of his sermon, " Well done,
Harry ! " it was irresistible.'
During his last days Lord Sackville discussed with
Cumberland, plainly and temperately, the part he had
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
taken at the Battle of Minden. 'When I compare,'
says the latter, ' what he said to me in his last moments
(not two hours before he expired) with what he stated
at this conference, if I did not from my heart, and upon
the most entire conviction of my reason, solemnly acquit
that injured man (now gone to his account) of the
opprobrious and false imputations deposed against him
at his trial, I must be either brutally ignorant or
wilfully obstinate against the truth.' The world in
general has now agreed to acquit Lord George of the
charge of cowardice, and to sum up its opinion, not only
of his action at Minden, but of the trial that followed,
in the words, ' Somebody blundered.'
The pen alone did not occupy all our hero's leisure in
his latter days, for at one time he spent almost as many
hours on the drilling-ground as in the study. ' When,'
he writes, ' the consequences arising from the French
Revolution had involved us in a war, our country called
upon its patriotic volunteers to turn out and assemble
in its defence.' Several friends in the neighbourhood
volunteered to mount and form themselves into a troop
of yeomanry under Cumberland's command ; but diffident
of his fitness to act as leader, he recommended them to
another gentleman, who had served in the regular army.
A little later, however, when it was proposed to raise a
corps of volunteer infantry, he no longer hesitated to
obey the wishes of the loyal and spirited young men
who offered to enrol themselves under his command. A
regiment of two full companies was raised, and Cumber
land received his Majesty's commission to command it
with the rank of Major Commandant. He pays a high
tribute to the assiduity and discipline of his men, whom
he reported as ready and willing to serve in any part of
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
England. When disbanded at the Peace of Amiens,
the regiment presented its commandant with a sword of
honour, and begged permission to hold arms and serve
without pay.
The renewal of hostilities again put the corps, now
raised to four full companies, under arms, and Cumber
land was once more placed at their head. He observes,
in describing his volunteer experiences, that ' if we take
into consideration the prodigious magnitude and extent
of the volunteer system, we shall find that it has been
productive of more real use and less incidental embarrass
ment to Government than could have been expected.
After the proofs which the capital and the country have
given of the spirit, discipline, and good order of their
volunteers, both cavalry and infantry, it is not wise or
politic or liberal to disparage them, as some have
attempted to do.' Having described how his men, when
called out on permanent duty, took their shilling a day
and their straw at night in lieu of the high pay they
were receiving as carpenters and masons, he continues :
' Can I suppose that men like these would disgrace their
colours or desert their officers ? Their officers, I am
sure, will exchange that confidence with them, and I
believe there was no commandant who was not satisfied
of the alertness of his men in that crisis, when expecta
tion watched the beacon that was to give the signal for
their turning out upon a moment's notice. It was not
then the season to inquire from what shops they issued ;
and the buffoon, who had risked a silly sneer at any man's
vocation, would have met with about as much applause
for his gabble as a goose would for her hissing. I
readily admit that it must be every loyal man's wish to
keep alive the martial spirit of the country, but how it
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
can be any rational man's expectation to accomplish
that wish by discouraging and revolting the volunteers,
is a riddle that defies solution.' These words were
written nearly a hundred years ago by the oldest
volunteer officer in the country ; we have only lately
realised their full significance.
Cumberland was never, one suspects, a good man of
business, and in his old age his financial difficulties seem
to have increased upon him. In 1804 he was induced
to write his Memoirs by an offer from the house of
Lackington and Allen of five hundred pounds. In
1806, when a second edition was brought out, he added
a supplement, giving a few more details of his life, and
answering the strictures of some of his critics, more
especially a writer in the newly-started Edinburgh Review,
who had blamed him for his egotism, and animadverted
upon his style. The old lion still had a roar left in him,
and in commenting upon this criticism he covers his
wounded vanity with a mask of stately severity. ' I
understand,' he observes, ' that these acrimonious North
Britons are young men ; I rejoice to hear it, not only
for the honour of old age, but in the hope that they
will live long enough to discover the error of their
ambition, the misapplication of their talents, and that
the combination they have formed to mortify their con
temporaries is in fact a conspiracy to undo themselves.'
In addition to the plays which he continued to pour
out in endless profusion, and which at last could only
be forced on the stage by means of intercession and
flattery, Cumberland undertook in 1809 the conduct of
the London Review, a new literary periodical which was
intended as a rival to the Quarterly. All the articles
in this review were to be signed, the editor having, what
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
one of his biographers calls, ' the chimerical idea that
contemporary criticism could derive advantage by being
robbed of anonymous importance.' Cumberland suffered,
like most pioneers, for being in advance of his time, and
the Review died with its second or third number. In
the same year the veteran writer published his last novel,
John de Lancaster, in which he pronounced a doleful
lamentation over the lack of appreciation with which he
had been treated by his contemporaries. ' If, in the
course of my literary labours,' he complains, ' I had been
less studious to adhere to nature and simplicity, I am
perfectly convinced I should have stood higher in estima
tion with the purchasers of copyright, and probably have
been read and patronised by my contemporaries in the
proportion of ten to one.' Scott, who reviewed the novel
in The Quarterly, was probably irritated by this com
plaint; for he says of the author, with much less than
his usual good nature, 'He has written comedies at which
we have cried, and tragedies at which we have laughed ;
he has composed indecent novels and religious epics ; he
has pandered to the public lust for personal anecdote
by writing his own life and the private history of his
acquaintance.' Sir Walter was much kinder in the
biographical notice prefixed to the edition of Cumber
land's novels which he edited for the Novelists' Library.
In that he awards high praise to The West Indian ; and
declares that if it had not been for Sheridan, the author
of that play would have stood at the head of the
dramatic writers of his period.
Cumberland does not appear to have been a prolific
correspondent ; at any rate, few of his letters have found
their way into print. In the two volumes of Garrick's
Correspondence are a few notes from our dramatist,
h 113

RICHARD CUMBERLAND
relating chiefly to details connected with the production
of his plays. Two or three undated manuscript letters
from him to Mrs. Abington, written apparently about
1781-82, may be seen in the Manuscript Room of the
British Museum. These relate to a play, apparently
the Widow of Delphi, in which Mrs. Abington was to
play the leading part.
' I flatter myself,' runs the first, ' we shall now renew
our dramatic friendship and connection with mutual
satisfaction and pleasure. I have reformed the passages
you pointed out, and since I have been here [Tunbridge
Wells] I have written a prologue which contents me
much, and an epilogue for you, which does not so easily
satisfy my ambition of doing something not unworthy
of the elegant representative. However, we will sit in
equal and strict judgment upon it. The time I own is
pressing, and the man is precarious — yet under the shelter
of your shield I defy auguries. ... I flatter myself we
shall be successful ; and as we started with the Bishop's
blessing, we shall plead benefit of clergy in arrest of
judgment. Recollect, my dear madam, that the play is
got up with no other difficulty than what arises from
the long and laborious part of the widow, and that will
be in the hands of a lady who, whatever you may have
to say to the contrary, is, in my opinion, the very first
ornament of the English stage, and that in a period
when it abounds with genius. — I have the honour to be
that lady's most devoted old poet and obliged humble
servant, Richard Cumberland.'
The play was evidently less successful than had been
anticipated, for in the next letter the author says : ' I
cannot express to you how kindly I feel your sensibility
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
to me, and how much obliged to you I am both for your
flattering and consolatory letters. If I should deprive
myself of other favours of the same sort, by declaring to
you that I neither do, nor ever did experience any real
vexation for the treatment I have received from Mr.
Harris [the manager], I should lose a great deal of
pleasure for a small vanity ; but in truth and sincerity
I must say that no treatment from that party, nor any
dramatic disappointment, can now disturb my temper.
Time was (I confess it to my shame) when success was
too much the object of my wishes ; that anxiety has now
lost its edge, and I take events as they fall, without a
murmur or complaint. I enter upon these undertakings
with hopes of so low a pitch, and with resolutions so
well fortified against miscarriage, that I am never taken
by surprise. But in the present case, what have I lost ?
how have I suffered ? at what should I repine ? I have
had a piece well approved, and you have been the sup
porter of its introduction, representation, and success.
Could I for a moment state the case that your opinion
had fallen from me by the exhibition, that I confess
would have been a wound ; but on the contrary of this,
I have gained the most pleasing proofs of your friend
ship, zeal, and affection for my peace of mind as well as
credit, and the acquisition of such a friend is more to
me than I will undertake to tell you, though I shall not
be so scrupulous in speaking of it to others.'
In spite of his strongly expressed satisfaction with the
success of his piece, Cumberland in his next letter is
asking Mrs. Abington for her kind negotiations on behalf
of the play, which he is anxious to have acted another
night or two before the conclusion of the season. In
any case he hopes that 'the house will have so much
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RICHARD CUMBERLAND
consideration for me as to quit the play with a short
paragraph, which will cost them nothing, and may secure
it from the ill-natured conclusions of such newspaper
malice as The World and other public prints of the day
are too ready to announce, when a play is laid aside for
a season.' There speaks the true Sir Fretful Plagiary,
who can never help wincing under the attacks of those
whom he affects to despise.
Cumberland died in 1811, aged seventy-nine, and was
buried in Poets' Corner, Westminster Abbey, near the
tomb of Garrick. His friend, Dr. Vincent, Dean of
Westminster, pronounced the funeral oration, in which
he described the deceased author as being in his works
a moralist of the highest order, who considered the
theatre as a school of moral improvement, and added
that ' his remains are truly worthy of mingling with the
illustrious dead that surround us.' Some of the auditors
are said to have wondered whether the Dean had ever
read certain warmly-tinted passages in his friend's noVels
Henry and Arundel.
To the last Cumberland is described as an agreeable
and even fascinating companion, though he was so fond
of flattery himself that he supposed it to be acceptable
to others, even in the most exuberant proportions.
Certain it is that, although he was not altogether happy
in his temperament, he made many friends ; and though
time has dealt hardly with his reputation, one piece of
good fortune can never be taken from him, namely, the
prospect of going down to posterity astride the epitaph
in Goldsmith's Retaliation as
'The Terence of England, the mender of hearts.'
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LADY CRAVEN
(margravine of anspach)

LADY CRAVEN
(margravine of anspach)
(1750-1828)
' Her life, if faithfully written, woidd make a most extra
ordinary book."1 So wrote Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe,
the Scottish Horace Walpole, of the subject of this
memoir. Unfortunately, Lady Craven's life never has
been faithfully written though — or because — she wrote
it herself. The most that can now be done is to read
between the lines of her story, as she told it, and to
punctuate her rose-coloured account of her own career
with the gossiping comments of her contemporaries.
It must be confessed that her ladyship, who is said to
have been an admirable raconteur in society, had a dull
and incoherent prose style ; and was so engrossed by the
contemplation of her own beauty, virtues, and accom
plishments, that it is necessary to sift her autobiography
and letters very carefully in order to extract a few grains
of amusement, or even of truth.
Elizabeth, Lady Craven, afterwards Princess of Berkeley
and Margravine of Anspach, was the youngest daughter
of Augustus, fourth Earl of Berkeley, and was born in
1750. Lady Berkeley,1 nee Drax, was a handsome,
1 Horace Walpole says of Lady Berkeley : ' There is nothing so
black of which she is not capable. Her gallantries are the whitest
specks about her. ' 119

LADY CRAVEN
lively, unprincipled woman, who was chiefly remarkable
for having produced three daughters at a birth when
her husband particularly desired a son and heir. Eliza
beth was not one of the three, who all died in infancy ;
but belonging to a despised sex, and being a puny,
miserable-looking baby, it seems to have been taken
for granted that she would not live, and she was left
neglected on a chair by her mother's bedside. Lord
Berkeley's aunt, Lady Albemarle, coming to visit her
niece, was about to sit down on the same chair,
thinking that it only contained a piece of flannel,
when the screams of the nurse prevented a catastrophe,
and the premature flattening of a very high-spirited
young lady. Lady Albemarle, on examining the baby,
declared that it would live if properly looked after,
sent out for a wet-nurse, and practically saved the
child's life.
Elizabeth afterwards attributed the clearness of her
ideas, which she says was a comfort to both her husbands,
though it is conspicuously lacking in her writings, to the
fact that as a child she was too delicate to be tossed in
the air or jolted about on her nurse's knees. This theory
was confirmed to her own satisfaction by the testimony
of Pere Elisee, surgeon to Louis xvi., who declared that
the reason so many English children were delicate, and
suffered from water on the brain, was because of the
infamous custom of shaking and tossing them before the
head was properly supported by the fibres of the neck.
' Although I was always complimented on being quite
superior, and otherwise gifted by nature to the generality
of my sex,' she observes, with that superb complacency
which was her most striking characteristic, ' I always
attributed such accomplishments to the effect of my
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LADY CRAVEN
education. Instead of skipping over ropes, I was taught
to pay and receive visits with other children, and supposed
myself a lady who was receiving company.'
Lady Berkeley cared more about society and admira
tion, to say nothing of flirtations, than about her domestic
duties; and her husband, becoming anxious about the
future of his two little girls, sent for the Swiss wife of a
former tutor, gave her a house in the park, and solemnly
requested her to take charge of Lady Georgiana and
Lady Elizabeth, and never to leave them until they
married. So impressive were his injunctions, that the
good woman fainted away after having faithfully pro
mised to carry out the trust. Lord Berkeley died when
Elizabeth was only five years old, and shortly afterwards
his widow married Lord Nugent, poet, politician, and
fortune-hunter. His first wife had been a daughter of
Lord Fingal, his second Ann Craggs (sister of the
Secretary of State), who was old and ugly, and had
already disposed of two husbands, but possessed an all-
redeeming fortune of a hundred thousand pounds. After
her death, though he was then fifty-five, Lord Nugent
seems to have looked out for beauty and comparative
youth as well as money ; but having been the enfant chSri
of two plain, elderly wives, he was unable to get on
with the headstrong, high-spirited Lady Berkeley, and
the pair separated after only two years of married life.
Elizabeth tells us that her passion for reading was early
developed, and that she was a precocious performer at
both reciting and dancing. Not being a favourite at
home, she had no idea that she was pretty ; while her
mother's harsh treatment produced ' that look of modesty
and timidity which, contrasted with my natural vivacity
and love for all that was gay and cheerful, fascinated
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LADY CRAVEN
every one in so powerful a degree.' The education of the
two little girls under their Swiss governess seems to
have been more sensible than that of the ordinary young
lady of the period. They were taught to dress them
selves, to make their own beds, and, when the weather
was too wet for out-door exercise, were made to sweep
the rooms and arrange the furniture. At Berkeley
Castle they received regular instruction in housewifery,
visiting in turn the kitchen, laundry, and cheese-farms.
When the family were in London the girls were sent for
once a week by their great-aunts Lady Suffolk1 and Lady
Betty Germaine (nee Berkeley) to spend the day. Lady
Suffolk was Elizabeth's godmother, and took a special
interest in the child's education. Her godfather was
her father's brother, Narbonne Berkeley, afterwards Lord
Bottetourt, who ruined himself by his generosity, though
he neither gamed nor drank. He frequently gave his
god-child two guineas to spend ; but finding that she
always gave the money to the poor, he told her to make
out a list of the things she wanted, and he would buy
them for her. When she was ten years old, he gave her
a magnificent doll, dressed in a Court dress, and made
to resemble her as exactly as possible, with blushing
cheeks, and head slightly averted, a trick that her
timidity had taught her.
In the winter of 1765-6, Lady Berkeley (who seems
1 Lady Suffolk, whose second husband was the Hon. George Berkeley,
was, of course, the former Mrs. Howard, mistress of George II., while the
witty Lady Betty Germaine was notorious for her connection with Lionel,
Duke of Dorset, to whose second son, Lord George Sackville, she left her
fortune and her name. Lady Craven was not fortunate in the example set
her by her aunts, her great -great-aunt, Lady Henrietta Berkeley, having
created a scandal at the end of the previous century by eloping with her
brother-in-law, Lord Grey of Werk.
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LADY CRAVEN
to have kept her first title) took her two daughters to
Paris to meet her eldest son, who had been studying at
the Academy of Turin. There being a great gale in the
Channel, Lady Berkeley was terrified, Lady Georgiana
fainted, and the maid was helpless. Elizabeth alone,
according to her own account, kept her senses. ' As I
thought mariners knew better than myself if there were
any danger,' she says, ' I went and addressed the captain,
and with one of my best curtsies, asked him if there was
any danger ; he told me none. I then began to feel
sick, and asked him if he could give me anything to stop
the sickness. He desired to know if I had ever drunk
any brandy, and on my replying, " Oh, no ! " he gave me
some, which soon allayed the complaint.'
In Paris Lady Berkeley's house became a rendezvous
for all the young Englishmen who passed through.
Her two pretty daughters astonished their countrymen,
we are told, by their indifference to homage, and the
calmness with which they received the most flattering
attentions. Elizabeth attributes this rather unusual
trait to the fact that they had been accustomed to give
and attend numerous children's parties in London,
where the boys, among whom were numbered Lords
Egremont, Tyrconnel, Cholmondeley, and Carlisle, were
kept in good order by the girls, and sent to Coventry if
they were inclined to be rude or boisterous. 'Such
an education,' she observes, ' took from us that foolish
delight and overstrained avidity with which young
English ladies treat men when they are brought out
into society.'
One of the most regular visitors was Lord Forbes,
eldest son of .the Earl of Granard, who played loo
every Friday evening with Lady Berkeley without ever
123

LADY CRAVEN
addressing himself to her daughters. There was usually a
lottery-table for the amusement of the young people, over
which Lady Georgiana presided. After a time, however,
she said that she preferred to look on at the loo-table,
and left Elizabeth to manage the lottery. One night
Georgiana stole to her sister's bed and said, ' Bessy, I
am in love.' It turned out that Lord Forbes was the
object of her passion, at which Elizabeth was amazed,
for the young man was ugly, a widower, and had 'a
foolish sort of Irish humour which was very disgust
ing.' Georgiana confessed that she had spoken first
to Lord Forbes, being piqued at his openly-shown
indifference. Georgiana refused to tell her mother about her love-
affair, but promised that her sister should know more
the next night, when they were going to a bal masque.
At the ball Elizabeth herself had an adventure, which
caused her more alarm than pleasure. While walking
with her sister and Lord Forbes, a domino suddenly
threw himself at her feet^and exclaimed, ' Lady Eliza
beth, I shall die if you do not hear me.' He pulled off
his mask, and she beheld ' the handsome Mr.  ,
perhaps the handsomest man to be seen in any country.'
Surprised and terrified, the child, for she was little
more, drew back, and made no reply. The anonymous
gentleman asked leave to speak to Lady Berkeley,
whereupon Lord Forbes answered jokingly, 'It is a
dumb chicken, but I '11 roast her for this.' The admirer
was in earnest, however, for a few days later he formally
requested permission to pay his addresses to Lady
Elizabeth, but was refused point-blank, his offer causing
much amusement to her family. About the same time
Lord Forbes proposed for Lady Georgiana, but was
124

LADY CRAVEN
told that he must wait for an answer until the party
returned to England, as her guardians, Lord Boston
and Lord Vere, must be consulted. The young lady,
impatient of delay, confided to her sister her intention
of running away with Lord Forbes ; but Elizabeth, by
dint of threats and persuasions, prevailed on her to
wait until she heard what her guardians had to say
in the matter.
In April the whole family was back in London.
Lord Forbes' offer was refused, chiefly, it appears, on
the ground of his being a widower. Georgiana cried,
and vowed that she would never marry any other man ;
but Lady Berkeley tried to console her with the prospect
of being presented at Court that season, when so many
men would be in love with her that she would think no
more of her first suitor. The presentation took place,
and on the evening of the same day Lady Georgiana
eloped with Lord Forbes. Great was the wrath of the
young lady's family, while her guardian, Lord Boston,
declared that he was the most unfortunate person alive,
for he had never had but two wards, Miss Bayley (the
first Lady Forbes) and Lady Georgiana Berkeley, and
the same man had run away with both !
Elizabeth seems to have been punished for her sister's
delinquencies. She was made to sleep in her mother's
room until her marriage ; and as Lady Berkeley was con
tinually bemoaning the loss of her favourite daughter,
poor Cinderella's lot was not a happy one. In the
autumn of 1766 she was presented at Court, much
against her own wishes, and thenceforward received
enough admiration to have turned the head of any
other girl ; but nothing — we have her own word for
it — could ever make her vain. The Princess of Wales
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LADY CRAVEN
complimented Lady Berkeley upon her daughter's beauty,
and the King's brother, the susceptible Duke of Cum
berland, was supposed to be in love with her. Eliza
beth, whose chosen role was one of modest timidity,
declares that she hated all the men who made love to
her, though she confesses to a tendresse for her cousin,
the Marquis de Fitz James, grandson of the Duke of
Berwick, who was violently in love with Lady Bell Stan
hope. Being refused by her, he came every day to pour
out his woes to his little cousin, whose pity seems to have
been very near akin to love. Her refusal to encourage
any of her numerous lovers enraged Lady Berkeley,
who attributed this reserve to pride and disdain.
In order to free herself from continual reproaches,
Elizabeth sent for one of her uncles, and created him, as
she said, her ambassador. She told him that she was in
constant terror lest her mother should compel her to
marry a man whom she disliked, and therefore she wished
to make a treaty to the effect that as long as she was
not teased to accept any man who was disagreeable to
her, she would agree to marry any suitor approved by
Lady Berkeley to whom she herself had no personal
objection. This treaty being concluded, Elizabeth en
joyed a fancied security, and amused herself in her own
fashion. Her brother, Lord Berkeley, taught her to
ride, shoot, and row, with a view to overcoming her
natural timidity, while she was able to indulge her own
taste for music and private theatricals.
This happy freedom was not to last very long. Mr.
Craven, the nephew and heir of Lord Craven, fell in
love with her at first sight ; and though he had never
been introduced to her, he sent a friend to propose for
her hand. Elizabeth professed to be highly offended
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LADY CRAVEN
at this presumption ; but the match was evidently con
sidered too good to be refused point-blank, and it was
arranged that the young couple should make each other's
acquaintance at a dinner at Richmond. Presumably,
Elizabeth felt no actual repugnance to her latest suitor ;
for negotiations were entered into with his uncles, who
consented to lend him a house, and make him a suitable
allowance on his marriage. During the period of wait
ing Mr. Craven, in accordance with what seems to have
been the custom among the young men of his set, asked
his fiancee to run away with him ; and when she, more
prudent than her elder sister, refused, he declared that
she could not be in love with him. Elizabeth confessed
that she had never known love, but assured him that
she felt both gratitude and regard for him, with which
chilly comfort he had to be content. The wedding was,
in some sort, the cause of a family reconciliation ; for
Elizabeth, who had persuaded Lady Berkeley to forgive
and receive the runaway Lady Forbes, insisted that
Lord Nugent should allow her two young step-sisters to
be her bridesmaids, though he had vowed that they
should never enter their mother's house again. Among
the wedding presents was a purse containing a hundred
newly-coined guineas from old Lady Betty Germaine,
with a slip of paper on which was written, ' To my dear
niece, Lady Elizabeth Berkeley, the last time that I
shall call her by that name.'
In 1767, at the age of seventeen, our heroine was
married, and during the next two years the couple lived at
Ashdown Park, in Berkshire, where two daughters were
born to them. L Mr. Craven's attachment to me,'
writes his wife, ' seemed to increase daily ; my manners
were such a novelty to him that he has often told me
127

LADY CRAVEN
he was as much alarmed at the delicacy of my mind as
of my person.' Mr. Craven appears to have been
neglected in his youth, having been left at Oxford by
his guardians until he was one-and-thirty, with an
allowance of only eighty pounds a year. Though Oxford
was nominally his headquarters, he had spent his time
in rambling from one country-house to another, hunting
here and shooting there, until at last he became quite
uneasy if he remained longer than three weeks in one
place. ' Until I met you, my love,' he told his wife, ' I
never stayed three days in one place.' Elizabeth de
scribes him as having a good heart and sound judgment,
but with no taste for art or literature. He was generous
and extravagant, hated trouble, and had a bad habit of
settling his accounts only once a year. His wife, who
had been taught that weekly payments were a safer
plan, asked for an allowance of pin-money ; and being
given four hundred a year, told him that he should
never be troubled by a bill of hers. Out of this income
she founded a school for orphan girls at Newbury.
Two years after his marriage Mr. Craven's uncle died,
and he came into the title and a large property, which
included Combe Abbey, near Coventry, and Benham
House. A jointure of three thousand a year was settled
on the new Lady Craven, and her husband delighted in
procuring for her all the luxuries in his power. ' It
was an eternal dispute between us,' she says ; ' he
always offering presents, and I refusing whenever I
could.' Lord Craven and his mother-in-law were con
tinually quarrelling in more serious fashion, Elizabeth
being the usual subject of their disputes. ' Lady
Berkeley,' she writes, ' pretended that Lord Craven spoilt
me; and it appeared to excite her envy when he told
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LADY CRAVEN
her that nothing was good or great enough for my
mind and person.' Elizabeth's chief fear was lest her
husband should dissipate his fine fortune, the whole of
which was at his own disposal. He offered to give her
half his estates, and let her manage the whole, if she
would pay him a yearly stipend ; but this offer, for
tunately for himself as it turned out, she had the sense
to refuse.
During the next few years Lady Craven was at the
height of her social celebrity. Although she was the
mother of several children, she preserved her looks,
and was distinguished both for her beauty and her
accomplishments. She is described as having magni- ,
ficent auburn hair which reached below her knees, fine
eyes, and a skin that showed every emotion by its
varying colour. Although she was painted by Angelica
Kauffmann, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Romney, and Madame
Vigee Le Brun, she expresses her regret in her later years
that there was no portrait of her that did her justice, or
was even like her. Madame Le Brun, she complains,
made a hand and arm out of all proportion to the
figure, while in the Romney portrait the face was too
severe and the figure too large.
Among the more interesting of Lady Craven's friends
in London were Horace Walpole, Johnson, Garrick,
Sir Joshua Reynolds, Mrs. Montagu, Charles Fox, Lord
Thurlow, and Wilkes — a curious medley. She observes
that her godmother, Lady Suffolk, ' does not appear to
have been a favourite with Mr. Walpole, although I
was ever regarded by him with esteem, notwithstanding
that I made her a pattern for my manners. This
probably arose from the reluctance I always showed to
display my natural love for the Muses ; yet the press at
i 129

LADY CRAVEN
Strawberry Hill has produced some of my poetry. Mr.
Walpole was extremely witty on the subject of the three
children which Lady Berkeley produced at one birth —
an event which certainly was not a theme for a man of
taste and learning.' From Walpole's own letters we
know that he was much attached to his neighbour,
Lady Suffolk ; and that although at one time he greatly
admired Lady Craven, he did not always regard her
with esteem.
Boswell mentions the fact of Johnson's dining with
' the beautiful, gay, and fascinating Lady Craven.' She
tells us that he recommended her a tutor for her eldest
son, and adds : ' I believe he would have been the most
agreeable person in the world if he had had a female
companion to suit him at home. The great fault I
found with Johnson was the inveterate blame and con
tempt that he threw on all contemporary writers. . . .
I remember one day when vices were the topic of con
versation, he chose to defend drunkenness . as the most
innocent of all, and to prove his argument supposed me
to be walking in the street and attacked by a drunken
man. He ended his narrative by saying, " She might
push him into the gutter with her little finger, and how
impossible it must be for a man to do much mischief
whom that little finger could repel ! . . ." One day in
a tete-a-tete, I asked him why he chose to do me the
singular honour of sitting so often, and taking tea with
me — "I, who am an ignorant woman, and who, if I
have any share of wit or sense, am so afraid of you that
my language and thoughts are locked up and fade away
when I speak to you ? " He laughed very much, and
said, " An ignorant woman ! The little I have perceived
in your conversation pleases me." And then with an
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LADY CRAVEN
almost religious emphasis, he added, " I do like you ! "
" And for what ? " I asked. He put his large hand
upon my arm, and with an expression I shall never
forget, pressed it, and said, " Because you are a good
mother." '
On another occasion Johnson asked Reynolds why
he had refused to finish the portrait of Lady Craven
after she had given him several sittings. Sir Joshua
answered, laughing, though somewhat confused, ' There
is something so comical in the lady's face that all my
art cannot describe it.' Johnson repeated the word
' comical ' ten times in as many different tones, finishing
in one of anger. Having decided that ' comical ' was
not a fitting word to be applied to a beautiful lady's
face, he gave Reynolds such a scolding that the poor
painter must have wished that he had never seen his
embarrassing sitter.
Lady Craven, who dabbled in authorship herself, was
attracted by- the society of the blue-stockings. Of Mrs.
Montagu's friendship she was particularly proud, because
that lady never spoke to any one whom she did not con
sider a person of information. It was at Mrs. Montagu's
suggestion that Madame de Vaucluse, the French novelist,
who was then living in England, undertook the education
of Lady Craven's four daughters. Madame de Vaucluse 1
is reported to have said of her pupils' mother, ' J'ai vu
les femmes plus belles, peut-etre ; mais pour sa physi-
onomie, grand Dieu ! j'ai lu, j'ai ecrit beaucoup de
1 The adopted name of Mile, de Fauques, an ex-nun, who had been
betrayed and deserted by an English ' milord.' She was French instruc
tress to Sir William Jones, and wrote a number of tales, sentimental and
Oriental, as well as a Life of Madame de Pompadour, which was bought
up by Louis xv. 131

LADY CRAVEN
romans, mais elle les a tout dans sa physionomie.' Lady
Craven tells us that she introduced Lord Thurlow to
Madame de Vaucluse at his own special request, and the
Chancellor was so well entertained by the Frenchwoman's
conversation that when he went away he left his bag and
seals behind him. With politics our heroine does not
appear to have concerned herself, except that on one
occasion she consented to drive through Coventry, wear
ing blue ribbons, in order to quell an election riot, in
which object she was completely successful. ' Charles
Fox,' she says, 'almost quarrelled with me because I
was unwilling to interfere in politics — a thing which I
detested, and considered as being out of the province of
a woman.' It is in Horace Walpole's Letters that we hear most
of Lady Craven during the period that she shone in
London society, and indeed long after her star had set.
In a letter to Lady Ossory, dated March 1773, he
describes a magnificent fancy-dress ball that had been
given by that most fascinating of French Ambassadors,
the Due de Guines. Lady Craven danced in a Henri
Quatre quadrille, together with the Princess Czartoriski,
the beautiful Vernons, and the Due de Lauzun of scan
dalous memory. The intimacy with the French Ambas
sador and his friends led, as we shall see, to serious
consequences for our heroine. A couple of years later
Walpole and Lady Craven were on such terms of mutual
admiration that they were exchanging copies of compli
mentary verses. He says in a letter to Lady Ossory :
' I certainly did not send you Lady Craven's verses, nor
intend it, though they are extremely pretty. She did
not give me leave, and without it, you know I would
not. Nay, I don't think I should even with her per-
132

LADY CRAVEN
mission, for she makes an Apollo of me ; and if the eight
other Muses called me so too, I would not accept the
title without any pretensions.'
Walpole, then nearly sixty, was evidently flattered by
her ladyship's attentions ; for in February 1 776 he writes
to Mason : ' I shall take the liberty (Sir Residentiary) to
trespass on your decorum by sending you an impromptu
I wrote yesterday to pretty Lady Craven, who sent me
an Eclogue of her own, every stanza of which ended with
January, and which she desired me not to criticise, as
some of the rhymes were incorrect, a license I adopted in
my second line —
" Though lame and old, I do not burn
With fretfulness to scare ye ;
And charms and wit like yours would turn
To May my January.
The God who can inspire and heal
Sure breathed your lines, sweet Fairy,
For as I read, I feel, I feel,
I 'm not quite January."
Probably you would have liked better to have the
Eclogue, but I had not leave to send it.'
The Strawberry Hill press was presently called into
requisition to print some of Lady Craven's works. In
August 1778, Walpole has just printed seventy-five
copies of The Sleep-walker, a translation by Lady Craven
of a comedy of Pont de Veyle. In 1780 Lady Craven
wrote a story, with a flattering dedication x to Horace
1 After observing that at Christmas he is generally confined to his fire
side by an unwelcome visitor (the gout), and therefore may be entertained
by a new book, since he has read all the'old ones, she continues: ' Among
many foolish but true things you have heard me say, I once expressed
a wish to be learned, and 'acknowledged that I was ignorance itself; and
to encourage that ignorance you once advised me: "Despise what is
called learning, give a loose to your imagination, correct by your heart,
and profit by your taste. " '
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LADY CRAVEN
Walpole, called Modern Anecdotes of the Family of
Kmkverankotsprackengotchem. In a letter to Lady
Ossory he says : * I send your ladyship, as you order,
Lady Craven's novel, which is, being very short, full of
one long name, but not of long names. It is scarce a
story, and I am told is a translation ; but it is very
prettily told, and has, I will swear, several original
expressions that are characteristic and must be her own.
There is no mystery or secret about it, except that it
was one to me for twenty-four hours, being sent to me
anonymously, and I was all that time before I guessed
the author. The reason of my not naming it, madam,
you will find in my character, which abhors anything
that looks like vanity.'
In May of the same year Lady Craven wrote a play
called The Miniature Portrait. According to her own
account, Sheridan got possession of it under pretence of
writing an epilogue for it ; and then, without permission,
brought it out at Drury Lane, where it was played for
three nights. Although she professed to be enraged at
Sheridan's audacity, Lady Craven attended one of the
representations in state. Walpole gives an amusing
description of the affair in a letter to Mason. ' There
has been such an uncommon event,' he begins, 'that I
must give you some account of it, as it relates to the
Republic of Poetry, of which you are President, and to
the Aristocracy of Noble Authors, to whom I am Gentle
man Usher. Lady Craven's comedy, called The Miniature
Picture, which she acted herself with a genteel set at her
own house in the country, has been played at Drury
Lane. The chief singularity was that she went to it
herself the second night in form ; sat in the middle of
the front row of the stage-box, much dressed, with a
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LADY CRAVEN
profusion of white bugles and plumes to receive the
public honour due to her sex and loveliness. The
Duchess of Richmond, Lady Harcourt, Lady Edgecumbe,
Lady Aylesbury, Mrs. Damer, Lord Craven, General
Conway, Colonel O'Hara, and I were with her. It was
amazing to see so young a woman entirely possess her
self ; but there is such an integrity and frankness in her
consciousness of her own beauty and talents, that she
speaks of them with a naivete as if she had no property in
them, but only wore them as gifts of the gods. Lord
Craven, on the contrary, was quite agitated by his fond
ness for her, and with impatience at the bad performance
of the actors, which was wretched indeed. Yet the
address of the plot, which is the chief merit of the piece,
and some lively pencilling, carried it off very well, though
Parsons murdered the Scotch lord, and Mrs. Robinson
[Perdita], who is supposed to be the favourite of the
Prince of Wales, thought on nothing but her charms or
him. There is a very good though endless Prologue,
written by Sheridan, and spoken in perfection by King,
which was encored (an entire novelty) the first night ;
and an Epilogue that I liked still better, and which
was full as well delivered by Mrs. Abington, written by
Mr. Jekyll.
' The audience, though very civil, missed a fair oppor
tunity of being gallant ; for in one of these  logues,
I forget which, the noble authoress was mentioned, and
they did not applaud, as they ought to have done exceed
ingly, when she condescended to avow her pretty child,
and was there looking so very pretty. I could not help
thinking how many deaths Lady Harcourt would have
suffered rather than encounter such an exhibition ; yet
Lady Craven's tranquillity had nothing displeasing — it
135

LADY CRAVEN
was only the ease that conscious pre-eminence bestows on
Sovereigns, whether their empire consists in power or
beauty. It was the ascendant of Millamont and Lady
Betty Modish and Indamore ; and it was tempered by
her infinite good-nature, which made her make excuses
for the actors instead of being provoked at them. I
have brought hither her portrait [by Romney] and
placed it in the favourite Blue Room.'
One cannot help reflecting how scornful and sarcastic
Walpole would have been over the whole incident if Lady
Craven had been plain, middle-aged, and insignificant,
instead of a beauty and a great lady. As it was, her
accomplishments and her attractions, combined with her
appreciation of himself, roused him to a quite unusual
pitch of enthusiasm. On the Romney portrait, with
which the original was so dissatisfied, he wrote the
following lines : —
' Full many an artist has on canvas fix'd
All charms that Nature's pencil ever mix'd,
The witching of her eyes, the grace that tips
The inexpressible douceur of her lips :
Romney alone in this fair image caught
Each charm's expression and each feature's thought ;
And shows how in their sweet assembly sit
Taste, spirit, softness, sentiment, and wit.'
Walpole certainly did his best as log-roller to the
lady whom Lord Strafford called his Sappho. In another
letter to Mason he says : ' Pray read a little book, no
bigger than a silver penny, called a Christmas-box, for
me — yes, for me. It is a story that is no story, or
scarce one ; it is a sort of imitation of Voltaire, yet per
fectly original. There is nature, character, simplicity,
and carelessness throughout ; observation without preten-
136

ELIZABETH BERKELEY, COUNTESS OF CRAVEN.

-."ROM THE ORiaiKAL .FOKMEHLY AT STRAWBERRT HILL.

LADY CRAVEN
sions, and I believe a good deal of truth in some of the
incidents, that I take to have happened. My vanity
may have interested me too much, though I see it as a
thing not likely to please ; but if you read it twice,
which its brevity will easily allow, I think you will see
real merit in it, especially when you know the author is
young.' In 1779, Lady Craven's youngest son, Richard Keppel,
was born. One of his godfathers was Admiral Keppel,
then at the height of his national popularity. The
christening took place just after the court-martial which
the Admiral had insisted on having in consequence of
the criticisms upon his operations against the Brest fleet.
The whole' of London went wild with delight over the
justificatory verdict ; the town was illuminated for three
nights ; and on the evening of the baby Keppel's christen
ing Lady Craven's porter was unable to close the hall
door between half-past seven and half-past eleven in
consequence of the fashionable crowds who came to offer
their congratulations to her and the famous godfather.
The result of all this fatigue and excitement was that
the mother was taken ill with a kind of fit and lost her
speech for several hours. She was repeatedly attacked
in this way, until at last she was ordered to Bristol, only
as it was supposed to die. While she was at Bristol
the famous Jenner came to pay his respects to her, and
had the courage to inform Lord Craven that in his
opinion the invalid was being wrongly treated. He
received permission to undertake her treatment himself,
attended her to Combe Abbey, and did not leave her
until she was in a fair way of recovery.
The following winter Lady Craven made the un
pleasant discovery that, when her husband told her that
137

LADY CRAVEN
he was going into the country to hunt, he actually re
mained in London, though not in his own house. The
mystery was explained by the fact that he had formed an
attachment for a married woman, living apart from her
husband, who had obtained a great influence over him.
Lady Craven took no notice of the affair until Lord
Macartney called upon her to beg that she would try
and prevent her husband from travelling in one of her
own coaches with a woman who called herself Lady
Craven, and conducted herself in such a fashion as to
tarnish the character of the real owner of the name.
' If Lord Berkeley hears of this,' added Lord Macartney,
' he will certainly call Lord Craven out.' As soon as
his lordship returned to his home, his wife told him that
she had a favour to ask of him, namely, that he would
not allow his mistress to call herself Lady Craven. ' He
looked much confused,' she continues, 'and asked how
long I had known that he had a mistress. I replied,
" Above a twelvemonth," whereupon he exclaimed, "By
G — , you are the best-tempered creature in the
world, for I have never suspected that you knew this."'
Further remonstrances, and a threat of separation, only
served to exasperate Lord Craven, who, after assuring
his wife that her rival was ' a very good sort of woman,1
departed with the lady for a six weeks' tour on the
Continent. The quarrel seems to have been patched up for the
time being ; for in April 1782 Walpole mentions
having been present at ' a kind of pastoral opera written
by Lady Craven, and acted prettily by her own and
other children ; you will scold me again for not telling
you the title, but in truth I forgot to ask it. There
was imagination in it, but not enough to carry off five
138

LADY CRAVEN
acts. The Chancellor [Thurlow] 1 was there en titre
d'offke, not as head of the law, but as cicisbeo to the
authoress, — his countenance is so villainous that he
looked more like assassin to the husband. Lady Har
court said he wanted nothing but a red coat and a black
wig to resemble the murderers in Macbeth.''
The following Christmas, when the family were at
Combe Abbey for the holidays, Lord Craven suddenly
informed his wife that he was going to London, and
added, ' When I go, I shall never see your face again.'
To this startling announcement she answered, ' That is,
you mean to part with me.' Upon his assenting, she
observed : ' The parting of a husband and wife who have
lived together thirteen years, and had seven children,
and the fortunes of those children at the mercy of a
father misled, is a thing of too great consequence to
those children for me not to take the best advice on
such an event.' Lord Craven set out for London next
day, and his wife never saw him again. She remained
to entertain the visitors who had been invited to spend
Christmas at the Castle ; but as soon as these had
departed, she too went to town, and sent for her eldest
brother. Lord Berkeley declined to give her any advice
until he had heard Lord Craven's reason for parting
with her. When she assured him that she had done
nothing to cause her husband the slightest uneasiness,
'Lord Berkeley turned his back and walked out of
the room.'
Her next step was to consult Lord Loughborough,2
then Lord Chancellor, who flew into a passion with
1 Thurlow was then in his fifty-second year.
2 The Great Seal was then in commission, but Loughborough was first
commissioner.
139

LADY CRAVEN
Lord Craven, and declared that the man must be mad.
He advised her to prosecute her husband, and assured
her that the law would allow her four or five thousand
a year, and the society of her daughters. Being reluctant
to take such an extreme step, Lady Craven next sent for
her old friend and admirer, Lord Thurlow, and told him
she understood that if she were to prosecute her husband,
she would obtain redress. ' Redress ! ' exclaimed Lord
Thurlow, ' for what ? The man does injury to himself.
But, tell me, is it true that Lord Craven has the whole
of his large fortune at his own disposal ? ' Being
informed that he had, Lord Thurlow asked whether
she would ever forgive herself if she did not make every
effort to preserve that fortune for her seven children, as
she had none to give them herself ; and pointed out
that, as Lord Craven had placed himself in her power by
his folly, he must give her at least her marriage settle
ment. He then suggested that she should go where
she pleased, taking one, at least, of her children with
her ; but added, ' Leave your daughters with your Lord ;
otherwise that woman will go and live in all your fine
places, and gain the entire and unlimited ascendency
over Lord Craven's mind.' This advice was so far
followed that Lady Craven decided to go to Paris for
a time, taking the three-year-old Keppel with her.
Before setting out, a promise was obtained from Lord
Craven that her other children should write to her once
a fortnight, and that when she returned to England
she should be allowed to see them when and where she
pleased. She undertook, on her part, to deliver up
Keppel to his father as soon as he was eight years old.
So far we have followed Lady Craven's own account
of the circumstances that led to her separation, in
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LADY CRAVEN
which she poses as a deeply injured wife. She professes
to be famous for her veracity, and relates how when
George in. wanted to know the truth about any Court
gossip, he used to ask, ' What does Lady Craven say ?
She always speaks the truth.' But in the matter of her
separation it is to be feared that Lady Craven allowed
herself a little licence. At any rate, her contemporaries
seem to have thought that Lord Craven had some cause
for his apparent harshness. The Due de Lauzun, who
was in London in 1773, says in his Memoirs that at this
time the Due de Guines was openly the lover of ' une
jolie petite femme, que sa fatuite et les malheurs
qu'elle a pense causer, ont rendu celebre a l'Angleterre.
Douce, simple, tendre, il etait impossible de voir Lady
Craven sans s'y inte'resser.' His folly and her imprudence
led to a scandal ; Lord Craven shut up his wife in the
country, and threatened to bring an action against de
Guines, and claim £10,000 in damages. The Due de
Lauzun and his belle amie, the Princess Czartoriski, did
their best to help the foolish pair. De Guines had
asked Lady Craven to fly with him, and his career de
pended on her reply. The Ambassador had recently
been involved in a vexatious lawsuit against his secretary,
and his appearance in a fresh cause celebre would have
been most damaging to an already tarnished reputation.
The Princess Czartoriski forced her way to Lady Craven,
advised her how to act, and for the time being saved
the situation.
In her Autobiography Lady Craven alludes to M. de
Guines — who was recalled to France in 1776 — in the
most unembarrassed fashion. She observes that he had
one habit which made her watch and fear him, namely,
that of appearing to admire great powers only to draw
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LADY CRAVEN
them out, and turn them to his own advantage. In
private life he was a delightful companion, and one of
the best flute-players of his day. He was anxious to
learn English, and insisted that Lady Craven should
converse with him in that language ; but his mistakes,
whether purposely or not, were so inconvenantes that she
was obliged to ask him to confine himself to his own
tongue. ' At the time of the Revolution,' she relates,
' I saw this nobleman in Paris, without a sou to live on,
cherished by Madame de Boufflers and other old friends.
His despair at seeing Royalty and the nobility crushed
was so great that he would no longer trouble himself
about anything.'
Although de Guines was in England with his family
in 1783, it does not appear that his presence contri
buted to the Craven separation. As usual, we must turn
to Strawberry Hill for the floating gossip of the time.
In a letter to his niece, the Duchess of Gloucester, dated
March 13, 1783, Walpole writes: 'You must have
seen in the papers much gross abuse of a pretty
ingenious friend of mine for a low amour with one of
her own servants, for which I seriously believe there was
not the smallest foundation. The charge is now re
moved to much higher quarters, which, at least, are
more creditable. The town has for these ten days
affirmed that the Lord husband was going to cite into
the Spiritual Court the head of the Temporal one —
nay, and the third chief of the Common Law — nay,
and the second of the Spiritual one too.1 Such con
quests would be very honourable in the records of Love,
1 Presumably Lord Thurlow, Lord Loughborough, and the Archbishop
of York, whom Mason alludes to as Lady Craven's ' lawn-sleeved Phaon
(Dec. 4, 1782).
142

LADY CRAVEN
and the first very diverting, as the hero has so much
distinguished himself by severity on Bills of divorce. I
do not warrant any of these stories, but must totally
discredit that of the domestic. A prude may begin
with a footman, and a gallant woman may end with
one ; but a pretty woman who has so many slaves in
high life does not think of a livery, especially where
vanity is the principal ingredient in her composition.'
Lady Craven spent the early part of 1783 in Paris,
or rather at Versailles, where she took a house called
the Pavilion de la Joncherre. She professes to have
been well received ; but it appears that she was not
invited to the weekly receptions given by the Duchesse
de Polignac, who had an allowance from the Queen for
the purpose of entertaining distinguished foreigners.
Lady Craven attributes the slight to jealousy, and says
that the Duke of Dorset, the English Ambassador, told
her that Madame de Polignac had tormented him with
questions about his countrywomen. In answer to her
queries — 'Est-elle aussi jolie — a-t-elle autant d'esprit
que le monde dit ? ' he replied, ' We have twenty women
at Court more beautiful than Lady Craven ; mais pour
les graces et l'esprit, pas une.'
Lady Craven asserts that the Queen and her sister-in-
law, Madame Elizabeth, were anxious that she should
settle at Versailles in order that they might visit her
as a friend. With this end in view they are supposed
to have set the Court milliner to spy upon her, pre
sumably that they might satisfy themselves as to her
mode of life. The milliner inquired the name of a
gentleman who visited regularly at the Pavilion de la
Joncherre; and Lady Craven, without resenting this
curiosity, replied that it was the Margrave of Anspach,
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LADY CRAVEN
and explained that ' he had known me from my child
hood, and had conceived for me the same partiality
that all who had known me from my infancy retained
for me.'
On one occasion, when Lady Craven and her child
were in the chapel at Versailles, Marie Antoinette and
her sister-in-law passed by ; and being struck by the
beauty of the little Keppel, sent to inquire who he was.
On their return the Royal ladies stopped opposite Lady
Craven, and curtseying repeatedly, said, ' Restez avec
nous, Madame.' Our heroine was looked askance upon
by her own countrywomen, judging by a sentence in a
letter dated March 1783 from Lady Bristol to her
daughter, Lady Elizabeth Foster, who was then stay-jig
in Paris. ' You don't mention Lady Craven,' says the
writer, ' so I hope she is gone some other way. You
must have no intercourse there at all. She is quite
undone, and has not an atom of character left.'
In the circumstances, it is rather curious that Lady
Craven's younger brother, Captain Berkeley, together
with his wife and her mother, Lady Louisa Lennox,
should have stayed at the Pavilion on their way to the
south of France. In the course of the summer Lord
Berkeley wrote to propose that he should meet his sister
in Florence the following November, and spend the
winter with her. ' My brother,' she tells us, ' had ever
given but one reason for refusing to marry ; he said he
would never marry until he could find a woman like me
in temper and talents. Unfortunately, the woman he
did marry was unlike me in every respect.' Flattered
by her brother's desire for her companionship, Lady
Craven placed her little boy with a tutor in Paris, and
set out upon her travels alone. She corresponded
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LADY CRAVEN
regularly during this time with the Margrave, who had
invited her to come and live at his Court as soon as she
was tired of wandering, in the character of his adopted
sister. In her letters she addresses him as her 'dear
brother,' and signs herself ' your affectionate sister.'
Two editions of Lady Craven's Correspondence with
the Margrave were published: the first in 1789; the
second, which is rather fuller, in 1812. The Letters
were translated into French and German, and highly
praised by Grimm, who was also a correspondent of the
Margrave's. For the modern reader it is to be feared that
they would have few attractions, since they are neither
well written nor amusing, nor even indiscreet, while the
information they contain is extracted, for the most part,
from guide-books or works of reference. Their only
merit arises from the fact that the writer, who had
evidently taken Lady Mary Wortley Montagu for her
model, travelled in such out-of-the-way regions as the
Crimea, Turkey, the Grecian Islands, and Wallachia,
whither few English ladies had ever penetrated. Lady
Craven must be credited with a large allowance of
courage and enterprise ; but it is a pity that a lady who
was famed for her vivacity of spirits and brilliant con
versational powers should not have contrived to be more
amusing on paper. PART II
Lady Ceaven's first published letter to the Margrave
is dated Paris, June 1785, and begins : —
'For the first time in my life, sir, I invoke that
guardian angel who has hitherto protected me from
many a precipice, into which female vanity might have
k 145

LADY CRAVEN
hurled me headlong, to preserve me from that inordi
nate pride which I must feel if I believe half what you
are pleased to say. You call me incredule, insouciante.
Oh, I am neither. I do believe you think all you say
of me. I will be your sister ; and by accepting of your
adoption prove to you that I also believe what you say
to me. I will indeed be your sister ; but let me show
the world, the envious world, I deserve to be so. I
cannot reside at Anspach unless the Margravine con
sents, approves of it, and thinks, as you say, your sister's
graces would gild with charms — would cheer, like the
sun, the gloomy darkness of a German Court.'
Having given her own version of her relations with
her husband, Lady Craven proceeds to retail a little of
the Parisian gossip of the day. Her old admirer, the
Due de Guines, had just called upon her to inquire the
names of all the English heiresses who were marriageable,
because the Duchesse de Polignac thought of giving a
rich English heiress to her son. Lady Craven says she
gravely suggested that the Duchess should go to Eng
land, and choose which of the great heiresses then in
society she would give to her son, ' and one of the most
fins persifleurs I ever saw did not perceive that I was
laughing at him.' The Morning Post, after its custom
at that time, had been making free with Lady Craven's
name ; and she observes, apropos of its delinquencies, that
the liberty of the press is but another word for the most
profligate licentiousness, and utters a pious wish that
her brother would cut off some newsmonger's nose. ' The
vulgar English ' in Paris had also been spreading tales
about her manner of life, and she is both surprised and
hurt that the Duchesse de Polignac does not invite her
to her parties. Her faithful admirer, Lord Thurlow,
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LADY CRAVEN
had lately paid a first visit to Paris, and, John Bull
like, had refused to see anything beautiful in the environs,
declaring that the country round was nothing but a
great stone quarry. She concludes with the expression
of her belief that Providence had decreed that Lord
Craven should part with her in order that she might
cheer the setting sun of the Margrave's life [he was then
forty-nine], the only man in whom she had not found an
inclination to despise the other sex.
The first part of Lady Craven's travels over the well-
beaten tracks of France and Italy contains little that is
either novel or interesting. She travelled with her own
chariot and saddle-horse, and at Genoa took the some
what unusual course of hiring a felucca, with three
shoulder-of-mutton sails and ten oars, to take her to
Leghorn. But finding the boat alive with vermin, and
getting bored with the singing of the sailors, who
chanted the Hymn to the Virgin for hours at a stretch,
she landed at Via Regio, and rode to Pisa, where she
hired a house for a few weeks. Both horse and rider
created wonder and admiration in the minds of the
simple Italians. Not being accustomed to the sight of
a lady riding on a side-saddle, the people used to
exclaim, 'Poor thing! Only one leg!' as she passed.
' An English person in Italy,' says Lady Craven, ' meets
with a homage little short of adoration. The very
peasants look in my face and say, " Cara — cara Inglese." '
For her fine Suffolk horse she was offered, over and over
again, any price she liked to ask ; but, as she said, more
truly perhaps than she intended, ' A good woman's horse
is so difficult to be had, that I can't think how anybody
can part with one.'
From Pisa Lady Craven went on to Florence, where
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LADY CRAVEN
her arrival had been heralded by a letter from Walpole
to Sir Horace Mann, dated October 30, 1785, in which
the lord of Strawberry Hill says : ' I did send you a
line last week in the cover of a letter to Lady Craven,
which I knew would sufficiently tell your quickness how
much I shall be obliged to you for any attentions to
her. I thought her at Paris, and was surprised to hear
of her at Florence. She has been, I fear, infinitamente
indiscreet ; but what is that to you or me ? She is very
pretty, has parts, and is good-natured to the greatest
degree ; has not a grain of malice or mischief (almost
always the associates, in women, of tender hearts), and
has never been an enemy but to herself.'
Lady Craven was delighted with Florence, and more
especially with the Tribune. She declares that she
thinks and dreams of nothing but the pictures and
statues ; and if she had no children, would be tempted to
spend the rest of her days in the Tribune, where the
vulgar idle tales of real life never came to her mind.
The Florentine ladies she thought very like the English,
and found them more good-natured than the French, as
they did not whisper or criticise their own sex. Sir
Horace Mann, usually so civil to travellers who brought
introductions from Walpole, does not seem to have
impressed her very favourably. She says that he
grumbles at the follies of the young Englishmen who
passed through Florence on the Grand Tour, without
making any effort to help or influence them. The
Grand Duke, at this time, kept no court, but any
person of suitable rank could be presented to him.
Lady Craven, with unusual prudence, refrained from
asking the Minister to introduce her into the royal
circle, observing that ' if sovereigns hide their light in
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LADY CRAVEN
corners, strangers are foolish to go and seek them
out.' Lord Berkeley failed to keep his promise to meet his
sister in Florence. It was in this year that he began
his connection with Miss Coles, whom he married in
1796. His assertion that he had gone through the
ceremony with her in March 1785 led, after his death
in 1810, to the Berkeley cause celebre. The eldest son
William, born in 1786, presented a petition to the
Crown for a writ of summons as Earl Berkeley ; but
doubts having arisen as to the alleged first marriage,
the petition was referred to the House of Lords, who
decided that the petitioner had not substantiated his
claims. Lady Craven, being disappointed by her brother,
decided to go further afield, and see courts and people
that few women had ever seen. She set her face north
ward ; and passing through Venice, travelled to Vienna,
where, if we may trust her own account, she was made
much of in Court circles. Of Sir Robert Keith, our
English Minister, she writes : He is lively, sensible, and
polite, and behaves like a friend and brother to all the
thoughtless young Englishmen. As to me, a few hours
after my arrival he came to me, and with a gay sort of
delight, he rubbed his hands, saying, "At last I have
an Englishwoman — a Peeress — they will see what an
English Peeress is — ought to be," he added. " Nay, don't
think I am flattering, you want no foil ; but if you did,
I have only had two countrywomen here ; one good, to
be sure, but silent and inanimate as a statue ; the other
a fury. Now, indeed  ' Sir Robert's only anxiety
was lest Lady Craven should appear at the big dinner
he was about to give for her in the latest French fashion
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LADY CRAVEN
— a chemise and hat ! He was much relieved when she
assured him that her gown would be pearl satin and
lace, and that her head when dressed had no ornament
but her own hair.
Lady Craven was granted a private audience of two
hours by the Emperor Joseph, who ordered his Minister,
Prince Kaunitz, to prepare one of his houses for her in
the hope that she might pass the winter, in Vienna.
When the Prince delivered the message he told her that
' His Majesty says he never saw any woman with the
modest, dignified deportment of Lady Craven.' The
Emperor being unmarried at this time, Lady Craven
professes to have been terrified at the high opinion that
he expressed of her ; and after a stay of only ten days in
the Austrian capital, she fled, ' like a frightened bird,'
to Warsaw. Here she was cordially received by the
King, who, she says, ' was the second person I have seen
whom I could have wished not to be a sovereign.' His
Majesty, who spoke both French and German fluently,
said that he had not been in England for thirty years,
and asked if Mr. Walpole were still living. ' Not only
living, sire, but in good spirits,' was her reply ; ' and I
have in my pocket a letter from him.' The King said
(rather indiscreetly) that he should like a sight of it, as
Mr. Walpole's style must be uncommon. After reading
it, his Majesty said that he should translate it into
French for the benefit of his sister, the Princess of
Cracovia. Lady Craven told him of the^little story she
had written with the purpose of diverting Mr. Walpole's
gout, and explained that she had begun by fearing him
very much ; ' but his partiality for me, and the protec
tion he had given to my pen, had emboldened me to
compose for his amusement,'
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LADY CRAVEN
While at Warsaw Lady Craven visited her former
friend, the Princess Czartoriski, who was living in the
neighbourhood. ' When I told her what had made me
resolve to quit England,' she writes, ' she desired I should
never return there ; and said that clubs, fox-hunting,
and racing made the men, however well inclined by
nature or education, unfit for the society of polished
great ladies. I assured her I could add newspapers,
port and claret, Parliamentary opposition, and want of
taste, that would make me reside out of England when
ever I could.'
The middle of winter was a curious time to choose
for a journey through Poland and Russia, and the tra
veller found no little difficulty in getting to St. Peters
burg. Her chariot was taken off its wheels and put
upon a sledge ; but the roads being very narrow, it was
often hung up upon the trees, and on one occasion some
peasants had to be requisitioned to cut down a tree
before it could be disentangled. On arriving at St.
Petersburg, Lady Craven was invited to L'Hermitage
(where she saw the recently purchased Houghton pic
tures), and graciously received by the Empress Catherine.
' There is nothing,' she says, ' either grand or dignified
in the Empress's person ; and as to her face, it is not like
any picture I have ever seen of her. She has a face like
ten thousand others ; small grey eyes, and a nose that
does not lend any grandeur to a set of features that
have none. She has the remains of a fine skin ; and
when she smiles, it is not the grin of gracious majesty
that condescends to smile.'
Lady Craven was taken to see the old Princess
Romanzof, the Empress's first maid-of-honour, who was
ninety years old. ' I am so old,' she told her visitor, ' that
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LADY CRAVEN
I have seen your great Duke of Marlborough and his
Duchess at the Hague. He was so stingy, that when
his black silk stockings had holes in them, they were
darned with white thread. As to his beautiful Duchess,
she used to get tipsy on rum punch.' Lady Craven was
also invited to dine with Prince Potemkin in an immense
palace that he was building. The only room finished
was three hundred feet long, and she came home quite
ill with the cold, and bored into the bargain ; for she says
that she never heard the sound of her host's voice except
when he asked what she would take to eat. Lady Craven
observes that Peter the Great made a huge mistake when
he transferred his capital from Moscow to St. Petersburg ;
' for although the Empress does all she can to invite
politeness, science, and comforts to cheer this region of
ice, until she can alter the climate I believe it is a fruit
less attempt.'
Lady Craven does not allude to the fact of her having
any travelling companion ; but Horace Walpole, in a letter
to Sir Horace Mann, dated March 16, 1786, says : 'Lord
and Lady Spencer are arrived — and now I suppose the
adventures of a certain lady and her cousin Vernon, which
I have kept profoundly secret, will be made public. I
have lately received a letter from the Lady from
Petersburgh ; luckily, she gave me no direction to her,
no more than from Venice ; so, if necessary, I shall plead
that I did not know whether I must direct next to
Grand Cairo or Constantinople. Petersburgh I think a
very congenial asylum ; the Sovereign has already fostered
the Ducal Countess of Bristol [Miss Chudleigh] — for in
the family of Hervey double dignities couple with facility.
Formerly our outlaws used to concentre at Boulogne;
they are now spread over the face of the earth. Mr.
152

LADY CRAVEN
Vernon's cousin tells me she has also been at Warsaw;
that she showed the King a letter of mine, who put it
into his pocket, translated it into French (though return
ing the original), and would send it to his sister, the
Princess of Cracovia, at Vienna ; so I may see it in an
Utrecht gazette ! I know not what it contained ; how
ever, I comfort myself that I have never dealt with my
heroine but in compliments or good advice ; but this
comes of corresponding with strolling Roxanes.'
In a letter from Paris, Lady Craven had told the
Margrave that Mr. Vernon had heard an Englishman in
a diligence talking scandal about her, and adds, 'You
may imagine the rage of Vernon, whose wife on her
deathbed bequeathed to him all her partiality for me.'
The only mention of him during her travels is in a letter
from Vienna, in which she describes how she shocked
Mr. Vernon and the company generally by asserting that
Lady Mary Wortley Montagu had not written the
letters that were attributed to her. ' Lady Mary,' she
observes, ' was sensible and accomplished, and had a
style of her own that would easily have been distinguish
able from that of another woman who wrote well. Judge,
then, if I can consent to acknowledge that I take the
soft graceful hand of a lady when I feel the scratches of
the cloven claw of a male scholar in every line. Lady
Bute told me that Horace Walpole and two other wits
joined to divert themselves at the expense of the credulity
of the public by composing these letters.'
Lady Craven now decided to travel through the
Crimea en route for Constantinople, though she had been
solemnly warned by the Russians that she would find
the air unwholesome, and the water poisonous. Nothing
daunted, she hired a couple of the carriages of the
153

LADY CRAVEN
country called kibitkas, which were made in the form of
cradles, so that the occupant could lie at full length.
These were slung on sledges ; but the snow tracks were
so worn and rough that travelling was far from pleasant,
and the carriage was twice upset on the way to Moscow.
The horses, she says, were obedient to the least motion
of their driver's hand, and were never touched with the
whip on a journey, but their docility was the result of
unmerciful beating in the stable. Lady Craven', who
had the despotic temper of a beauty of the old regime,
was favourably impressed with the serf system as prac
tised in Russia, and evidently yearned to import some
system of slavery into her own country, to say nothing
of a vigorous censorship of the press.
The traveller reached Moscow in safety on February
29, and after a short stay proceeded to Cherson, where
she arrived on March 12. Part of the journey was
performed under the escort of a Cossack guard, who
believed that they were escorting a corpse, because
the carriage was closed. When it was opened in the
morning, and the occupant looked out, they scattered
in terror, fancying that the corpse had suddenly come
to life. The way was enlivened by a sham fight
performed by the Cossacks and a visit to a Tartar
encampment, where her ladyship was introduced to
the Grand Kham himself. At Sebastopol she found
a French frigate of thirty-six guns, under disguise of a
merchant-vessel, fitted out for her use. The voyage to
Pera was only supposed to take two days, but on this
occasion the ship was becalmed for three days, and it
was not till the seventh that the Turkish coast cameui
sight. Then the startling discovery was made that the
Greek pilot was dead drunk. The officers were-,
154

LADY CRAVEN
alarmed, as none of them knew the coast, and their only
guide was a small map of the Black Sea belonging to
Lady Craven. She dressed herself in a riding habit,
and taking a small box in one hand and an umbrella (!)
in the other, told the captain that she should get into a
boat and land somewhere on the Turkish shore rather
than lose sight of the entrance to the harbour.
These extreme measures did not prove necessary,
and on April 20 the frigate safely anchored in the
bay, and the traveller was rowed to Pera. The Comte
de Choiseul,1 then French Ambassador at Constan
tinople, had received orders to show her hospitality,
and she was luxuriously lodged in the Palais de France.
The Count was then employing artists to draw for him
all the finest ruins in Europe and Asia, which enlight
ened liberality resulted in the splendid collection now in
the Louvre. Lady Craven spent hours looking over the
drawings, and was also able to indulge her taste for
music, the Count having routed out a piano and a harp
for her use. When she went out she was carried in one
of the Ambassador's chairs by six Turks, with two jan
issaries walking in front. ' I believe,' she writes, ' people
think it so singular a thing for a lady to come here
without being obliged, that they try to keep me as long
as they can.'
Lady Craven was allowed to visit the harem of the
' Captain Pacha,' or Lord High Admiral, then in almost
supreme power, who kept a pet lion which used to
follow him to Cabinet meetings, and frighten the other
ministers out of their wits. The women, she says, spoilt
their beauty with white and red paint ill applied, teeth
black with smoking, and shoulders rounded by their
1 Author of the Voyage pittoresque en Grice.
155

LADY CRAVEN
habit of sitting cross-legged. She makes the somewhat
astonishing statement that the Turks set an example to
the men of all other nations in their conduct towards
their women, and declares that the Turkish ladies ought
to be very happy, being kept in so much luxury, and
allowed so much liberty ! Another interesting sight
was that of the Sultan going to prayers, with a green
umbrella over his head, the ribs of which were set with
diamonds. At this time the Porte had refused to pro
vide new batteries, on the ground of shortness of money ;
yet the jewellers could not find jewels enough to supply
his harem.
After a cruise among the Grecian islands, and a visit to
Athens in a little frigate lent by the Comte de Choiseul,
Lady Craven decided to travel back to Vienna through
the untrodden ways of Wallachia and Hungary. The
Porte, being asked by de Choiseul to allow a Tchonadar,
or Vizier's servant, to escort the traveller as far as
Bucharest, sent an official, not to inquire into the lady's
rank, as might have been expected, but to see whether
she was pretty enough to be worth the trouble. The
man made so favourable a report, that the Sultan could
not. do enough for the lady's comfort and safety, and
the only wonder is that he allowed her to leave his
dominions. The Tchonadar proved an unmitigated
nuisance on the journey, all the delays being made on
his account, while his wants had to be attended to
first, and he invariably tried to get the best rooms for
himself. However, in spite of many difficulties and annoyances,
the long rough journey to Bucharest was safely accom
plished. At night the party halted with the caravans
for safety ; and though by day the horses had to be
156

LADY CRAVEN
rested every ten minutes on account of the heat, the
dews were so heavy that in the morning the travellers
looked as though they had all been dragged through a
river. On entering Wallachia, they progressed at a
great rate, the Prince having given strict orders that
Lady Craven was to travel with no delays and at no
expense. If they met a peasant riding a good horse, he
was ordered to dismount, and left with a tired animal,
while his own was harnessed to the carriage.
At Bucharest our heroine was hospitably entertained
by the Prince and Princess of Wallachia, who serenaded
her with strange music, gave her a beautiful Arab horse,
and urged her to stay with them a year. But she
pressed on over almost impassable roads, her carriage
being again overturned, to Hermannstadt, on the Aus
trian frontier. Here she was received by an old major,
who said that in the twenty-three years he had been
stationed there she was the first lady who had passed
that way. The Emperor Joseph, who was reviewing
his cavalry in the neighbourhood, paid her a visit,
and sat for two hours looking over her maps and
presents. The traveller reached Vienna on August 30,
1786, and from thence went to Anspach, to make
the acquaintance of the Margravine, and arrange for
taking up her residence at the Court the following
winter. Meanwhile, she proposed to return to Eng
land for a few weeks in order to see her children
and collect some of her belongings. The visit to
Anspach seems to have been a success, for on October
1, 1786, she writes to the Margrave: 'I am now
embarking for England. I carry with me, sir, the
proud satisfaction of having pleased the Margravine.
Your courtiers have assured me I am the only person
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LADY CRAVEN
they ever saw her like ; that she told them the sound of
my voice did her good. ... My mother will think I
am quite right to have hovered in the air so long, when
she knows where my resting-place is to be ; and if she is
angry with me now, will be excessively pleased. But
my brother will say " Pourquoi " now and for ever, even
when he knows I am your adopted sister ; but if he said
so to me, I should reply, " Because I esteem the Mar
grave enough to think being his adopted sister is an
idea that will support me through every trouble and
comfort me for every sorrow." '
Lady Craven's arrival in England, after an absence of
nearly two years, appears to have fluttered the dovecotes
of both Berkeley and Craven, as the family correspond
ence proves.1 Her husband wrote to Lord Berkeley to
ask what course he intended to take, to which his lord
ship replied in laconic fashion : —
' My dear Lord, — As to any part of my family, I
cannot answer for. Sufficient for myself to say that I
shall certainly give you every support you require in
the business consistent with my regard for her as her
brother — and as hitherto you have had it, not only on
account of my near relationship to your children, but
also your behaviour to her, no alterations will take
place in the sentiments of your affectionate and obedient
servant, Berkeley.'
Mr. Joseph Hill, Cowper's friend and correspondent,
was Lord Craven's agent, and seems to have acted
as mediator between him and his wife. In a letter
to Lord Craven, dated October 1786, Mr. Hill says:
1 Here first published.
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LADY CRAVEN
' I return Lord Berkeley's letter. I hope it will turn
out as he supposes. He cannot but wish it, and
Lady Craven will certainly receive no countenance or
support from any quarter of consequence in this country
— so that for her own sake she will not stay long here.
On every consideration I wish your lordship not to pro
ceed to any acts of violence or litigation in the present
state of things, lest you give her an advantage she
cannot obtain by any other means. You will recollect,
by the terms of your agreement, she is not obliged to
live abroad, and she is at liberty to see her children in
the presence of either of her brothers. I am persuaded
they will not encourage her in seeing the young ladies
— and as to the two Mr. Cravens, if Mr. Forster [their
tutor] is present, it appears to be of very little import
ance. I think it will be much best to wait quietly, and
see the bent of his lordship's inclinations. Those he
will pursue ; and if they square with yours, as I trust
they will, he will take effectual measures to send Lady
Craven out of the kingdom — much more so, I mean,
than if he is urged to it strongly. Meanwhile, I wish
your lordship and the young ladies to have as little
alarm as possible ; and if adverse proceedings are ulti
mately necessary (which I am satisfied they will not be),
let them be taken with temper, upon good grounds,
and wait for a proper occasion—although there is none
that you can pursue with effect.'
In November, Mr. Hill wrote to inform Lord Craven
that although her ladyship had desired to see her
daughters, she had gone into Sussex, and meant to go
from thence to France. ' I mention this for your private
information,' he continues, ' for it will be much best for
your lordship not to let it be understood you know it,
159

LADY CRAVEN
and perhaps it might be as well to answer her letter
offering a time and place to see the young ladies. I
find she has been at Windsor, and attempted to see Mr.
Craven again, which Mr. Forster resisted. Whether the
former interview had any effect on Mr. Craven I don't
know. Mr. Forster will inform your lordship ; but the
account her ladyship was pleased to entertain him with
of the reception she had met with from so many crowned
Heads and Princes, I have no doubt had been said
before to her son, and was well calculated to dazzle
young minds.'
To this Lord Craven replied : ' I have had a letter
from Mr. Forster, who has had a very long conversation
with Lady Craven, and she expressed the same resolution
of not now wishing to see her children, and has repeatedly
said she should never see them again. . . . William [his
eldest son] is so thoroughly sensible of the impropriety
of her conduct, and is so warmly attached to me, that
all her fine stories of foreign Princes, Prelates, States, and
Potentates, will have no kind of effect upon him.' Lady
Craven having requested Mr. Hill to obtain for her
some of the articles that she had left in her former
home, he communicated her wishes to Lord Craven, who
replied in evident exasperation; 'I have just received
yours ; and though I shall do everything in my power
strictly to follow your advice, yet you must allow it
requires no small exertion of my patience to sit down
quietly and be plundered by a woman who has behaved
with so much ingratitude, and I will say insolence,
towards me. What am I to expect from her brothers ?
One will not interfere because she has used him so ill,
and the other seems totally devoted to her, and has folly
enough to support her in her ill-conduct towards me,
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LADY CRAVEN
At present I cannot send the things she desires, as they
are chiefly in London. I find she wants them to
furnish the cottage for her mother. Surely I am not
quietly to sit down to be plundered and abused by
Lady Craven. She ought to be acquainted that I know
what she has taken away, and likewise the infamous
and clandestine manner in which she took several things
from Combe Abbey.' In a later letter to Mr. Hill,
written in the beginning of December, Lord Craven
says ; ' I enclose you a letter from Lord Berkeley, from
which I think you will say that Lady Craven is mad.
I hope and trust she is now gone for ever. Before she
returned she wrote Mr. Colleton the most extraordinary
letter from Constantinople I ever read, giving some
account of her travels, which I understand she means
to publish. . . . [Dec. 14] Lady Craven is certainly
gone to Paris, where, by a letter I saw yesterday, the
people think her mad, so extraordinary is her conduct.'
During her stay in London, Lady Craven had written
to Horace Walpole offering to call on him at his house in
Berkeley Square ; but as he was then at Strawberry Hill,
the two did not meet. While at Constantinople she
had sent him a drawing of the Castle of Otranto, which
had been given her by Sir Richard Worsley, the British
Minister. On November 27, 1786, Walpole wrote her
the following letter of acknowledgment and thanks : —
' To my extreme surprise, madam, when I knew not
in what quarter of the known or unknown world you
was resident or existent, my maid in Berkeley Square
sent me to Strawberry Hill a note from your ladyship
offering to call on me for a moment — for a whirlwind,
I suppose, was waiting at your door to carry you to
Japan ; and as balloons have not yet settled any post-
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LADY CRAVEN
offices in the air, you could not, or at least did not, give
me any direction where to address you, though you did
kindly reproach me with my silence. I must enter into
a little justification before I proceed. I heard from you
from Venice, then from Poland, and then, having whisked
through Tartary, from Petersburgh ; but still with no
directions. I said to myself, " I will write to Grand
Cairo, which will probably be her next stage." Nor was
I totally in the wrong, for there came a letter from
Constantinople, with a design mentioned of going to
the Greek Islands, and orders to write to you at Vienna,
but with no banker or other address specified.
' For a great while I had even stronger reasons than
these for silence. For several months I was disabled
by the gout from holding a pen ; and you must know,
madam, that one can't write when one cannot write.
Then how to communicate with La Fianc&e du Roi de
Garbe ? You had been in the tent of the Cham of
Tartary, and in the harem of the Captain Pasha, and
during your navigation of the -Egean were possibly
fallen into the terrible power of a Corsair. How could
I suppose that so many despotic infidels would part
with your charms ? I never expected you again on
Christian ground. I did not doubt your having a
talisman to make people love you ; but anti-talismans
are quite a new specific.
' Well, while I was in this quandary, I received a
delightful drawing of the Castle of Otranto ; but still
provokingly without any address. However, my gratitude
for so very agreeable and obliging a present could not
rest till I found you out. I wrote to the Duchess of
Richmond to beg that she would ask your brother,
Captain Berkeley, for a direction to you ; and he has
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LADY CRAVEN
this very day been so good as to send me one, and I do
not lose a moment in making use of it.
' I give your ladyship a million thanks for the
drawing, which was really a very valuable gift to me. I
did not even know that there was a Castle of Otranto,
When the story was finished, I looked into the map of
the kingdom of Naples for a well-sounding name, and
that of Otranto was very sonorous. Nay, but the draw
ing is so satisfactory, that there are two small windows,
one over the other, and looking into the country, that
suit exactly to the small chambers, from one of which
Matilda heard the young peasant singing beneath her.
Judge how welcome this must be to the author; and
thence judge, madam, how much you have obliged him.
' When you take another flight towards the bounds
of the Western Ocean, remember to leave a direction.
One cannot always shoot flying. Lord Chesterfield
directed a letter to the late Lord Pembroke, who was
always swimming, " To the Earl of Pembroke in the
Thames, over against Whitehall." That was sure of
finding him within a certain number of fathoms ; but
your ladyship's longitude varies so rapidly, that one
must be a good bowler indeed to take one's ground so
judiciously that by casting wide of the mark one may
come in near the jack.'
From Paris Lady Craven wrote to her husband,
reproaching him with having broken his promise to
allow her children to write to her once a fortnight, and
declared her intention of breaking her own promise that
she would give up Keppel as soon as he was eight years
old. She further informed him that, with her mother's
approval, she was going to pass some time at Anspach,
where she was to be treated as the Margrave's sister.
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LADY CRAVEN
If he attempted to get possession of Keppel by force
she was resolved to go to Benham, and throw herself
for protection and redress upon the laws of her country.
About the same time she wrote the following (un
published) letter to the Marquis of Carnarvon, whom
she had apparently consulted in her difficulties : —
' I have sent your lordship a very grave letter by Mr.
Tate, a worthy and amiable man. The contents of it I
hope will remain eternally buried between you and me;
and if you can serve me in the matter, I shall never be
thankful enough. If I am blackballed at Parnassus, I
shall have courted the Muses on their own territory to
little purpose indeed. I feel I am now out of favour
with the God of Light, for I have not a ray of his
divinity, not even a small sparkle at the end of my pen
to make it trace a few lines to you in return for yours ;
for which I thank you very much, and wish your in
disposition may be of no more serious nature than the
new piece of scandal you threaten me with, though it
does not surprise me. I certainly did go into the
Temple of Jupiter and of Minerva at Athens — who
knows but Apollo might have met me there; if he
did, I assure you he was accompanied by the nine Muses,
and surely there were ladies enough to match one mortal,
Well, if they have said anything amiss of my doings
there, I shall summon them to the Court of Conscience,
and they will confess (nay, mortals will soon see) what I
did there was by their commands, aided and assisted by
them — and lest your curiosity should lead your ideas
astray on this subject — know, my good lord, that I did
compose while in Greece something for M. de Choiseul's
press at Pera. You would be very surprised now if I
were to tell you I am like a cow, because, having a
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LADY CRAVEN
shocking cough, I mean to live upon milk chiefly — but
I think you deserve this, for I am as like to a cow as
you are to a calf, and depend on 't, whenever you bray
I shall bellow. — So hoping a day may come when we
may bray and bellow a duo together, I remain, in prose,
your much obliged humble friend and servant,
' Eliza. Craven.'
It will be noted that her ladyship, in spite of her
boasted clearness of ideas, was decidedly hazy on the
subject of natural history, since calves do not usually
bray, nor do cows live on milk.
During Lady Craven's stay in Paris on her way to
Anspach, Horace Walpole wrote her a letter on the
subject of her proposed publication of her Travels,
which contrasts amusingly with his letters to Lady
Ossory on the same subject when the book actually
came out. ' Your ladyship tells me,' he writes under
the date of January 2, 1787, ' that you have kept a
journal of your travels ; you know not when your friends
at Paris will give you time to put it au net ; that is, I
conclude and hope, prepare it for the press. I do not
wonder that those friends, whether talismanic or others,
are so assiduous if you indulge them ; but unless they
are of the former description, they are unpardonable, if
they know what they interrupt. . . . How proud
I should be to register a noble authoress of my
own country, who has travelled over more regions
and farther than any female in print ! Your ladyship
has visited those islands and shore whence formerly
issued those travelling sages and legislators who sought
and imported wisdom, laws, and religion into Greece ;
and though we are so perfect as to want none of these
commodities, the fame of those philosophers is certainly
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LADY CRAVEN
diminished when a fair lady has gone as far in quest of
knowledge. You have gone in an age when travels are
brought to a juster standard, by narrations being limited
to truth.
' Formerly the performers of the longest voyages
destroyed half the merit of their expeditions by relat
ing, not what they had, but had not seen ; a sort of
communication that they might have imparted with
out stirring a foot from home. Such exaggerations
drew discredit on travels, till people would not believe
that there existed, in other countries, anything very
different from what they saw in their own ; and because
no Patagonians, or gentry seven or eight feet high, were
really discovered, they would not believe that there were
Laplanders or pigmies of three or four. Incredulity
went so far that at last it was doubted whether China
so much as existed ; and our countryman, Sir John
Mandeville, got an ill name because, though he gave
an account of it, he had not brought back its right
name. . . .
' I am sorry to hear, madam, that by your account
Lady Mary Wortley was not so accurate and faithful as
modern travellers. The invaluable art of inoculation,
which she brought from Constantinople, so dear to all
admirers of beauty, and to which we owe, perhaps, the
preservation of yours, stamps her an universal bene
factress ; and as you rival her in poetic talents, I had
rather you would employ them to celebrate her for her
nostrum than detect her for romancing. However,
genuine accounts of the interior of seraglios would be
precious ; and I was in hope would become the greater
rarities, as I flattered myself that your friends, the
Empress of Russia and the Emperor [of Germany], were
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LADY CRAVEN
determined to level Ottoman tyranny. His Imperial
Majesty, who has demolished the prison bars of so many
nunneries, would perform a still more Christian act in
setting free so many useless sultanas. . . . Your
ladyship's indefatigable peregrinations should have such
objects in view, when you have the ear of sovereigns.
Peter the Hermit conjured up the first crusades against
the infidels by running from monarch to monarch.
Lady Craven should be as zealous and renowned ; and
every fair Circassian would acknowledge that one Eng
lish lady had repaid their country for the secret which
another had given to Europe from their practice.'

PART III
Christian Frederick, Margrave of Anspach, Branden-
burgh, and Bareith, Duke of Prussia, and Count of
Sayn, who henceforward played so important a part
in Lady Craven's life, was born in 1736. His mother
was an elder sister of Frederick the Great, under whom
the Margrave studied war tactics and strategy in his
youth. Caroline, Queen of George n., was an elder
sister of the Margrave's father, and helped to superintend
his education. When only fifteen, Christian Frederick
was informed by his father that he was expected to
marry his cousin, a Princess of Saxe-Coburg. On seeing
his proposed bride, he refused the match, but was told
that he would be kept in a State prison until he con
sented. The boy, who loved field sports and out-of-
door life, could not long hold out against such a threat,
and when he was eighteen the marriage took place.
The Margravine was sickly in body, and dull and
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LADY CRAVEN
indifferent in disposition ; while, worst offence of all, she
bore her husband no heir. When he succeeded to the
Margraviate three years after his marriage, the ministers
suggested that the Prince should divorce his wife and
seek a younger bride ; but he replied, ' I am her husband,
and as long as she lives I am bound to protect her.1
He allowed himself, however, considerable latitude in
the direction of left-handed alliances, though he prided
himself upon never having formed a liaison with a
woman of his own nation. He early earned the reputa
tion of an unusually eccentric sovereign, for his extrava
gances and caprices knew no bounds, and for some years
Europe is said to have rung with his follies.
Lady Craven declares that the joy of the Margravine
at seeing, her was very great, though she was naturally
cold and indifferent to those around her, more especially
to her husband. Life at the little German Court was
formal, monotonous, and deadly dull, but the Margrave's
adopted sister claims to have cheered and brightened
the hours of her ' kind and princely brother.' She
persuaded him to turn an old manege into a theatre ;
and with the Court orchestra to play, and the young
nobility to sing and dance, she managed to arrange re
presentations that were not only lively, but magnificent.
She was manager-in-chief, wrote most of the pieces for
her company, and usually appropriated the leading roks.
Another of her innovations was the establishment of a
society for the encouragement of science and art, the
members of which met once a week, read papers, and
discussed various learned subjects.
The Margrave proposed that Lady Craven should
found a charitable school for girls, and gave a fine
house and garden for the purpose, observing that females
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LADY CRAVEN
of every class to whom she should prescribe the mode
of education were certain to prove good wives and
mothers. The Margravine threw cold water upon the
plan, and in the result not a single person recommended
a child to this miniature St. Cyr, the inhabitants of
Anspach apparently not sharing their sovereign's faith
in Lady Craven's ability to train good wives and
mothers. The Englishwoman explains that there was
much jealousy against her on the part of the entourage,
who thought that she intended to fill the Court with
her English friends. The Germans, she says, always
imagine that you have a scheme if you reside among
them ; and she complains that she could never satisfy
the suspicions of the people, who invariably opposed
her plans.
Lady Craven's chief rival at Anspach was the once
famous actress, Mademoiselle Clairon. In 1755, when
she was only forty-two, Clairon had left the stage ; and
eight years later the Margrave, over whom she had
obtained a strong influence, invited her to come and
reside at Anspach. She was in the habit of asserting
that she had come to Anspach at the request of the
Margravine, and that her coming had prevented a divorce
between the royal pair. She kept up an extravagant
establishment at the expense of the Margrave, who
called her sa maman, and treated her as a councillor
and confidante. The elderly maman naturally became
furiously jealous of the fascinating adopted sister. An
amusing account of the relations between the rivals is
given in the Memoirs of the Alsatian Baroness D'Ober-
kirk, nee de Freundstein, who lived in the family of
the Duke of Wurtemberg at Montbeliard, near Strasburg.
During her stay at Anspach, Lady Craven paid a visit
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LADY CRAVEN
to Strasburg, bringing a letter of introduction from the
Margrave to the family of Wurtemberg.
' There are some persons,' writes the Baroness
D'Oberkirk, a propos of this visitor, * whom Providence
allows to pass a great part of their lives without
experiencing any obstacle to their bizarre and extra
ordinary conduct ; and then, when perhaps it is least
expected, they fall into irremediable misfortune. . . .
Lady Craven only kept her place in the world by force
of her boldness, spirit, and aplomb. Without being
exactly pretty, she was piquant and agreeable, with fine
eyes and superb chestnut hair. She was a charming
companion, sweet, gay, insouciante, without the least
pedantry; her timidity was delicious. Her dominant
passion was for comedy, which she acted admirably,
and she communicated this passion to the Margrave.
Her conversation was very amusing — elle racontait comme
M. de Voltaire.'' The eccentricities of Lord Craven
furnished many droll chapters ; but what she related
most successfully was her arrival at Anspach, her rela
tions with Mademoiselle Clairon, and the jealousy and
extravagance of the actress. At first she was cordially
received by the ruling goddess, who made her the con
fidante of all her complaints against the Margrave. Lady
Craven listened with a sympathetic ear, and lectured
the Prince, who apologised and promised amendment.
But Clairon was full of capricious humours, and went
through life with a tragedy air, 'her very night-cap,'
according to Lady Craven, ' having all the dignity of
a gilt-paper crown.' After a time the Englishwoman
began to laugh at the heroics of her friend, and made
the Margrave laugh too, who was never able to treat
his ' maman ' seriously again. Lady Craven continued
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LADY CRAVEN
to laugh and to amuse the Margrave ; she played comedy
in the theatre and in the salon, while her pink cheeks,
smiles, and good humour made the pretensions of
Cleopatra insupportable. Clairon became jealous, and
threatened to stab herself. The Margrave was alarmed,
but Lady Craven asked scornfully, ' Do you forget that
actresses' poignards only run into their sleeves ? ' Open
war was now declared between the two rivals ; but after
three years' struggle Clairon fled, uttering imprecations
against her supplanter. Lady Craven told the story
in inimitable fashion. ' It was easy for me,' she said,
' to enter into the lists against an actress, for I know
all Voltaire, Corneille, and Racine by heart. She could
never find me at a loss ; I always had a weapon
ready.' Writing in later years to her friend, Charles Kirk-
patrick Sharpe, Lady Craven observes of her old rival :
' Mademoiselle Clairon was the greatest liar that ever
existed. There is a printed book called Memoir es de
Mile. Clairon, in which there is scarcely anything but
lies. Among them is the conversation she pretends to
have had with the Margrave's first wife — a tete-a-tete.
Now I was given an account by all the courtiers at
Anspach de sesfaits et gestes while she was there. She
never was alone with the Margravine. Never saw her
but before all the people invited to hear her declama
tion. She never did anything but act. Her brain
was so completely turned by her favour with the
Margrave that at one of the two audiences (she was
with the Margravine only twice), when somebody said,
"Est-ce que Mademoiselle parle l'Allemand?" she
replied, "Comment peut-on parler une langue non
articulee ? " This before a German Princess as proud
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LADY CRAVEN
of the German tongue as of her pedigree. Another
time, one of the chamberlains told her she spoke to
the Margrave with too much hauteur. "Que voulez-
vous, mon cher Baron ? " she returned. " J'ai joue tant
d'imperatrices sur le theatre que je me crois imperatrice
meme sur ma chaise." If she had had any virtues, she
• would have been a very dangerous person, for she
always studied words and actions to produce some
effect.' Lady Craven seems to have kept up an intermittent
correspondence with Strawberry Hill; for on Decemberll,
1788, we find Walpole writing to her : ' It is agreeable
to your ladyship's usual goodness to honour me with
another letter ; and I may say to your equity too,
after I had proved to M. Mercier, by the list of dates
of my letters, that it was not mine, but the post's
fault, that you did not receive one that I had the
honour of writing to you above a year ago. Not,
madam, that I could wonder if you had the prudence
to drop a correspondence with an old superannuated
man ; who, conscious of his decay [he was then seventy-
one], has had the decency of not troubling with his
dotages persons of not near your ladyship's youth and
vivacity. I have long been of opinion that few persons
know when to die ; I am not so English as to mean
when to despatch themselves — no, but when to go out
of the world. I have usually applied this opinion to
those who have made a considerable figure ; and con
sequently it was not adapted to myself. Yet even we
cyphers ought not to fatigue the public scene when
we become lumber. Thus, being quite out of the
question, I will explain my maxim, which is the more
wholesome the higher it is addressed. My opinion
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LADY CRAVEN
then is, that when any person has shone as much as
is possible in his or her best walk, he should take up
his Strulbrugism, and be heard of no more. Instances
will be still more explanatory. Voltaire ought to have
pretended to die after Alzire, Mahomet, and Semiramis,
and not have produced his wretched last pieces ; Lord
Chatham should have closed his political career with
his immortal war ; and how weak was Garrick, when
he had quitted the stage, to limp after the tatters of
fame by writing and reading pitiful poems ; and even
by sitting to read plays which he had acted with such
fire and energy ! . . .
' We have just received the works of an author
[Frederick the Great], from whom I find I am to receive
much less entertainment than I expected, because I
shall have much less to read than I intended. His
Memoirs, I am told, are almost wholly military; which,
therefore, I shall not read ; and his poetry I am sure
I shall not look at, because I should not understand
it. What I saw of it formerly convinced me that he
would not have been a poet, even if he had written in
his own language ; and though I do not understand
German, I am told it is a fine language; and I can
easily believe that any tongue (not excepting our old
barbarous Saxon, which, a bit of an antiquary as I
am, I abhor) is more harmonious than French. It
was curious absurdity, therefore, to pitch on the most
unpoetic language in Europe, the most barren, and the
most clogged with difficulties. I have heard Russian
and Polish sung, and both sounded musical ; but to
abandon one's own tongue, and not adopt Italian, that
is even sweeter, softer, and more copious than the Latin,
was a want of taste that I should think could not be
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LADY CRAVEN
applauded even by a Frenchman born in Provence.
But what a language is the French, which measures
verses by feet that never are to be pronounced ; which
is the case wherever the mute e is found! What
poverty of various sounds for rhyme, when, lest similar
cadences should too often occur, their mechanic bards
are obliged to marry masculine and feminine termina
tions as alternately as the black-and-white squares of
a chess-board ? Nay, will you believe me, madam —
yes, you will, for you may convince your own eyes —
that a scene of Zaire begins with three of the most
nasal adverbs that ever snorted together in a breath?
Enfin, done, desormais, are the culprits in question.
Enfin done, need I tell your ladyship that the author
I alluded to at the beginning of this long tirade is
the late King of Prussia ?
' I am conscious that I have taken a little liberty when
I excommunicate a language in which your ladyship has
condescended to write, but I only condemn it for verse
and pieces of eloquence, of which I thought it alike
incapable until I read Rousseau of Geneva. It is a
most sociable language, and charming for narrative and
epistles. Yet, write as well as you will in it, you must
be liable to express yourself better in the speech that is
natural to you ; and your own country has a right to
understand all your works, and is jealous of their not,
being as perfect as you could make them. . Is it not
more creditable to be translated into a foreign tongue
than into your own ? And will it not vex you to hear
the translation taken for the original, and to find
vulgarisms that you could not have committed yourself?
But I have done, and will release you, madam, only
observing that you flatter me with a vain hope when
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LADY CRAVEN
you tell me that you shall return to England some time
or other. Where will that time be for me? And
when it arrives, shall I not be somewhere else ? ' . . .
Lady Craven's Journey through the Crimea to Con
stantinople does not appear to have reached England
till 1789. In February of that year Walpole writes to
Lady Ossory : ' Lady Craven's Travels I received from
Robson two hours ago. Dodsley brought the manu
script to me before I came to town, but I positively
refused to open it, though he told me my name was
mentioned several times ; but I was conscious how
grievous it would be to her family and poor daughters,
and therefore persisted in having nothing to do with it.
I own I have now impatiently cut the leaves in search
of my own name, and am delighted at finding it there
but thrice, and only by the initial letter. When I have
the honour of seeing your ladyship I can tell you many
collateral circumstances, but I will not put them on
paper. I fear she may come to wish, or should, that
she had not been born with a propensity for writing.'
In another letter to the same lady he observes : ' I am
sorry my noble authoress's Travels do not please
you, madam ; in truth, I fear they will add more to
her present celebrity than to her future renown. I
even doubt whether she would have been turned into a
laurel as soon by running away from Apollo (which was
not her turn) as by running to him.'
Lady Craven made Anspach her. headquarters for
nearly five years. The winters were usually passed at
Triesdorf, the royal hunting-lodge, about three leagues
from the capital. Here she followed the staghounds
with the Margrave in the morning, played cribbage
with the Margravine in the evening, made an English
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LADY CRAVEN
garden, and introduced the manufacture of Stilton
cheese. 'The winter following my arrival,' says her
ladyship, ' the Margrave wished me to go to Naples with
him for a few months. I of course acceded to his pro
position, and we set off with my son Keppel.' The
party were warmly welcomed at Naples, where the Mar
grave was a favourite with the royal family. 'The
Queen,' writes Lady Craven, ' took such a fancy to me,
that she made me spend most of my evenings with her,
while in the mornings I often accompanied the King
[Ferdinand the Fourth] on his hunting or shooting
parties. My adroitness in killing, game, my skill in
riding on horseback, and the indifference I showed about
my person in rain or wind, endeared me much to the
King. Sir William Hamilton, who early in life had
experienced the kindness of my relations, returned that
kindness in my person by saying such handsome things
about me at Court that I soon became a general
favourite. The Margrave was never so happy as
during our stay at Naples. As he excelled in all
manly exercises, he was not a little gratified to display
me as one accustomed to these sports.'
Lady Craven speaks in high terms of the under
standing, the versatility, and the youthful ardour of
Sir William, who had then reached the age of three
score years and ten ; but on the subject of Emma
Harte she preserves a discreet silence. The reason for
this reticence may be found in a letter of Walpole's to
the Miss Berrys. ' What,' he asks, ' will the great
Duke think of our Amazons if he has letters opened, as
the Emperor was wont ? One of our Camillas, but in a
freer style, I hear he saw (I fancy just before your
arrival) ; and he must have wondered at the familiarity
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LADY CRAVEN
of the dame and the nincompoophood of her Prince-
Sir William is arrived  , his Nymph of the Attitudes
[Lady Hamilton] was too prudish to visit the rambling
peeress.' *
The rambling peeress enjoyed herself mightily at
Naples, where there were magnificent operas, continual
masquerades, and every kind of pleasure and luxury.
She and her Prince intended to stay in Italy until April
or May, but one morning during Carnival time Lady
Craven received a message that the Margrave desired to
speak to her at once. She went to his room, and found
him in great agitation. Sending away the servants,
and kissing her hand, he said, ' You have conducted
yourself like a sister indeed ; but I have one request to
make to you ' (he held a letter in his hand, which
shook with anger). 'I must go to Berlin incognito.
Will you go with me ? It is the only sacrifice of your
time I shall ever require of you.' He explained that an
infamous plot had been formed at Anspach to create
discontent. The affair demanded his immediate pre
sence at Berlin, but he wished to go without the
knowledge of his ministers. Lady Craven, who guessed
that the letter was about herself, as the Margrave never
told her its contents, begged him to be calm, and pro
mised to do all that he wished. The suite was sent
home, and she and the Margrave paid a flying visit
incognito to Berlin. On their return to Anspach, the
Secretary of State was dismissed after his papers had
been seized, and the other ministers took an early oppor
tunity of assuring Lady Craven of their profound respect
and esteem. ' The wretches ! ' exclaimed the Margrave,
1 This refers to Lady Craven's second visit to Naples in 1 791.
m 177

LADY CRAVEN
when he told her about the confiscated correspondence,
in which she figured as 'the Ultramontane.' 'You,
whose conduct proves that as a mother or a sister your
whole time is occupied in creating delight here, where
dulness and monotony have taken up their abode ! '
The unjust suspicions of his people against her deter
mined the Margrave, says Lady Craven, to cede his
dominions to Prussia, a resolution which she declares
that she did her best to combat.
In an unpublished letter dated Triesdorf, September
12, 1789, and addressed to an English duke — pos
sibly Portland — Lady Craven says : ' I have received
your Grace's letter, which bespeaks the goodness and
amiability of your heart, which I have long known;
and I answer it, not to settle myself upon you as a cor
respondent, but to ease your shoulders of any burden
whatever upon the subject I wrote to you upon. I
have this very day received some intelligence from Berlin
which makes me believe, by a channel quite different
from yours and mine, that I shall have the satisfaction
of seeing my worthy friend the Margrave deemed when
an opportunity offers. You are very civil about my
talents, and I wish I had lived in England with people
whose tempers had been as much pleased with them as
the Margrave seems thankful to me for diffusing a little
elegant gaiety in his Court. He is an honest, sensible
man, and deserves the love and esteem of everybody who
approaches him. And if, like his uncle, he does not
incessantly court the Muses, he knows the value of those
who have some intercourse with them. I wish your
Grace may long be prevented from renewing your con
nection on Mount Parnassus by more solid and heartfelt
employments, and be assured no laurels bestowed by
. '178

LADY CRAVEN
Apollo can give half the pleasure as wreaths of myrtle
given from the fair hand of your Duchess.'
In 1790 the Margrave informed Lady Craven that
he had been invited to go to Berlin for the Carnival,
and that she was desired to accompany him as his
adopted sister. As usual, the Margravine stayed at
home, but she took an affectionate farewell of her
pseudo sister-in-law, and exhorted her to dance a minuet
at Berlin and show the Prussian royalties what dancing
really was. Lady Craven found the Princess Amelia's
palace prepared for her at Berlin ; and the King of
Prussia, calling on her the day after her arrival, said,
' This is yours. You are my adopted sister as well as
the Margrave's.' His Majesty no doubt thought that
the Englishwoman was worth conciliating, for the real
object of the Margrave's visit to Berlin was to arrange
for the sale of his principalities to Prussia ; and to
avoid arousing suspicion, the conferences were held in
Lady Craven's apartment. During the three months
she spent in Berlin she lived entirely with the royal
family, the Duke of Brunswick-Oels being told off as
her special cavalier. The Minister of Finance, Bern-
sprunger, was charged by the King to offer her lands
and titles for herself and her boy ; but she replied that
she could not accept anything, because she was not
legally parted from her husband.
Before leaving Berlin Lady Craven heard that her
husband had been seized with a fit at Bath, and was in
a critical condition ; while on the journey home the
Margraye was met at Bareith with the news of the
Margravine's death. After three months' mourning the
Margrave decided to go to England, whence he intended
to announce his resignation of the Margraviate to his
179

LADY CRAVEN
subjects. It was supposed that he had some thoughts
of marrying an English princess; but his minister,
Seckendorf, wrote to Madame Schwellenberg, Miss
Burney's old enemy, to say that a pair of fine eyes at
the Court of Anspach would prevent the Margrave from
marrying as long as their influence continued. The
Prince was furious at reports being spread abroad of
his re-marriage, and intercepted the correspondence
between Seckendorf and Madame Schwellenberg, in
which the minister represented Lady Craven in an
odious light. As the letters were intended for the eye
of the Queen, Lady Craven professes to attribute to their
influence her Majesty's subsequent conduct towards her.
On arriving in London in the summer of 1791, her
ladyship does not appear to have met with a very
cordial reception from the members of her own family.
In a letter to the Miss Berrys, dated August 23,
1791, Walpole says: 'You, who have had a fever with
fetes, had rather hear the history of the soi-disant
Margravine. She has been in England with her foolish
Prince, and not only notified their marriage to the Earl
[of Berkeley], her brother, who did not receive it pro
pitiously, but his Highness informed his lordship by a
letter that they have a usage in his country of taking
a wife with the left hand ; that he had espoused his
lordship's sister in that manner, and intends, as soon as
she shall be a widow, to marry her with his right
hand also. The Earl replied that he knew she was
married to an English peer, a most respectable man,
and can know nothing of her marrying any other man,
and so they are gone to Lisbon.'
Lady Craven's account of the matter is that Lord
Berkeley was so enraged with her for not wishing to live
180

LADY CRAVEN
with her husband again, that he vowed he would never
forgive her. He had also advised Lord Craven when
the time came for Keppel to be given up by his mother
to stop the payment of her jointure ; but Lord Craven
had replied, ' God forbid I should ever do that ! Whose
fortune might she not have where she bestowed her
society ? ' Fearing persecution, Lady Craven placed
Keppel at Harrow under a feigned name, and then
departed with the Margrave for Lisbon. They were
detained at Calais for three days because (the reason is
not obvious) Louis xvi. had fled from Paris, and it was
not until he had been brought back from Varennes that
they were allowed to hire a packet and proceed on their
voyage. At Lisbon all the foreign ministers visited Lady
Craven except the representative of England, Mr. Edward
Walpole. The Queen of Portugal was kind to the 'rambling
peeress,' declaring, ' I will protect her, and the Queen of
England as a mother should protect and not persecute
her.' Lady Craven observes, ' There were two distinct
parties at Lisbon. All the good and spiritual people,
with the party attached to the Queen, were for me ;
while the base and corrupted levelled the shafts of their
malice against me.'
On September 26, 1791, Lord Craven died at
Lausanne, and on October 30 Lady Craven was married
to the Margrave. ' I felt myself at liberty,' she writes,
* to act as I thought proper, and accepted the hand of the
Margrave without fear or remorse. We were married
in the presence of a hundred persons, and attended by
all the naval officers, who were quite delighted to assist
as witnesses.' Walpole announces the news to Lady
Ossory in a letter dated November 23. ' Oh, I this
moment recollect to tell your ladyship,' he writes, ' that
181

LADY CRAVEN
Lady Craven received the news of her husband's death
on a Friday, went into weeds on Saturday, and into
white satin and many diamonds on Sunday, and in that
vestal trim was married to the Margrave of Anspach by
my cousin's chaplain, though he and Mrs. Walpole
excused themselves from being present. The bride
excused herself for having so few diamonds ; they had
been the late Margravine's, but she is to have many
more, and will soon set out for England, where they
shall astonish the public by living in a style of magnifi
cence unusual, as they are richer than anybody in this
country. The Dukes of Bedford, Marlborough, and
Northumberland may hide their diminished rays.'
The newly married couple, after a short visit to
Madrid, travelled to England, passing as quickly as
possible through France, where the Revolution was then
raging, many of Lady Craven's old friends being in a
piteous case. On her arrival in London the new Mar
gravine received a letter from her daughters to the
effect that, ' With due deference to the Margravine of
Anspach, the Miss Cravens inform her that out of respect
to their father they cannot wait upon her.' Her eldest
son neglected her, and Lord Berkeley wrote her 'an
absurd letter,' full of reproaches on account of her
marrying the Margrave so soon after the death of her
husband. Worst of all, Queen Charlotte refused to
receive her at Court as Margravine of Anspach. The
Margrave was much hurt at this decision, and asked his
wife what possible reason there could be for such an
affront, but she confessed herself wholly unable to
account for it. She had intended to be presented at
Court as a Princess of the German Empire, having been
created Princess Berkeley by the Emperor Joseph, and
182

LADY CRAVEN
went so far as to draw up an address to the House of
Lords, setting forth her rights and dignities, but was
persuaded to abandon her intention of sending it in.
The Margrave bought the large villa on the Thames
at Hammersmith, which was formerly the property of
Bubb Dodington, and was called by him La Trappe.
It was now renamed Brandenburgh House, and a theatre
was added to it. The Margrave also bought Benham
from his stepson, which had been in the property of the
Craven family since the time of the first Earl, and gave
it to his wife. The Hon. Grantley Berkeley, Lady
Craven's nephew, describes in his Recollections the
magnificent masquerade which was given as a house-
warming at Brandenburgh House. To this the most
distinguished of the English and foreign nobility were
invited ; but, sad to say, the guests behaved very badly,
breaking plate-glass mirrors, and stealing or damaging
portions of the costly hangings and chair-covers. Mr.
Berkeley tells us that his aunt still wrote plays of a
tenderly sentimental kind, and never failed, though past
her first youth, to play the young and interesting
heroines, keeping her assistants as much as possible in
the background.1
Her most intimate friends, according to her nephew,
were those eccentric people whose peculiarities of manner
and dress were caricatured by Gillray and Rowland-
son. Her corps dramatique consisted, besides her son
Keppel, of Lords Barrymore, Blessington, and Chol
mondeley, of Lady Albinia Cholmondeley and Lady
Buckinghamshire, but professional aid was sometimes
called in in the persons of Mrs. Abington and M.
1 A curious account of the theatricals at Brandenburgh House is given
in the Reminiscences of Henry Angelo.
183

LADY CRAVEN
Le Tescier. On one occasion Mrs. Abington played with
Lady Craven in The Provoked Wife, when the actress's
speeches were ' cut ' in order to give more prominence to
the role of the heroine, taken of course by the hostess.
As might be expected, there was a row royal, and Mrs.
Abington's lines were restored to her. In the Lady's
Monthly Museum for June 1798 there is a paragraph
to the effect that ' the celebrated tragedy of The
Robbers, translated from the German, with considerable
emendations by the Hon. Keppel Craven, was performed
at this theatre (Brandenburgh House). A most brilliant
and crowded audience attended, and expressed the
greatest satisfaction at the merit of the piece and the
performers. Amelia was performed with all that taste,
pathos, and classical propriety which so eminently dis
tinguishes the sensibility and accomplished mind of the
Margravine. . . . The Margravine spoke a most pointed
and brilliant epilogue with a charming excellence that
was irresistibly impressive on the feelings of the
audience.' In 1806 the Margrave died of a pulmonary com
plaint, being then seventy years of age. His wife, who
was the only person mentioned in his will, says of him:
' A better man never existed. Nothing could divert
him from what was right, none could more easily for
give. . . . He was so perfectly genteel and princely in
his air, that even with his great-coat and round hat the
sovereign was perceived.' In Lady Craven's Autobiography
there is an engraving of a profile of the Margrave in bas-
relief, modelled by herself when at Naples, which represents
a grotesquely ugly man, with a nose of immense length,
and a foolish expression. This, which certainly cannot
have been an idealised portrait, is described by the artist
184

LADY CRAVEN
as an excellent likeness. The Margrave's chief passion
throughout his life was for horses. He kept a magni
ficent stud at Brandenburgh House, and his last request to
his wife on his deathbed was that a favourite grey horse
which was in training for the Derby might run whether
its master were alive or dead. Christian Frederick was
buried at Benham in a splendid mausoleum, the marble
for which was brought from Italy, and cost five thousand
pounds. Unlike most ladies of her type, the Margravine did
not turn dAvote in her declining years, nor occupy her
time in good works. She was fortunate enough to
possess several hobbies, which her great wealth and
unshakable self-complacency enabled her to ride with
triumphant ease and enjoyment. The best methods
of fruit-cultivation and the desirability of filling up
canals were her chief fads, but she felt herself perfectly
competent to regulate any other matters that came
under her notice, from the assessment of the poor-rates
to the paving of the streets. From her published corre
spondence with Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, and some
unpublished letters to Dr. Taylor, secretary of the
Society of Arts and Sciences, we are enabled to gain
occasional glimpses into the latter portion of her life.
Of her children, with the exception of Keppel, who seems
to have been an affectionate and dutiful son, she saw little
or nothing. Her eldest son William, created Viscount
Uffington and Earl of Craven in 1801, offended the
Margravine deeply (in spite of her dramatic tastes) by
marrying Miss Louisa Brunton, the popular actress.
The eldest daughter, Elizabeth, who was reconciled to
her mother soon after the return of the latter to
England, married a Mr. Maddocks, and died in 1799.
185

LADY CRAVEN
Maria, the second daughter, married the Earl of Sefton,
and died in 1851 ; while the youngest, Arabella,
married General the Hon. Frederick St. John, and died
in 1819.
The Margravine seems to have divided her time
between Benham and Brandenburgh House, with occa
sional flights to the Continent. She had various
grievances on the subject of her fortune, the income
which, she asserted, was due to her from the King
of Prussia, not being forthcoming. In an unpublished
letter, dated August 11, 1806, and addressed to Mr.
Jackson, then English Minister at the Court of Berlin,
she writes : ' I did not expect or care about the Palace
at Berlin, but there were things of much more con
sequence to me which the King of Prussia ought to
do ; though positively the late King gave the Palace to
me for my life, as well as to the Margrave. I have at
last been very ill these two days, which I have expected
this great while, as I have never had a moment's rest
since the Margrave's death — -everybody around me, instead
of considering my situation, have not given me time to
breathe — demands of every sort, fancies of all kinds. If
you can give me any hopes of a Peace, you will do me
good. I hear Prussia has or will make a separate Peace
with France, of which I never doubted whenever it suited
her. I confess I am astonished that any man could take
Pitt's place on his shoulders without first pointing out
the absolute ignorance he was master of as to foreign
affairs — deprecating the system — and then boldly pro
ceeding on quite a new plan. For me, who am not a
man, but wish my country not to be totally ruined, I
shall keep my eyes off all it does, that I may not lament
more than I have for years the best of Princes' partiality
186

LADY CRAVEN
for it. ... I don't know at all in the general confu
sion who your ministerial friends are, but this I can tell
you that the ministry is all divided, and will not hold
together long.'
In this year 1806 the Margravine appears to have
made the acquaintance of Dr. Taylor, secretary to the
Society of Arts and Sciences, for which body she wrote
a treatise on the art of pruning fruit-trees. In November
1806 she writes to the secretary from Benham :x 'I hope
you do not forget my patriotic scheme of introducing,
or rather reviving, the art of pruning trees. The season
is now come for peach and pear trees, and I am very busy
here. I have a young eleve whom I wish you to provide
for, as making an Ambulating Pruner such as they have
in France. Pray let me know if you have done anything
towards this — a thing I think of the greatest consequence
to the comforts as well as pockets of all people who have
fruit-trees.' Apparently the idea did not ' catch on,' for
in a later letter the Margravine complains : ' I despair of
ever seeing anybody think oi fruit. There seems to be a
sort of apathy about people that precludes any hope of
preventing the English from gradually sinking into pro
found ignorance about many useful things. ... I have
spoken to many, who seem to think that a man, because
he is called a gardener, is not to be affronted or put out
of humour by having his trees pruned.'
The Margravine could certainly not be accused of
apathy in the propagation of her pet theories. Having
made up her mind that Burgundy could be manufac
tured from English-grown grapes, she planted vines at
Hammersmith, and in May 1808 writes to Dr. Taylor :
' Would it be satisfactory to you and the other members
1 This and the following letters to Dr. Taylor are now first published.
187

LADY CRAVEN
of the Society that I should bring a sample of the
Burgundy I made last autumn, for though it is not yet
fit to drink, the colour and flavour might be seen ; and
if you had any French person from Burgundy present, he
might give his opinion.' In an undated letter, pro
bably written a few weeks later, she says : ' I have the
greatest satisfaction in assuring you that the Burgundy
I made here from my own grapes has succeeded per
fectly. I have just drawn it out of the cask, and I beg
you will make this fact be known to the Society, and if
you choose it I will write down an account of the time
and manner it was made in (last autumn) and every
circumstance relative to it. I made two sorts — one of
the most indifferent grapes, and one of those good
branches I could save from the all-devouring sparrows.
... I claim some token of reward from the Society for
having persevered in planting the Burgundy grape,
having it pruned, and making two sorts of Burgundy
wine, which I have bottled off. By two sorts I mean
that the indifferent grapes have made an inferior sort,
which I confess I imagined I should have found vinegar,
but which is a very palatable Burgundy of a lighter
colour than the other, which is of as bright a colour
and good a flavour as French Burgundy. ... I shall
thank you to have it inserted in all the newspapers that
good Burgundy has been made here. The ignorance
and obstinacy I have had to overcome from the moment
I planted vines have given me so much trouble that I
deserve to reap the only reward I wish — that my country
should know it.'
Dr. Taylor apparently thought that the Margravine's
treatise on the Art of Pruning deserved a medal, for in
May 1809 she writes to him : ' I am much obliged to
188

LADY CRAVEN
you for your politeness in having thought my observa
tions worthy of a medal, but I take the part of those
who have thwarted your gallantry. I have invented
nothing. I have humbly reverted back to that method
of managing fruit-trees which much study and experience
have proved to be the best in France, where such study
and such experience could only be acquired by experi
ments which could only be made in the Jardin du Roi
and the rich abbeys. If Providence had made me a
man instead of a woman, I believe I should have pruned
many glutton branches {branches gourmandes), which end
in the ruin or premature decay of things of more conse
quence than a fruit-tree. However, as I am destined
by nature to submit to the Law of Moses and the
manners of Englishmen, which makes me an ox or an
ass or any other thing subject to the dangers of being
coveted or persecuted, I shall with all the constancy and
gaiety of mind Heaven has blessed me with, go on in com
municating through your hands my observations on fruit.
' I must beg of you to assemble a Committee of your
best chemists and profound scholars in the effects of
evaporation, stagnation, and putrefaction, to resolve
this question : I much suspect the multiplied navigable
cuts so wantonly encouraged for many years in this
country, which, being an island, had already incon
veniences from damp and cold atmosphere, have caused
the very dismal change I have gradually perceived in the
climate within these few years. One material reason I
have for so thinking is the observation I have made that
near a river that ebbs and flows as my beloved Thames
does, the air is dry and wholesome; and the nearer
everything is placed to such a river, the less it is affected
by damp. I have other reasons for supposing that our
189

LADY CRAVEN
ugly ditches called navigations have injured that which,
unless it is as good as we can have it, my pruning will be
of little service — I mean the air. I would wish much
reflection and calculation should precede any answer
I may get on this subject — a very serious one to this
country, I assure you, where those native plants called
men to be wise must be healthy, and to be good must
be happy, and there is no happiness without health.'
The Margravine not only took the climate and the
orchards of her country under her protection, but gave
an enthusiastic welcome to any eccentric novelty that
might be brought to her notice. Writing to Dr.
Taylor from Southampton, where she had a small house,
she tells him : L I have just come from Petworth, where
I saw Mr. Biddulph, a neighbour of Lord Egremont's,
who wishes to belong to our Society, as he believed most
credulously in the extinction of all Golden Pippins, in
the loss of the mother plant (what nonsense !). I am
very desirous he should return to common sense, and
believe that though Mother Eve is dead, I am alive.
I could not do better than recommend him to get
acquainted with you, when he will return to truth, and
eat good apples. I find Lord Egremont belongs to
us. I raved about the woollen sacks to him. I have
some thoughts of having harness made of woollen ropes
dyed black, and by my example introducing them for
posting all over this kingdom ; for in this last journey of
mine, as in many others, I have been much delayed by
leather breaking. You may think me in jest ; I never
was more serious in my life; but my nature is so
cheerful, that I cannot talk of anything that pleases me
much very gravely. Therefore, I beg you will mention
my idea to the gentleman who, in my opinion, deserves
190

LADY CRAVEN
to have his statue cast in gold for what he has already
done with fleeces. Give my compliments to him, and
say if anything I could use of his manufactory could
hold up to my country the advantages I see in his
discovery, I would not disdain to wear one of his sacks
as a shawl, and recommend the hanging with some of
his ropes all those who do not venerate him as I do.'
Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe seems to have made the
acquaintance of the Margravine in 1809, through her
son Keppel, who was one of his most intimate friends.
' Everybody knows,' he writes on the fly-leaf of a volume
of her autograph letters, ' that she was the daughter of
Lord Berkeley, and afterwards married to Lord Craven.
When I was acquainted with her she had the remains of
much beauty, which she disfigured with an immense
quantity of rouge and burnt cork, as, I think, on her
eyebrows. She was very graceful, and could assume,
when she pleased, the manners of the best times ; she
composed music prettily, but spoilt her songs by singing
them with a cracked voice ; she danced well, and was an
excellent shot. I am told that she never was a toler
able actress, though fond of exhibiting herself on the
stage. . . . Her beauty, her talents, her good fortune,
and her bad temper created her numerous enemies. She
makes a figure in many scandalous works, such as The
Memoirs of the Due de Lauzun, The Female Jockey
Club, etc' Sharpe made a charming drawing of the
Margravine, which represents her as a very pretty
and picturesque woman, apparently of not more than
four- or five-and-thirty.
In December 1809 the Margravine writes to Sharpe :
Keppel tells me you mean positively to come here,
which I am very glad of, as I cannot help auguring well
191

LADY CRAVEN
of a person who, in such times as these, could, de son
propre chef, chuse the time and the people and the
manners in Louis xiv.'s reign to make them his recrea
tion ; for I am quite of La Rochefoucalt's or La
Bruyere's opinion — •' qu'une bonne education est la vraie
religion mondaine '—to believe in which, and more, to
practise, would prevent those eternal dissensions in
families, and those quarrels in society, which render it
impossible to find society in this country — and Keppel
tells me I shall delight you by telling you stories about
my great-aunt, Lady Albemarle, who saw the Duchess
of Portsmouth, and other great-aunts and uncles who
have seen those who were their models.'
In February 1810 she writes again : 'I wonder what
he [Keppel] will say to the Morning Herald, that has
begun a series of impertinent falsehoods against me
which, I trust, will amount at last to give me an oppor
tunity of punishing them. If I wrote like my ancestors,
I should pass unnoticed perhaps. I think the liberty of
the press very oppressing ; and as everything in the
political world tends to put England out of Europe, I
believe I must go out of England to find civilisation.
. . . All who wish me well are delighted at my having
escaped from a Prussian robbery, for such was Prince
Ferdinand's claim to deprive me of what the Margrave
left me at Anspach. I am told London is very dull;
everything is carried on in a dark lanthorn way ; every
thing is a mystery, a secret ! You meet people, but
they turn the blind against your eyes. I have some
idea there will be a regency or something.'
In the spring of 1811 the Margravine, who had little
toleration for her sister scribes, writes to assure Mr.
Sharpe that ' the Berrys' letters of Mrs. du Deffand are
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LADY CRAVEN
a great catchpenny. The notes which give information
relative to the French families and people are most
of them false. Nothing can be so absurd too as an
English preface to a French book. . . . The Duke of
Clarence wants to marry the gentle, elegant, and truth-
telling widow ycleped the Countess of Berkeley. The
whole world is gone mad ; and I have more reason than
ever for congratulating the Margravine of Anspach, your
friend and admirer, that she had a governess who formed
her mind of peaceful and humble materials, for I think
virtues are corks that make one swim while others sink.
Now I must intreat you to order Lord Worcester never
to express any admiration of her — to any female. If
he conceives that idea of her which your partiality more
than her merit may encourage, let it lie, like a violet in
the shade, to be of any use to him in the future.'
In August of the same year the Margravine sent her
correspondent a little ' sonnet,' or more properly, ballad,
called The Holiday of Life, which she had written and
set to music. This artificial trifle may be quoted as a
fair specimen of her poetical powers : —
' Colin met Sylvia on the green
Once, 'twas the charming first of May,
And shepherds ne'er tell false, I ween —
By chance they met, as shepherds say.
Colin he blushed and bowed, then said,
" Will you, sweet maid, this first of May,
Begin the dance, by Colin led,
To make this quite his holiday?"
Sylvia replied, " I ne'er from home
Yet ventured till this first of May ;
Say, is it fit for maids to roam,
And make a shepherd's holiday ? "
n 193

LADY CRAVEN
" It is most fit," replied the youth,
"That Sylvia should, this first of May,
By me be taught that love and truth
Can make of life a holiday." '
' Take care,' writes the author, ' that if any of your
Scotch nightingales sing it, they don't hurry, for the time
that it is sung in will make or mar the air. ... I know
nobody will sing it as well as I can, because nobody
could ever sing any music I ever composed to please my
feelings. But that is no matter ; 'tis not the first of
my brats that have been murdered after I produced
them. I have made up my mind to death and destruc
tion. And now I must inform you that I am going to
restore to Lady Craven's Tour to Constantinople all
the fine things which were very wisely left out.' The
Margravine asks her correspondent for a drawing for
this new edition of her book. ' I would have,' she says,
' the dedication to the Margrave's ashes in an urn, my
figure (the face hid in drapery) holding it, and stand
ing on a cloud — having left the world — which might
have the globe in the bottom of the drawing, if you like
to do it.'
In another letter, dated September 1811, the Mar
gravine announces her intention of letting Benham and
retiring to Brandenburgh House to arrange about the
publication of her letters, in order, as she says, that she
may save her memory from the mischief done to Lady
Mary Wortley Montagu's. 'Nobody shall write my
travels and letters after I am dead. Grimm and Meister
were the correspondents of the Margrave, the Empress
of Russia, and many other northern princes. I have
recueils of twenty-five volumes in manuscript ; it would
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LADY CRAVEN
be foolish to myself and a wrong to posterity if I had
not them published.'
Like most elderly ladies (and gentlemen), the Mar
gravine was firmly convinced that the times were out of
joint, and that the country was going to the dogs. It must
be confessed that in the early years of the nineteenth
century there were some grounds for gloomy prophecies.
' We are in a pretty scrape,' she writes in October 1811 ;
' Government has sent out orders for sailing and counter-
sailing, marching and counter-marching, and Jersey,
Guernsey, Ireland, Spain, Portugal, Sussex coast, and
Kentish marshes are all to be guarded together. I have
no idea of a Government making itself so ridiculous..
How Buonaparte must laugh ! We want nothing to
stamp our eternal folly but to do as we did in the time
of the Danes — bribe them with our money to retire
from our coasts, which with that money they attacked
again with fresh vigour.' But the climate was, in her
opinion, an even worse offender than the Government.
Writing from Weymouth in August 1812, she complains :
' We have seen the sun three times in one month. Every
body feels the influence of the eternal fogs and vapours
by growling, grumbling, hanging, murdering, or dying
suddenly ; but nobody suggests the only remedy, which
is filling up the navigable cuts. I began Lord Byron's
Childe Harold. Could not get through it — a quoy
remait-il? ... I did not tell you that I went to
Drapers' Hall in the city to see a picture of Mary
Queen of Scots. 'Tis a very fine one, and in that I can
see what the Scotch mean by my likeness, though I am
too humble to think I deserve the compliment. ... I
wish all the wars were ended. I was obliged to tell my
coachmaker the other day that black and white mixed
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LADY CRAVEN
ad vol. makes grey. Ignorance in all the arts keeps
pace with the increase of armies. I shall shut myself
up in my library at my return, and let seas of ink flow
over paper plains until ray conscience is satisfied, and
then recreate myself with composing some melody so gay
and original as you can hear massacred by others after I
have played it to you unmassacred.'
Kirkpatrick Sharpe took the greatest delight in
listening to the Margravine anecdotes about old times,
and the distinguished people she had known in her
eventful youth. It was he who suggested to her that
she should write down her recollections, ' as French
ladies who remember anything (and nothing) always do,
and English ladies now and then.' The Margravine
was flattered at the idea, but unfortunately her Autobio
graphy (which was dedicated to the Duke of York) is
not so much a record of her personal recollections as a
rechauffk of her various but undigested reading. In
describing the famous persons with whom she was
brought in contact, she seems to have drawn upon
biographies and encyclopaedias instead of trusting to her
own memories, and has given her readers threadbare
facts instead of traits of character such as only a
woman would have noticed. Hence, a large portion of
the two bulky volumes consists of downright unadulter
ated padding.
Keppel Craven, an exquisite of the first water (judg
ing by Sharpe's portrait of him), and an intimate friend
of Sir William Gell, was offered the post of Chamberlain
to the Princess of Wales. His mother says that she
could not ask him to reject the offer ; but she only con
sented to his accepting it on condition that he received
no salary, and was not regarded as one of the house-
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LADY CRAVEN
hold. The Princess ordered her Chamberlain to attend
her to Naples, whither, after the Battle of Waterloo,
the Margravine followed her son. The King of Naples
gave her two acres of land, on which she built a villa,
and laid out a beautiful garden. Here, except for an
occasional visit to England, she passed the remainder of
her life. Brandenburgh House, which was usually in
habited by notorious tenants, was occupied by Queen
Caroline in 1820-21. The Margravine, in spite of her
son's connection with Caroline, somewhat unaccountably
took the part of George iv., and concludes her Auto
biography with the following panegyric on his virtues :
' He has been universally admired for his urbanity,
high accomplishments, and goodness of heart. His
conduct to our sex has been unexampled ; and those
who have had the happiness of knowing him, as I did,
will not hesitate to do justice to his feelings where
female delicacy was concerned. . . . His liberality
never failed, even to his wife. He took her enormous
debts upon himself, and made sacrifices which no
other husband in the world would have made, had he
been brought before Parliament, and placed in a similar
position.' Our heroine, whose splendid constitution and high
spirits never deserted her, amused herself up to the last
by working in her garden, and corresponding with her
friends in England on the shortcomings of her native land.
In February 1816 she writes to Dr. Taylor, enclosing
a little sketch of two methods of paving streets. ' I have
drawn,' she says, ' the manners of paving the streets
a Vltalienne with that a TAnglaise, in hopes you will
observe that the wheels of carriages must eternally shake
and disarrange the one and consolidate the other ; and
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LADY CRAVEN
I hope you will get all the streets of London paved
a Vltalienne. I lament that our Society has lost the
Duke of Norfolk. I do not think we shall ever find a
President who will distribute prizes and make speeches
with so much grace as our much lamented Duke of
Norfolk. Pray let me know who is chosen in his place,
and if you have tempted by a large reward some atmo
spherical and physical calculator to propose doing away
with the navigable cuts, Paddington canals, and junction
canals that poison the atmosphere of England and rob
her of her best productions. I know money will be held
up as a barrier to the crime of spoiling land and creat
ing noxious vapours ; but money is useless dirt, and
ought to be trodden under foot when it not only cannot
purchase health and wholesome food, but is used as a
vehicle to convey sickness and the first of human miseries
all over our island. . . .
' May 30, 1816. — I write to you now on account of
what I saw of Mr. Curwen's anxiety about the relief of
the poor, and the little knowledge some of the members
of the House of Commons seem to possess of the mischief
arising from having Poor Rates at all in any parish.
When I first settled at Brandenburgh House, I was at
some pains to find out the use made of the many legacies
given in annual payments to the poor of different
parishes — charitable institutions, gifts of land, etc.
Upon a very small circle round and near the metropolis
I found the poor ought to be rich. Why were they not
so ? Because independent noblemen and gentlemen have
left off investigating the use of monies for the poor.
Villainous tradesmen of every description are left to
handle and disburse and make what use they please of
the money allotted to the poor by legacies, subscriptions,
198

LADY CRAVEN
or annual rates, and near me they made no scruple to
pay their score of three shillings a head for their dinners
at a tavern out of the money collected that day for
the poor, which so shocked a person present that he
threw his three shillings on the table, and refused to
belong to the overseers. The money of the turnpikes
on the Bath Road is perverted in the same way. Till
Government sends agents to examine into all this, people
as charitably inclined as I am must grieve in silence. A
partial examination will not do — it must be all over the
kingdom at once, and I aver that it will be found that
legacies, gifts, foundations, etc., make all poor-rates
unnecessary. That the lower orders are wretched, and
the higher deprived of half the luxuries they enjoyed
thirty years ago, I am certain, but it is owing to a want
of police. Here [in England] half their butter and all
their eggs come from France. Butchers and farmers
are too rich and monopolising, and only an investiga
tion into causes will cure their dismal results.'
The last glimpse we get of the Margravine is given
us by Madden in his Life of Lady Blessington. Madden
was at Naples with the Blessingtons in 1822, and there
he saw the ' beautiful, gay, and fascinating Lady Craven '
of Boswell, transformed into a withered and wrinkled
old woman, who might have sat for one of the witches
in Macbeth. She still retained her sprightliness and
vivacity, which contrasted very painfully with the wreck
of her former beauty. Lord Charles Murray, who was
in Naples at the same time, and who had only just
recovered from a fit of temporary insanity, persuaded
Madden to take him to call upon the Margravine, whom
he had apparently known in former days. The two found
the lady digging in her garden, dressed, as was her custom,
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LADY CRAVEN
in coarse and singular attire, ' a desiccated, antiquated
piece of mortality.' Lord Charles, excited by her extra
ordinary appearance, presently lost his self-control, and
burst into a torrent of reprehension, calling up reminis
cences of a disagreeable nature, and rumours of strange
occurrences in various parts of the globe. While the
Margravine stood listening in mingled consternation and
amazement, Madden tried to hurry his friend away. But
Lord Charles insisted that he must show his hostess a new
way of entering a carriage, and, taking a flying leap, he
dived head foremost through the window of the carriage,
where he stuck fast, while his long legs waved wildly
outside. With much difficulty Madden and a servant
managed, by dint of breaking a window, to get the whole
of his lordship inside, and the two drove off, leaving the
Margravine more startled than impressed.
In 1828 the Duke of Buckingham and Chandos,
then staying in Naples, notes in his Memoirs the death
of the Margravine of Anspach, to whose imposing
funeral he was invited. ' Elizabeth " (as she was accus
tomed to sign herself in royal fashion) left the bulk of
her property to her favourite Keppel, who died at
Naples in 1851.
It cannot be affirmed that there is any very striking
moral to be drawn from the faits et gestes of the Mar
gravine. Though she always lived as seemed best in her
own eyes, she was loved and admired in her youth,
attained exalted rank and wealth (if not respect) in
middle life, and found interests and occupations for her
old age. Even had her career been less successful than
it actually was, she would have been happy, by reason of
the abnormally-developed self-esteem that would have
carried her triumphantly through a multitude of failures.
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LADY CRAVEN
To the end of her days it is evident that she regarded
herself not only as a genius and a beauty, but as a pattern
for wives, mothers, daughters, sisters, friends. What
better gift need any mortal ask of the gods than an
equally unpuncturable power of self-delusion ?

201

JAMES LACKINGTON
BOOTMAKER AND BOOKSELLER

JAMES LACKINGTON
(1746-1815)
In reading the biographical literature of the eighteenth
century, memoirs, letters, and journals, we cannot but be
struck by the almost total absence of documents dealing
at first hand with the trading or labouring classes of the
period. The populace seems to have been separated from
its betters by a great gulf, not of hatred, but rather of
indifference. Occasionally, in the letters of coffee-room
wit or fashionable lady, there is an allusion to the
uproarious doings of the 'mob,' while more rarely the
citizen and his pretentious wife come in for a polite
sarcasm. In country villages ruled over by a beneficent
squire, the gulf was bridged to some extent by a charit
able interest in the 'deserving poor' or 'industrious
cottagers,' which usually showed itself in some form of
amiable tyranny. The net of the philanthropist was not
widespread in those days, and it was only the 'deserving'
who were patronised and assisted, the word 'deserving'
being applied to those who bent the knee to the squire's
liveries, and showed no desire to raise themselves above
that state of life to which Providence had called them.
If we have some faint notion of the manner in which
the great lady regarded the mob that broke her windows,
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JAMES LACKINGTON
or the wit regarded the tradesmen who dunned him, we
know practically nothing of the manner in which mob or
tradesmen regarded wits and fashionable ladies. The
labouring men who shouted for 'Wilkes and liberty,'
the butcher who sold his vote for a kiss from Devon
shire's Duchess — these are mere puppets who danced to
the piping of political agitators, and, when the dance
was over, were dropped back into their box, and the
lid closed upon them.
One record we possess, however, which tells at first
hand of the privations of working men and women, and
of the struggles of small tradesmen, in the days when
George in. was king. This is James Lackington's
Memoirs of the First Forty -five Years of his Life,
published in 1792. Lackington deserves to be com
memorated if only because he accomplished the almost
superhuman feat, considering the period at which he
lived, of rising unaided save by sheer strength of will
and force of character from the humble obscurity of a
shoemaker's apprentice to the proud eminence of a
wealthy bookseller. Having only learned the art of
writing after he came to manhood, it was hardly to be
expected that his Memoirs should prove to be a work
of much literary value ; but when the vulgarities, crudi
ties, and irrelevancies are cut away, we have a simple,
straightforward fnarrative which is valuable for the
strong light it throws upon a subject that otherwise
would remain wrapped in almost impenetrable mystery.
The author of the Memoirs certainly did not begin life
with any external advantages, since he was one of the
eleven children of a drunken shoemaker. Like most
remarkable men, however, he had a remarkable mother,
who, to support her family, worked at her spinning-wheel
206

JAMES LACKINGTON
for nineteen hours out of the twenty-four, living mean
while upon broth and vegetables. At the time of James's
birth in August 1746, the family was living at Wellington
in Somersetshire, where its nominal head had been set up
in a shop by his father, a yeoman farmer. The future
bookseller was sent to a dame school for two or three
years ; but his mother being unable to keep up the
payment of twopence a week, his education came to
an abrupt conclusion, and he speedily forgot the little
he had learned. But he was not idle ; for at the age of
ten years he invented a new method of crying apple-pies,
which commended itself to a local baker, who employed
him in this office for about a year with extraordinary
financial results. But at the end of this time James,
having accidentally upset his employer's child out of a
wheel-barrow, prudently decided to leave his situation,
and, returning home, worked under his father at boot-
making for the next two or three years.
At fourteen James was formally apprenticed for seven
years to a worthy couple at Taunton, Bowden by name,
who worked at their shoemaking on six days in the
week, and attended an Anabaptist chapel on the seventh.
There were two sons of the house, aged seventeen and
fourteen, good lads who had learned to read, write, cast
up accounts, and do as they were bid. The family
possessed but one book, a Bible, and their ideas were as
circumscribed as their library. Their only relaxations
consisted of a Sunday walk and an evening reading of
the Scriptures, and all went early to bed, 'no one
doubting but he should go to heaven when he died, and
every one hoping it would be a good while first.' The
master had a curious custom of rising every morning all
the year round at three o'clock, when he took a walk by
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JAMES LACKINGTON
the river, stopped at an alehouse to drink half a pint,
called up his people to work at six, and went to bed
again at seven.
But the peace of the family was destined to be redely
broken. When James had been apprentice about a
year, the elder boy, George, heard a sermon by one of
Mr. Wesley's preachers, which convinced him that the
innocent life he had hitherto led would only take him
deeper into hell ; in short, he discovered that he had
never been converted, but was in a state of damnation.
He presently persuaded himself that he had passed
through the New Birth, and was quite certain that his
name was registered in the Book of Life. Having
assured his own safety, he began to be concerned for his
family and friends, who, he feared, were in a parlous
state. In the long winter evenings, as they sat at work,
he proved to his own satisfaction that every man had
enough original sin to damn a thousand souls, that
morality was of no avail, good works being only splendid
sins, and ¦ that by faith alone could man be saved. No
one, however, could feel a proper amount of faith till he
was justified, justification being a sudden operation on
the soul, by means of which the most execrable wretch
might be assured in one instant of all- his sins being
forgiven. This zealous young disciple of Wesley found
his doctrine opposed by his own mother, who, honest
woman, would sit with her Bible on her lap, from which
she would read such passages as proved the necessity of
good works, and refuted the tenets of original sin,
imputed righteousness, and the like. The youthful
theologian generally had the best of the argument, and
his success induced his brother John to go and hear
the new lights, from which expedition he returned in
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JAMES LACKINGTON
great agony of mind, declaring that he was eternally
damned. The first effect of all these agitations upon the mind
of the young apprentice was to arouse in him a desire
for more knowledge, in order that he might judge which
of the controversialists was in the right. Having an
allowance of a halfpenny a week, he handed this over
to John, who in return taught him to spell, the lessons
taking place at night after the boys had been sent to
bed, and being delivered in the oral method, since no
candles were allowed. As soon as he had made a little
progress James went to the Methodist meetings in his
turn, caught the prevailing infection, and was horribly
frightened by sermons about hell. However, after a
month devoted to singing hymns and repeating texts, his
imagination was worked up to the required pitch, and he
was born again, becoming, to use his own words, a great
favourite with heaven, and as familiar with the Trinity
as any old woman in Mr. Wesley's connexion.
A more practical result of James's conversion was his
ever-increasing desire to learn to read. His working
hours in the winter months lasted from six in the
morning till ten at night, but in the summer he was
only obliged to work as long as he could see without
candles. It is difficult to imagine how he found time, as
he assures us that he did, to read ten chapters in the
Bible every day, besides portions of Mr. Wesley's sermons
and tracts. His sight was so excellent, for one thing,
that he often read by the light of the moon after going
to bed. He had the courage to give his master and
mistress broad hints about the perilous state of their
souls, but they, worthy folk, relied for argument upon
a good thick stick. For some time James attended his
o 209

JAMES LACKINGTON
meetings without the knowledge or consent of his em
ployers ; but as his zeal increased, he often ran away,
against orders, to hear Methodist sermons. One Sunday
his mistress locked him into his room, whereupon he
opened his Bible for direction, and read, ' He has given
his angels charge concerning thee, lest at any time thou
dash thy foot against a stone.' Without hesitation,
having received, as he fancied, heavenly direction, he ran
up two pair of stairs and leaped out of the window. His
feet and ankles were so terribly bruised that he had to
be carried back into the house, and it was more than a
month before he recovered the use of his limbs. ' I was
ignorant enough to think,' he says, ' that the Lord had
not used me very well, and resolved not to put so much
trust in Him in future.'
James had been apprenticed about four years when his
master died ; and although Mr. Bowden had been a good
husband, a good father, and a good master, yet, as he
had not held the Methodist faith, his apprentice piously
feared that he had gone straight to hell. The widow
was of opinion that his death had been hastened by the
conduct of his sons, who were dutiful lads before their
conversion, but after they 'became saints' acted as though
they expected to be fed and clothed by miracles. James
was bound to his mistress for the remainder of his term ;
but he obtained more liberty of conscience than before,
was admitted a member of the Methodist sect, and for
several years attended all the sermons and private
meetings in the community. The various classes and
bands were visited from time to time by Wesley in
person, who gave advice and exhortations to his followers,
seldom failing to speak in praise of celibacy to the maids
and bachelors under his charge. James was a sincere
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JAMES LACKINGTON
enthusiast from the time that he was converted at
sixteen until he reached the age of one-and-twenty,
insomuch that he stood forward as the champion of
Methodism wherever he went.
This strict mode of life came to an end with an elec
tion at Taunton, when, as young' Lackington possessed a
vote (it does not appear how he got the qualification),
the few months he had still to serve were bought off by
the friends of the candidates, and he was set free in the
midst of a scene of riot and dissipation. For a time
his religion was forgotten, though at the bottom of his
heart he confesses that he was always uneasy, and felt
certain that he should be damned for his backsliding.
When the election was over he began to reconsider his
position, which was rather a serious one, even from a
temporal point of view. He had been dismissed from
a new situation on account of a love-affair with a milk
maid ; not that his employer objected to the intrigue on
moral grounds, but because the lover refused to buy milk
from another milkwoman who was one of his master's
customers. The young journeyman now determined to
go and seek work at Bristol, and was accompanied as
far as Exbridge by his sweetheart. Here scruples of
conscience made him resolve to break off the connection ;
and although his capital only amounted to three shillings
and a penny, he bestowed half a crown upon her, and
continued his journey alone.
On the evening of his arrival at Bristol, James obtained
what was called ' a seat of work,' and took a lodging in
the house of a fellow-craftsman. It may here be noted,
as illustrative of the conditions of working life at that
period, that our hero, in the course of many peregrina
tions from one place to another, only on one occasion
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JAMES LACKINGTON
failed to obtain employment for the asking. The
journeyman seems to have carried his skill in his craft
as a sort of circular note or letter of credit, which was
honoured to the extent of a living wage wheresoever it
might be presented. In his new home James became
acquainted with a young man named John Jones, who
was employed in making women's stuff shoes for ware
houses. The two youths became infected with a genuine
literary enthusiasm, and were anxious to buy books ; but
so great was their ignorance, that they knew not what
to ask for in the shops, having scarcely heard the titles
of any but religious works ; and there were then, we are
assured, thousands of persons in the same situation.
One day, when the friends were on a visit to the annual
fair, they perceived a stall of second-hand books, and
among its contents found Hobbes's translation of the
Iliad and the Odyssey. James happened to have heard
that Homer was a great poet, but he had never heard
of Pope's translation, so he eagerly bought that of
Hobbes, together with Walker's Poetical Paraphrase of
Epictetus, and the young men went home delighted with
their bargain. They were, as might be expected, dis
appointed with Homer as rendered by Hobbes, both on
account of the obscurity of the translation and its lack
of poetical merit. But Epictetus was easily read and
understood, and James was so charmed by the principles
of the Stoics that he carried the book with him wherever
he went.
In Bristol Lackington fell once more under the influence
of Wesley, who was preaching at Broadmead ; and being
weary of his present mode of life, his former fanatical
notions returned hot upon him. His friend John soon
perceived with grief and indignation that the once gay,
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JAMES LACKINGTON
volatile young fellow was transformed into a dull,
moping, psalm-singing Methodist, continually reprehend
ing all about him for their harmless mirth and gaiety.
After a while Lackington succeeded in converting his
friend's younger brother and sister, and finally, after a
sharp struggle, the great Mr. John Jones himself. The
four, being all convinced that they were the favourites
of heaven, now made a holy community, and worked
harder than ever in order to buy religious books. Soon
they had acquired a varied collection, which included all
Bunyan's works, Hervey's Meditations, Baxter's Call to
the Unconverted, and many sensationally-entitled tracts.
So anxious were these remarkable people to read a great
deal, that they only allowed themselves three hours' sleep
out of the twenty-four, and each took it in turns to read
aloud to the rest. This plan of living they continued
until they had made considerable progress in spiritual
knowledge, and mastered the various arguments used by
polemical divines. In order to guard his companions
from false doctrines, James, who was their recognised
leader, used to engage them in controversies in which
he took different sides, becoming in turn a Calvinist,
an Arian, a Socinian, a Deist, and even an Atheist.
In the course of his reading Lackington discovered
that there had been sects of philosophers among the
Greeks and Romans. In order to extend his knowledge
he bought the works of Plato, Plutarch, Seneca, and
Epicurus, and soon came to the conclusion that he
derived more real moral benefit from them than from
any of his other books. Thanks to his new-found
philosophy, he grew to despise material pleasures, and
for some time confined himself to bread and tea, in
order that he might have more money to spare for books.
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JAMES LACKINGTON
This mode of life he continued until he left Bristol in
1769, having persuaded his friend Jones of the advantages
of travel. The friends started together ; but John obtain
ing work at Bridgewater, James journeyed on alone till
he found employment at Kingsbridge, and settled down
in that city. Here he was fortunate in having a master
who treated him as a friend rather than as a workman.
This good man, noticing that his assistant was obliged
to employ friends to write his letters for him, observed
that it was a pity he did not learn to write for himself.
' The idea pleased me so much,' observes James, ' that
I set about it without any delay, by taking up pieces of
paper that had writing upon them, and imitating them
as well as I could. I employed my leisure in this way
for nearly two months, after which I wrote my own
letters, in a bad hand you may be sure, but it was plain
and easy to read, which was all I cared for.' After
staying about a year at Kingsbridge, where wages were
low, he decided to return to Bristol; but stopped at
Bridgewater on the way, where he renewed his acquaint
ance with a. charming dairy-maid named Nancy Smith,
not the partner of his early escapade, but a respectable
young woman whom he had courted in his 'prentice'
days, when he had mingled lovemaking with spiritual
advice and consolation. The pair had scarcely met for
seven years, but at the sight of his old sweetheart James
felt his passion revive. With his usual directness he
informed his Nancy that his attachment to books had
prevented his saving any money, and that until he
married he was never likely to accumulate anything.
This was not exactly a tempting preface to an offer of
marriage ; but Nancy being an unworldly maiden, agreed
to take pity on him, and the pair proceeded to Bristol
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JAMES LACKINGTON
to get married. A furnished lodging was taken at a rental
of two-and-sixpence a week ; and the expenses of the
wedding-day so completely exhausted the young couple's
resources, that on turning out their pockets next morn
ing they found that they possessed but one halfpenny
between them. Fortunately, they had laid in provisions
enough to last a day or two ; and as they knew that they
could easily earn enough for their wants, they very cheer
fully set to work, singing, as they stitched, Dr. Cotton's
verses : — ' Our portion is not large indeed,
But then how little do we need ?
For nature's calls are few —
In this the art of living lies,
To want no more than may suffice,
And make that little do.'
The young husband now obtained a 'seat of stuff'
{i.e. stuff shoes) at Bristol, but he could not at first earn
more than nine shillings a week, and his wife could make
but little, as she was learning to bind shoes. A debt of
forty shillings having been claimed by the once friendly
Jones, the couple paid it off in the space of two months,
during the whole of which period they made four-and-
sixpence a week suffice for their board. 'Strong beer
we had none,' writes James, ' and instead of tea or coffee
we toasted a piece of bread; at other times we fried
wheat which, when boiled in water, made a tolerable
substitute for coffee. As to animal food, we had very
little, and that little we made broth of. During the
whole of this time we never once wished for anything
we had not got, but were quite contented, and with a
good grace in reality made a virtue of necessity.'
It is not surprising that after the debt was paid, both
husband and wife were taken so ill as to be confined
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JAMES LACKINGTON
to bed. They had two-and-ninepence locked up as a
resource in an emergency, and this supported them until
Lackington recovered. His wife now suffered from a
long series of illnesses caused by the sudden change of
air and work, she having always been accustomed to a
healthy out-of-door life. During the first six months
of her indisposition, James lived entirely on water and
gruel, his wages being required for medicines and more
dainty food for the invalid. At last, thinking that her
native air would do her good, he threw up his work and
removed to Taunton. Here wages were so low that the
pair only stayed until Nancy's health was restored, when
they returned to Bristol. In the course of the next two
years and a half the move to Taunton on account of
health, and back to Bristol on account of wages, was made
no less than five times.
With the view of improving his position, Lackington
decided at length to go to London ; but not having
sufficient money in hand to pay for the double coach-
fare, he went to town alone, arranging to send for his
wife as soon as he had saved enough to pay for her
journey. On arriving in London with the proverbial
half-crown in his pocket, he found a lodging with a
fellow-Methodist, and had no difficulty in obtaining
work. His first inquiry was for one of Mr. Wesley's
' Gospel shops,' where, on producing his band and class
tickets,' he was admitted to the same religious privileges
that he had enjoyed in the country. 'At this time,' he
writes, ' I was as visionary and superstitious as ever ; for
although I had read some sensible books, and acquired
a few rational ideas, yet having had a Methodist wife
for three years, and keeping Methodist company, the
few liberal ideas I had treasured up were in a dormant
216

JAMES LACKINGTON
state, or borne down by a torrent of enthusiastic notions
and fanatical chimeras. ... It was several weeks before
I could firmly resolve to continue in London, as I really
was struck with horror for the fate of it, more particu
larly on Sundays, finding that so few people went to
church, and that the lower class spent the day in getting
drunk, quarrelling, buying, selling, etc. I seriously
trembled for fear that the measure of iniquity was quite
full, and that every hour would be its last.'
Consoling himself with the notion that if London was
a second Sodom he was a second Lot, Lackington settled
down to his work, and at the end of a month had saved
enough money to pay for his wife's fare to town. Having
now plenty of work and higher wages, the couple were
more easy in their circumstances, and were able to buy
some new clothes. ' My wife,' says James, ' had done
very well all her life with a superfine broadcloth cloak,
but now I persuaded her to have one of silk. Until
this winter I had never found that I wanted a great
coat, but now I made that important discovery.' About
this time came the news that Lackington's grandfather,
the yeoman farmer, was dead, and had left each of his
grandchildren ten pounds. This particular heir being
unable to think of any practicable method of having
such a prodigious sum sent up to London, was obliged
to spend a considerable portion of his legacy in going to
fetch it. On the way back he was nearly frozen to
death outside the coach, and lost sixteen shillings through
a hole in his pocket. However, he reached home with
the remnant of his guineas sewn up in his clothes, and
his wife piously thanked Providence for such a splendid
fortune, only hoping that the Lord would enable them
to make a good use of it. t
217 v "

JAMES LACKINGTON
With this capital the pair furnished a room, and work
continuing plentiful, James was able occasionally to add
an old book to his collection. He tells the following
story against himself in this connection, which sounds
as though it might have happened to a humble cousin
of the immortal Vicar : —
'At the time we were purchasing household goods we
kept ourselves short of money, and on Christmas Eve
had but half a crown wherewith to buy a dinner. My
wife desired I would go to Market and purchase this
feast, but in the way I saw an old book-shop, and could
not resist going in, intending to expend sixpence or
ninepence out of my half-crown. But I stumbled on
Young's Night Thoughts — down went my half-crown,
and I hastened home, vastly delighted with my acquisi
tion. When my wife asked where was our Christmas
dinner, I told her that it was in my pocket. " In your
pocket," said she. "That is a strange place. How
could you think of stuffing a piece of meat into your
pocket?" I assured her that it would take no harm,
and began to harangue on the superiority of intellectual
pleasures over sensual gratifications. I was proceeding
in this strain. " And so," said she, " instead of buying
a dinner, I suppose you have been buying books with
the money?" I then confessed that I had bought
Young's Night Thoughts. "And I think," said I,
" that I have acted wisely ; for had I bought a dinner,
we should have eaten it to-morrow, and the pleasure
would have been soon over ; but should we live fifty years
longer, we shall have the Night Thoughts to feast upon."
This was too powerful an argument to admit of any
further debate, in short, my wife was convinced.' It
must be allowed that if the hero of this anecdote was a
218

JAMES LACKINGTON
remarkable man, he possessed an even more extraordi
nary wife. A Mrs. Primrose would hardly have been so
complaisant. In June 1774 it was suggested to Lackington that
if he were to take a little shop which was to let in
Featherston Street, he might obtain work as a master
shoemaker. He was attracted by the idea, and observed
that he might sell books as well as boots, since if he
could but be a bookseller • he would always have plenty
to read, which was the strongest motive that he could
conceive for making the attempt. His private library
consisted of a few old religious works ; and he bought
for one guinea a bagful of books, the property of a
deceased Methodist. With this modest stock, and
some scraps of leather, worth in all about five pounds,
he opened his little shop on Midsummer Day, and was
highly delighted with his promotion. ' My good wife,'
he tells us, 'perceiving the pleasure I had in my shop,
piously cautioned me against setting my mind on the
riches of this world, and assured me that it was all but
vanity. "You are right, my dear," I replied. "And
to keep our minds as spiritual as we can, we will always
attend our class and band-meetings, hear as many
sermons at the Foundry on week-days as possible, and
on the Sabbath we will mind nothing but the good of
our souls. Our small beer shall be fetched on Saturday
nights, and we will not dress even a potato on the
Sabbath. We will still attend the preaching at five in
the morning ; at eight go to the prayer-meeting ; at ten
to the public worship at the Foundry ; x hear Mr. Perry
1 The Foundry was a disused Government building for the casting of
brass ordnance, situated on Windmill Hill, now Tabernacle Street,
Finsbury Square. Wesley began to preach here in 1739. 219

JAMES LACKINGTON
at the Cripplegate at two ; be at the preaching at the
Foundry at five; meet with the general society at six;
meet in the united bands at seven; again be at the
prayer-meeting at eight ; and then come home and read
and pray by ourselves.' One would have thought that
only a Scotsman could draw up such a programme of
religious exercises for the day of rest.
As soon as the first lot of old books was sold, Lack
ington borrowed five pounds from a fund established by
Wesley for the assistance of deserving members, and
increased his little stock ; but he and his wife continued
to live in the most frugal fashion, chiefly on potatoes
and water. By the end of six months the value of the
stock had increased from five to twenty-five pounds.
This immense property its owner thought too valuable
to be buried in Featherston Street, so he moved to a
shop in Chiswell Street, where he bade a final adieu to
the 'gentle craft,' and converted all his leather into
old books. There was one class of literature that he
refused to sell, namely, free-thinking works, which he
conscientiously destroyed when they fell into his hands.
All went well with the business until September 1775,
when Lackington fell ill of a violent fever. Ten days
later his wife was seized with the same disorder, of which
she died 'in enthusiastic rant on November the 9th,
surrounded by Methodist preachers.'
Her husband observes that ' she was in reality one of
the best of women ; and although for about four years
she was ill the greater part of the time, which involved
me in the very depth of poverty and distress, yet I never
once repented having married her. 'Tis true she was
enthusiastical to an extreme, and of course very super
stitious and visionary ; but as I was pretty far gone myself,
220

JAMES LACKINGTON
I did not think that a fault in her. Indeed, she much
excelled me, and most others that ever fell under my
observation, as she totally disregarded every kind of
pleasure whatever but that of a spiritual nature. Me-
thinks, I see you smile, but I assure you she made no
exception, but was a complete devotee, and what is more
remarkable, without pride or ill-nature.'
After lying ill for many weeks, Lackington recovered,
contrary to all expectation. Some eighteenth-century
prototypes of Mrs. Gamp had kept themselves in liquor
at his expense, and stolen all his linen ; but fortunately
some friends had locked up his shop, which contained all
his little savings, or probably they too would have dis
appeared. As soon as he was about again he learned that
the lady who kept the house, and from whom he rented
his shop, had also caught the fever, and was lying danger
ously ill. He was aware that she had supported her
father, now dead, by keeping a school and doing plain
needlework, and he felt convinced that so good a daughter
would make a good wife. He also knew that she was
immoderately fond of books, and frequently read till
morning ; and ' this turn of mind was,' he writes, ' the
greatest of all recommendations to me who, having
acquired a few ideas, was restless to increase them ; so
that I was in raptures at the thought of having a woman
to read with and to read to me. I embraced the first
opportunity after her recovery to make her acquainted
with my mind ; and as we were not strangers to each
other, there was no need of a long formal courtship.
So I prevailed on her not to defer our union longer than
January 30th, 1776, when for the second time I entered
into the holy estate of matrimony.' It will be observed
that the widower remained faithful to the memory of
221

JAMES LACKINGTON
the best woman in the world for something less than
three months.
Lackington declares that his mind now began to
expand, and he learned for the first time to enjoy innocent
pleasures without the fear of being eternally damned for
a laugh, a joke, or a sociable visit. He also set himself
to read the works of rational and moderate divines, and
even to wander in the mazes of metaphysics, so that it
is hardly surprising he did not remain much longer in
Wesley's society. Indeed, Wesley himself was accustomed
to say that he could never keep a bookseller in his fold for
more than six months. Our hero's desertion of Methodism
seems to have been hastened by his discovery that the
preachers, who were continually reproving employers for
keeping their servants at home on Sundays to dress hot
dinners, themselves refused even to sup without roast
fowls and other luxuries. At the same time that he
condemns this hypocrisy, Lackington refused to admit
that the Methodists were in general the vile sect of
hypocrites for which they were commonly denounced.
He was convinced that great numbers of them were
sincere, honest, friendly people, though there were others
who took advantage of the Methodist phrases and customs
to advertise their own honesty and sobriety. Thus one
pious brother printed on a board, ' Tripe and cow heels
sold here as usual, except on the Lord's Day, which the
Lard help me to keep ' ; while another, a village worthy,
proclaimed, 'Roger Tuttel, by God's grace and mercy,
kills rats, moles, and all sorts of vermin.'
The new Mrs. Lackington helped forward her husband
in his business, her knowledge of books enabling her to
act as an unpaid assistant. The proprietor of the Uttle
shop soon found that he might sell double and treble

JAMES LACKINGTON
the number of volumes if only he had the capital where
with to buy a bigger stock. But being almost a stranger
in London, he was without credit, and often was obliged
to pawn his watch and clothes in order to purchase
parcels of desirable books. At length a neighbouring
oilman showed his faith in the bookseller's capacity by
offering to advance him the money necessary to increase
his stock, about two hundred pounds. The offer was
accepted, and in 1778 the first catalogue was printed,
which contained the titles of no less than twelve thousand
volumes. The business continued to prosper, and in 1780
Lackington decided to try a new experiment. In future
he would give no more credit, but would run his business
strictly upon ready-money lines. His notion was scoffed
at by most of his fellow-tradesmen, but he paid no heed,
and marked every book at the lowest possible price for
ready money, which, being much lower than the ordinary
market-price, soon brought a great influx of customers.
To modern writers the views of this eighteenth-century
bookseller on the thorny question of publishing should be
interesting, though they would certainly be condemned
by the Society of Authors. Nothing, he declares, is
more common than to hear authors complaining against
publishers for want of liberality in purchasing their
manuscripts ; but this complaint he held to be groundless,
and claimed that publishers showed even more liberality
than other business men. 'It ought to be considered,'
he continues, ' that the money that is paid for the copy
is .frequently but trifling compared with the expense
of printing, paper, and advertising ; and that many
publishers have sustained great losses through their
liberality in buying manuscripts, though on the other
hand it must be acknowledged that a small number of
223

JAMES LACKINGTON
publishers have made great fortunes by their copy.
rights.' As an instance of the folly of authors he tells
an anecdote of a gentleman who, when publishing a book
at his own expense, wished to print as many copies as
there were families in Great Britain. As a concession to
his publisher's views he consented to print a first edition
of only 60,000 copies. Finally, the number was reduced
to 1250 ; but though the work was well advertised,
not a hundred copies were sold. Lackington, as might
be expected, did not approve of authors keeping their
copyrights, and declared that publishers seldom do their
best under such an agreement.
Even after unexpected prosperity had blessed his
basket and his store, Mr. Lackington continued for some
years his careful and frugal mode of life, taking down
his own shutters, pricing his own books, and writing
his own catalogues. At first, to use his own words, 'I
welcomed a friend with a shake of the hand, but a year
later I beckoned across the way for a pot of good porter.
A few years after that I sometimes invited my friends
to dinner, and provided them with a roasted fillet of
veal; in a progressive course the ham was introduced,
and a pudding made the next addition to the feast. For
some time a glass of brandy and water was a luxury;
raisin wine succeeded ; and as soon as two-thirds of my
profits allowed me to afford good, red port, it appeared
on my table, nor was sherry long behind.' In the same
gradual fashion a stage-coach was transformed into a
chariot, and a suburban lodging into a country house.
' For four years Hollo way was to me an Elysium ; then
Surrey appeared the most beautiful county in England,
and Merton the most rural village ; so now Merton was
selected as the seat of philosophical retirement.' The
224

JAMES LACKINGTON
neighbours all prophesied bankruptcy, especially when
Mr. and Mrs. Lackington took to horse exercise; but
when the expected catastrophe failed to arrive, it was
generally believed that the lucky man must have won
a big prize in a lottery, or found a bundle of banknotes
between the leaves of some old book.
If ever there was the right man in the right place,
it must have been James Lackington in a bookseller's
shop. His early passion for literature seems never to
have grown blunted, " even when he had the most
abundant opportunities of satisfying it. He read every
thing: philosophy, poetry, history, travels, translations
of the classics, novels, plays, and latterly even free-think
ing works. For the study of human nature he believed
that there was no place like a book-shop, especially if
the master happened to be of an inquisitive and com
municative turn of mind. To him would come Simple
Simon for the Art of Writing Love Letters, a doubting
Christian for Crumbs of Comfort, an atheist for Ham
mond's Letter to Dr. Priestly, a beau for The Toilet of
Flora, a courtier for Macchiavelli's Prince, a republican
for Paine's Rights of Man, and, in short, every man for
his literary fancy. Lackington's talent for observation
was useful to him in his business, and he assures us that
he was generally able to foretell to his friends at the
beginning of a year how much money he would make in
the course of it, basing his calculations upon the state
of Europe and his own stock-in-trade. ' If there is any
thing of consequence in the newspapers,' he observes, ' it
draws men to the coffee-house, where they chat away the
evenings instead of visiting booksellers' shops, or reading
at home. The best time for book-selling is when there
is nothing stirring, for then many of those who for
p 225

JAMES LACKINGTON
months have done nothing but talk of war and peace,
revolutions or counter-revolutions, will have recourse to
reading.' These remarks have been indorsed almost word
for word by booksellers during the recent war.
The sale of books quadrupled itself between 1770 and
1790, many of the small farmers and country labourers
having taken to reading, who before had spent their
winter evenings in telling stories of goblins and witches
round the fire. A number of circulating libraries had
also been started in all parts of the country, a proceeding
that at first much alarmed the booksellers, who fancied
that the sale of their wares would be greatly diminished.
Experience proved, however, that the taste for reading
having become more general, the sale of books rapidly
increased. The opening of Sunday-schools also hastened
the diffusion of knowledge, and indirectly benefited the
bookseller. Lackington's own purchases had now become very
large. He prides himself upon buying a thousand or
more copies of a single work, and of having at one time
no less than ten thousand copies of Dr. Watts's Hymns in
stock. He astonished his contemporaries by his custom
of keeping his books quite openly, and informing his
employees at the beginning of each week how much the
takings of the previous week amounted to. In the
year in which he wrote his Memoirs, 1791, his profits
amounted to __?4000, and seemed likely to increase.
Having several poor relations, he decided, though his
health was failing, not to retire from business. He main
tained his mother, his first wife's parents, three more .
aged people, and four children. About this time he paid
a visit to his native village in Somersetshire, amusing
himself on the journey by calling upon some of his
226

JAMES LACKINGTON
former employers in his smart chariot, attended by
liveried servants, and asking, ' Pray, sir, have you got
any occasion ?' a term then used by journeymen seeking
work. The bells rang out for his arrival at Wellington,
and many of the most respectable persons visited him,
giving as their reason for this condescension the fact that
Mr. Lackington did not forget himself like so many
upstarts, nor neglect his poor relations.
In this blaze of glory the Memoirs come to an end, but
the numerous editions published during the next few
years, some of them with alterations and additions,
enable us to get a glimpse at our hero in his later life.
It is to be feared that unexampled prosperity proved too
much for the little bookseller's good sense, and almost
threw him off his balance. In a later edition of his
Memoirs we learn that the second Mrs. Lackington died
in 1795. Her husband wrote her epitaph, and observed
that he had been married to two of the best of women
with the worst of constitutions, but that he hoped Provi
dence had another good wife in store for him. He did
his best to assist Providence, if we may believe a con
temporary, by advertising in the Morning Chronicle for
a wife ; and after setting forth his excellent parts, and
the inimitable graces of his person, his distinguished
situation, his country-house and his chariot, he gave it
to be understood that no lady with less than i?20,000
need have the presumption to answer his advertisement.
He obtained a wife, though history does not say whether
she had the desired fortune. But fate continued to
smile upon him. His profits increased, and when
Finsbury Square was built he erected at one corner an
immense new shop which he called ' The Temple of the
Muses.' 227

JAMES LACKINGTON
So successful a man was bound to have enemies as well
as admirers. Scandalous chroniclers have recorded some
of the antics that Lackington indulged in when his good
fortune had affected his brain. On his arrival at his
town-house from Merton, a flag used to be hoisted on
the roof, which flaunted in the breeze during his stay,
but was struck on his departure. On one occasion, when
he was on a visit to Cambridge with the famous chariot,
an ostler charged sixpence to the townspeople who were
desirous of seeing the splendid equipage. Lackington,
hearing of this charge, ordered that the chariot should
be brought round and exhibited for some hours gratis.
At one time a project was in agitation of a statue to be
put up in the newly-built Finsbury Square. Lackington
offered his own figure, and promised that if his fellow-
citizens would erect a statue to him the whole expense
should come out of his pocket. This noble offer was
somewhat curtly refused. A plan for issuing a quantity
of halfpence with his own image and superscription met
with no better success.
These and other eccentricities, together with the
publication of his autobiography, which was naturally
regarded as a stupendous puff, marked him out as a prey
to the caricaturist and lampooner. One of the numerous
family of Pindar, Peregrine by name, addressed in 1795
an Ode to the Hero of Finsbury Square, congratu
lating him on his third marriage, and on his genius as
his own biographer. This poem, which was issued by a
rival bookseller, was accompanied by a clever cartoon
representing Mr. Lackington in the act of stepping into
his chariot off a pile of books, while a crowd of raga
muffins watch him with awe and admiration. He carries
a volume of his Memoirs under his arm, and upon the

JAMES LACKINGTON
hammer-cloth of the chariot is his family motto, ' Small
profits do great things,' while in the background is the
Temple of the Muses, with the flag flying. In mock-
heroic stanzas, illustrated by notes, the poet makes cruel
fun of the hero, his autobiography, his three marriages,
his temple, his proffered statue, and the rest of his
vagaries. One verse may be quoted as a specimen of
Peregrine Pindar's ' satiric vein. ' Behold,' he exclaims —
' Behold the flag with streamer gay unfurled !
Behold the multitude with staring brow !
The Hero comes — the Wonder of the World,
Merton is left, and Moorfields has him now.
Approach, ye Shopmen, and with bows profound,
Greet your great Lord with bodies to the ground.'
Lackington, who had taken a partner named Allen in
his later years, retired from business altogether in 1798,
making over his share in the Temple of the Muses to
his cousin George Lackington. A characteristic letter
addressed by the retiring partner to the new firm is here
printed for the first time. It is dated 'Two o'clock,
February 14, 1799,' and runs as follows : —
' Gentlemen, — Although you are now in the sole
possession of a prosperous trade by which you are each
likely to make a fortune, and in case a Peace should soon
take place, a large one, and although some of you are
already possessed of a great deal of property, and the
rest of you have a very handsome sum to begin with,
add to this my good opinion of your industry and
caution, etc., yet on a serious consideration I believe you
will not blame me for doing all in my power to preserve
from risk the moderate fortune which by much difficulty
and industry I am now possessed of. By this time I
suppose you have easely gest [guessed] that I am going
229

JAMES LACKINGTON
to point out the necessity of my advertising the public
of the dissolution of the partnership. It is possible
(though unlikely) that the dissoluters of Europe may
have the plundering of London (for you will know that
in London are many traiters to this country). A fire
may consume your stock, and by some misrepresentation
or failure in punctillis, you may not be able to recover.
You, like others, may neglect to insure, servants may
ruin you, many of you live at a distance; as others
marry the shop is likely to be nearly deserted. Your
own good sense will suggest to you other cases that will
justify me in taking every precaution, and I hope and
believe that each of you are so cautious that you would
(were you in my situation) do the very same as I pro
pose to do. Indeed, it would be the highest degree of
imprudence in any one to risk his all even although the
chance in his favour was five hundred to one.
' On the other side you have a copy of the advertise
ment. It would perhaps have been enough had I only
said, J. Lackington informs the public that he is no
longer a partner in the Bookselling trade carried on in
the Temple of the Muses. But though I am informed
that the Gazette charges dear for every line, I could not
be satisfied with the common laconic style, as I think the
manner in which I have drawn it up may be of great
service to you. Should you wish to make any alteration
in the advertisement, be pleased to make it, and return
it to me that I may form my own judgment upon it.
I am, gentlemen, Your humble servant, 'J. Lackington.
P.S. — If any of you gentlemen will get it inserted in
the Gazette, and order the Gazette in which it shall be
230

JAMES LACKINGTON
inserted to be sent to my address, I shall be obliged to
him that will take that trouble. But if disagreeable, I
must get one of my old acquaintance among the trade to
oblige me, as I have no friend that understands the
nature of such things but among the trade. I must
have the receipt for the money paid for the advertisement
as paid by me.
2nd P.S. — Perhaps it may not be useless to say that if
you have any substantial friends that will give me a
bond of indemnity for twenty thousand pounds, I at
present think that will do, and prevent my advertisement.
I sopose you will be able to give me an answer in two or
three posts.'
On his retirement Lackington seems to have given
up his house at Merton, for he bought two small estates
at Alveston, where he built a Methodist chapel, and
became an amateur preacher. This may create some
surprise, but the fact is that after his third marriage
he had become reconverted to Methodism, which change
of heart he had made known to the world in his
Confessions, published in 1803. In his preface to this
little book, which is very inferior to the Memoirs, he
formally announces his return to his old faith, and
recants his former errors, in the hope that his case may
serve as a warning to others, and ' an alarm to some of
those who are fallen into that dreadful state of infidelity
from which, by the great mercy of God, I am happily
escaped.' He further expresses his abhorrence of those
parts of his autobiography in which, through the side of
Methodism, he had even attacked the Church of England,
and his regret that his late firm had recently published a
new edition of the work. 231

JAMES LACKINGTON
Adam-like, Lackington attributes his falling away
from grace to the influence of his second wife, who was
passionately fond of novel-reading, with which taste she
so infected her husband that at last he neglected both his
religion and his business in order to indulge it. By
degrees he gave up reading his Bible, ceased to attend
public worship, associated with sceptics, and no longer
observed the Lord's Day. He imagined that faith had
no effect upon morals ; but when his own morals became
so relaxed that he played cards on Sunday, he owns to
feeling some uneasiness. He took to reading books on
divinity again, and, having recovered some of his former
taste for that kind of literature, desired to impart it to
others, and began the good work upon his third wife.
He describes her as being in moral conduct the most
perfect being he had ever seen, but her only motive for
this superlative excellence was that ' she thought she
ought to be as good as she could,' and apart from this
she had not the slightest knowledge of religion, nor did
she see any use in going to church. Her husband began
operations by reading to her Seeker's and Gilpin's dis
courses, at first only one every Sunday, then two or three
in the week, until at last ' Mrs. L.' said that she preferred
divinity to fiction.
When Lackington, after many struggles, was com
pletely reconverted, he began to feel distressed at the
ignorant and irreligious state of the poor people in his
neighbourhood, most of whom could not read, and never
went to church. He started a Sunday-school in the
village, and invited a Methodist preacher to come and
hold open-air meetings. Later, as has been said, he
built a chapel, and occasionally preached himself, besides
distributing tracts and visiting the sick. In 1806 he

JAMES LACKINGTON
removed to Taunton, where he spent _-?3000 upon another
chapel, over the door of which was the inscription —
' This Temple is erected as a monument of God's
mercy in convincing an Infidel of the important Truths
of Christianity. Man, consult thy whole existence and
be safe.'
A quaint little note addressed to his old firm, and
dated August 9, 1806, may here be quoted as illustrative
of Lackington's orthography, and also of his two chief
interests, his sermons and his banking account : —
' Gentlemen [it runs], — In a few days I Purpose to
remove to Taunton, and request you to direct the first
three papers to me at Mr. John Smith's, Hoisor [hosier],
North Street, after the first three then to me in Canon
Street, Taunton. The three copies of Mr. Wesley's
Sermons please to put by at 5s., as you mentioned;
should an appertunity offer of puting them into any
parcel for Taunton please to send them, otherwise put
them bye. If you will just set down in figures the
Ballance which I have in my Banker's hand you will
further oblige, gentlemen, yours, etc., 'J. Lackington.'
Having quarrelled with the Wesleyan preachers at
Taunton, Lackington removed to Budleigh Salterton,
where he built and endowed a third chapel, and spent
the remainder of his life. He died of apoplexy in 1815,
being then in his seventieth year. A long notice on his
remarkable career appeared in the Gentleman's Magazine,
and he also received mention in Nichols's Literary Anec
dotes. His Memoirs went through thirteen editions, and
received the unusual honour of being translated into
German. For some years longer the Temple of the Muses

JAMES LACKINGTON
continued to flourish in Finsbury Square. Knight the
publisher, in his Shadows of the Old Booksellers, relates
that when he was about ten years old (in 1801) his
father took him, as a great treat, to see this famous
Temple. Over the principal entrance was the inscription,
' Cheapest Booksellers in the World.' In the interior
was an immense circular counter, while a broad staircase
led up to the ' lounging-rooms ' and a series of galleries
round which books were displayed, growing gradually
cheaper and shabbier in appearance as they neared the
roof. If there was any chaffering or haggling about the
cost of a work, the shopman merely pointed to a placard
on which was printed, ' The Lowest Price is marked on
every book, and no abatement is made on any article.'
George Lackington, who succeeded his cousin James, con
tinued to sell cheaply for cash, but was more inclined
towards publishing speculations, and it was he who
offered five hundred pounds for the autobiography of
Richard Cumberland. The business was still being
carried on in Finsbury Square in 1822, but a little later
it was removed to Piccadilly, and the name of Lackington
disappeared from the firm. Many of the best-known
booksellers of the nineteenth-century are said to have
received their training in the famous house that had
been founded by the illiterate little West Country shoe
maker.

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MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
(1755-1838)
PART I. GIRLHOOD
It may be remembered that Robert Louis Stevenson, in
a letter to Mr. Sidney Colvin dated Christmas, 1880,
announces his intention of writing a History of the
Highlands (an interesting catalogue might be compiled
of the unwritten books of the best authors), and dilates
upon the vast number of delightful writers with whom he
shall have to deal in the section devoted to literature —
Johnson, Boswell, ' Ossian ' Macpherson, Mrs. Grant of
Laggan, and Scott. Again, in the charming Memoirs of
a Highland Lady published a few years ago, the heroine
alludes more than once to ' the celebrated Mrs. Grant of
Laggan ' ; while references to the same lady occur in
Loci-hart's L'fe of Scott. Whatever may be the case
with Scottish readers, it is probable that few Southrons
could answer off-hand the question, ' Who is Mrs. Grant
of Laggan?' or claim any familiarity with her works.
Yet in the opening years of this century Mrs. Grant
was one of the idols of literary society both in London
and Edinburgh, while her Letters from the Mountains
achieved a popularity that has only been rivalled by
the productions of our modern Kailyard School. Her
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MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
vogue beyond doubt was genuine, and the enthusiasm she
aroused spontaneous, for she was the pet of no special
clique, and the critics, both northern and southern, were
either cold or neglectful. It was the public of the two
kingdoms that took her to its heart, wrote to assure her
of its admiration, sent her substantial presents, and
carried her triumphantly through many editions.
In the course of time the fickle public forgot the Lady
of Laggan even more completely than it forgets most of
its favourites ; and now she only lives in the memories of
a few lovers of Highland literature, who find a charm like
that which lingers about a tuft of sun-dried heather in
her once famous Letters from the Mountains. Stevenson,
as we have seen, describes her as a delightful writer ; but
even had all the glamour faded out of her work, she
deserves to be remembered for the good service she
rendered to her countrymen by singing the praises of
Highland character and Highland scenery at a time when
it was the fashion in this country to despise everything
north of the Tweed, to say nothing of the Tay. In the
eighteenth century Southrons had been taught by such
authorities as Burt, Johnson, and Pennant that the High
lands were barren deserts, the men frightful savages, and
the women mere beasts of burden. Burt, writing of the
scenery, observes : ' There is not much variety in it, but
gloomy spaces, different rocks, and heather high and low.
They appear one above the other, the whole of a dismal
brown, drawing upon a dirty purple, and most of all dis
agreeable when the heather is in bloom.' Even Goldsmith
declared that in Highland scenery ' hills and rocks inter
cept every prospect.' Mrs. Grant may perhaps be accused
of having idealised the character and manners of her
countrymen, but then she was a lady who looked upon
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MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
life through rose-coloured glasses, and asked little of her
suiToundings beyond nature and simplicity. It is probable
that she did more than any other writer except Sir Walter
to dissipate our national prejudice against the Scots, and
to open English eyes to the beauty of the ' land of brown
heath and shaggy wood.'
The future chronicler of the little village on the Spey
had a far more eventful childhood than fell to the lot
of most of her feminine contemporaries. In a fragment
of autobiography written by herself in old age, she tells
us that she was born in 1755, at Glasgow, being the only
child of Duncan Macvicar, ' a plain, brave, pious soldier,'
and of his wife, a Miss Stewart of Invernahayle. In 1757
Macvicar, who held a commission in the 77th Foot, sailed
with his regiment for America, where the Seven Years'
War was then raging. In 1758 Mrs. Grant and her little
daughter Anne went out to join the head of the family,
but on arriving at Charleston found that he was absent
on the Pittsburg expedition. For some time they drifted
about, now in Pennsylvania, now in New York, till in
1760 they accompanied the regiment from Albany to
Oswego, making the long romantic voyage up the
Mohawk river in large boats, sometimes sleeping in the
woods, sometimes in the forts, which formed a chain of
posts in the then trackless wilderness. On the way,
Anne, who delighted in the freedom and adventure of
the life, and cared nothing for the wolves that howled
from the surrounding hills, was presented to Hendish,
King of the Mohawks, who gave her a little basket of
dried berries, and for whose sake she liked kings the
better all her life after. ' We had no books,' she writes
in later years, ' but the Bible and some military treatises ;
but I grew familiar with the Old Testament, and a Scotch
239

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
sergeant brought me Blind Harry's Wallace, which by the
aid of the said sergeant I conned so diligently that I not
only understood the broad Scotch, but caught an admira
tion for heroism, and an enthusiasm for Scotland that
has ever since been like a principle of life.' A copy of
Milton was studied on the return journey, a year later,
and not only became one of the principal factors in the
child's education, but was also the means of obtaining
for her the friendship of one of the most distinguished
American women of that period, Madame Schuyler, who
lived in Albany, where Captain Macvicar was stationed
for the next three or four years with a detachment of his
regiment. Colonel and Madame Schuyler had won well-deserved
renown for the manner in which they dispensed hospi
tality to respectable strangers, protected the new settlers,
helped to alleviate the hardships suffered by the British
troops, and acted as the guardian angels of the poor
Indians of the district. ' Some time after our arrival at
Albany,' continues the autobiography, ' I accompanied
my parents to visit Madame Schuyler, whom I regarded
as the Minerva of my imagination. The conversation
fell upon dreams and forewarnings. I rarely spoke till
spoken to at any time, but of a sudden the spirit moved
me to say that bad angels sometimes whispered dreams
to the soul. When asked for my authority, I surprised
every one, but myself most of all, by a long quotation
from Eve's fatal dream 1 (in Paradise Lost) which infused
into her mind the ambition that led to guilt. After this
happy quotation I became a great favourite with Madame
1 ' When nature rests,
Oft in her absence mimic fancy wakes
To imitate her,' etc.
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MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
Schuyler, who never failed to tell any one who had read
Milton the origin of her partiality. While we remained
in America I enjoyed much of Madame Schuyler's society,
and after my father removed from Albany I spent two
winters with her in that city. Indeed, if my parents
would have parted with me, she would have kept me
entirely with herself : whatever culture my mind received
I owe to her.'
When peace was concluded the British Government
granted allotments of land to retired officers, two thou
sand acres to each. Captain Macvicar not only took up
his own allotment, but bought at a low price the rights
of other officers who were returning to England, and
soon became the owner of a large amount of property in
New Vermont, where he intended to settle down. His
health giving way, however, he decided to return to his
native land, leaving his affairs in charge of a friend.
This estate, which he regarded as a comfortable provision
for his family, was ' swallowed up,' to use his daughter's
expression, in the American Rebellion; in other words,
it was seized during those troubled times by disbanded
soldiers and lawless characters who, when peace was
restored, had the nine points of the law in their favour,
and refused to accede to the federation of the other
states, if their rights were called in question. The.
Macvicars arrived at Glasgow in May, 1768, after en
countering one continued storm in a small ill-found
vessel. Anne, then in her fourteenth year, was at first
sought after as something curious and anomalous, possess
ing none of the fashionable feminine accomplishments, yet
unusually familiar with books and all that regarded the
face of nature. In spite of her unlikeness to other girls
of her age, she made one or two friendships at this period
a 241

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
which neither time nor absence interrupted, and which
only death had power to break.
Captain Macvicar had a share in a commercial business,
but in 1773 he was offered the post of barrack-master
of Fort Augustus, and could not resist the temptation of
a military employment. Anne, then not quite eighteen,
by no means disliked the idea of a life in the solitary
Highland station, though it was not without a wrench
that she parted from her Glasgow friends. The famous
Letters from, the Mountains begin abruptly with an ac
count of the leisurely journey to Fort Augustus by way
of Inveraray, Oban, and Fort William. There is a touch
of youthful pedantry in her frequent allusions to the
Odyssey which she carries with her in the chaise, and in
her complaint, 'I can always get people to laugh with
me ; but the difficult thing is to get one " soft, modest,
melancholy female fair " that will be grave with me, and
enter into my serious and sober reflections.' Again,
while riding over the lonely moors she is supported by
a benevolent project for the reformation of certain female
friends. ' I mean,' she writes, ' such of them as say or do
no great harm, but who bewilder their brains and waste
their time among endless mazes of ribbon and lace
and tattle and tales. I am convinced some solitary
pilgrimages over the brown moors might wean them
from this trifling, and teach them to think, and then
" on reason build resolve," which might be found a
column of true dignity, even in women. The general
result of my meditations was that we should be oftener
alone.' There is many a romantic description of the beauties
of Loch Lomond, Glen Falloch, and Glencoe which no
doubt charmed the equally romantic friend to whom they
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MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
were addressed, but which would certainly be skipped by
the modern reader. A more original note is struck in a
letter from Oban, dated May 3, 1773, the note of admira
tion for the Highland character which set the key to so
much of Mrs. Grant's published work. ' Do you know,'
she remarks, 'the Highlanders resemble the French in
being poor with a better grace than other people. If
they want certain luxuries or conveniences they do not
look embarrassed and make you feel awkward by petty
apologies, which you don't know how to answer; they
rather dismiss any sentiment of that kind by a playful
raillery for which they have a talent. People hereabouts,
when they have good ancestry, education, and manners,
are so supported by the consciousness of those advan
tages, that they seem not the least disconcerted by the
deficiencies of fortune. Is it not a blessed thing that
there is a place where poverty is respectable and deprived
of its sting ? '
At Oban the travellers stayed for some time at the
house of an elderly gentleman, alluded to as ' The Col
lector,' with whom Anne declares that she has fallen
deeply, hopelessly in love, though he is seventy and has
been thrice married. But then he is so lively, well bred,
and intelligent. ' If his are the manners of the old court,
I wish I had lived a little earlier. . . . He delights to
talk of his "last friend," who I believe was an amiable
woman, and lived happily with him for the short time
their union lasted, though the difference of age amounted
to little less than fifty years!' It was here that Anne
had her first experience of a Highland service, being
taken by her friends to church at Kilmore, some four
miles off". ' It is by no means a Jewish Sabbath that is
kept here,1 she observes. ' It would be bold to call it
243

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
strictly a Christian one ; be that as it may, it is a very
cheerful one. We set out on horseback in a shower of
snow which people here mind no more than hair-powder.
. . . This was an odd old church, almost ruinous, but
when the preacher came in he roused all my attention.
I never beheld a countenance so keenly expressive, nor
such dark piercing eyes. When I began to look about,
the dresses and countenances of the people presented new
matter of speculation. This is certainly a fine country
to grow old in ; I could not spare a look to the young
people, so much was I engrossed in contemplating their
grandmothers. They preserve the form of dress worn
some hundred years ago. Stately, erect, and self-satisfied,
without a trace of the languor or coldness of age, they
march up the area with gaudy-coloured plaids fastened
about their breasts with a silver brooch like the full moon
in size and shape. They have a. peculiar lively blue eye,
and a fair fresh complexion. Round their heads is tied
a plain kerchief, and on each cheek is a silver lock which
is always cherished, and considered as a kind of decora
tion. . . .
' I was trying to account for the expression in the
countenance of those cheerful ancients, while the pastor
was holding forth in the native tongue. Now here is the
result : — People who are for ever consecrating the memory
of the departed, and hold the virtues, nay, the faults of
their ancestors in such blind veneration, see much to love
and revere in their parents that others never think of.
The old people, treated with unvaried tenderness and
veneration, feel no diminution of their consequence, no
chill in their affections. . . . Observe, moreover, that
they serve for song-books and circulating libraries, so
faithfully do they preserve, and so accurately detail, the
244

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
tales of the times of old and the song of the bards.
All this makes them the delight of the very young in
the happy period of wonder and simplicity, and finding
themselves so prevents their being peevish or querulous.
... I was waked out of a pleasing reverie by the beadle
coming to ask if I had any Gaelic, because if I had not
there was to be an English discourse. Judge of my im
portance in having a sermon preached for my very self.
... A new and very amusing scene opened when service
was over. We were ushered into a kind of public-house
where it seems all the genteel part of the congregation
usually meet, converse, and take refreshments while their
horses are preparing. The Kirk here is literally accounted
a public place, and frequented from very different motives.
People not singularly pious cross ferries and ride great
distances in bad weather, not solely, I fear, to hear the
glad tidings in church, but to meet friends in this good-
humoured kindly way, after sermon, who can tell them
all about their eighteenth cousins in India and America.'
The cynosure of the assembly was an old major, with
tartan coat, large silver buttons worn in Montrose's wars
by his grandfather, and abundant silver locks adorning a
countenance the picture of health and benignity. With
him were his three thin upright sisters and his nine
cousins, who amidst all their oddity were mountain
gentlewomen. There was little scandal talked ; for the
dead being the principal subject of conversation, the
living escaped calumny. 'I am resolved for my part,'
declares Anne, 'to die in the Highlands, that I may
avoid the sudden oblivion which swallows up the departed
among polished people who disguise selfishness under the
pretence of not being able to endure to have their fine
feelings disturbed with the mention of the dead.' 245

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
Like most young women of marked character who have
early learned to think for themselves, Anne found it
difficult to adapt herself to ordinary female society, or
to make allowance for the follies and frivolities of girls
of a different calibre from herself. In one of the letters
written during her stay at Oban in a family which, with
the exception of its head, was not particularly congenial
to her, she writes : —
' I cannot fatigue myself or you with the description
of this day; you will find it in Thomson, "Deceitful,
vain, and void passes the day." Why should I speak
peevishly of good-humoured people who show a wish to
please me ? Why am I not pleased with trifles when the
best of us are doomed to pass a great part of our lives
in a manner which our own reflections must call trifling ?
But then I should like to trifle my own way. I could
play half a day with sweet little Anne, or even with a
sportive kitten or puppy. I could gather shells and sea
weed on the shore, or venture my neck for nests that I
would not plunder after finding them ; nay, I could talk
nonsense as we used to do, and laugh heartily at vagaries
of our own contriving ; but their nonsense I can't for my
life relish ; they think it wit, and I can't accredit it as
such. Then they think cunning wisdom, and mistake
simplicity for folly. Do not think that I indulge myself
in the conceit of not caring for anybody unless they have
the taste for reading which great leisure and solitude in
a manner forced upon me, but I would have people love
truth and nature, I would have them look a little into
the great book which their Maker has left open to every
body.' With her host, the Collector, Anne had already struck
up a warm friendship. He lent her books, and encouraged
246

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
her to write down her reflections and impressions on the
subjects of her reading. But on the whole she was not
sorry to depart on his Majesty's wherry for Fort William,
where the party arrived about May the 12th. The
wherry had a very stormy passage, and the captain was
forced to put in for shelter opposite Port Appin, the
passengers taking refuge in the house of an unknown lady.
' We were received,' says Anne, ' with a kind of stately
civility by a tall, thin person, a widow — pale, wan, and
woe-begone. She never asked who we were until a good
fire and most comfortable tea-drinking put us in humour
to make replies. She then asked my mother if we were
connected with the country. Now we had just left my
father's country, and entered my mother's. She told the
good lady her whole genealogy, by no means omitting
the Invernahayle family, on which the old lady rose with
great solemnity, crying, ' All the water in the sea cannot
wash your blood from mine,' and a tender embrace was
followed by a long dissertation on the Invernahayle
family.' Fort William, where another stay was made, found no
favour in the girl's critical eyes. ' It is,' she declared, ' a
seaport without being animated ; it is a village without
the air of peace and simplicity; it is military without
being gay and bold-looking ; it is country without being
rural ; it is Highland without being picturesque and
romantic; it has plains without verdure, hills without
woods, mountains without majesty, and a sky without
a sun.' Even the river she describes as looking gloomy
and stupid, while the far-famed Ben Nevis is a great
clumsy mountain, which, as far as a mountain can re
semble a man, resembles the person Smollett has marked
out by the name of Captain Gawky. At this time the
247

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
young traveller is full of the tragedy of Glencoe, and
relates the familiar story in picturesque and impassioned
style. An anecdote of another dismal period is told
in the same letter, and will probably be new to most
readers. ' There was an English major,' so it runs, ' who in the
absence of the governor commanded the garrison- of
Fort William in the year 1746. At that time, after
much previous severity, a free pardon was offered to all
the lower class who would deliver up their arms ; those
found with weapons in their possession had no mercy to
expect. After supper one night, when the commandant
and his officers were enjoying their bowl in this house,
the sergeant of the guard came in, and said there were
three men brought in with their arms, — what should he
done with them ? " What but hang them ? " said the
major, impatient of disturbance. Now this was owing
to the sergeant's inaccuracy of expression. The poor
men, in fact, were coming in with their arms to deliver
them up, and meeting one of the outposts by the way,
accompanied them to the garrison. When the giant
awoke from his wine, the first thing he did was to look
out of the window, and the first object he saw was the
bodies of these unhappy men hung over a mill opposite.
He was filled with horror, not recollecting his last night's
order. When it was explained to him that the poor
creatures came to receive the proffered mercy, the intelli
gence threw him into a deep and lasting melancholy. My
father, though of all Whigs the bluest, speaks with horror
of this transaction, and says he saw a very pretty young
widow come to that mill the following winter, whose
father, brother, and husband had been the sufferers.'
It was in those days a long and fatiguing journey on
248

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
horseback over the brown moors to Fort Augustus. The
letters give a vivid description of Glenmore, the great
valley that opens across Scotland from sea to sea, and of
its fast-following lakes linked by filial streams, which,
as the writer says, 'invite art to the aid of nature in
forming a canal that should divide Scotland ; but that
will be the business of a wiser and a richer century.'
Just thirty years later, in 1803, the Caledonian Canal
was begun, but it was not completed until 1847. On
passing the ruins of Achnacarry, the home of the
Camerons, Anne relates with pride how ' when Lochiel's
estate was forfeited, the tenants paid the usual rent to
the Crown, and also paid voluntarily a rent to support
Lochiel's family abroad. When the demesne was taken
by some friends for their behoof, the tenants stocked it
with cattle of all kinds. This too was pure benevolence ;
and to this my grandfather, one of that faithful band,
amply contributed.'
For General Wade's famous military roads our heroine
had no great appreciation, and refused to take it for
granted that they would civilise the people as speedily
and effectually as was expected. ' The people,' she asserts,
' were very civil when they were well treated ; they were
so agile and familiar with their own bye-paths, and so
accustomed to go " Over moor, over mire,
Thoro' bush and thoro' briar,"
that I am not clear they will always forsake their old
short cuts for the pleasure of going ten miles round on
hard gravel. These roads will afford access to strangers
who dislike and despise, because they do not understand 249

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
them ; and to luxuries they cannot afford to pay for, and
would be happier without. Early accustomed to savage
life, I have not the horror at it that wiser people have.
As far as regards this world, I am not sure how much
my old Mohawk friends have to gain by being civilised,
nor are my expectations very sanguine of the felicity
which more knowledge of good and evil will produce
here.' Fort Augustus is described as a miniature New York
as to situation, the fort itself being the prettiest little
thing imaginable. ' You would suppose some old veteran
had built himself a house with a ditch and drawbridge
to remind him of his past exploits.' The society was
almost exclusively military, and naturally limited in its
ideas and conversation. 'Nobody will care for me,'
writes Anne, luxuriating after youthful fashion in the
prospect of undeserved loneliness and neglect, 'because
nobody will understand me. I cannot blame them. I
am too rustic, too simple at least, for people of the world,
with whom maimer is everything; and though myself
uneducated, I painfully feel that I have too much refine
ment, too much delicacy, for uninformed people with
whom I have no point of union but simplicity. . . . Our
garrisonians are diverting originals, but their restlessness
and discontent provoke me. Military people always
speak with pleasure of the place where they have been,
or are going, but are never satisfied where they are.
They are generally well bred and entertaining, but often
hard and heartless at bottom, and always arbitrary in
their families when they have them. They rail constantly
at this place, yet perhaps they will never be so happy
when they leave it. I would rather be a beetle under
a stone than a dragon-fly blown with every blast.'
250

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
• Quite an ordeal was the first visit to the commandant's
wife, for the lady was London-bred, had a great fortune,
and was what the men called very smart. ' She was a
terrification to me,' writes the stranger. ' I put on my
lilac, as you may well believe, but neither that nor my new
bonnet inspired me with confidence. I was much worse
when I went to the Governor's. The young lady, from
whom I would fain have looked for a little companion
ship, interested but overawed me. She was polite, and
that is all one expects at first ; but I am sure she could
not like me if she wished it — I was so awkward, and so
sensible of being awkward, and so afraid of being laughed
at. I envy those people whose spirits are kept up by
the hope of admiration ; mine are always kept down by
the fear of ridicule.'
The girl found her chief resources in her books, her
rambles over the moors, and her correspondence with her
friends. To the Collector she writes long letters contain
ing critical analyses of the books that he has lent her,
mostly biographies of celebrated men, such as Cromwell,
Charles xn., and Peter the Great. On June 20, 1773,
however, she tells him that her attention has been com
pletely engrossed by a 'new' novel called The Vicar of
Wakefield, * which he must certainly read. ' Goldsmith,'
she observes, * puts me in mind of Shakespeare ; his
narrative is improbable and absurd in many instances,
yet all his characters do and say so exactly what might
be supposed of them, if so circumstanced, that you
willingly resign your mind to the sway of this pleasing
enchanter, laugh heartily at improbable incidents, and
weep bitterly for impossible distresses. . . 'Tis a thou
sand pities that Goldsmith had not patience or art to
1 Published in 1766. 251

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
conclude suitably a story so happily conducted ; but the
closing scenes rush on so precipitately, are managed with
so little skill, and wound up in such a hurried and really
bungling manner, that you seem hastily awakened from
an affecting dream. Then miseries are heaped on the
poor Vicar with such barbarous profusion, that the
imagination, weary of such cruel tyranny, ends it by
breaking the illusion.'
Not a bad piece of criticism for a self-educated girl
of eighteen ! The Collector was not unnaturally im
pressed, and inquired the source whence so much pre
mature information and reflection had been derived. In
reply, Anne gives a little sketch of Madame Schuyler;
and declares that whatever culture her mind had received
she owed to this friend of her childhood, whose house
was an academy for morals, for manners, and for solid
knowledge. ' Many particulars relative to this excellent
person's life and manners,' she remarks, 'would be well
worth preserving; and if I outlive her, I think I will,
some time or other, endeavour to please myself at least
by preserving a memoir of a life so valuable and im
portant.' This project, conceived in early girlhood, was
carried out thirty years later, when in her Memoirs of an
American Lady the writer succeeded in producing a book
that pleased the public on both sides of the Atlantic.
In June, 1774, Anne journeyed with a friend to
Inverness, intending to stay only a few days, but between
kindness and contrary winds the visitors were detained
three weeks. The town at that time had, according to
our chronicler, 'a very genteel society, and one meets
with many well-bred, agreeable people. They have
assemblies every fortnight, gayer than the Glasgow ones,
which may be accounted for by their being attended by
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MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
the neighbouring gentry, who are numerous and polite.
Nothing took my fancy so much as the ladies. They are
really showy, handsome women, excellent dancers, and
have the best complexions I ever saw. Indeed, you can
seldom meet with a young lady who does not remind
you of the beauties in old romances.' Another visit to
some cousins at Perth was not productive of unmixed
pleasure ; and there is a Jane- Austen-like touch about
the complaint that the hostesses were ' too civil to let
us alone, too desirous of entertaining to hold their
tongues a moment, too observant to let us look serious
without asking why we were so dull, or out of the
window without taxing us with being wearied of them.
In short, we did not get our elbows on the tea-table while
we stayed. Then we had continual invitations from
agreeable people in the town, which we accepted the
readier as we were not quite the thing at home, and that
was misprision of treason.'
The five or six years spent at Fort Augustus passed
peacefully, if somewhat monotonously, for the barrack-
master's daughter. The life and the society of the place
are summed up neatly enough in a letter dated March,
1777. 'You have no idea how townified folks are in
these little garrisons, and how these small circles ape the
manners of the great world they have reluctantly left
behind them. We too have our visits and our scandals
brought from thirty miles distant. When any one marries,
we all sit in judgment, and are sure to find some fault
with either party, as if it were our own cousin ; and
when any one dies within twenty miles, we are all very
busy sounding their praises, and contrive to rake a good
many virtues from among their ashes that we never gave
them credit for till they were out of the reach of envy.
253

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
When Madame La Commandante receives any new article
of dress, we all fly to admire it, and then hurry away
to wash gauzes, or in some other imperfect manner to
contrive a humble imitation of it. Believe that our
antiquated beaux and belles do everything in the country
that yours do in the town, only with more languor and
ill humour. When they walk 'tis on the hard gravel
road to get an appetite; when they read 'tis some
periodical matter, to doze away time till the card-party
begins. . . . They are ever pining for want of company
they could ill afford to keep, and public places which it
would ruin them to frequent. They strive to exalt our
idea of their former consequence by regretting that there
are no noblemen's seats at a visiting distance, and that
tumblers and rope-dancers never come this way.'

PART II. MARRIAGE
In May, 1779, Anne Macvicar was married to a member
of the numerous Grant clan, a young clergyman who
had formerly been chaplain to the garrison, but who
for the past three years had ministered to the spiritual
needs of the parish of Laggan, a remote and solitary
village on the spurs of the Grampians between Kingussie
and Fort William. Even in these days it lies outside
the beaten track of tourists, since no railway has yet
invaded those mountain fastnesses. In a letter to a
friend written a couple of months after the marriage,
Mrs. Grant explains that the man for whom she has
made 'the greatest of all sacrifices' is an old acquaint
ance of her correspondent's, and continues : —
'After staying two months at the Fort, and wandering
254 '

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
many days through our old delightful haunts, we have at
length taken up our residence in the pastor's cottage, which
is literally pastoral. Here we have since continued, not
enjoying the ideal felicity of romances, but that rational
and obtainable degree of happiness which is derived
from a sincere mutual esteem, health, tranquillity, and a
humble, grateful consciousness of being placed in a situa
tion equally remote from the cares of poverty and the
snares of wealth. You know of old my notions of
matrimony, and how meanly I thought of the usual state
of happiness enjoyed by those who enter into willing
subjection. This has proved an advantage to me, as
I had no sanguine expectations to be disappointed, and
find more of the attention and complacency of a lover
in the husband than I expected. We were indeed mis
taken in the character of our friend ; he has neither the
indifference nor the tranquillity we gave him credit for.
Wrapped up in his natural reserve, he baffled our penetra
tion. Would you think it ? He is generous, impetuous,
and acute in all his feelings. His delicacy is extreme,
and he has as nice and jealous a sense of honour as any
Spaniard.' The life of a Highland village was evidently far more
to Mrs. Grant's taste than that of town or garrison. In
the Letters from the Mountains there is not a single
word of complaint of the loneliness, the hardships, or
the inconveniences of such an existence. She nearly
always writes of Laggan in sunshine, with the flowers
blooming and the stream singing over the stones. In
the autobiographical fragment she explains that ' Mr.
Grant having been placed in the parish of Laggan three
years before, his popularity was secured by his manners
and conduct ; mine was of more difficult attainment, 255

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
because I was not a native of the country, and High
landers dislike the intrusion of a stranger. However, I
had both pride and pleasure in overcoming difficulties.
Thus, by adopting their customs, studying the Gaelic
language, and, above all, not wondering at anything local
or peculiar, I acquired that share of the goodwill of my
new connections, and the regard of the poor, without
which, even with the fond affection of a fellow mind, such
a residence would scarcely have been supportable. ... I
acquired a taste for farming, led a life of fervid activity,
and had a large family of children, all promising, and
the greater number of them beautiful.'
It is evident that Mrs. Grant took a pride in her
multifarious duties, and fully returned the affection of
the people. Her husband held a farm on very easy
terms from the Duke of Gordon, which supported a
dozen cows and a couple of hundred sheep ; while there
was a range of summer pasture on the mountains for the
young stock. ' This farm,' she writes, ' supplies us with
everything absolutely necessary ; even the wool and flax
that our handmaidens manufacture to clothe the chil
dren are our own growth. I am very fond of the lower
class of the people ; they have sentiment, serious habits,
and a kind of natural courtesy; in short, they are not
mob. . . . There is a plentiful lack of wealth and
an abundant scarcity of knowledge; but our common
people have not often low, sordid notions, cant phrase
ology, nor the callous hardness that marks that class
of mind in whatever situation. Our people, though
they lose their native character when they learn lan
guages, or mingle with the canaille of other countries,
retain here a good deal of the Fingalian liberality and
courtesy, of that tenderness of sentiment, that elevated
256

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
generosity that casts a lustre over the brown deserts of
Morven.' The Grant children, twelve in number, all learned to
lisp Gaelic in their infancy, and their mother often dwelt
upon the pleasure that her acquaintance with that
original and emphatic language had afforded her. ' I am
determined,' she says, ' that my children shall drink from
the pure wells of Celtic undefiled. They shall taste the
animated and energetic conversation of the natives, and
an early acquaintance with the poetry of nature shall
guard them against false taste or affectation. I never
desire to hear an English word out of their mouths till
they are four or five years old. How I should delight
in grafting elegant sentiments and just notions on simple
manners and primitive ideas. That is just the Forte-
piano character that we always wish for and seldom
meet.' Mrs. Grant soon became an adept at farming, an
occupation which in the Highlands was left chiefly to
the female members of a family. ' You Londoners,' she
says in one letter, 'have no idea of the complicated
nature of Highland farming, nor of the odd customs
that prevail here. Formerly, from the wild and warlike
nature of the men, they thought no rural employments
compatible with their dignity. Fighting, hunting, loung
ing in the sun, music and poetry, were their occupations.
This naturally extended the women's province both of
management and labour, the care of the cattle being
peculiarly their own.' This custom roused indignation
in the breasts of the few English travellers who pene
trated into the remoter Highlands. Pennant declares
that the women trudged to the fields in droves, like
beasts of burden, and were so loaded with harvest labours
it 257

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
that it was small wonder they became withered and
wrinkled hags at an age when the more fortunate of
their sex were still in their prime. Happily for them
selves, the Highland matrons saw no cause for self-pity
in their hard-working lives. The Lady of Laggan
certainly regarded the matter from an optimistic point
of view. 'Though the men are now civilised to what
they were,' she observes, ' yet the custom of leaving the
weight of all cares on the more helpless sex still continues,
and has produced this one good effect, that they are from
this habit less helpless and dependent. The men think
they preserve dignity by this mode of management;
the women find a degree of power and consequence that
they would not exchange for inglorious ease.'
In the summer the cattle, most of the farm-servants,
and some of the children were sent up to the mountain
pastures, at which time the commissariat required most
careful organisation, the lines of communication being
very long, though fortunately there was no enemy to
harass them. In one of her letters Mrs. Grant attempts
to give an outline of her occupations during a typical
Monday in June. ' I mention Monday,' she says, ' because
it is the day on which all dwellers in the glens come
down for supplies. Item, at four o'clock Donald arrives
with a horse loaded with butter, cheese, and milk. The
former I must weigh instantly. He only asks an additional
blanket for the children, a covering for himself, two milk-
tubs, a cog, two stone of meal, a quart of salt, and two
pounds of flax for the spinners. He brings the intelli
gence that the old sow has become the joyful mother of a
dozen pigs, and requests something to feed her with. All
this must be ready in an hour, before the conclusion of
which comes young Ronald from the high hills where our
258

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
sheep and horses are all summer, and desires meat, salt,
and women with shears to clip the lambs. He informs
me that the black mare has a foal, but is very low, and I
must send some one to bring her to the meadows before
he departs. Then the tenants who do us services come ;
they are going to stay two days in the oak-wood cutting
timber for our new byre, and must have a provision of
bread, cheese, and ale. Then I have Caro's breakfast to
get, Janet's hank to reel, Kate's lesson to hear, and her
sampler to rectify, and all must be over by eleven o'clock.
Meanwhile his reverence, calm and regardless of all this
bustle, wonders what detains me, urging me out to walk,
while the soaring larks and smiling meadows second the
invitation. . . . Now I will not plague you with a detail
of the whole day. Yet spare your pity ; for this day is
succeeded by an evening so sweetly serene, our walk by
the river is so calmly pleasing, our conversation in the
long-wished -for hour of rest so interesting, and then our
children ! — say you wish me more leisure, but do not
pity me.'
The picture is idyllic enough, but the modern reader
feels inclined to ask why ' his reverence' should not have
lent a helping hand with the affairs of his farm instead of
wondering what all the bustle was about. But life was
not all work at Laggan, though one marvels how the
mistress of the house found time for anything beyond her
domestic duties, which included the bearing and rearing
of twelve children. There are visits to the numerous
Grant relations, and an occasional journey to Fort
George, where Captain Macvicar had now settled, and
where the people were ' incredibly polished, powdered,
townified and Englified, the ladies being as great adepts
in the modish chitchat and the modish games as any
259

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
of their sisters in Grosvenor Square.' Many of the
* genteeler ' class, retired officers, old Indian civil servants,
and the like, lived in the neighbourhood of Laggan,
whither, in spite of its remoteness and obscurity, Mrs.
Grant declared that her sworn foe, the ton, pursued, over
took, and surrounded her.
The rustic gaieties of the people she could always enter
into and enjoy. In one letter there is a detailed account
of the wedding of two trusty retainers, the bride having
served the family eight years, and the bridegroom seven.
Four fat sheep and abundance of poultry were slain for
the supper and the following breakfast, which latter was
served in Chinese fashion to the superior class. ' At the
feast above one hundred persons assisted, the music and
dancing being superior to anything you can imagine.
Mr. Grant took a fancy to be very wise and serious, and
reproved our host for killing so many sheep arid collect
ing so many people, and wondered at me for being
pleased. I never saw him so ungracious before, but he
was not well. Every one was quiet, orderly, and happy
in the extreme. I considered it was hard to grudge this
one day of glorious felicity to those who, though doomed
to struggle through a life of hardship and penury, have
all the love of society, the taste for conviviality, and even
the sentiment that animates social intercourse, and con
stitutes the most enviable part of enjoyment in higher
circles. It would be cruel to deprive such of the single
opportunity their lite affords of being splendidly hospit
able, and seeing all those to whom nature allied them
rejoice together at a table of their own providing ; and of
seeing that table graced by such of their superiors as they
have been used to regard with a mixed sentiment of love
and veneration. This scene is such as cannot take place
260

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
but in these regions ; here only you may condescend
without degradation, for here only is the bond between
the superior and inferior classes a kindly one. I cannot
exactly say where the fault lies ; but cold disdain on the
one side, and a gloomy and rancorous envy on the other,
fix an icy barrier between the classes with you.'
We make acquaintance with several of the Laggan
notabilities, chief among these being a venerable sibyl
who knits garters, sings her native airs, and bids fair to
rival Old Parr. ' In her,' says Mrs. Grant, ' I have all
the pleasure of an old woman's conversation without the
plague of gossiping; for if she has any scandal, King
William is the subject of it. She is full of anecdote, but
scorns to talk of anything that happened within the last
thirty years. Madame de Maintenon is the heroine of
her imagination ; she talks of her as if she were still living,
and constantly quotes the ivory wheel with which she
spun Lewis into subjection to our girls; for she considers
spinning one of the cardinal virtues, and is at this hour
spinning fine wool on the distaff, of which she proposes
making garters for the Marquis [of Huntley].'
The humours and superstitions of the country-side
were regarded with a kindly eye by the pastoress of
Laggan, who considered even the darkest superstition
infinitely preferable to the cynicism and scepticism
imported from France. It is in an appreciative spirit
that she records an anecdote related to her by one
of her dairymaids, who was a perfect treasury of local
legend. 'Yesterday fortnight,' so runs the tale in the maid's
own words, ' the Minister of M  in Athol, you know —
well, his dairymaid went into the byre and put out all the
cows but one, who lay down and would not move. " Get
261

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
up," says the maid. " I won't get up," says the cow. " But
you shall," says the girl, a little startled. " Go to your
master and bid him come here," says the cow. So the
girl went, and her master came into the byre. " Get up,"
said he to the cow. " No, I won't," said she ; " I want to
speak to you." " Say on," said the Master, " since you
are permitted." The cow began : " Expect a summer of
famine, a harvest of blood, and a winter of tears." Then
the cow got up and went about her business.' This fine
story, comments the mistress, gains ample credit, and it
would be thought impiety to doubt it.
Books and news travelled but slowly into those
mountain regions, but both were eagerly appreciated
when at last they arrived. In the autumn of 1788 we
hear that the bard of bards, James Macpherson, ' who
has reached the mouldy harp of Ossian from the withered
oak of Selma, is now moving like a meteor over his
native hills. . . . This bard is as great a favourite of
fortune as of fame, and has got more by the old harp of
Ossian than most of his predecessors could draw out of
the silver strings of Apollo's. He has bought three small
estates in this country, given a ball to the ladies, and
now keeps a hall of hospitality at Belleville, his newly
purchased seat [near Kingussie].' Mrs. Grant was to
the last a firm believer in the genuineness of ' Ossian'
Macpherson's finds, and not all the incredulity of all the
Edinburgh Reviewers could shake her faith.
The Sorrows of Werther,1 read in 1789, greatly excited
the dwellers in the quiet parsonage. ' I execrate the
plan,' writes our heroine, ' detest the example, reprobate
the reasoning, shudder at the catastrophe, and am most
perniciously charmed with that vivid colouring, that
1 Published in 1774.
262

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
fervid glow of sentiment, that energy of thought, and
that simple unadorned pathos which, without a pomp of
sounds, penetrates and melts the very soul.' Mary Woll-
stonecraft's Rights of Women1 shocked the Lagganites
without charming them. Mrs. Grant expresses her dis
belief in the desirability of creating hotbeds for feminine
genius, and candidly admits that ' innovation disconcerts
us and new light blinds us ; we detest the Rights of Man
and abominate those of Woman.' Perhaps her disap
proval of female culture was partly due to the theory,
which she attributes variously to Swift and Bolingbroke,
that superior powers of intellect are seldom joined to
amiable qualities in a woman without a balance of bad
health to set to the opposite side of the account.
A visit to Glasgow in 1797, the first probably since
she had left it in 1773, surprised Mrs. Grant by the
luxuries she beheld, more especially those of the intellect
— lectures, circulating libraries, and the like. A late
Professor had founded a Chemistry lecture that was
expected prodigiously to exalt and illuminate the citizens,
both male and female. 'It might be a very harmless
lounge,' comments the lady from the mountains, ' for the
female auditory, if the idea of being greatly the wiser for
hearing a man talk an hour about carbon and chemistry
would not tend to conceit and affectation. The having
an additional place of public resort, too, encourages that
insatiable love of change, that restlessness, which is, I
think, the great and growing evil of the age. I always
thought a moderate knowledge of geography and history
a very desirable acquisition for a woman, because it
qualifies her for mingling in solid and rational conversa
tion, and makes her more a companion for her husband
1 Published in 1792. 263

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
or brother. The more pleasing and attainable branches
of belles lettres lie within her own province — that of the
imagination and the heart. What business women have
with any science but that which serves to improve and
adorn conversation I cannot comprehend. For my part,
I cannot conceive a woman devoting her whole time and
faculties to the study of any particular art or science.
. . . That knowledge which neither improves the heart
nor meliorates the temper, which makes us neither more
useful nor more pleasing, I cannot consider as a desirable
acquisition.' This is a little vague, since only experience can prove
what branches of knowledge tend to improve the heart, or
' meliorate' the temper. Moreover, for a lady who had read
Homer in her youth, and scribbled a good deal of poetry
in later years, she was perhaps rather hard upon such of
her sisters as indulged their tastes in other intellectual
exercises. But then she prided herself on never publish
ing her compositions, which were lost or given away as
soon as written. Although not an advocate of the rights
of women, Mrs. Grant had no very exalted opinion of
the other sex, and positively despised old bachelors. 'I
love to hear of people marrying,' she writes, 'but chiefly
for the sake of the men concerned ; for old maids I have
known both happy and respectable, but old bachelors
hardly ever. I have no patience with them, and would
have them all learn to knit. . . . Tavern company and
bachelor circles make men gross, callous, and awkward ;
in short, disqualify them for superior female society.
The more heart old bachelors of this kind have, the more
absurd and insignificant they grow in the long-run ; for
when infirmity comes on, and fame and business lose
their attractions, they must needs have somebody to love
264

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
and trust, and become the dupes of wretched toad-eaters
and the slaves of designing housekeepers.'
The only sorrows of the twenty years spent at Laggan
were caused by the deaths of four out of the twelve
Grant children, one of whom, a promising boy, had
lived to the age of sixteen when he fell a victim to
consumption. In 1801 Mr. Grant, whose health had
been gradually declining for some time, died after only
a few days of actual illness, leaving his widow with eight
children, and a very small income. For a couple of
years the Duke of Gordon permitted her to keep on the
farm at Laggan while she looked about her and made
plans for the future. It was suggested that she should
publish a selection of the verses that she had been
accustomed to scribble so freely. 'I had been often
urged,' she explains, ' to write for the booksellers ; but,
in the first place, I had more dread of censure than
hope of applause ; and besides, I could not find leisure,
devoted as I was to a tenderly affectionate husband,
whose delicacy of constitution and still greater delicacy
of mind made my society and attendance essential to
him. It is gratifying to me to think of my steadiness
in this refusal. . . . Before I had ever heard of the
project for my advantage — indeed, before the materials
were collected — proposals were dispersed all over Scotland
for publishing a volume of my poems. To these pro
posals a specimen was annexed in what my friends
thought my best manner. . . . Being very much attached
to my humble neighbours, I had at one time written
as part of a letter a page or two of poetical regret at
the hard necessity that forced so many to emigrate.
The friend who had preserved this effusion sent it home,
and advised me to enlarge and complete the sketch. I
265

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
did so, and thus was finished "The Highlanders," the
principal poem in the published collection ; the rest I
did not see again until I saw them in print.'
The Duchess of Gordon, who had a house at Kinrara,
near Laggan, and who posed as a literary patron, in
terested herself in the book, and finally no less than
three thousand subscribers were obtained. The unusual
numbers were probably in great measure due to the
clannish feeling of the Highlands. The name of the
Grants was legion, and the Gordons no doubt followed
the lead of their chieftainess. Highland poets were
plentiful enough ; but Highland poets who attained the
dignity of print, or even of manuscript, were rare, and it
has already been seen what a substantial harvest ' Ossian'
Macpherson had reaped. The subject of Mrs. Grant's
principal poem appealed to southerners by reason of its
freshness and novelty, while the prosaic trot of her
rhymed couplets fell pleasantly enough upon the ear of
that period. For modern readers, however, it is to be
feared that the charm has irrevocably fled. The opening
lines will give a sufficient idea of the method in which
she has treated her picturesque theme : —
( Come, then, explore with me each winding glen,
Far from the noisy haunts of busy men ;
Let us with steadfast eye attentive trace
The local habits of the Celtic race.'
Mrs. Grant prided herself upon having ' let herself
alone,' and studied neither ' the quaint simplicity of the
new school (i.e. the Lake Poets), nor the uniform laboured
splendour of Darwin and his imitators.' Among her
most admired productions were the Gaelic songs which
she learned from the lips of the mountain bards, and
translated into, it must be owned, commonplace English
266

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
verse. However, her book served its purpose, bringing
substantial help to the little household, and giving
pleasure to a large number of the less critical readers
of the day.

PART III. WIDOWHOOD
Although Mrs. Grant found helping hands stretched
out in her time of need, trouble of one kind or another
was seldom far from her door. Shortly after Mr. Grant's
death, a Mrs. Protheroe, the wife of the member for
Bristol, having heard excellent accounts of the conduct
and manners of Mary Grant, the eldest daughter, invited
the. girl to come and live with her as a friend, and offered
to make her a suitable allowance. The offer was accepted ;
but soon after Mary's arrival at Bristol, news was received
of her dangerous illness, and her mother was summoned
to her side. Leaving the household at Laggan in the
care of her second daughter Isabella, then just eighteen,
Mrs. Grant set out in mid-winter on her long and fatigu
ing journey to, the south. She was hardly in a frame of
mind to appreciate the scenes through which she passed ;
and in a letter to a friend she expresses her disappoint
ment with the aspect of Cumberland and Lancashire,
which she considers flat, bleak, and unvaried, having
neither the romantic variety of Scotland nor the rich
culture which she expected in England. The farmhouses
struck her as gross and unrural, with ugly tiled roofs,
and gardens formal and suburban-like. The windmills
and sluggish clay-coloured streams made her recollect
with painful pleasure the pure streams that poured like
melted crystal from her Alpine hills.
On arriving at Bristol, Mrs. Grant was informed that
267

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
her daughter's only chance of life was to drink the waters
of the hot wells of Clifton. Here, therefore, they estab
lished themselves for a couple of months, at the end of
which time, the invalid's health being restored, they
returned to Scotland, paying a visit to an old friend in
Devonshire on the way.
Mrs. Grant describes the rapturous feelings with which
she rode across the wild moorland that lay between more
civilised regions and her beloved Laggan, where her
children and devoted servants eagerly awaited her ; but
her days there were numbered. In June, 1803, the farm
was given up, and the whole family removed to a house
near Stirling, where they were joined by the now widowed
Mrs. Macvicar. Here Mrs. Grant found one or two good
friends ; and having a few acres of ground and some cows,
she managed to create many little rural occupations for
herself. ' The love of farming,' she observes, ' is first
cousin to the love of nature ; no person that has ever
tasted the sweets of weeding turnips and pulling lint,
not to mention the transports of marking the first bloom
nodding on potatoes, can give up these pursuits without a
pang like that of a defeated general or a neglected beauty.'
In her Lowland home she sadly missed the fellowship
of the gentle and courteous peasants of Laggan. ' Here
I am grieved with the altered manners of a gross and
sordid peasantry,' she writes on one occasion, ' who retain
only the 'form they have inherited from a pious ancestry,
while the spirit is quite evaporated ; who regard their
superiors with envious ill-will, and their equals with cold
selfishness ; who neither look back to their ancestors, nor
forward to their successors, but live and labour merely for
the individual.' Among the neighbours of the upper
classes there were not many who were actually congenial
268

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
to the lady of Laggan, who, however, adapted herself
with cheerful good sense to her environment, observing :
' I carefully banish from my mind the absurd and silly
fastidiousness of working myself up to relish no conversa
tion but that of wits and savants ; it would be a rSgime
of pickles and marmalade without bread and water.
Common sense and common integrity, with some degree
of heart, I insist on in my companions. Knaves and fools
I will positively have nothing to do with. Some one
mind that thinks and feels as I do myself is indispensable.
'Tis like my morning tea, the only luxury I care for,
which habit has made necessary.'
The clouds soon began to gather again on the horizon
of the little household. The eldest son, Duncan, was
about this time at Marlow, preparing for the army. A
disturbance arose among the students, in which he was
concerned as the depository of their secret, a circumstance
that involved his mother in much anxiety and expense.
Through the influence of a kinsman, Sir Charles Grant,
of the India Office, the affair was hushed up, and Duncan
received a commission in the service of the East India
Company. The necessary equipment cost a considerable
sum, and in this emergency her friends urged Mrs. Grant
to publish a selection of her letters, a course from which
she was, for many reasons, much averse. She considered
it 'indelicate' to publish letters in the lifetime of the
author ; and she saw that it would be necessary to exclude
the most amusing and interesting passages, as well as
much harmless badinage and veritable narrative. How
ever, there seemed to be no other method of raising
money, and in January, 1805, she went to London by sea,
a twelve days' voyage, in order to arrange her son's affairs
and interview publishers. 269

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
Armed with an introduction, Mrs. Grant went to
Messrs. Longman and Rees, feeling as much ashamed of
her defective and ill-arranged manuscript as ever Falstatt
was of his ragged recruits. In a few days, more fortunate
than the ordinary literary aspirant, she was informed that
her manuscript was considered suitable for publication,
and would appear in three or four months' time. The
author was to receive half the profits, the booksellers
bearing the risk of printing. A stay of six weeks with a
friend at Richmond enabled Mrs. Grant to complete her
business, and also to see something of the amusements of
town. She was taken to a performance of the infant
Roscius, where she marvelled at the folly of spoiling so
fine a child by anticipating his capabilities and ruining
his constitution. She also paid a visit to the Opera, but
she confesses that the music was Greek to her, and that
she fell asleep in the middle of the evening. More to her
taste was an introduction to a little literary society, a
dinner with Mrs. 'Epictetus' Carter, and a chat with
Joanna Baillie.
Nothing more was heard of the Letters from the Moun
tains during the remainder of that year, which passed
quietly at Stirling. Books were more easily obtainable
now, and Mrs. Grant records the pleasure she received
from Campbell's Poems and Hayley's Life qfCowper.
' I wish you would tell me,' she writes to an old friend,
' whether you admire Campbell's " words that glow and
thoughts that burn " as much as I do ; and whether you
are tempted to have a little Teraphim image of Cowper
in your chamber for your private devotions ; and whether
you are very proud that so many women distinguished
for intellect and elegance, as well as virtue and piety,
gave up the pleasures of this vain world for a time to
270

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
extract the thorns from his heart, and pour in the wine
and oil of consolation. I am always glad when I can
warrantably boast of my own sex. We are better than
men upon the whole. Indeed, the few amiable men I
have known had many femalities in their tastes and
opinions, but then I must allow the most respectable
women have some masculine traits too. Nature does
nothing wrong. It is women who affect and assume
the masculine character that are insufferable.' 'Are
you not charmed with the Lay of the Last Minstrel ? '
she asks in another letter, dated November 1805 ; and
after bidding her friend read the poem on her knees,
continues : ' Woe be to you if you ever apostatise from
your love and duty to the land of cakes, which is indeed
the land of social life and social love, and lies in a happy
medium between the dissipated gaiety and improvident
thoughtlessness of the Irish, and the cold and close
attention to petty comforts and conveniences that absorbs
the English mind.'
In the spring of 1806 Mrs. Grant received a sudden
request that she would write a preface for her Letters
from the Mountains, which she had begun to despair of
seeing published. The preface was dashed off, and in
the course of the summer she was astonished to hear
a casual remark that a book of that name divided with
one or two other new works the attention of readers in
town. In October of the same year she mentions the
warm interest that the book has excited even in strangers,
and the considerable pecuniary benefit that she has already
reaped. Longman and Rees sent her their account, in
which they allowed her a handsome sum in addition to
her half-profits; while three merchants of London sent
her a bill for three hundred pounds as a tribute of
271

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
their sincere admiration. Her daughter Charlotte, who
was staying with friends in town, received many visits
from fashionable ladies who were anxious to know all
particulars about the author, even to her height and
complexion !
Chief among the admirers of the Letters were Dr.
Porteous, Bishop of London; Sir James Grant, Master
of the Rolls ; and Mr. Hatsell, Clerk of the House of
Commons. A second edition of the work being called for,
Dr. Porteous offered to edit it himself, compressing the
Letters into two volumes, and marking those which were
to be omitted. The Bishop, as mjght perhaps have been
expected, expelled many or%|fae chitchat letters, whereat
Mrs. Grant declared that sMs was in nowise mortified,
although she still thought|(ancll a modern generation will
certainly agree with her)dj| at"-1 characteristic traits of
Highland life and manners might be obvious in domestic
insignificant letters, which, 'like straws in a thatched
roof, are nothing singly, yet in a connected form give the
appearance of warmth and comfort.'
Mrs. Grant was now a recognised celebrity, though
the reviews had paid scant attention to her work, the
Edinburgh ignoring it, and the Critical treating it with
scorn. She explains the neglect of the Edinburgh by
the fact that the literati of the time were divided into
two camps — philosophers and enthusiasts ; Jeffrey and his
reviewers belonging to the first, Walter Scott and herself
to the second. The reviews in general treated feminine
productions with unqualified scorn, never mentioning
anything of the kind but with a sneer. Of late they had
clubbed together their whole stock of talent to attack
the Highlanders in general, and Fingal in particular.
'Judge, then,' she continues, ' what favour I, an illiterate

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
female, loyalist and Highlander, am to find at the hands of
such a tribunal. . . . Walter Scott, the charming minstrel
of the Border, is lately enlisted in the critical corps ; such
a loyalist as he appears like Abdiel among fallen angels.'
The Letters more than held their own in spite of the
reviewers, and the second edition brought the author the
welcome sum of three hundred pounds. Mrs. Hook, wife
of the Dean of Worcester, and sister-in-law of Theodore
Hook, though unknown to Mrs. Grant, wrote to offer
herself as a friend and correspondent. A kinswoman,
Mrs. Peter Grant, whose husband was minister of Duthill
and Rothiemurchus, at once turned blue-stocking, and
thenceforward had but one aim in life — to rival the fame
of Mrs. Grant of Laggan. Mrs. Peter wrote two volumes
full of heather and sunsets, grey clouds and mists, which
had no success, although the clan loyally bought up half
the edition. The original Mrs. Grant's head does not
appear to have been turned by all this adulation. She
was aware that her success was partly to be attributed
to the novelty of her subject, and partly to the taste for
nature and simplicity which had been revived by Rousseau
in the preceding century, and was now being fostered by
the Lake poets. But indeed the fortunate author had
enough to keep her sober. Her children all seem to have
inherited their father's delicacy of constitution, and in
1807 her daughters Charlotte and Catherine both fell ill,
probably with some form of consumption, the first dying
in April, the second in August of the same year. So
that the period of literary triumph was in reality a period
of the deepest domestic woe.
It was probably to distract her mind from her private
sorrows that Mrs. Grant began her sketch of Madame
Schuyler, and of life in Albany before the Revolution,
s 273

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
which she called The Memoirs of an American Lady.
In January 1808 she went to town, probably to arrange
about its publication with Longman, whom she described
as the prince of booksellers, the delicacy and liberality
with which he had treated her being such as to do honour
to all Paternoster Row. On this occasion she stayed at
Windsor with a Grant cousin, who was a friend of Mrs.
Carter and Lady Hesketh, and also with Sir Charles and
Lady Legard at Sunbury. A fellow-guest at the latter
house was Catherine Fanshawe, amateur artist and poet,
now best known by her charade on the letter ' H,' begin
ning, ' 'Twas whispered in heaven, 'twas muttered in
hell,' at one time attributed to Byron. Of this lady Mrs.
Grant writes to one of her daughters : —
' I have known very few persons possessed of talents so
great and various. While here she received a letter from
Hayley to announce the marriage of "Johnny of Norfolk"
[Cowper's young cousin and protector] with a lady young,.
lovely, and truly amiable ; she is an orphan of independent
fortune, well educated in the country, where she lived
with her relations. She is elegant, musical, and pious,
and has studied Cowper with ever more delight. Charmed
with the playful innocence and disinterested kindness that
appear in Cowper's sketches of Johnny's character, she
sighed, and wished that " Heaven had made her such a
man." Her relations, notwithstanding Johnny's confined
circumstances and unprepossessing appearance — for he
is little and diffident in manner — told his people that
Johnny might try. He did, and succeeded; for when
you know him he is charming, innocent, sweet-tempered,
and a delightful letter- writer.'
The American Lady sold well, going through several
editions, though perhaps in England it did not enjoy the
274

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
same vogue as the Letters from the Mountains. About
this time Mrs. Grant, having been asked by Lady Glasgow
and one or two other ladies to take charge of their young
daughters, contemplated removing to London, and there
setting up a very ' select ' establishment for young ladies.
But her girls were so averse from leaving their native
land, that it was decided the move should be no further
than to Edinburgh. In the spring of 1809 Mrs. Grant
paid a visit to the Scottish capital, probably to look for
a house, and here she received a welcome befitting a dis
tinguished literary character. The Duchess of Gordon
happened to be in Edinburgh, and invited the Highland
author to her house, her Grace's ruling passion at that
time being literature, and her chief desire to be an
arbitress of literary taste and the patron of genius ; a
distinction for which her want of early culture and the
flutter of a life devoted to very different pursuits had
rather disqualified her. In a letter to Catherine Fan
shawe, Mrs. Grant says : —
'I called on the Duchess of Gordon, and was much
gratified to see Sir Brooke Boothby,1 though he looked
so feeble and so dismal that one would have thought him
just come from writing those sorrows sacred to Penelope.
The Duchess said that on Sunday she never saw company,
nor played cards, nor went out ; in England indeed she
did so, because every one else did the same, but she would
not introduce those manners into this country. I stared
at these gradations of piety, growing warmer as it came
northwards, but was wise enough to stare silently. She
said I must come that evening, as she would be alone. I
found Walter Scott, whom I had never met before, Lady
Keith — Johnson's Queenie — and an English lady, witty
1 A poetaster of the Lichfield set. 275

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
and fashionable-looking, who came and went with Mr.
Scott. I think Mr. Scott's appearance very unpromis
ing and commonplace ; yet though no gleam of genius
animates his countenance, much of it appears in his con
versation, which is rich, varied, easy, and animated, with
out any of the petulance with which the " Faculty " are
not unjustly reproached.'
In an unpublished letter to a friend, Mrs. Baker, dated
December 14, 1809, Mrs. Grant explains her motives for
the move to Edinburgh, and also gives some details about
the family circumstances. ' I have now to thank you [she
writes] for a very kind letter delivered by your frequent
and grateful guest, Mary, and to congratulate you on
Miss Charlotte's having borne her journey to London so
well, of which I was informed by our mutual friend Mrs.
Hook. I was very much gratified by receiving from
Mary the most agreeable accounts of your future pro
spects in regard to the son and daughter for whom you
have prepared a retreat so simply elegant and every way
comfortable. I hope the years to come will in some
measure recompense you for the sad privations and
anxieties by which the latter period has been clouded.
I was quite mortified to hear Mr. Robert had been so
near us without seeing us, and particularly without seeing
Stirling. This ancient city is not only interesting as the
scene of many singular events, and as containing within
itself several curious antiquities, but as distinguished for
its lofty and romantic situation, and for the extensive
and varied views of high cultivation and wild sublimity
that it commands. But of this you would hear enough
from Mary, who is quite alive to all the beauties and
advantages of the situation.
' Indeed, that is much the same case with the whole
276

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
family; and they are so attached to the spot, and so
sensible of the kindness of the neighbours, that they
seem to consider the approaching removal to Edinburgh
as a great misfortune. It is very singular to find
creatures so young as they are so little dazzled with
the thoughts of living in a gay capital where they have
many friends and relations. I am not sorry for it, how
ever, for I think strong local attachments and a love of
rural scenery are proofs of that simplicity of taste and
goodness of heart which in young people are most desir
able. I should not leave the kind, affectionate neigh
bours who seem so concerned at my departure if my
stay here were compatible with my views and pursuits.
But the Countess of Glasgow's children, and one or two
more whom I may possibly receive, require French and
Italian teachers, besides those for music, better than they
can find here. This is a great advantage which I derive
from going to Edinburgh. I never professed to derive
support for my family from the emoluments of the few
young people I proposed to keep. But along with what
I already possess, I expected by that means to have
a little more room. I shall have in Edinburgh the
advantage of attaining my purpose with a smaller
number from the greater cheapness of everything
there. . . .
' I have now, Madam, a piece of information to com
municate which I know gives you satisfaction, tho' it
relates to one whom you never did, and probably never
will, see. An expedition has been sent out from Bombay
(a small one, as you may suppose) to take possession of
the Isle Rodriguez, a small island belonging to Portugal,
which, lying near the Mauritius, is considered as a proper
shelter for our trade, or something of that nature. My
277

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
son, it seems, has been appointed commissary and pay
master to this expedition. So serious a trust should, I
think, scarcely have been reposed on a youth of twenty,
unless his conduct and his application to his military
duties gave them to suppose he was in some degree
qualified for it. I perfectly remember, being near the
same age with the late lamented Sir John Moore, that
he was when but eighteen years old appointed paymaster
to the Duke of Hamilton's, and that lie discharged the
difficult duties of that office to the general satisfaction.
But this was a rare instance. When I was in Edinburgh,
where I went to meet Mary and regulate my future plans,
I found so many people there in grief and consternation
about the missing ships in India that one would imagine
the whole town had a concern in them. This and many
other [things] prevents my being thrown off my balance
by this gleam of prosperity. Of those who return with
wealth from that pernicious climate, we all hear ; but of
thousands who sink beneath its influence, none retain
any long recollection but those who weep in secret their
peculiar loss. . . .'
A house was taken at Edinburgh in Heriot Row,
where Henry Mackenzie, the author of The Man of Feeling
and many other novels, was a near neighbour. Scott and
Jeffrey were among the earliest callers upon the Grants,
who established themselves in their new home in March
1810. 'You would think,' observes Mrs. Grant, in de
scribing her two distinguished visitors, ' that the body
of each was formed to lodge the soul of the other.
Jeffrey looks the poet all over ; the ardent eye, the
nervous agitation, the visibly quick perceptions keep one's
attention awake in expectation of flashes of genius ; nor
is that expectation disappointed, for his conversation is
278

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
in a high degree fluent and animated. Walter Scott
has not a gleam of poetic fire in his countenance, which
merely suggests the idea of plain good sense ; his con
ceptions do not strike you as so rapid or brilliant as
those of his critic ; yet there is much amusement and
variety in his good-humoured, easy, and unaffected
conversation.' The Grants were made much of in the Scottish capital,
the mother's championship of her countrymen, her
resolute and cheerful endurance of the many blows that
Fate had dealt, to say nothing of her unusual con
versational powers, ensuring her the admiration and
sympathy of her new friends. Her later correspondence
forms a record of literary life and society in Edinburgh
between the years 1810 and 1838 ; for not only was she
well acquainted with all the principal writers in the town,
but few distinguished strangers, whether English or
American, passed through the capital without paying
their respects to ' the celebrated Mrs. Grant of Laggan.'
She kept up, after her wont, with the new publications
of the day, though she wrote little else except an essay
on the Superstitions of the Highlands (1811) and some
unimportant verses. We are enabled to follow the
course of her reading through the pages of her corre
spondence with her English friends, more especially with
Mrs. Hook and Miss Fanshawe. Now she writes in en
thusiastic terms of her delight in Gray's Letters, then of
her more chastened pleasure in the correspondence of Mrs.
Carter and Miss Seward. The publication of Rokeby is
a source of patriotic triumph ; for she points out how
much richer the notes of Scott's former poems are in
allusions, traditions, and quotations from local poetry.
' But where is the local poetry of England ? Granville
279

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
and Pope in very recent years have celebrated Windsor
and the Thames, and our own countryman Thomson hung
a wreath on Richmond Hill. But what other place
in England can be mentioned that wakes one poetical
recollection ? '
Henry Mackenzie soon became an intimate friend of
the family, though Mrs. Grant regrets his total lack of
humour. She confesses that she is unable to refrain from
liking ' the arch-critic ' (Jeffrey), in spite of his manifold
literary offences. Jeffrey, indeed, though he was in
hospitable in his Review, made some amends by under
taking a tour to Glenroy and Loch Laggan, and coming
back absolutely enchanted with his experiences. Another
new friend, made some years later, was Professor Wilson,
better known as ' Christopher North.' ' Did I^ever tell
you,' writes Mrs. Grant, a propos of an allusion to the
Lake poets, ' of one of the said poets we have in our
town here — indeed, one of our intimates — the most pro
voking creature imaginable? He is young, handsome,
wealthy, witty, has great learning, excellent spirits, a
wife and children that he dotes on, and no vice that I
know of, but virtuous principles and feelings. Yet his
wonderful eccentricity would send any one but his wife
mad.' This eccentric poet was, of course, Christopher, then
distinguished as the author of The Isle of Palms. One
of the most striking proofs of his unconventionality, in
Mrs. Grant's eyes, was his undertaking a walking tour
with his wife through the remoter Highlands. ' I shall
be charmed to see them come back alive,' she observes.
' Meantime, it has cost me not a little pains to explain
to my less romantic friends in their track that they are
genuine gentlefolks in masquerade.' Happily the ad
venturous poet and his mate returned ' in the highest
280

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
health and spirits, having walked several hundred miles
in the Highlands, seen much beauty, received much
courtesy, and slept in the humblest cottages, always
getting clean beds; in short, never did anything turn
out so well that was looked upon as so ridiculous at the
outset.' From the first appearance of Scott as a poet he
remained Mrs. Grant's literary hero-in-chief. Even his
less successful works she preferred to the masterpieces of
other writers, on the ground that ' the king's chaff is
better than other folks' corn.' At the time when the
extraordinary popularity of Marmion had, as Scott
confessed, almost thrown him off his balance, ' a shrewd
and sly observer, Mrs. Grant of Laggan,' to quote
Lockhart's Lfe, ' said wittily enough on leaving an
assembly where the poet had been surrounded by all the
glare and buzz of fashionable ecstasy, " Mr. Scott always
seems to me like a glass through which the rays of
admiration pass without sensibly affecting it ; but the bit
of paper that lies beside it will presently be in a blaze,
and no wonder."' By the 'bit of paper' Mrs. Scott
was meant, who was far more elated at her husband's
popularity, and far more cast down by critical attacks
upon him, than he was himself. Mrs. Grant was per
suaded of the identity of the author of Waverley from
the first appearance of that novel. ' I am satisfied,' she
writes, ' that Walter Scott, and no other, is the author
of that true and chaste delineation of Scottish manners.
He is not, however, just to the Highlanders; and the
specimens of Highland manners that he gives are not
fair ones.'
Mrs. Grant herself was one of the numerous writers
who were held responsible for the authorship of the
281

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
Waverley novels. In disclaiming any share in their
production to an American admirer, she spoke of the
real author in terms of such perfect assurance that her
correspondent believed Scott must have confided his
secret to her. This having been mentioned to Scott by
Miss Edgeworth in 1824, he replies with some asperity :
' As for honest Mrs. Grant, I cannot conceive why the
deuce I should have selected her for a mother-confessor;
if it had been yourself or Joanna, there might have been
some probability in the report ; but good Mrs. Grant is
so very cerulean, and surrounded by so many fetch-and-
carry mistresses and misses, and the maintainer of such
an unmerciful correspondence, that though I would do '
her any kindness in my power, yet I should be afraid to
be very intimate with a woman whose tongue and pen
are rather overpowering. She is an excellent person
notwithstanding.' In 1814 death was again busy in Mrs. Grant's family.
Her daughter Anne died in August, and in the same
month — though of course the news did not reach Edin
burgh till much later — her elder son, Duncan, died in
Surat. Duncan had already distinguished himself in his
profession, and a brilliant career seemed to lie open before
him. When it had been arranged that Mrs. Grant
should receive three or four young ladies into her family,
with a view to making some provision for her daughters,
Duncan had written to his mother to remonstrate with
her for rendering his sisters independent of him. Her
answer deserves to be quoted, if only to show how much
wider and more tolerant were her views than those of the
average 'good woman' of the period, who was apt to
regard her less fortunate sisters as quite beyond the
pale of humanity.
282

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
' I must now tell you,' runs this remarkable letter, ' of
a very strong motive that I have for keeping your sisters
independent of you. I regard with very great compassion
most men who are obliged to pass their lives in India.
Far from home, and burdened perhaps with relations that
keep them back, they seek a resource in forming temporary
connections with the natives. These, I am told, are often
innocent and amiable creatures, who are not aware of
doing anything reprehensible in thus attaching themselves.
The poor woman who has devoted herself to her protector
secures his affection by being the mother of his children.
Time runs on ; the unfortunate mother, whom he must
tear from his heart and throw back into misery and
oblivion, is daily forming new ties to him. The children,
born heirs to shame and sorrow, are for a time fondly
cherished, till the wish of their father's heart is fulfilled,
and he is able to return to his native country, and to
make the appearance in it to which his ambition has long-
been directed. Then begin his secret but deep vexations ;
and the more honourable his mind, the more affectionate
his heart, the deeper are those sorrows which he dare not
own, and cannot conquer. The poor rejected one, perhaps
faithful and fondly attached, must be thrown off; the
whole habits of his life must be broken ; he must pay the
debt he owes to his progenitors, and seek to renew the
comforts of the domestic circle by soliciting some lady
glad to give youth and beauty for wealth and consequence.
The forsaken children, once the objects of his paternal
tenderness, must be banished and have the sins of their
father sorely visited upon them.
' I will spare myself and you the pain of finishing this
picture, which you must know to be a likeness, not of
an individual only, but of a whole tribe of expatriated 283

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
Scotchmen who return home exactly in this manner. This
is what I dread in your case, and would fain avoid. All
that remains to me is, in the first place, not to burden
you with encumbrances that may check the freedom of
your will ; and in the next, to assure you that if any
person whom it would be decent or proper for you to
connect yourself with by honourable ties should gain your
affections, your mother and sisters will be ready to adopt
her to theirs. Difference of nation, even of religion,
would not alienate us from any wife whom you might
choose. Doubtless we should much prefer that you were
married to one we knew and esteemed ; but we should
far rather make room for a stranger who was modest and
well-principled than see you in the predicament I have
described.' It would be well if more mothers had the courage and
humanity to address their sons in such a strain. It may
also be pointed out how fully justified Mrs. Grant was in
her then rather unusual action of trying to render her
daughters self-supporting instead of allowing them to
remain dependent upon the precarious life and goodwill
of a male relation.
In 1815 the now diminished family moved to a house
in Princes Street. About this time a quaint little incident
happened at a party at the house of Lady Charlotte
Campbell x (afterwards Bury), which shows the enthusiasm
that Mrs. Grant's work had aroused in one at least of her
many readers. ' Judge of my astonishment,' she writes,
' when a very handsome and fashionable young man asked
if I was Mrs. Grant of Laggan. Hearing I was, he flew
across the room, said I was one of the persons in Scotland
he most wished to see, and kissed my hand rapturously.
1 Author of Flirtation and other novels.
284

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
. . . He then descanted on the poem of "The High
landers" as awaking his feeling and enthusiasm for
Scotland at a very early age. I resolved to stay him out
and learn who he was. Lady Charlotte told me, to my
still greater surprise, that he was of royal lineage — in
short, he is the Duke of Sussex's son J by Lady Augusta
Murray.' Mrs. Grant compares this little scene with the
action of a young English lady, who nearly swooned on
being presented to Walter Scott, and kissed the hand of
Henry Mackenzie. Scott's comment was, ' Did you ever
hear the like of that English lass, to faint at the sight of
a cripple Clerk of Session, and kiss the dry wrinkled hand
of an old tax-gatherer ? '
Among Mrs. Grant's literary guests in 1817 were
Southey, the Poet Laureate, and Joanna Baillie, the latter
then in the height of her fame, her works being approved
even by the arch-critic Jeffrey. 'The Laureate,'2 says
our chronicler, ' has the finest poetical countenance,
features unusually high and somewhat strong though
regular, and a quantity of bushy black hair. I have
heard Southey called silent and constrained ; I did not
find him so. He talked easily and much, without seem
ing in the least consequential, nor saying a single word
for effect.' Joanna Baillie 3 was accompanied to Edin
burgh by her sister Agnes, whom 'people like in their
hearts better than Joanna, though they would not say so
for the world, thinking that would argue great want of
taste. I for my part would greatly prefer the Muse to
walk in a wood, or sit in a bower with ; but in that
1 Captain D'Este.
2 Southey was then in his forty-fourth year. He had been appointed
Poet Laureate in 1813.
3 Joanna was then fifty-five. She died in 1851, in her ninetieth year.
285

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
wearisome farce, a large party, Agnes acts her part much
better. The seriousness and simplicity of Mrs. Joanna's
manner overawes you from talking commonplace to her ;
and as for pretension, or talking fine, you would as soon
think of giving yourself airs before an Apostle.'
The chief event of the year 1820 was a visit to
Dumfries, where the author of 'The Highlander' had
an interview with Burns's widow Jean, ' a very comely
woman, with plain sound sense and very good manners.
She is much esteemed and respected in the place, and
lives in the same house that her husband inhabited in
a retired part of the town. The street is now called
Burns' Street. Her house is a model of neatness and
good taste; the simple elegance with which everything
is disposed is so consistent, and the room in which the
hapless bard used to write is still in its former state,
as if it were a crime to alter its simple furniture.'
Another interesting visit was to Abbotsford, which Mrs.
Grant declared she should have guessed to belong to the
' gifted baronet,' even though she had known nothing of
the fact.
' I can scarcely believe,' she observes about this time,
' that any one has more vivid enjoyment of Scott's novels
and Wordsworth's "Excursion" than myself; for I am
convinced there does not exist a person of decent station,
in any degree cultivated or refined, who has had more
intercourse with the lower classes. Long days have I
knit my stocking, or carried my infant from sheaf to
sheaf, sitting and walking in the harvest-field, atten
tively observing conversation which for the first few
years I was not supposed to understand. Seldom a day
passed that I did not find two or three petitioners in
the kitchen, respectfully entreating for advice, medicine,
286

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
or some other little favour. Often I sat down with them
and led them to converse, captivated with the strength
and beauty of the expressions in their native tongue.
. . . Edinburgh has done its best to laugh Wordsworth
out of fashion, but without success. People laugh at the
Pedlar [in the ' Excursion ']. I do not ; all the realities
of life are so real to me, and the peculiarities of the
Scottish manners of fifty years ago have left so vivid an
impression on . my mind, that I can easily conceive a
pedlar reading Milton. . . . Whoever has read the Bible
with an open mina and with a certain degree of imagina
tion, has nothing more to learn of the sublime and the
pathetic ; moreover, he will not find the transition to
Milton very difficult.'
In 1821 Mrs. Grant lost her youngest daughter
Moore, who died after a long illness at the age of twenty-
four. She was herself now more or less crippled by a
fall which had injured her side, but otherwise she retained
her wonderful health and her courageous serenity of
mind. She observes in a letter written in her sixty-
eighth year that it has always been the fashion to hold
old women cheap everywhere except in Scottish novels,
and among the North American Indians. ' I think,' she
continues, ' we old women begin to be more appreciated
since the spread of knowledge has made us all a thinking
people. Formerly, a woman uncultivated and moving in
a narrow circle was only of consequence in the days of
her youth and usefulness; and unless animated by a
lively devotion, was apt to grow torpid, and be forgotten
by all but her nearest relations. Now that the powers
of the mind are more called into action, that season
lasts longer, and old women take more interest in the
young, and create more interest in themselves. We grow
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MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
old without growing mouldy, and the young mingle our
knowledge with their own acquirements.'
Certainly Mrs. Grant did not allow herself to grow
mouldy, but kept up gallantly with the times. In 1821
the Highland Society of London awarded her a gold
medal for her essay on ' The Past and Present State of the
Highlands,' while by the advice of Henry Mackenzie she
occupied her leisure in translating Gaelic poems. In
1823 she is full of a new book that everybody is reading,
De Quincey's Confessions of an Emglish Opium-Eater,
and observes : ' Many strange people have I encountered
in my journey through life, and among the rest this same
opium-eater. I spent an idle half day talking with him
some fourteen years ago in London, when he was a student
at Oxford, and have met him once since. I directly
recognised him through the thin disguise in his book.'
Another new literary celebrity of this period was Miss
Ferrier, whose first novel, Marriage, was thought by some
of her admirers to surpass anything that Scott ever
wrote. Of this Mrs. Grant remarks : ' It was evidently
the production of a clever, caustic mind, with much
good painting of character in it. I have just finished
a hasty perusal of a new work by the same author,
The Inheritance, and join the general voice in calling
it clever, though there is perhaps too much of caricature
in it throughout.' Mrs. Grant delighted in the novels
of Jane Austen and Miss Edgeworth, and upon certain
other specimens of contemporary fiction — now dead —
she utters the following piece of criticism, which is worth
quoting if only because it is so peculiarly applicable to
certain popular productions of the present day : ' The
dialogue, though clever and witty, has too much of the
" snip-snap short and interruption smart " of the old
288

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
comedy; you cannot fancy people playing thus at in
tellectual shuttlecock. The author is so pleased with
the sparkles he continually strikes out that he neglects
probability and the conduct of the story, forgetting that
in a picture shade is necessary as well as light.'
In June 1823 Isabella Grant, who was generally
regarded as the flower of the flock, died after a short
illness. The mother bore up with her never-failing
courage under this terrible blow, which left her with but
one daughter and one son remaining out of a family of
twelve. Great sympathy was felt for her in her troubles,
not only by her fellow-citizens, but also by visitors to
Edinburgh. In the privately-printed correspondence of
Mr. John Carne, author of Letters from the East, there
is a curious little word-portrait of Mrs. Grant about this
time. Writing from Edinburgh in September, 1823,
he says : —
'Among the literary ladies of my acquaintance here
is Mrs. Grant, whose Letters from the Mountains and
Memoirs of an American Lady you have probably read.
An extraordinary woman, now just sixty years of age,
she has lost, one after the other, within a few years,
three lovely and accomplished daughters and a son, one
of the former in a very melancholy way ; to use Beattie's
affecting expression of his son, " her elegant mind became
mingled with madness." But the vigour of her mind
supports Mrs. Grant through all. She had reared them
in the retirement of Laggan with such exquisite pains
and attention, and they were so very handsome and
elegant, that their friends seem to say they have left no
equals behind them. The powers of conversation pos
sessed by Mrs. Grant are considerable, as well as her
acquaintance with the manners of the country, and most
T 289

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
of its characters. And what person would you give to
the mother of such loveliness, the romantic writer whose
sensibility of style made you love the very wilds of
America ? Did you ever wish to see the Meg Merrilies
of Scott ? You should see Mrs. Grant then enter a
room with her very tall large figure, Highland plaid
thrown over her shoulders, masculine features and harsh
voice, with a cast in one eye. There you have the stern
and dark Queen of the Blue-Stockings in Edinburgh.'
This picture, one hopes, is rather over-coloured, since
the portrait of our heroine by Mackay, R.S.A., represents.
her as a pleasant, sensible-looking old lady, no beauty
certainly, but scarcely our idea of a typical Meg Merrilies.
In 1825 Scott, Mackenzie, Jeffrey, and other litterateurs
joined, as we read in Lockhart's Life, in subscribing a
petition for a pension to Mrs. Grant of Laggan, which,
as Scott observes in his Diary, * we thought was a tribute
merited by her as an authoress ; and in my opinion much
more by the firmness and elasticity of mind with which
she has borne a succession of great domestic calamities.
Unhappily, there was only about a hundred pounds open
on the pension list, and this the ministers assigned in
equal portions to Mrs. Grant and a distressed lady,
granddaughter of a forfeited Scottish nobleman. Mrs.
Grant, proud as a Highlandwoman, vain as a poetess,
and absurd as a blue-stocking, has taken this partition
in modem partem, and written to Lord Melville about
her merits, and that her friends do not consider her
claims as being fairly canvassed, with something like a
demand that her petition be submitted to the king.
This is not the way to make her plack a bawbee ; and
Lord Melville, a little miffed in turn, sends the whole
correspondence to me, to know whether Mrs. Grant will
290

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
accept the _-?50 or not. Now, hating to deal with ladies
when they are in an unreasonable humour, I have got
the good-humoured Man of Feeling [Mackenzie] to find
out the lady's mind, and I take on myself the task of
making her peace with Lord Melville. There is no
great doubt how it will end, for your scornful dog will
always eat your dirty pudding. After all, the poor lady
is greatly to be pitied — her sole remaining daughter deep
and far gone in a decline.'
Two or three weeks later there is the further entry in
the Diary : ' Mrs. Grant intimates that she will take her
pudding — her pension I mean — and is contrite, as Henry
Mackenzie vouches. I am glad the stout old girl is not
foreclosed.' It is an amazing proof of Lockhart's want
of consideration for others, to say nothing of his want of
taste, that he should have published these extracts from
a private diary when the subject of them was still
living. Fortunately, when Lockhart's Life appeared, Mrs.
Grant's family contrived that she should not see the
obnoxious passages, and we read that she thoroughly
enjoyed the biography of her hero.
The passionate love and admiration with which the
author of the Letters from the Mountains was regarded by
some of her country-folk is well illustrated by the follow
ing curious and touching little incident. In May, 1823, a
person named ' M. Jones ' wrote to Constable the pub
lisher to ask if Mrs. Grant of Laggan was still alive, and
if so, where she lived, as the writer wished to send her a
present. The desired information having been given, ' a
box arrived,' to quote the recipient's account, ' containing
some very good black silk for a dress ; three shawls, one
a black silk one, and all calculated for a widow's garb ;
a pair of excellent black silk stockings; six beautiful
291

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
French cambric handkerchiefs, all marked with my cipher
impressed on symbolical figures ; likewise two pairs of
gloves ; and finally, neatly wrapped in paper, a gold
sovereign to pay the carriage, and a very business-like
invoice of the whole. But then the letter along with
them, in native beauty, simplicity, and originality, was
worth the whole. You would be shocked were I to
tell you how long my Letters had been the delight and
consolation of that excellent person.'
In August, 1825, Mrs. Grant made a short tour in the
Highlands for the benefit of her daughter Mary's health,
an arduous undertaking for a lady of seventy who could
only move about with the aid of crutches. The travellers
spent a few days at Laggan among other places, this
being the first visit that its chronicler had paid to her
dearly-loved village since her departure a quarter of a
century before. Here Mrs. Grant received an invitation
from Lady Huntly to pass a couple of days at Kinrara,
the widowed Duke of Gordon's place on Speyside. The
invitation was accepted, and Mrs. Grant was delighted
both with her visit and her hostess. The most distin
guished of her fellow-guests were the Duke and Duchess
of Bedford, of whom, she says, ' we had merely a glimpse
for half an hour; but a descendant of Lady Rachel
Russell is always worth looking at, and the Duchess one
may look at for herself, she being still very handsome.'
Mrs. Grant had intended to return home by a certain
steamer from Inverness to Greenock, but was fortunately
prevented by an accident from taking her passage. The
steamer was lost on the voyage, and nearly all the
passengers perished.
The last few years of our heroine's life may be briefly
passed over. The failure of Constable in 1826, involving
292

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
as it did the ruin of Scott, caused much concern to the
many friends and admirers of the Wizard. But Scott,
in the words of his ever-faithful worshipper Mrs. Grant,
was far too great a man to be lessened by adverse circum
stances. ' He will, I am certain,' she writes, ' bear this
vicissitude as he bore the harder trial of the two — pro
sperity. One of his chief mortifications arising from
this business is that his works, seized by his creditors,
must be owned as his.' A year later she writes that
' Scott appears greater than ever. He lives with his
daughter in a small house, seeing no company, and
devoted to his literary labours, but always cheerful,
placid, and unaltered.' In this year, 1827, Mary Grant,
the last remaining daughter, died of consumption. A
young niece came to live with the bereaved mother, re
maining until the marriage of Mrs. Grant's son in 1833.
In June 1828 Edward Irving was creating a great
sensation in Edinburgh, and Mrs. Grant was persuaded
by her son to go and hear him. ' He preached,' she says,
' at seven a.m., but it was necessary to take possession of
a seat an hour before the service began. I heard nothing
that raised him above the place that he formerly held in
my estimation ; but in justice I must add that the prophet
is less affected and theatrical than I expected, that he
has a pleasing voice, and that his action is not unsuited
to his doctrine, which he evidently supposes to be autho
rised by inspiration. Of his discourse I will only say at
present that it has little coherence, a great deal of ver
biage, and no indication of high imagination or sound
reasoning. He is the sole subject of conversation.'
Two interesting visitors of these later years were Mrs.
Hemans and Thomas Campbell. Of the first her hostess
says : ' I had a very charming guest before I left town

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
— no other than Mrs. Hemans,1 for whom I have long felt
something like affection. She had two fine hoys with
her, the objects visibly of very great tenderness. She is
entirely feminine, and her language has a charm like that
of her verse — the same ease and peculiar grace, with more
vivacity. She has not the slightest tinge of affectation,
and is so refined, so gentle, that you must both love and
respect her. ... I was sitting alone one day lately, and
the servant announced " Mr. Campbell." Looking up, I
saw a dejected-looking gentleman. " I should know
you," said I, " but I cannot be sure." " Campbell the
poet," said he, with a kind of affecting simplicity.
Though by no means approving his political principles,
my heart warmed to him when I saw this sweet son of
song dejected, spiritless, and afflicted. The death of
his wife, to whom he was much attached, appears to
have sunk him greatly.'
To the last, we are told, Mrs. Grant was a delightful
companion, her conversational powers being even more
attractive than her writings. She never lost her interest
in life, was always delighted to welcome visitors, and
loved to collect children and young people about her.
Even her powers of being actively useful to her fellow-
creatures continued long after she had reached an age at
which most women are content to sit with their hands
before them and rest. In June, 1831, when she was in
her seventy-seventh year, she describes a typical day of
her life. Besides her usual occupations of reading, writ
ing her Memoirs, knitting, entertaining friends, and
playing chess, she mentions receiving dependants, and
adds : ' Could you dream of my having dependants who
1 Mrs. Hemans was born in -774> and died of consumption in May
1835- 294

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
have been all my life standing on the edge of the gulf of
poverty without falling in ? and this not because I had
much worldly prudence, but because I made stern self-
denial, and what Miss Edgeworth calls civil courage, serve
me instead. Well, but my dependants want a letter to
some one, or advice, or a governess's place ; and my
prote'gSes have turned out so well, that I have constant
applications for such persons.'
In the same year Mrs. Grant gives an amusing descrip
tion of an adventure that happened to her on what was
perhaps her last appearance at a large public gathering,
a flower-show, at the Hopetoun Rooms. ' I had no
bonnet,' she explains, ' but a very respectable cap ; and
as I walked in from my sedan-chair I was surprised to see
another lady with exactly such crutches and precisely
such a shawl as my own. I looked with much interest at
my fellow-cripple, which interest she seemed to recipro
cate. She took her place in another room, equally large
and splendid, but so open that I had a full view of it.
Amidst all the flush of bloom before me, I often with
drew my attention to regard this withered flower with
still increasing interest; the more so, that every time I
turned to look her eyes met mine, and at length I thought
with a familiar expression, till at last I remarked it to
those around me, and said I thought she would like to
be introduced to me when the show was over. I thought
too I had seen her somewhere ; her figure was as ample
as my own, but I comforted myself with the reflection
that I had a better face, hers being almost ugly. I rose
at length, and so did she, — but I saw her no more. Think
of my mortification at having the laugh of the whole
house against me on coming home. There was no such
room, and no such lady ; large folding doors of looking-
295

MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN
glass and the reflection of my own figure had deceived
me. When I had been talking of this other lady they
had imagined it all playfulness, and never thought of
the deception. This could scarcely have happened had I
been familiar with my own countenance ; but I have
actually not looked in a mirror for more than two years.'
In 1838 Mrs. Grant succumbed to an attack of influenza,
being then in her eighty-fourth year. Her character and
her life-work cannot be better summed up than in the
memorial written by Scott twelve years before, and sent
to the king with the petition for a pension. In this the
undersigned expressed their opinion that ' the character
and talents of Mrs. Grant have long rendered her not only
a useful and estimable member of society, but one eminent
for the services she has rendered to the cause of religion,
morality, knowledge, and taste. Her writings, deservedly
popular in her own country, derive their success from the
happy manner in which, addressing themselves to the
national pride of the Scottish people, they breathe a spirit
at once of patriotism and of that candour which renders
patriotism unselfish and liberal. We have no hesitation
in attesting our belief that Mrs. Grant's writings have
produced a strong and salutary effect upon her countrymen,
who not only found recorded in them much of national
history and antiquities, which would otherwise have been
forgotten, but found them combined with the soundest
and best lessons of virtue and morality.'

296

THE
ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
(with extracts from, his unpublished love-letters)
(1769-1799)
The latter half of the eighteenth century will probably
always be celebrated in history as the age of the purest
reason, the reign of the commonest sense. Even its poets
were reasonable, while its lovers adored before all things the
good sense and 'judgment' of their mistresses, and based
their hopes of matrimonial happiness upon a mutual good
understanding, equality of sentiments, and similarity of
tastes. From passion, with its feverish heats and chills,
its absurd exaltations and irrational depressions, they
shrank back in alarm and disapproval, while the very
words and phrases of endearment were expurgated from
their vocabulary, or chilled down to a becoming degree
of temperature. Love became ' regard,' and a lover a
friend, passion was transformed into 'sentiment,' and charm
into * propriety of conduct.'
This tendency is peculiarly characteristic of the love-
letters addressed by John Tweddell, sometimes called
the English Marcellus, to Miss Isabel Gunning, which
curious effusions have recently come to light. Tweddell,
though he has found a niche in the Dictionary of National
Biography, will probably be unknown even by name to
most modern readers, since he owed his chief celebrity to a
299

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
posthumous literary scandal, long since forgotten. Yet he
was regarded as a ' coming man ' in his own day, and
probably it is due to his premature death that he must be
classed among the might-have-beens. If his horoscope
had been cast, it would certainly have been found that he
was born under an unlucky star ; for love, death, fame,
even the elements, all seem to have cherished an equal
spite against him.
The son of Francis Tweddell, a country gentleman
living at Threepwood, near Hexham, in Northumberland,
John was born on June 1, 1769, and educated at a
Yorkshire school, whence he was sent to Trinity College,
Cambridge. Here he distinguished himself by winning
nearly all the prizes and medals for which he competed
(notably the three Brown Medals in one year), and was
elected a Fellow in 1792. On leaving college he published
his prize compositions in Greek, Latin, and English, under
the title of Prolusiones Juveniles, a work which was treated
with respectful attention by the reviewers. He entered at
the Middle Temple in obedience to his father's wishes ; but
having no taste for law, occupied himself with his favourite
classical studies, and with vague aspirations after a politi
cal or diplomatic career. He held what were regarded as
' advanced ' views, admired the principles that led to the
French Revolution, and was on friendly terms with Charles
Fox, Charles Grey (afterwards Earl Grey, a fellow North
umbrian), as well as many other members of the Whig
party. He was also an intimate friend of Dr. Parr's,
though that great scholar was more than twenty years his
senior ; and he was on visiting terms with Dr. Paley.
In July 1794 Mr. Tweddell, who was then just twenty-
five, met Miss Isabel Gunning, daughter of Sir Robert
Gunning (cousin of the ' beauties ' and ex-Ambassador to
300

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
St. Petersburg), at a country house ; and after an acquaint
ance of three weeks, made her an offer of his hand and
heart — valuable assets, no doubt, but not likely to be
approved by his prospective father-in-law. Miss Gunning
assured her lover that Sir Robert would never consent to
his suit, but acknowledged that he was not indifferent to
her, and agreed at his earnest request to carry on a secret
correspondence with him. The first letter is dated July 29,
1794,and it is evident that the pair were then staying under
the same roof, possibly in the house of the Hon. Stephen
Digby, who was a friend of Tweddell's, and brother-in-law
to Isabel. This Colonel Digby was one of the equerries
to the king, and figures largely in Madame D'Arblay's
Diary as ' Mr. Fairly.' When Miss Burney made his
acquaintance at Court he was a most disconsolate widower,
having lost his first wife (a daughter of Lord Ilchester) in
1787. He evidently made a strong impression on Fanny's
heart, and she can hardly conceal her disappointment
when he consoles himself, in 1790, with Margaret Gunning,
one of Queen Charlotte's ladies-in-waiting, who figures
in the Diary as ' Miss Fuselier.' Mrs. Digby is described
by her rival as a woman of learning, and her literary
quality is proved by a manuscript found after her death
containing her ' Last Wishes,' which is written in very
beautiful and touching language. It is evident that
Isabel Gunning was also an intelligent and well-read
woman, or a man of Tweddell's stamp would hardly have
written to her, as he does, in the tone of one addressing
an intellectual equal.
To return to the summer of 1794, which saw the
beginning of our hero's brief romance. The young man,
to quote his brother's testimony, was of the middle
stature, and of a handsome, well-proportioned figure.
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
' His address was polished, affable, and prepossessing
in a high degree, and there was in his whole appear
ance an air of dignified benevolence, which portrayed
at once the suavity of his nature and the independence
of his mind. In conversation he had a talent so
peculiarly his own as to form a very distinguishing
feature of his character. A chastised and ingenious wit
which could seize on an incident in the happiest fashion ;
a lively fancy, which could clothe the choicest ideas in the
best language ; these, supported by a large acquaintance
with men and books, together with the further advantages
of a melodious voice and a playfulness of manner singularly
sweet and engaging, rendered him the delight of every
company. . . . Accomplished and admired as he was, his
modesty was conspicuous, and his whole deportment devoid
of affectation or pretension. Qualified eminently to shine
in society, and actually sharing its applause, he found his
chief enjoyment in the retired circle of select friends, in
whose literary leisure, and in the amenities of female
converse, which for him had the highest charm, he sought
the purest and most refined recreation.'
John Tweddell's first love-letter seems to have been
written directly after his declaration of his passion, and,
like all the others in the series, it is inscribed in an
exquisite hand, with scarcely an erasure or alteration,
while it is expressed with an accuracy and formality that
are somewhat at variance with his professedly strong
feelings and warm heart.
' My dear Miss Gunning' (it runs),
' The opportunities I have of speaking to you are so
very few and so much interrupted, my mind also at these
times is so distracted and confused, that I feel myself
compelled to write what I am unable to say. My pen,
302

JOHN TWEDDELL.
From a Silhouette.

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
I fear, will not more avail me than my lips ; and if so, I
am certain of being under little obligation to it. Yet
silent I cannot be, tho' I am conscious that those feelings
that might furnish expression to some men will render
me embarrassed and almost unintelligible. I shall en
deavour, however, to be as explicit as I can ; and if you
should not understand me, you will in justice pardon a
confusion which you have yourself created. Believe me,
my dear madam, I did not speak lightly when I said that
I shall have serious reason either to delight in or to regret
our accidental meeting. When I first had the happiness
(may I call it so ?) of taking a part in that conversation
which introduced me to you, I was not aware that it was
to be bought at the price of so much future anxiety. . . .
' You have asked me how an attachment so strong as
to require confession can have arisen from an intercourse
of so short a date. It may be impossible perhaps for you
to conceive this, because you are unacquainted with your
own attractions ; and it certainly is impossible for me to
explain it, because I am not able to detail them. You
know that such a question cannot admit of a very ready
solution. It depends upon feelings, and upon an infinity
of little things, the power of which is not to be described
either singly or collectively. Of this I beseech you to be
assured, that my regard is not of a whimsical or fleeting
nature, nor the result of momentary passion. It is not
the boyish admiration of a fine person, or of winning and
engaging manners ; tho' you will permit me to say that
these alone have in you more attractions in my eyes than all
the united accomplishments of other women. You are too
sincere yourself, if you are not too discerning, to suspect
that I can mean to insult you by flattery. God Almighty
knows that everything which I have said, or shall say to
303

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
you, is the genuine effusion of a sincere and honest heart.
You will therefore believe me if, after having stated those
causes which alone are not adequate to such a profusion of
regard, I should attempt, however imperfectly, to acquaint
you with some of the real grounds of my attachment.
' It is founded, then, in that similarity which I discover
in our tempers and dispositions, in our common notions
of men and things, and in our mutual opinions of the
means of happiness. Do not conceive that I have drawn
my ideas upon this subject solely from the different con
versations I have enjoyed with you. Where we are much
interested we can derive information from occurrences
apparently the most trivial and unimportant, which to
inattentive persons are neither pregnant with meaning
nor productive of remark. But to a person in my
situation every gesture has significance, and every word a
force. Since first I saw you I have scrupulously watched
every motion and look, have examined your conduct, and
listened to your conversation. I have beheld a disposition
such as I never before saw ; and which, manifested as it
now is in the sweetest and most captivating affection to
your father, affords the most undoubted proof of those
domestic virtues which constitute the greatest happiness
that mortals can partake of. The qualities of your mind '
are equally delightful to me, for I never conversed with
any woman (excepting one, the wife of a particular friend)
who possessed the same information, and was at the same
time so unostentatious of her knowledge, and so diffident
of her powers.'
After assuring his lady once again that these expres
sions contain no grain of flattery or compliment, the lover
continues : —
' My dear Miss Gunning, whether I estimate happiness
304

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
wisely or not, that Being only knows who endowed me
with the desire, and I hope with the capacity, of attaining
it. I may be deceived in my notions of the things wherein
it consists ; but they appear to me at least to be agreeable
to reason, and not inconsistent with wisdom. To the
exercise of the social affections, to the peaceful habits of
domestic life, I look as to the foundations of my comfort
and the limit of my wishes. I have not seen much life,
but I have seen as much perhaps of the world and its ways
as most other men of my years, and of what I have seen I
trust I have been no unprofitable nor incurious observer.
Amongst all the various means that are pursued for the
attainment of happiness, that universal end, few, very
few, appear to me successful or satisfactory. The
irrational dissipations of mankind, the prodigal waste of
natural and moral excellence, the degradation of intellect,
and the perversion of all physical good, make me
melancholy whenever I reflect upon them. Those beings
alone appear to me to be really happy who, under the
tranquil conviction of a benevolent Providence, spend
their lives in improving their minds and in exercising
their virtues ; who have one friend, at least, on whose
affection they can at all times rely, and in whose bosom
they can deposit their most intimate thoughts — one who,
in sickness, in sorrow, and disaster, can alleviate their
pains, and to whom in joy they may turn with the
certainty of communicating equal happiness. All my
thoughts and wishes are bent to this point; and if
I never attain to it, my mind is not, I fear, of sufficient
strength to refrain from envying the bliss of others.
But never, till very lately, did I see a person on whom
as the object of such a pursuit my mind could con
tentedly rest.
u 305

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
' I have three times been thrown, twice by design, and
once by accident, into situations the eligibility of which
has been cried up to me by my friends. But who can
judge for another ? Certainly, if fortune, I had almost
said opulence, had been the object of my wishes, I might
once at least in my life have been a very rich man. But
the want of something or other which I have conceived
essential to my happiness, and the firm belief that I
should in future meet some woman whose superior merits
would cause me to repent, have always repelled me from
embracing any connection. More than once I have felt
that light, fluttering fancy which begins and ends we
know not how, nor why, nor when — which " dies in the
cradle where it lies." And that I should have felt such
capricious freaks of a temporary humour I cannot repent,
since that circumstance furnishes me at present with the
power of comparing the very different sensations which
accompany a volatile and occasional taste, and a rational
and stable affection. In the very long acquaintances that
I have had with women, when opportunity was not to be
sought, but was constant and perpetual, I could never
endure the thought of talking to any one in the same
strain that I have talked to you, whom I have hardly
known three weeks, and whom I have only conversed with
as by stealth.
' No, my dear madam, do not conceive that I know
myself so little as to mistake fancy for esteem, and liking
for attachment. I know the full import of the several
terms, and should abhor myself could I have said to you
what I have said while there remained any scope for
fickleness or caprice. I have always viewed with most
unmixed and unqualified detestation that wretch who
could make lavish declarations of a permanent regard
306

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
that he might wantonly indulge the frolic of his vanity,
or give vent to the burden of a hasty tho' oppressive
feeling. There is misery enough in the world without
studiously devising means of creating it. Do not then
repeat to me that I know nothing of you, and that I may
possibly have formed an erroneous opinion of those
qualities which now attach me to you. You are she
whom my imagination has formed, when it has been
most sanguine, as the companion of my days, and the
partner of my happiness. Thus was I acquainted with
you before I had seen you, and to you I had waited
for the first introduction, to enter at once into the
concerns of your life and the history of your feelings.
Count therefore, I entreat you, on my affection as fixed
and constant, the offspring of reason and sentiment
combined, and only to be shaken by the most undeniable
conviction that either it is not returned, or that it cannot
be gratified.'
Here the writer breaks off for a time, but the reader
knows little of the ' staying powers ' of an eighteenth-
century correspondent if he thinks that the letter nears
a conclusion. Before it was resumed, however, the lovers
had had a private interview, and Mr. Tweddell had
explained his pecuniary position to the lady, who
apparently held out small hopes that her father
would consent to the match. At the same time she
gave him reason to believe that he had already made
a decided impression on her heart. Her suitor continues
his epistle next day, July 30th, in a decidedly warmer
strain. ' Thus far, my sweet friend,' he resumes, ' I had written
to you yesterday. And here I should have proceeded to
give you a .candid statement of my circumstances, had I
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
not sufficiently explained them to you in the long conver
sation that I enjoyed with you last night. This most
melancholy part of my letter I am therefore spared;
melancholy no otherwise than as from it would arise the
objections of your father. You see how contracted my
present income is. Yet it gave me comfort to find that
your ideas of happiness were such as to induce you to
think that were there no other obstacle you could live
contented upon our little fortunes united, having before
us the prospect of a comfortable reversion. According to
my own ideas of competency, you and I would have enough
for all the present comforts and conveniences of life ; and
I would only show that if, in the natural course of events,
accident should multiply our family wants, this contin
gency would be thus provided for. I am more and more
convinced that all beyond competence contributes little
to comfort, and that one may have a competence upon
much less than is imagined. It has always been perfectly
inconsistent with my sense of real attachment to induce
any person to remove from a scene of ease and plenty to
conflict thro' life with difficulties. I love you much
too well to wish to place you in a situation where
you might labour under the pressure of embarrassments,
or where you might cast back a wishful eye upon the
neglected opportunities of superior comforts. If I could
ever persuade myself that the mind of her whom I
had selected was fixed on things which were above my
humble reach, and which, but for me, she might have
enjoyed, I should feel really unhappy. But your wishes,
as you have told me, are moderate; your desires are
contracted. Mine are so too. You have no extrava
gances, nor many fictitious wants — I have none which
are not those of perfect and mutual comfort.
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
' You will excuse me if I appear anywhere to reckon
too precipitately upon your entertaining an equal regard
for me. I do not believe it, nor do I see how it is
possible. But the favourable opinion at least which you
kindly confessed to me with that amiable candour which
disdains all prudish managements and affected reserve,
gives me everything to hope from a longer and less inter
rupted intimacy. Yet why, or what should I hope?
Your father measures happiness on another scale of things,
and wishes you to move in a higher sphere. Well cal
culated you are indeed to decorate any situation, to be
the pride of any and every condition. But would you
think I only spoke an interested language if I said
that happiness is not frequently found in company
with grandeur ? You would not ; for I believe you
think so yourself. If you were intended to be allied
to opulence only, why was your mind so cultivated ?
Why have its powers been so much inured to distin
guish between what is just and what is fashionable ?
Why have you those dispositions towards everything
that is good and sensible, if you are to be planted in
a situation where there are so many impediments to
their exercise ?
' Should I really be unfortunate in this my first attach
ment ; should your knowledge of your father's views and
opinions convince you without question and beyond the
possibility of doubt that an union between us is evidently
impracticable ; should you see no prospect, no rational and
sober hope, no " spot of azure in a clouded sky " — then,
my dearest and best affection, accept from me as a sincere
friend that advice I could have no occasion to give in the
happier character I would aspire to. As you value your
own precious peace of mind, never let any inducement 309

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
under heaven tempt you to become the wife of that man
whom for his mental and his moral qualities you do not
love above every other being in the world. I am sure
you would be unhappy. Pardon the presumption of one
who can never cease to esteem and love you, and to be
interested in your welfare, tho' he should be denied the
exalted privilege of peculiarly contributing to it. Do I
not seem to require forgiveness in thinking it necessary
thus to counsel you ? I know your goodness and your
strictness of feeling. But even the best and the strictest
have been betrayed into a sort of pious sacrifice by a
regard to the unhappy prejudices of ill-judging friends.
Be not you so. If you cannot marry to make yourself
happy, do not, to make others conceive themselves happy,
make yourself unquestionably miserable. For on this
step depends happiness or misery. There is, in my mind,
no mean. I must either love to the excess of attachment
or loathe almost to disgust. I have the warmest and the
strongest feelings that ever inhabited any bosom, for the
unhappiness, I fear, of the possessor. I therefore could
never endure a state of insipid mediocrity. Her whom I
could not consider in everything as my other self, to
whom I could not disclose every sensation of my heart,
her I could not live with. Such an one may do very
well to dine with once a year as a country neighbour;
but live with her I never could till I prefer solitude to
indifference. ' This is the advice I give a sister for whom I have the
fondest affection, and to whom, for the same reason as
to you, any disappointment in so serious a concern would,
I am sure, be productive of the bitterest affliction. The
same generous sensibilities which, if tenderly cherished,
are productive of the most refined happiness, are, if
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
rudely discouraged and checked in their operations, the
source of the most unqualified sorrow. Think, my dearest
friend, should you meet a man who received your kind
ness with unconcern, and repaid your endearments with
indifference, think what adequate compensation could
you derive from exterior appendages ? I know you feel
on this topic as I do, and therefore all I say upon it
may appear nugatory and useless. But, alas ! I feel as
tho' I were taking a last sorrowful farewell of my best
beloved friend. And I cannot part without mani
festing in this way the interest I take in what may here
after befall her. Would to God that this presentiment
may prove untrue — that my difficulties may be conquered,
and my fears visionary. Then should I not regret my
sleepless hours, and my anxious and troubled reflections.
But how may this be ? or may it be at all ? I will not
despair — till you absolutely command me. And can you
bear to do this ? Already, when alone, I am half distracted !
Write to me immediately, my very dear friend, write and
say what appears to you most expedient for us both. Is
there any hope for me ? Consider it well. I have grievous
and deadly fears, and the misery of that day when you
tell me finally to cease to love you will require an age
of happiness to atone for. Then shall I have nothing
left but to regret most deeply the unhappy circumstance
of having first met you. How are all my feelings at
war with each other ! How can I endure to express
regret at having seen and conversed with you ? How
many different ways I am pulled by the conflict of reason
and passion ! I cherish the very cause of my distress,
and recall with melancholy pleasure that first conversa
tion which is the source of all my present anxiety. Oh,
Miss Gunning, my best friend, how weak is the pride
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
of intellect, how sparing and feeble are the resources
which we derive from our understanding ! I ought,
if my worst forebodings were true, to shudder at
the recollection of a day which has been produc
tive of so much pain to me. Instead of that, I dote
on the delicious sufferings which I experience from
a terrible suspense, bordering upon a still more terrible
certainty. ' I have long ago arrived at the conclusion of a reason
able letter, but I do not appear to have advanced one
step. I know not how to stop, nor what it is I wish to
say to you. You leave this place on Tuesday. What
shall I do, or how shall I feel without you ? I cannot
live without you in the very spot where I have doated
on you. Few, alas ! are the opportunities I now have of
being with you ; but when I cannot talk to you, I am
delighted to look at you. Write to me quickly, I beseech
you, and use no reserve whatever. I never could think
of you, at any distance of time, however cool or phleg
matic I may become, without admiring everything I have
heard you say, or seen you do. Never have you been
guilty of the slightest deviation 'from the strictest pro
priety. Heaven is witness of the sincerity with which I
say that no accident of time and fortune, nothing but a
defect of my mind and the corruption of my heart, can
ever wring from me a thought injurious to you. I can
not even faintly describe that kind of regard which I
have for you. In you is comprised everything that can
excite or perpetuate affection. Oh, for God's sake, my
dearest of friends, let me see as much of you as I can
while you stay. Even if it should be found necessary to
discontinue our acquaintance hereafter for our mutual
peace (which yet I will not and cannot believe), still
312

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
consider that I am now so far wretched that I cannot be
more so from continuing to talk to you. What thin
partitions divide the bounds of happiness and misery !
When I talk with you, or even when I gaze upon you,
I am happy, in spite of the most unpleasant considera
tions ; when I leave you, I am half mad and distracted.
You went to bed last night, and I into the supper-room.
I had no sooner sat down than I was compelled to come
out again. The people wanted to eat, and I to think ;
so I am come up into my bedroom, but think I cannot.
I fear I cannot write very intelligibly. I am sure I cannot
sleep. I am almost ashamed to confess how weak, and
how like a child, I passed the greater part of that long
and tedious night. I am forced to assume cheerfulness
when I come downstairs — yet I detest hypocrisy. Oh,
how greatly is everything in this world in favour of the
unfeeling ! . . .
' There is one thing which I much wish, but I fear to
mention it to you, because, as you do not feel as I do,
you may possibly refuse to grant me so great an indulg
ence. We know, as you have said, not much of each
other. Will you then permit me to correspond with you
for one year at least from this time ? It is, I fear, pro
bable that we may not have much opportunity of meet
ing each other ; and it is possible also that you may not
have the means of attaining much knowledge of my
character. ... In the course of a year many things now
unforeseen may happen ; and if no prospect should open
in that time, I could not then in reason object if you
judged it expedient for your comfort to break off the
intercourse.' After assuring her that his attachment
can never suffer abatement, he continues : ' It is no
wonder that a boyish fancy for a pretty face alone
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
vanishes with the face itself. But you know that my
regard is of a very different complexion. Certain it is,
I have not been educated in the school of Plato. No
one can be more sensible of the power of beauty. But
this is not "all the magic you have used." Before I
really love, mind and disposition must also act upon me.
. . . Should all my endeavours to be happy with you
vanish into air, you will have rendered it almost impos
sible that I should ever attain the happiness that I
before counted upon with any other woman. For / am
just as undeniably convinced of this truth as of my own
existence — that I shall never behold upon this earth any
woman whom I shall believe so much created and born
for me as yourself. I shall, / am positively sure, institute
a comparison to the disadvantage of every other female
in the world. . . .'
The conclusion of this letter is lost, if it ever was con
cluded, which one is inclined to doubt. Its pleadings
were so far successful that Miss Gunning consented to
carry on a secret correspondence with her lover. From
the specimen of Mr. Tweddell's epistolary powers that
has already been given, it seems probable that he wrote
his lady a double letter every day ; but the next that has
been preserved is dated September 25th, and was written
from the young man's home at Threepwood, near Hex
ham. He begins by apologising to his ' ever dear friend '
for his last letter, ' which contained many absurd things
written under the immediate impulse of violent feelings.'
Can it be that he had so far forgotten himself as to
substitute the word ' love ' for ' regard ' or ' attachment'?
However that may be, he expresses his desire to converse
with her in a calmer, more rational spirit, and in pursu
ance of this object sends her a list of books which she had
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
asked him to recommend to her. John Tweddell, though
in most respects a true child of his age, was as regards
his opinions on the ' woman question ' distinctly in advance
of his contemporaries. They, as has been observed,
valued ' good sense ' in a woman, but held that she had
no business with learning. Tweddell, in more than one
of his letters, strongly condemns this prejudice, and he
certainly had the courage of his opinions ; for from time
to time he sends his ' dearest friend ' a list of books, the
assimilation of which would test the mental digestion of
a strong man.
Miss Gunning was apparently engaged in reading
Locke on the Understanding, and her lover recommends
her to read the same author's essay on the Conduct of
the Understanding, but not to rely too confidently on
what he says of power and will, liberty, and necessity.
He proceeds to recommend her Search's 1 Light of Nature
Pursued, Home Tooke's Diversions of Purley, which he
describes as ' the only true system of grammar] Millar's
History of the English Constitution 2 (which she is not
to be alarmed at because it is dedicated to Charles Fox),
the Abbe Millot's Elements of Modern History, Formey's
work on Ecclesiastical History,3 and Bacon's Essays, which,
he observes, ' if you have not read them, will be a copious
source of information. I delight in everything. that great
man ever wrote. But neither his Life of Henry VII.
nor his Advancement of Learning are more fraught with
everything that characterises pre-eminent powers of mind
1 Search was the pseudonym of Abraham Tucker (1705-1774).
2 John Millar's (1735-1801) Historical View of the English Government
appeared in 1787.
3 Formey's work was translated from the French, and published in
1766. 315

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
than his general essays. At the same time that his
sentiments are most commanding from their wisdom, his
expressions, equally original, are most cogent and
brilliant. His forecast is almost supernatural. In his
works you see carelessly scattered the elements of almost
all future discoveries. Many things that Newton himself
afterwards unveiled, seem to have been in part foreknown
to Bacon, tho' his mind did not pause to undertake
their intricate evolutions. . . .
' Those books I have recommended that you have not
read, I wish, my beloved friend, that you and I could
peruse together. How I should delight in our minds thus
travelling through such pleasing and fruitful regions ! I
believe we should each of us profit by the other's remarks.
I am sure I should by yours. This is a mode of reading
to which I am very partial ; and when I am in town, I
communicate the substance of everything I read to a
very dear friend of mine, with whom I am in the habit
of daily intercourse, and from whose superior mind I
constantly derive important benefit. He pursues the
same plan towards me, and thus is the extent of our
respective studies, exclusive of their improved ad
vantage, doubled to each of us. From these collisions
of reason truth is most likely to be struck out; and
we are not so apt to be led away by the authority
of great names when the subjects they treat of, and
the opinions they advance, are subsequently investigated,
stripped of the persuasion of style and the graces of
diction.' In a previous letter Miss Gunning, it would seem, had
laid before her lover certain scruples relating to their
correspondence, and more especially to the secrecy with
which it was carried on. She could not have done him a
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
greater kindness, judging from the enthusiasm with which
he plunges into the argument. 'And now, my dear
friend,' he continues, having concluded his catalogue of
books, 'I must recur to the main subject of your letter.
I hope you would not conceive that I meant to treat your
reasoning with disrespect, because I briefly replied to it
that it was not convincing. Your whole argument hinges
upon your aversion to conceal our intercourse from your
father till a favourable moment may occur for revealing
it, and you are willing to persuade yourself that in so
concealing it you would act morally wrong. If, indeed,
you are absolutely wedded to this notion, I would not
wish to weaken your good opinion of me by advising you
to act in opposition to it. But that ydu should be so
after serious reflection would, I assure you, not more
afflict than it would surprise me. You say, " Consider it
well yourself as an abstract question, which does not
particularly relate to either of us ; and then tell me if
you wish me to do that which you would be obliged to
confess was wrong." Most certainly I do not wish you,
I will never persuade you, to do anything which I think
wrong. But I give you my honour that is not the case
here. I know of no duty, nor can divine any, which
obliges an unmarried woman to disclose every action of
her life to her parent. It is possible (and I am now
assuming a very whimsical hypothesis) that some parents
might expect such a thing. But am I therefore obliged
to gratify every strange expectation ? And shall it be
said that I deceive the person who entertains it ? In such
a case it is not I who deceive him ; he deceives himself.
As well might that person accuse me of a trespass upon
morality who had made up his mind to the belief that I
should kill myself. Shall I fulfil his expectations, or
317

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
have I not a previous obligation to myself to disappoint
them ? If, indeed, I privately commit any action which
is in itself improper, then I may justly be said to deceive
those friends who had a reasonable ground for contrary
expectation. But against whom is the offence com
mitted ? Against those friends? Surely not. The
offence is committed against that Being whose laws
imposed a prior obligation to an opposite conduct — which
laws are obligatory on man because they are conducive
to his happiness.
' Indeed, I never heard of any duty of the nature which
you speak of, and you know very well that were vou
"considering this as an abstract question," you could
find no argument in Mr. Paley, nor any other moralist
that ever wrote, capable of convincing you that any such
duty could in reality ever have existed. Religion is a
good thing, and morality is a good thing ; but as in the
first case we are not more religious for carrying our
religion to enthusiasm, so neither in the second are we
more moral for refining too far upon morality. Those
duties which are real and substantial are sufficiently
defined, and abundantly adequate to guide and direct us
to the end which they propose, without our industriously
framing new ones which may be false, and must be
superfluous. Yet I love you still better, my amiable
friend, for acting as you have done under such an impres
sion, and no one could possibly have argued better in
such a cause, or have acted more nobly and ingenuously.
What an uneasy fate is mine, to be compelled to admire
you in proportion to the pain you give me ! But I am
sure, if you reflect on this subject again, you cannot
retain the same opinion. You are as capable- of judging
for yourself as any human being can possibly be. You
318

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
are equally entitled, and equally obligated, with every
other human being, to act for yourself in those things
which concern your own happiness, without participat
ing your design unless you deem it expedient. Our in
tercourse is at least very innocent, and may be very
fortunate.' This mode of reasoning was, of course, rank heresy in
1794; but the daughter's instinctive objection to deceiv
ing her father by carrying on a secret correspondence of
which she knew that he would disapprove, at the same
time that she was living under his roof in professed
obedience to his laws, was swept away by her lover's
fluent casuistry. In combating the lady's second scruple,
Mr. Tweddell displays himself and his logic in a better
light. ' Your other objection is,' he admits, ' of more weight,
and it is very well and properly stated by you. You
conclude that by continuing our acquaintance for a
certain period we should become more attached to each
other; and that if it should then be found absolutely
necessary for us to break off all connection, we may thus
be rendered very miserable. Here there is a question of
your feelings and my own. As far as my own are
concerned, you will allow me to judge for myself; I do not
mean to let a warm heart check the reasoning of a cool
head. I therefore deliberately protest to you that, so far
as I consider myself, I am at this very moment arrived
at that degree of affection for you that if our intercourse
must cease, all periods are nearly alike to me. If you
could only know what kind of affection that is, how
little it partakes of any momentary turbulence, how
little it resembles the flourish of a youthful fancy,
you would never again believe that it may be founded
319

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
on a trivial knowledge of your character. My regard for
you is at once so strong and so delicate, so tempered and
chastised by reflection and esteem, that if, knowing its
nature, you could ever doubt either of its reason or con
tinuance, if you could persuade yourself of the possibility
that any little increase it may yet admit, would make any
material variation of distress, in case of its being inter
rupted, then my heart must, in your idea, be made of
such perishable stuff, that you would do well without
further thought to abandon it for ever. . . .'
After defending the suddenness of his passion on the
grounds of his lady's surpassing qualities and merits, and
assuring her that her manners, address, understanding,
and principles, her mental and personal endowments of
every kind, are a source of inexpressible delight to him,
the writer proceeds : —
' How comes it if you take me for such a paltry machine,
as only fit to be acted upon by meaner influences, that
I was never in love before ? You cannot know this, but
as I assure you of it, you will believe me. I have certainly
seen and intimately known many young women who had
every charm that can flow from mere beauty, and from
manners too — never, I confess, so pure and cultivated as
yours — but yet pleasing and agreeable, and such as the
world is content to flatter and admire. But the truth is,
I am rather a critical and jealous observer of those things,
and I always found some deficiency which either impaired
the effect of exterior graces, or which exterior graces
could not supply. But still I could mention some of these
women who had a competent portion of sense and virtue.
But they were not like you, and therefore I could not love
them. Never till I saw you had I seen a woman into whose
keeping I dared to confide my happiness; and Nature
320

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
is far too penurious of her good gifts that I should ever
hope to meet again with one who resembles you. Do not
then tell me again you were always surprised that I could
so suddenly conceive so powerful a regard for you. We
may be employed many days in detecting the excellences
of Mr. West, but an hour is sufficient to display the
merits of Sir Joshua Reynolds or Michael Angelo. I
only wish to assure you by what I have said that my
present affection for you is not produced by the "fervour
of an ardent imagination," but that it really is such as
you describe, that which you could wish the man you
love to bear for you. . . .'
Having repeated that it is for his own happiness to
continue the intimacy, end how it may, he concludes :
' But I will say no more upon what I feel advisable for
myself. As this is a question of your feelings as well as
mine, it becomes me to consider yours; and this con
sideration is, after all, the only one. It is impossible that
I can here speak at all decisively. I can only reason of
your feelings by analogy from my own. What is not
analogy would be bare conjecture. In short, this part of
the subject must remain with you. You only must
determine for us both. If you have firmly persuaded
yourself that, your intimacy with me will render you
miserable, that for the difficulties we may possibly have
to encounter you shall receive no recompense in my
continued friendship and affection, you have then imposed
an eternal silence upon me. My doom is sealed, for I
cannot invade your peace. I may be convinced of the
contrary, and may lament your hasty determination.
But your happiness is as dear to me as my own, and if I
cannot comfort, I will not torment you. No, my dearest
love, you shall never be able to say that you have shed
x 321

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
one tear for me that I might have prevented. • If you are
convinced that I shall make you unhappy, let us part for
ever. God, I trust, will give me strength to bear up
against all inevitable afflictions, and so to His benevolence
I commit my hopes. ... If what I have said can make
no impression on you, I must submit to despair. The
advice you gave me was, " Consider well all I have said to
you, and then tell me what you think advisable for us ;
but let your opinion be the result of deliberation, and
such as it becomes you to give and me to receive.'' That
advice I have followed to the best of my ability — and so
farewell. "Think of me as I am." Consider all my
conduct, and approve of it, I beseech you, when you can.
You will find that I have been oftentimes foolish, some
times inconsistent, and once, perhaps, rather petulant, in
what I have on different occasions addressed to you.
But remember how violently I have loved you ; and when
you can find no other excuse for my weakness, attribute
it to that.
' Read once more what I have written to you at different
times, and then write to me. You have never read my letters
more than once : I have read yours fifty times. If you
forbid me to reply, depend upon it, I will not. Yet, lest
anything very important should occur, tell me in that
case how I should direct to you. But let me write to
you if you can, and at all events write to me in answer to
this letter— and be minute, not distant and reserved.
Recollect that upon your conduct depends the happiness
of one who, however unworthy of your love, is not un
deserving of your pity. For he would now have been
happy had he never met you.
' And now I have only one more request to make of you,
and that is, that you will never let us part, if we ever
322

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
must part, without a last interview. You promised me
that we should meet in town, at a moment when, perhaps,
you did not see quite so clearly the objections to our
intercourse. Tell me when you mean to return to town,
and promise that you will never agree to separate from
me without a meeting. I hope you will grant more than
this. But this you certainly will not deny me. My
dear friend, do not break my heart if you can help it.
God for ever bless you, and make you happy. J. T.'

PART II
In spite of Miss Gunning's doubts and scruples, the
secret correspondence continued to flourish ; and after
Mr. Tweddell's return to town he writes a long epistle,
only by courtesy a love-letter, detailing his political
opinions. It is evident that Isabella was afraid that her
lover's ' views ' would find as little favour in her father's
eyes as his limited income. If John Tweddell had lived
in these days he would have called himself a Radical; in
1794 he seems to have been a more or less independent
follower of Fox, that ' friend of the people "" who was
widely regarded as the enemy of his country. The
horrors of the French Revolution were still fresh in
men's minds, and the words ' liberty ' and ' equality ' were
thought to spell blood and anarchy. To the old-
fashioned Tory, the man who held progressive views in
politics, or on social questions, was the man who yearned
to set up a guillotine at Charing Cross, and to line the
streets with the heads of aristocrats. Hence Isabel writes
to reassure herself on the subject of her lover's opinions,
and to ask what part he would take should 'disturb
ances ' arise.

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
' My dear friend' (he replies), 'I am delighted with
your last letter. I cannot describe the satisfaction which
I feel upon seeing more and more how closely and inti
mately our sentiments are allied upon almost all subjects.
I would not reply so soon, having at present very insuffi
cient time to write at such length as I could wish, were it
not that I believe it gives you pleasure to have the earliest
assurance that your letter is destroyed. I can supply
what I should wish to add in a day or two. For you and
I, my best friend, will not observe the forms of exact
reciprocity. Keep only in mind that the oftener I hear
from you, the more happy I shall be. . . . Should my
letters ever give you nearly the same pleasure, you will
then have a sensation that will remind you more effectu
ally than anything else tQjjMiverse with me constantly.
' In this letter I will anstglr your questions respecting
my political opinions. To Represent these to you with
every particularity in all their ^di visions and subdivisions,
would be to write you^^volume. Of course you expect
me, by letter, merely to give #ou their general complexion,
which I will do as fully and siucerely as you wish. I need
not prepare this avowaj^of my political faith by desiring
you, as I should moSt* others, to shun a habit very com
mon in these days, of imputing more than is confessed,
People in general have no conception of an interval lying
between extremes. This seems very absurd, but it is not
the less true. It is naturally and easily to be explained.
The nation is at present divided into two parties, each of
which maintains with considerable vehemence the pro
priety of the part they are severally acting. The greater
number of those who compose them both are either the
slaves of interest or the creatures of prejudice. The con
duct of the former is readily accounted for ; and it is

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
a sufficient cause for the latter to be furiously addicted to
either party, that they are ill disposed to consider, or
incapable to appreciate, the merits of both. So soon,
therefore, as any one avows sentiments in favour of
liberty, for instance, it is immediately concluded that his
opinions extend to the widest reach of the widest theory
upon that subject. Should he approve of a uniform
opposition to the present war, he is a Jacobin. Should he
hazard an opinion that the French resources are in
exhaustible, he is a cut-throat, etc. etc. etc. But, above
all, it is usual to confound speculative opinions with the
intention of practical assertion — two things, in fact, as
wide from each other as the polar distances, and yet most
uniformly and intentionally substituted for each other.
'I will not, I say, caution you against this habit of
judgment in political matters. Your candour, in the
first place, removes from me this necessity ; and, in the
next place, your powers of reasonable and just distinction.
You must not form your opinions upon what the British
Critic 1 says of my principles. All that it says about the
introduction to my essay on Liberty is true, for it is
a mere translation of it. But when it accuses me of
going to the extent of Mr. Paine's principles, it is at
least mistaken; and, if you observe, it does not point out
the particular passage to which it alludes (I think it only
mentions one such). The British Critic is professedly a
ministerial review, and is not always very nice in its
manner of condemning opposite opinions, being accus
tomed to deal in imputation more than refutation. I do
not, however, accuse it of any injustice to me, except in
that one assertion. The only violent passages that I
recollect in my essay are against Burke and the partition
1 In the review of his prize essays. 325

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
of Poland. Neither can I call to mind any opinions
which I there advanced that I could wish to retract now.
I wish with all my heart that you could read it. I think
it would not frighten you.
' These are my general principles. I am, and shall, I
trust, ever remain a most firm and zealous advocate for
the enjoyment of as much liberty as the present imperfect
state of the human mind can admit of, compatibly with
good order. But I never carry any theory so far (tho'
it is very common with reformers) as to exclude the con
sideration of that first principle of human infirmity. I
believe most confidently that the state of society will
improve ; and that as men grow more generally wise, and
more equally informed, they will grow better, and that
as they grow better the reins of coercion ought to be
proportionately relaxed. But the time is not yet arrived
when these principles can be followed to their fullest
extent with safety. So, also, I prefer a republican form
of government to a kingly. Even in the present state
of things I prefer this, and so far I am certainly a re
publican. But then I make a material distinction between
establishing a government <fe novo, and destroying one
that is at present established, for the purpose of substi
tuting another in its place. I think it must be an
extreme necessity that can j ustify the latter measure. If,
therefore, I were to legislate for a country that is at
present forming a government, as we lately did for
Canada, I would unquestionably vote for a republican
form ; but I would not agree to encounter a certain and
present evil, thro' the medium of a favourite theory,
for the sake of a precarious and distant good. In other
words, I can never consent, with many speculists on
government, to put out of the calculation all regard for
326

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
the comfort and peace of the present generation. And
so far I am not a republican. But all republicans are
classed under one general denomination, while in effect,
you see, their principles and objects are very distinct.
' For my own part, I should be thoroughly content with
such a reform in Parliament as might secure the people
against the dangerous and increasing extent of the
present corruption, which would give them the power
of speaking their own sentiments, and thereby diminish
the frequency of wars, that severest scourge with which
offended heaven chastens the indulgence of criminal
ambition. I would put it out of the power of any
minister to bribe a representative to part with the money
of his constituents for 0 share in the common plunder.
No pensioner or placeman should sit in the house.
Apparently, therefore, there would be no unworthy
influence — and really there could be none when the
election of parliaments was rendered so frequent as to
make it impossible for any funds of corruption to be so
extensive as to furnish bribes which must be constantly
repeated every year, instead of one year in seven. I
believe you will see nothing unreasonable in this ; and
even if you did, I could not promise you any probability
of change in my own sentiments. Those opinions which
I now hold upon this subject seem to me so utterly
undeniable, and not only so safe in practice, but so
utterly unsafe to be neglected, that I feel it an absolute
obligation incumbent upon me as an honest man to
endeavour to realise them by all peaceable means in my
power. . . .
' As to my party attachments, I can assure you that in
the usual acceptation of the term I have none. I ap
prove of the sentiments of one party because they agree
327

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
with my own, and so long I shall continue to approve
of them. I do not deny that I have a personal attach
ment to certain members of that party— more particu
larly perhaps to Mr. Grey. I am acquainted with almost
all the leading men in opposition, and I like many others
of them. But be assured of this, that should they ever
desert the principles on which I coincide with them,
respecting reform more particularly, all my attachment
is immediately gone. It is absolutely impossible for
me, while I retain my present sentiments of right and
wrong, ever to be unconditionally bound to any set of
men upon the earth. So long as they continue that line
of conduct which is honest and consistent, so long do I
feel a regard for, and a common interest with, them—
but no longer— not a minute. They have not, nor can
they ever have, any inducements to hold out to me,
should they think it worth their while to attempt it,
possessing sufficient force to make me swerve from my
present unalterable conviction. . . .
' What you mean by taking an active part, perhaps I
do not exactly understand. Do you mean the coming
into Parliament ? If so, I will tell you the precise state
of my mind upon that subject. There was a time when
this was the first object of my ambition. I then feared
it was unattainable. I knew very well that I should
never be enabled by my hereditary fortune to afford to
seat myself in the honourable house ; and I had not, at
that time, formed any connection by whose means I
might expect to arrive at it. Things now stand other
wise. I think it not improbable that such an offer may
be made to me. But my ambition is greatly on the
wane. It has been declining in proportion as the means
of attaining it have advanced. I see more clearly every
328

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
day of my life the folly of building happiness on such
trifles as the sally of a successful speech — and the name
of an orator. This supposes you succeed to your wishes.
We all of us have a tolerably good opinion of ourselves,
and we are often deceived by it. Suppose, on the other
hand, a disappointment. What should I have gained ?
The privilege of franking, and a silent vote. I would
just as soon be a candle-snuffer.
' But even counting very sanguinely on my hopes of
success, as perhaps, to speak ingenuously to my best
friend, I am too willing to do, yet even then I have lost
much of my relish for such dainty food, and am more
and more reconciling my palate to a more homely diet.
I am not insensible to flattery, I know very well. Perhaps
I have received it in too great abundance to be entirely
unhurt by its poison. But I am sure of this, that at
least it has not so far corrupted me as to make me
insensible to my imperfections, which I daily feel, or to
make me believe the sincerity of every one who speaks
me fair. Besides, I really find that praise conduces very
little to happiness. Who would consent to live amidst
the tempests of the mountains to whom the valley offered
tranquillity and peace ? ... In consequence of these
feelings and some others, I doubt very much whether
I would accept of a seat in Parliament, were it offered
to me ; and in addition to that, I much doubt whether
any man would be mightily inclined to offer it to me
upon those conditions upon which alone I would accept
it. I would not represent a borough without expressly
stipulating for the permission to vote for the extinction
of all boroughs whenever the question of reform should
involve such a clause ; and no plan of reform would be
worth a farthing without such an one. I would be at
329

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
liberty to deviate as often and as widely as I pleased
upon any question, just according to my own opinion in
all cases, never considering the wishes or ideas of those
who brought me in. In short, I would be entirely inde
pendent, for I never will be otherwise with my own
consent. Now let me assure you that there are very few
persons who would have the liberality to bring a man
into Parliament upon such conditions. And I also
assure you that I will never sit there on any other, if I
should sit at all. But my mind at present is a good deal
alienated from that kind of ambition, and the instance
of any friend whom I loved might detach me entirely
from all thought or intention of it. . . .
' I will own to you, my dearest friend, that I had a good
deal more ambition than I now feel, even so late as last
July. I will confess that a great deal of my present
indifference may very possibly be the result of some new
feelings of which I was at that time ignorant. . . .
You, my dear friend, have certainly had no incon
siderable share in reforming many things which were
wrong in me. You cannot judge of this yourself, because
you never saw me under the dominion of my worse habits.
I am not afraid to confess this to you. You do not
expect perfection in any one : I am far from it. I used
to be peevish and petulant, apt to be suddenly provoked,
and rather quarrelsome, irritable upon almost all subjects,
and impatient of contradiction. To be sure, I was then
very nervous; and whatever struck rapidly and with
surprise upon my bodily system, communicated a propor
tionable shock to my mind. But still I am nervous,
tho' in a far less degree, and still in a degree I am
hasty and impetuous. I am sensible myself, however,
and others have observed it to me, that I am much
330

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
changed in this respect. My sister remarked to me when
I was last at home. She said that till this last summer,
tho' she knew how tenderly I always loved her in my
heart, yet that there was sometimes an air of severity and
sharpness about me, which deterred her from consulting
me so often and so confidentially as she could now do.
My mother made the same observation to me, and was
glad to see me more thoughtful and more mild. She
attributed this change wholly to you, and said that, how
ever our intercourse might terminate, whether successfully
or not, I should be the better man for it. If successfully,
then that the same influence which operated upon me at
that time would continue to operate. If unhappily, then
that a certain captious spirit which arises from having
"known no care and felt no sorrow" would be subdued
and softened by disappointment. Indeed, my beloved
friend, among the many obligations I owe to you, I must
account this one. You have a secret influence over'me,
which, if I am about to relapse into a momentary im
patience, calls me back to my better reason by represent
ing how you would act, or what you would approve. I
appeal to you more frequently than you imagine ; and
tho' you know nothing about it, you either advise me so
well, or reprove me so kindly, that I always seem to feel
the salutary influence of an invisible director. God bless
you, my best friend. I often regret that I am so little
worthy to be your friend as I am. But it is, and shall
be, my constant endeavour to become more so.
' " May I be assured," you say, "that you will never take
any active part unless it should become indispensably
necessary ? " The only sense in which you can mean an
active part is in the case of a disturbance in the country.
Should such a disastrous event happen (which is, I fear,
331

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
greatly within the bounds of possibility), I think every
honest and conscientious man must feel himself dread
fully distressed as to the part he should take and the
conduct he should pursue. It is impossible for both
parties to be right, but it is very possible for both to be
wrong, and, I fear, very probable too. In such a situa
tion it is very difficult to say how a good man would act.
Circumstances must determine him. There is something
to be said against total inactivity, were it possible, and
perhaps it would not be. I am supposing that he is
a single man, and that his own life and happiness alone
can be affected by his conduct. In that case he must
determine to act as his conscience may dictate and cir
cumstances demand, and the sooner perhaps that he and
his life take leave of each other the better. At least I
should feel so in such a situation, rather than be witness
to many scenes enacted by both parties very grievous and
afflicting. I persuade myself that there are so many things
far more difficult to endure than the transition from life to
death, — that I could, I hope, submit to the latter in many
cases not only without compunction, but with joy.
' Upon the whole, therefore, I think it impossible to
say how such a man would act. I, for one, should be most
ardently desirous not to act at all, even in the case of
being a single individual, as unconnected and insulated
as is possible. But (for in my opinion the two situations
are as opposite and distinct as they can be) were I a
married man, and had I the happiness of another as well
as my own in my keeping, there would not exist any in
ducement in nature, nor can I comprehend nor figure to
myself those circumstances (bating always that case of
indispensable necessity for which you provide) which
could make me take any part, or side with any party.

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
So far, I have no hesitation whatever in giving a most
decided opinion and resolve.
' Monday. — Since I wrote the above I have read your
letter again and again, and think that I have not omitted
to answer every question in such a way as you would
wish. I am anxious to give you every satisfaction that
you can wish upon all my sentiments, opinions, and
actions, for I desire that you should know me thoroughly.
When I left off writing to you yesterday, I was so much
occupied with my subject that I neglected to dress for
dinner till the very hour that I was engaged to dine at,
and after dressing I had to drive to Hertford Street to
Mr. Grey's. When I arrived there, the greater part of the
dinner was removed from the table, a situation which of
all others I feel embarrassing were I upon a ceremonious
footing with my host. However, there was no com
pany — only himself, his wife, and a young sister of his.
Mrs. Grey1 is surprisingly beautiful, very unaffected, and
good-humoured. This is generally the extent of the
judgment I can venture to pass upon an acquaintance of
the few first hours. I have not always found it so. I
am told she is clever, and I have reason to believe she is
at least a sensible woman from the manner in which
I have understood that she treated some previous pro
posals. They are remarkably attached to each other. I
do not mention this as being very wonderful. But it is
a good system, and to me also was a pleasant circum
stance, to find people who have not been very much
accustomed to quiet and retirement seeking and finding
society in themselves. He lamented to me the necessity
of attending to public affairs instead of to private. He
1 Charles Grey (born in 1764) married in November 1794 a daughter
of Mr. Brabazon Ponsonby, afterwards the first Lord Ponsonby. 333

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
was obliged to prepare his motion of to-day as soon as
I left him, and was afraid, as he had neglected the con
sideration of it before, that he must sit up the greater
part of the night. " I like not that sleepless honour that
Sir Walter hath."
'I have written you a very long letter, filled with
a great deal of stuff, more calculated to give you ennui
than pleasure. You will not thank me for it. But I am
insensibly led on to pour out to you all things that occur
to me, and just as they occur. . . . Everything more
that I wish to say to you must be deferred. Write
to me soon. You see I have never talked to you as if
you were christened. Why should you be ashamed of
your good name ? You say you are not used to it. What
does your father call you ? I will not call you by any
name that you do not like, and it may seem trifling in me
to parley about the term of address as long as I have the
delightful privilege of addressing you at all. But it is
now long since you were Miss Gunning. Friend you
certainly are, but then you are also a good deal more ;
and I wish to approach you even in idea as nearly as
I can. Now that we are on this subject of addressing
one another, will you excuse me if I, in my turn, make a
similar request of you — yet not very similar either—
inasmuch as mine is about your not addressing me at all.
I am only talking of an idea. But then half the comforts
of life are composed of such light materials. Sometimes
you begin your letters to me without using any vocative
case. Use any that you please — but call me something.
Your last had a kinder aspect to me — principally, I
believe, tho' not entirely, I confess, from its forming
an exception in that one particular to your frequent
practice. Forgive me this trifling request, as it may
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
appear to you. It does not appear so to me. God bless
you, my very dear and excellent friend ; you can never
know how sincerely I love you, nor how loth I am, even
at the extremity of my paper, to break off this imperfect
sort of conversation with you.'
Although a letter such as this ought to have softened
Miss Gunning's heart, since no woman ever yet found
letters too long or too frequent, it seems to have been still
some time before ' dear friend ' became translated into
' dearest Bel.' Unfortunately, Mr. Tweddell, so exact in
other respects, had a bad habit of leaving his letters un
dated, and therefore it is only possible to guess at the
order in which they were written. Possibly this may
have been a measure of precaution, since in one only
is the address given, and the signature seldom appears.
The Stephen Digbys were evidently in the secret of the
correspondence, as well as other friends or relations who
helped to convey the letters from one lover to the other.
Among the earlier epistles is one that describes in some
detail the young man's early education and remarkable
university career.
' I am not uninterested myself, I assure you,' he begins,
' in hoping and thinking that there are advantages in a
reformed character. I have been as different from what
I am now, at least, as you. When I first went to college,
I was introduced to a set of pleasant agreeable men who
lived in a very different way from any that I had been
accustomed to. I had just left a private school in
Yorkshire, and was perfectly ignorant of mankind and
all its ways. I had never been introduced into society
(a grand defect in education !), and, in short, knew
nothing except a little Latin and Greek, of which I
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
my companions. When, therefore, I arrived in college,
what could be expected of me, young, with strong natural
passions, and now for the first time master of myself? I
attended to no academical discipline ; I never, or very
seldom, frequented the hall, and more seldom the chapel.
I dined out with a pack of what are called good fellows
every day, and supped until very late hours as frequently.
Luckily for my constitution, I was very soon affected with
wine, which prevented me from taking such copious
libations as most others. But then I was in such
moments equal to any mad freak that the maddest fool
could propose to me. I used to insult the proctors and
officers of the University; and this life I continued,
regularly irregular, for the first year and a half of my
academical career.
' Some part of my foolish acquaintances (foolish only
so far as they were guilty of the same extravagances,
for many of them were men of much wit and talent)
then left the University, and I had for the first time
an interval of thought and leisure for reflection. I
recollected that my friends had cherished hopes of my
distinguishing myself at the University ; which, however,
were sufficiently extravagant had they considered or known
how much my old master had overrated the knowledge
which I had gained from him. This consideration, acting
upon a stock of ambition which, tho' long dormant, was
yet very large, incited me to attempt to gain some one
of the annual prizes which were just then proposed. I
wrote for them all, after shutting myself close prisoner
to my chambers for near two months, and, as it fell out,
they were all adjudged to me.1 This, I confess to you,
1 These were the three Brown Medals for Greek, Latin, and English
Compositions.

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
flattered my vanity very considerably, more especially
as I knew the University was. well acquainted with the
idle life I had led. From this period till the time of
taking my first degree I was neither wholly dissipated
nor wholly studious, but both, and sometimes both
extremely. After spending one month in idleness, I
would spend the succeeding one in severe study, and have
frequently put off writing my prize exercises till within a
few days of their required delivery, and then to complete
them have sitten [sic] up for three nights successively.
I tell you all my weaknesses. There was much affectation
and vanity in this proceeding. I wished to be thought
capable of doing that which no one can do — I mean
attaining knowledge and the habit of composition
without industry and application. I continued for a
long time to be desirous of this reputation, and in some
measure may say that I attained it. I possessed great
vanity at bottom, but I did not appear vain to others, as
I never presumed upon my different successes.
' After the first four years of my college life had thus
passed, I began to make progress in reason. But it was
very gradually. I often recurred to my former wayward
ness, but every time with less avidity. I thought and
read more ; I saw the glaring folly of my former conduct,
and framed a plan of life, sober and rational, which,
tho' I did not immediately pursue it with steadiness,
I had frequently in my thoughts, and approached more
nearly without quite arriving at it. I had always in the
bottom of my heart the most correct ideas of moral
subjects, and never departed from them without a secret
compunction. I believed in religion, and never, or very
rarely, ridiculed it in company, even when urged by
thoughtless jesters. But this I did at that time, not
y 337

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
because I was convinced, but because my mother told ne
that I ought to be ; and at that time I was content to
inherit my opinions, as it saved me the trouble of forming
them for myself. (For it was not till within these two
years that I inquired very accurately into the grounds of
this subject.) There was an additional feeling that
hastened my reformation. It may seem very trivial ; but
I am sure that wheresoever it resides, it is a valuable
possession, and is more connected with morals than people
suppose. I had always a very quick and lively perception
of natural and moral beauty. Any gross violation of
taste, whether in language or in morals, affected me
almost nervously. I could have wept at any time, even
in the midst of my own dissipation, over a graceful
display of moral excellence or literary beauty. In those
moments, had I had any serious, well-judging friend at
hand, he might have taken advantage of my passion to have
wielded me to a wiser system. You will perhaps think
that this was very silly and romantic. But I know that
it has operated beneficially upon me by repeated and
almost invisible influence.
' Another feeling, again, in some degree connected with
this was, that in spite of those libertine actions which I
heard so constantly inculcated, and from which I do not
pretend to have been entirely exempt, I always passion
ately adored the character of a virtuous woman; and
invariably contended that no happiness, no state of mind
worthy of such a name, could possibly be enjoyed, if not
principally derived from such an union. I used to be
rallied for introducing some opinion of this kind into
almost all my public compositions whenever I had the
opportunity, and this remark you would also observe in
the criticism upon my book in the British Critic. (By the
338

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
way, what do you think of my essay on Happiness, as far
as you can guess at the plan of it from that obscure and
short analysis ? Do you agree with me ? I wish you could
read it all through.) These thoughts and principles,
which never at any time left me, returned upon me
frequently at last, and united with the habits of reflection,
which gradually increased as my mind gained strength
and firmness, completed the entire mastery over my
ridiculous follies and extravagances. I don't mean that
I have none left — I believe otherwise. But I am sure
they are different in their kind, and I hope and believe in
their degree. . . .
' I have given you, my dear friend, a very long, perhaps
an uninteresting and tedious, certainly an unfavourable
account of what I once was. I hope it will not injure me
in your opinion so much even as it does in my own. But
it was due to you. You have a right to know of what
materials I was originally composed, and what new forms
and changes I have undergone at different periods. I
wish you to know me just as I am, " with all my imper
fections on my head." You see I have undergone a more
necessary reformation than yourself, and that I have a
great interest in wishing it to be believed that " some
dependence may be placed upon an altered character."
Tell me, do you think worse of me than you did ?
' With regard to your studies, my dear friend, I hardly
know what to advise ; I will think about it, and reply
more largely another time. You have, if I do not
miscount the rapidity with which you travel over a
country, a great stock of general reading upon your
hands. If a lady for whom I had no regard, and who
was ignorant of my opinions upon female education, were
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
or rather the expediency, of learning Latin at your age,
I do not know that I should be anxious to dissuade her
from attempting it. She might conceive me a bigot to
those narrow prejudices which would give a sex to mind,
and narrow information to the men. But you aheady
know that my sentiments are the reverse of this. But
still, upon the whole, I cannot recommend you to lend
your time to the acquisition of the Latin language. I
wish you knew it at present, because I think you would
derive great gratification from the authors who have
written in it. But the time that you must devote to it
before you can acquire a relish for its beauties frightens
me. I think it would be too laborious an undertaking
for you without a master. In short, I think it would not
easily repay you the trouble of acquiring it in perfection,
and to attain it superficially can hardly be your object.
General reading will be much more useful to you, and so
much more entertaining. Consider how many new ideas
you might acquire in the time that you are only acquiring
another and less customary mode of expressing them.
However, if your desire is very ardent, I will talk it over
more at length with you in another letter. I wish I
could be always near you. I think I could teach it you in
less time than most other persons could, not because I
possess superior skill, but because I should more than
supply any defect in that by the excess of my anxiety and
attention to my dear pupil. If, in the bounty of your
heart, you should think me not adequately repaid by the
comforts of so sweet an intercourse, you could crown your
generosity by teaching me German in exchange.
' I don't think it argues a want of taste in you that
you are not extravagantly fond of poetry. Coxcombs
and fine ladies like nothing else. I should defer in some
340

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
measure to them if they understood what they read.
But as they do not, I confess that I like good prose better
than bad verse, and good prose is much more common (I
was going to say than bad verse, but I beg leave to
retract) than good poetry. You have yourself mentioned
the three poets I most particularly admire after Shake
speare — Milton, Pope, and Gray. When I say most
particularly, I must be obliged to substitute Dry den in
the place of Gray, tho' Gray ranks very high in my
estimation. There is a poet now alive (it would be better
perhaps for himself that he were dead, if later accounts be
true), I mean Cowper, whom I admire extravagantly.
He is much underrated. His genius is most powerful in
my opinion ; and I look upon him as standing in the
very foremost ranks of our English bards. Did you ever
read Bowles's sonnets ? 1 If not, I will give you a copy.
I will give no opinion about them, but shall wait for
yours. But do not tell me again that you "feel it
arrogance to give one." Why should you talk so ? The
opinion you have given me of the verses I sent you last
is, according to my own judgment, most accurate and
correct. You have enunciated the very objections
which I was conscious they possessed when I made them.
Did you know that they were mine? I used to indulge
a foolish Muse very frequently some years ago ; and tho'
I have not kept many of my productions, as none were
worthy of being preserved, yet one or two I have, and
will submit them to your criticism, which you will pass
upon them with the same degree of just severity when
they deserve it. Do not spare me, I beseech you. I am
not like the Bishop in Gil Bias. I have really procured
1 The Rev. William Bowles(l762-l85o) published, in 1789, his Fourteen
Sonnets, which met with an enthusiastic welcome from the critics.
341

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
some of my early compositions for the sole purpose of
laughing at the infinite nonsense uttered by an ill-
favoured Muse in the pains of labour. . . .'

PART III
An interesting Undated fragment, which gives some
insight into the writer's views on the religious aspect of
the French Revolution, and other matters, apparently
belongs to the earlier letters.
' Believe not,' it begins, ' that the mind of man can
long rest contented with the denial of a First Cause. The
French in the midst of their insanity under Danton
affected to abjure the existence of a God, and voted by
acclamation the nullity of Providence. Did I therefore
believe that the French were a nation of atheists ? By no
means. It served the purpose both of our political and
clerical ministers here to say so, in order to irritate us
against such a prodigious solecism. But I must first be
deprived of reason before I can believe the possibility of
plucking the truisms of nature from the heart of man.
From that black and baneful superstition which converted
the Deity into the worser agent of the Manichean system,
I do not wonder that all the thinking part of France
revolted. Unhappily, they recoiled with too great elasti
city, and reached, a part of them, the opposite extreme
of infidelity. Certainly, the greater part of the Academi
cians were unbelievers. But I have no doubt that in
a little time truth will be generally received, and the
rational worship of a benevolent Deity substituted instead
of the worship of the Pope. ...
' I am glad you are pleased with my promise about

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
public meetings. You may depend that whatever promise
I make, I keep. I am not, therefore, hasty in making
them. I am just now reading a book upon morals, which
declaims against promises, and the adherence to them,
against gratitude and against that love which I bear you.
You must read this some day or other — not that you may
agree with the opinions (that is, not all) contained in
it, but because it is a very able book, and has much truth
mixed with much absurd paradox. The book is God
win's Political Justice.1 It is much talked of, and deserves
to be talked of, and you should therefore be able to form
your own opinion of its merits, upon which we will com
municate. Nothing hurts me more, as far as the con
sideration of weakness can hurt me, than to hear a person
condemning a book which they have never read, perhaps
cannot read, and probably cannot understand. Yet this
is very common. They condemn by report, and a work
is very frequently abused by a hundred men, whereof one
only has read it. The rest judge, according to their just
competency, by hearsay. A lady was abusing a book the
other day. I said, "As I suppose, madam, it is needless
for me to inquire if you have read it, pray, which part
is the most offensive to you ? " " Read it ! God forbid,
sir, that I should have read it. I have heard too much
of it to think of reading it." She could not have given
a better reason for its attentive perusal.
' So my squib amused you ! Oh, my dear Bel, how
I wish I could make you feel more independent of the
opinions of fools! To be free from the despotism of
folly one must be a little hated. Why should I care
what is said of me by Lord Delaval and his profligate
gang ? I wonder at you sometimes. Why will you, as
1 Published in 1793. 343

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
you sometimes do, put your light under a bushel ? Upon
this very subject I could say much to you, but I have
exceeded my time, and must walk very quickly with this
to Burlington Street, whither I fear Mr. Digby may
have gone before me. Expect a letter left at Lord
Ilchester's on Sunday, for I have said to you nothing of
all that I meant to say. Now I know that I shall
frighten you by enclosing a letter from Mr. Robinson,
but I cannot help it if you will start at shadows. It is
a very friendly and a very honest letter, and you shall
tell me how far I may converse with him farther to
remove his scruples about the introduction. But do not
fail to preach me a sermon about the unfortunate
notoriety of my political tenets. If you fail in this,
you will disappoint me. I will reserve therefore my
remarks upon this letter until I get yours. God bless
you, my sweet friend. — Yours for ever and a day.'
A letter dated February 17 (1795) gives a detailed
account of a visit with Dr. Parr to the elder Ireland's,
for the purpose of inspecting the ' Shakespearean ' docu
ments which his son professed to have discovered.
' You have heard, no doubt, of the treasure that has
been found relating to Shakespeare.1 I went on Monday
with Dr. Parr to look at them, he being acquainted with
the possessor of them, Mr. Ireland. I assure you, my
dear Bel, they were a very rich repast. I have no doubt
whatever of their authenticity. There is every internal
1 The elder Ireland exhibited the documents at his house in Norfolk
Street, and invited literary men to inspect them. On February 25,
1795, Dr. Parr, Sir Isaac Heard, Pye the laureate, and sixteen other
gentlemen, signed a paper testifying their belief in the genuineness of
the 'finds.' Dr. Joseph Warton was another of the dupes. The fraud
was not exposed until after the performance of Vortigern at Drury Lane
in April 1796.

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
evidence. They consist of an agreement between Shake
speare and Condel, the manager, to act at the rate of one
pound one shilling a week — another agreement some time
after for thirty shillings a week. A bargain between
Shakespeare and some other person for a house and six
acres of land. A curious letter from Shakespeare to one
of his brother-players, containing a drawing by himself,
enriched with various enigmatical devices. A confes
sion of his faith a few years before his death, concluding
with a penitential prayer. There is also a love letter
written by him at the age of sixteen to the lady who
afterwards became his wife, containing a lock of his
ambrosial hair, which is in great perfection, and tied
in silken twist. For the same lady there is a valentine.
A letter from himself to Lord Southampton, professing
his gratitude in very fine and brilliant language, and
Lord Southampton's answer, from which it appears
that he had offered him _£"2000 (an immense sum
in those days), but Shakespeare would only accept of
£1000. There are some very divine conceptions in his
profession of faith (from which, by the way, it appears he
was not orthodox) and in the love letter. There is,
moreover, a sketch of him in the character of Bassanio.
The new play in ms. [Vortigem] and the ms. copy of King
Lear in his own handwriting I did not see, Mr. Ireland
not having yet received them out of the country. I was
delighted exceedingly, and wished at the time that you
had been with me, as I always do whenever I feel any
pleasure that is capable of participation.
' Are you an enthusiast about Shakespeare ? The last
time I passed through Stratford I visited carefully every
place or thing that was hallowed by his residence or
possession. I cut off a piece of the old chair which
345

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
belonged to him— the seat of which was sold just before
for thirty guineas. I bought very many gewgaws made
out of a mulberry tree, which is reputed to be the same
that he planted. Whether this is true or not, I cannot
tell. But I know that my enthusiasm made me lay out
more money than might have bought most mulberry
trees in the kingdom. I have given all these fragments
away, except a little box and a smelling-bottle, which I
will give you. The carving is not very exquisite, but the
smelling-bottle is carved the best, and I therefore reserved
it for some one whom I should like better than any other
person in the world. Is it not yours then, my dearest
friend ? '
Bel having presumably got through the books that her
lover had recommended to her in the autumn, he sends
her another Gargantuan list, which includes Locke's
Treatise on the Reasonableness of Christianity, Dr. Watts'
On the Improvement of the Mind, the Abbe Condillac's
Essay on Human Knowledge, Bolingbroke's Letters on
History, Melmoth's Translation of the Essays ofTully,
Hooker On Ecclesiastical Polity, Adam Smith On the
Wealth of Nations, Beccaria On Crime, Cudworth's In
tellectual System, Priestley's Lectures on History, Hartley
On Man, Bubb Dodington's Diary, Lord Chatham's
Memoirs, and Paley's recently published Evidences of
Christianity. ' By the way,' he adds, ' when I was last at
Carlisle, I dined with Mr. Paley, and spent with him
seven very pleasant and instructive hours. His manners
are not very polished, a good deal like those of an old
collegian.1 But his conversation is highly entertaining,
and very much in the manner of his writings. . . .
' I do not wonder that you have found so much
1 Paley was then in his fifty-third year.
346

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
difficulty in reading Locke, for we are naturally apt to
measure the intellect of others by our own, and it was
the case with me. I can give you, indeed, very little
account of the great Essay at present ; for I would not
have you imagine that the consciousness of little benefit
from studies and the want of memory and attention are
peculiar to yourself. They are common complaints with
almost all persons who read a good deal, and I have at
least as much occasion to make them as you can have.
Few minds can retain all they read, and a great deal of
what I have read has departed from me, leaving only the
general impression. Thus am I frequently enabled to
talk superficially upon books which I have once read
and comprehended, tho' I afterwards have forgotten the
greater part of what they contain. . . .
' But I cannot bear that my dearest friend should talk
of acquired knowledge as being of little advantage to a
woman. This is a received prejudice which you should
not humour ; and, believe me, much more than is sus
pected of the evil in society is derived from this very
source. The education of your sex is grievously neglected,
and it is a national calamity. Women must, from
physical causes, have great influence upon men ; and were
they more enlightened than their own contracted system-
makers will permit them to be, they might wield that
influence to the wisest and most beneficial purposes.
But inveterate habit has made men slaves and women
tyrants. Hence " bevies of fair women " are
" Bred only and completed to the taste
Of lustful appetence, to sing, to dance,
To dress, and troll the tongue, and roll the eye." — Milton.
Ignorance in them is indeed rendered excusable, because
347

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
it is admired by the men, who consider wives merely as
domestics. But my idea of females is very different.
Providence could never intend one-half of the species to
be thus degraded at the lawless and imperious requisi
tion  '
At this interesting point the fragment unfortunately
breaks off, and we have no opportunity of learning any
more of Mr. Tweddell's very modern and enlightened
views upon the ' woman question.' It has already become
evident that 'Bel' was not a little alarmed at the
'advanced' opinions of her lover. Her regard for him
was perhaps already beginning to cool, but it is patheti
cally obvious that he was as faithfully devoted to her as
at the opening of their correspondence.
' You don't know,' he assures her in another long
epistle, ' what a consolation it is to me that I have in
you a friend to whom I can so confidently unbosom
myself and pour out every feeling of my heart. Have I
a thought which I could not with pleasure communicate
to you ? Not one. Even my faults and weaknesses, past
or present, I would not wish to conceal from you. I
hope they never were very many, and that they are now
much fewer than before. Had I had the good fortune of
being sooner acquainted with you, some of them would
certainly have been avoided. . . .
' Consider this sometimes, my dear Bel, and above all
at those times when you mention the sensations with
which you reflect upon the formation of our friendship.
The greatest pang that I could feel would be in the case
of your ever expressing a wish that our intercourse had
not commenced, be it on my account or your own. No,
look if you can with regard and complacency upon that
moment when we became friends. I believe that no
348

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
disaster that can betide my ill-fated being shall ever
make me contemplate without pride and triumph, as well
as without pleasure and satisfaction, an acquaintance far
more precious than my life with all its other enjoyments.
My blessed love, I feel how impossible it is to say what I
feel upon this subject; add, therefore, to what you feel
yourself all that may be inferred from my greater warmth
of temper, from the circumstances of a first attachment,
and from the advantage on my side of having in you
more to love, venerate, and esteem. Recollect that the
more susceptible of two hearts always bears the joys as
well as the anxieties of both. . . .
' By the way, I have always omitted to remark upon
your observations on Mr. Robinson's letter to me. I did
this intentionally; you said you were shocked at his
refusal to introduce me to his sister, a refusal which I
could not find anywhere in that letter, and I was assured
that he fully intended to introduce me the next time
that I came to town, tho' we had no more conversation
on the subject. You made no allowance for the banter
of some of his expressions, such as unfortunate notoriety,
etc., expressions such as he would never use to me in sober
meaning. And you observed that you were the rather
shocked as he was a liberal man, and " certainly not
averse to the opinions which you profess." I think
very well indeed of Mr. Robinson, and I do not think
him so illiberal as many men with his sentiments are ;
but as to his not being averse to my political opinions,
I am amazed at your saying so. If you mean that once
in his life he was a Foxite, I grant it ; but after that it
became dangerous even to defend Mr. Fox. Besides, Mr.
Robinson went into France, and when he returned seemed
unable to separate his reprobation of the cruelties prac-

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
tised at the time of the Revolution from a reprobation
of the principles of the Revolution itself, and of the
principles of its advocates, between which I humbly con
ceive there is no necessary connection, tho' it has been
very customary to make one. Hence, it became impossible
for any one to wish well to France without being classed
in the list of assassins.
' You said also that it could not surely injure me in my
own opinion to be thought moderate, and not to be
attached to any party. Undoubtedly not. But to be
thought moderate does not depend upon myself. To be
so does, and that I am. Neither am I attached to any
party. I am intimate with certain individuals of one
party. But to the party itself I have no attachment
whatever, as a party, nor ever can have, except so long
and so far as they are attached to my principles. You
were grieved to think that the notoriety of my conduct
was such as to prevent a man, whose political principles
were different from mine, from being acquainted with
me. If this is the case, so am I — but I am grieved for
that man, and not for myself. My political conduct
never has been, and never will be, such as shall not con
vince any enlightened man that whether I be right or
"wrong, I act from principle. If he conceives that the
mere difference of principle is a sufficient reason for
shunning me, I am content. I pity him, and respect
myself. For my own part, I know that I never yet saw
that man whose opinions, however widely differing from
my own, yet appearing to me to be honestly and sincerely
professed, and himself in other respects such a man as
I should like, — I never yet saw that man whom under
such circumstances I should not regard just as much as
tho' he agreed with me in every tittle.
350

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
' You see, my dear Bel, I write to you upon anything
that occurs to me, and am not afraid of wearying you,
though I have said so much about myself. There is no
way so good for becoming acquainted with everything
that has relation to either of us. Act you in the same
way towards me, and talk to me about yourself as much
as you will; I shall be more delighted than with any
other subject. Let me know your thoughts as they rise
naturally, and do not put off the expression of them till
you know of an opportunity of writing to me. I am
rejoiced to think that in a little time you will spend a
month at Mrs. Digby's. I hope you will contrive to let
me see a good deal of you. I am glad your dislike to
London increases, and assure you that mine does; and
I wish that you and I were together in the country,
enjoying each other's society and conversation in peace
and tranquillity, dans une maison simple et bien re'gle'e, ou
regnent Vordre, la paix, V innocence ; ou Von voit rSuni
sans appareil, sans Sciat, tout ce qui rSpond a la veritable
destination de Vhomme.
' I have this moment received a letter from Mr. Digby.
I had sent to ask him to dine with me on Tuesday, but
I find that he is engaged to you. Alas ! alas ! my Bel,
why is not this the same thing ? '
From the concluding paragraph it will appear that
Miss Gunning was in town, but evidently the lovers had
little or no opportunity of meeting, for the letter is
continued under the date of ' Tuesday morning.'
' The most trifling thing that relates to you, my dear
Bel, is not indifferent. I will therefore tell you that I
sometimes observe with no small degree of surprise that
you, who are so accurate and correct, and a great deal
more than that in every other part of your writing 
351

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
[Here follows, it may be inferred, some criticism which has
been carefully erased, probably by the recipient.] Again,
if lam not mistaken, when you would denominate a Free
thinker, you call such an one an esprit fort, not a. fort esprit.
But I speak with submission. You understand French
much better than I do. Besides, I do not even undertake
to say that you were guilty of this mistake, if it is one, as
you may rest assured that I have not the letter by me in
which it was mentioned.
' Now you will not think me either finical or fastidious
for making these trifling remarks to you, will you, dear
Bel ? All you do appears so perfect to my eyes, that the
slightest deviation from your general habits of correct
ness and elegance strikes me quicker than in any one else.
In any other person I should have looked upon these
little inaccuracies as things of course, and not worthy
of mention. But the least soil is visible on a fair skin,
while dirt escapes observation on the face of a mulatto.
The great charm of your letters to me consists in their
honest negligence, and the absence of all care and study,
which is the base of friendly and familiar intercourse, so
that your very mistakes originate in your excellences,
and (will you tolerate for once a paradox ?) if you were
more perfect you would be less so. . . .
' I was a great rake last night. For the first time
since you knew me, I went to a public place. And yet I
think this would hardly have happened had not a friend
of mine, who is gone to Bath for a few days, given me
the charge of his wife, and a ticket for the opera concert.
One dissipation leads to another. I met there Lady
Shaftesbury, and she made me promise to wait upon her
on Monday. I almost doubt whether I shall keep my
engagement. I hate routs and cards and nonsense. I
= 352

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
should not wish to meet you at any public place. I
always thought so, and now I am convinced of it. That
air of indifference kills me. How miserable I was after
seeing you at Hastings' trial ! x If my own life had
depended upon my showing indifference to you, I should
have lost it. You hardly looked at me. But, my sweet
Bel, don't think I am blaming you. Your father was
very civil to me, and came up to me and shook hands,
and I think if you had talked to me easily, I might have
conversed a little. But I was quite chilled by my first
approach to you, and no longer knew where I was, nor
what I was doing. Good God, Bel, you have no con
ception how nervous I am on such occasions ! What
must your father have thought at seeing that we did not
talk to each other ? Either that we had forgotten our
intimacy, or that we had improved it. Was it possible
that he should think the first ? Ah, mon amie, le mauvais
refuge pour nous qu'une assembUe! Quel tourment de se
voir, et de se contraindre I Comment avoir fair tranquille
avectant demotion? Comment etre si indifferent de soimeme?
' God bless you, my dearest Bel, friend of my heart, and
only comfort of my life. Write to me soon, I beg of
you. I have often seen, my dear Bel, that you were
much alarmed by the " Friends of the People." I have
talked with you very little about politics. But I am con
vinced that there would not be much difference between us
if I were to reason with you a few days upon the subject.
That society, however, has certainly shown itself a very
harmless one. It has done some good, but little. Harm
less, perhaps, was the word. I have sent you its different
publications, which you may read and keep. But take
care that Sir Robert does not see them lying negligently
1 Hastings was acquitted by the House of Lords in April 1795-
z 353

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
about, to create anarchy and confusion among his
domestics, and to subvert the constitution of his family.
. . . You see, Gray has behaved well about the Prince's
debts. He told me some days ago that if that proposi
tion was made, he should oppose it.'
Another letter, dated April 8th, is written in rather a
desponding frame of mind. He writes, he says, merely
because he must occupy himself about her, and it is less
painful to write than to think. He has been debarred
from reading in consequence of the illness of his best
friend, to whom be was accustomed to communicate all
his thoughts.
'I have, of course, very many other acquaintances,'
he continues, 'with whom I have lived both at the
University and in London upon terms of the greatest
intimacy. But to live always upon the same footing, it
is necessary that if one party changes, the other should
undergo an equal and similar alteration, and that their
minds should receive simultaneous effect from the pro
gress of age and the external action of events. This can
seldom happen; the same causes cannot operate upon
many in the same way. Some are more cold ; some are
more worldly; interest predominates with the greater part,
and whithersoever that leads, they must follow. Things
assume gradually another aspect; and what passed at
eighteen for the warmth of generous sympathy, appears
at five-atid-twenty to have been the league of unmeaning
merriment, or the alliance of mutual follies. We are
amazed at such a bond of union ; and whether the one is
stationary, while the other is progressive, or each advances
in his journey of life in opposite directions, the habits are
no longer analogous, the artificial junction is dissolved,
and the minds of both parties are gladly released from
354

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
an ill-assorted connection formed during the minority of
intellect, and before the birth of judgment !
' You are very kind when you " hope to see me in the
course of this month ." Pray, contrive it so. It is near
half a year since I saw you — and I have volumes to
say to you. But let us meet at Mrs. Digby's. To see
you in any other way just now would indeed give me
great pleasure, but it would be mingled with much regret
that I could be able to say so little to you. I was
satisfied, my dearest friend, with the account you gave me
of your health. When you go out in the carriage, drive
into the Park, or out of London anywhere, rather than
make calls. I can hardly tell why I have written this
letter to you, as there is nothing in the combination
of all its letters which can possibly give you pleasure.
But I have appeared to spend a little time in conversing
with you ; and tho' I have engrossed all the conversation
myself (which is not my fault), you are yet in time to
reply to me. Do so quickly, tho' I grant such a foolish
scrawl hardly deserves that you should. But your
generosity will not allow you merely to satisfy a legal
claim. You do more ; and your creditor no sooner
loses that character than he becomes your debtor. God
bless you, my dear Bel, God Almighty bless you.'
Only one more letter has been preserved besides the
melancholy answer to the communication in which Bel
broke off the connection (it could hardly be called an
engagement), and at the same time very nearly broke
the decorous, well-regulated heart of John Tweddell. In
this last letter but one, he continues his literary discus
sions, and shows symptoms of a tendency to criticise his
lady for shortcomings in the way of moral timidity, and
an exaggerated deference to public opinion. 355

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
' I shall send you along with this letter,' he writes,
' Brand's Popular Antiquities 1 — a book which I persuade
myself will afford you both amusement and instruction . . .
Formey's concise History of Philosophy I shall send you in
the same parcel. . . . Are you well acquainted with the
history of late years ? It is important, very important, that
you should be. The information of late date is generally
collected in scraps and piecemeal from annual registers
and such sort of miscellaneous collections. But I will,
if you choose, lend you a set of books which shall give
you in regular connection a history of England, and of
other countries so far as they are connected with England,
from the accession of George I. to the present time.
There is also a book not long published which you must
read — I mean Ramsay's History of the American Revolw-
tion. I have it, and you shall, therefore, have it from me.
' I wish, my dearest friend, that I could always assist at
your studies. It would be one of the greatest pleasures
of my life to be appealed to by you on any subject;
and sometimes, perhaps, it might not be wholly useless
to yourself, as when I could not immediately solve a
difficulty, as would frequently happen, yet the desire of
satisfying you would supply all that energy and applica
tion and inquiry which might be finally victorious. In
good truth, I wish to find myself in a new situation
respecting you. I wish to be able to converse with you
on calmer topics than I have yet been allowed to do by
the shortness of the time in which I have enjoyed your
society. You would find that I can reason far more
coolly than I can love. But those temperate moments
are among those prayers to which heaven lends no ear.
A large majority of mankind are putting up daily
1 Published in 1777.
356

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
petitions for riches and distinction ; they pursue with
a mad zeal all that is unreasonable ; and are, if their
exertions correspond with their desires, for the most
part gratified. I have only one wish — a little and a
rational wish. I covet neither wealth, nor honour, nor
distinction. My happiness is all centred in social and
unambitious retirement, in the attachment and posses
sion of one only friend, to whom I might impart all
that I should feel or know, and in whose gentle bosom
deposit all my thoughts and sentiments. . . .
'But I will not weary you, my best friend, with repeti
tions of what you know already. Yet you must also
know that it is difficult to be on the verge of such a
subject which embraces in it all that affects me most
sensibly and vitally, and not to enter upon it. Give me
all the comfort you can by writing to me. That soothes
my mind and makes it for the time feel happy ; which,
I assure you, few other things do. How long do you
mean to stay in town? Has your father determined
whether he will go to Harrogate in the summer ? Pray,
do not you go. Then, wherever else you may go, it is
possible for me to see you. I wish Sir Robert would go
to Harrogate and leave you at Mr. Digby's; what a
blessed event that would be ! I wish you could contrive
it so. Mr. Digby lent me a book which you, I dare say,
have read at the Lodge. The title is Original Love-
Letters.1 I read it last night. The letters are well
written, and I do not believe them to be fictitious ; at
least, they are not written by one and the same pen.
The lady's are incomparably the best. In his there are
1 During the period of his widowhood Colonel Digby had read aloud
these Original Love-Letters to Miss Bumey, and discussed them with her
(see her Diary).
357

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
sometimes good remarks, but there is no ease. There is a
pedantic constraint that alienates and disgusts. In short,
her mind is very superior to his in my opinion. His visions
and descriptions are pedantry and bombast. But her style
is easy, and her remarks natural, and her sentiments beauti
ful. What is your opinion ? Do you not agree with me ?
' The mention of agreement brings me to the recollec
tion of an opinion of yours which I do not quite assent
to. Certainly it is most desirable that the minds of two
persons who are married should be generally conformable
to each other. But I think the kindness of your heart
seems disposed to carry that conformity too far. From
some little conversation which I once had with you on
this subject, I suspect that you would sometimes resign
your opinion without conviction, and adopt rather too
implicitly the opinion of your husband. I know it is not
customary to give this advice to a woman, and perhaps
it is not very advisable without taking into consideration
the temper of him whom she is to live with. You know
my opinion upon the manner in which the stronger sex
conducts itself towards the weaker. Men are tyrants, by
usurpation indeed, but by consent also. They are dis
posed to exact rigid obedience where they should use
entreaty. And, therefore, such being unfortunately the
case, if a woman is to be united with a man who expects
an unlimited and unqualified compliance with his com
mands, it is happy for her if her temper has been pre
pared by education and expectation to conform implicitly
to this established barbarism. But in speaking for my
self, I confess to you I should be better pleased if you
(for why should I make a general hypothesis ? I cannot
bear it), — if you, my dearest friend, should occasionally
dissent from me, and preserve your own opinion, till you
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
were convinced that mine was the better. Do not imagine
me so wayward as to wish for any dissent at all, even in
the most trifling occasion. But as it is impossible that
two persons should invariably think exactly the same on
everything in the world, however they may generally, and
in the constitution of their minds, resemble each other,
I should therefore be somewhat jealous of a constant and
uniform assent in every particular. It would seem to me
to imply a sort of distrust of my temper or affection, lest
either the latter should be diminished or the former
ruffled by an accidental difference of opinion. In the
case of such a difference, why should not you be as right
as I ? I have no idea, my dear friend, how two persons
living together in the most intimate of all conditions,
loving each other sincerely, and possessing good under
standings, good tempers, and good dispositions, can
possibly differ upon any material question. Even now,
I do not think that you could mention to me any opinion
of your own which would not either have the effect of
convincing me, or else that my opposite opinion would
not produce such an effect upon you. We should argue
with candour for the sake of truth, and for the desire of
conviction ; and I will not believe that two such persons
meeting with such propensities, and possessing nearly an
equal comprehension and an equal intelligence upon the
subject, could possibly withhold the one from the other
their assent and agreement. You see, therefore, that I
only considered before the case of an immediate and
uninquiring assent without, or previous to investigation.
Believe me, that the powers of the mind, and the excel
lence of it also, are much injured and impaired by the
loss of its independence. I am far from wishing you, as
you know, to think too highly of yourself, but I would
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
not have you to disparage that intellect which is worthy
even of your own respect. It was implanted in you to
guide you. Why should you make a surrender of its
energies ? A certain confidence in yourself is good ; I
have no occasion to warn you against too much.
' I could have expressed all I have said much more fitly
in conversing with you, but we so rarely meet that I
cannot reserve everything for conversation. In writing
I am always afraid of saying either too much or too
little. In conversation that may immediately be cor
rected if a wrong impression is conveyed. But I think
you will understand me exactly. I am afraid I have not
always been strictly intelligible. In the short note
which you last wrote to me, I perceived that you had
written the following sentence, tho' you afterwards struck
your pen through it : " You afflict me when you talk of
the gradation between perfect right and wrong being so
delicate and fine as to be hardly perceptible." I think,
my friend, you do not quote me very accurately in a part
where a slight variation of words makes a material differ
ence in the sense. I do not exactly remember my words,
but I recollect perfectly the idea. I meant to say that I
was afraid sometimes of expressing my disapprobation of
any observation of yours, lest by not conveying it in terms
sufficiently precise and definite I might appear to con
demn in toto that which I only doubted of, or differed
from in degree ; that in questions simply of degree the
shades of right and wrong seemed sometimes to approach
each other, in the same manner as the excess of any par
ticular virtue might be neighbour to some kindred vice.
This I recollect to have been my meaning. How I
expressed or applied it I cannot tell.
' I must some day talk with you upon the habits of
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
thinking, which make you so tremblingly alive to the
opinion of the world. There is a proper deference due to
it. But to be the slave of its capricious awards, and
blindly led by it, especially upon subjects which affect
your happiness in any degree, I cannot but call a great
weakness. Indeed, my dear friend, your mind ought to
be superior to it. Y^ou see, if you will challenge me to
find fault with you, I can do it. If you say that the
things I have objected to are of little importance, and
not worthy to be urged, that is not my blame. If I
knew of anything that was worse, I would not spare you.
I wish very much to talk with you upon these and some
other subjects. There are one or two questions which
I could wish you to answer me. But as I am not sure
whether you would choose to reply to them, I will not, by
putting them, run the risk of a refusal. I could gain the
information I want thro' another channel, but I will not,
except from you. It is principally a motive of curiosity
which urges me to wish for this intelligence ; but nothing
that relates to you can possibly be indifferent to me.
Remove, indeed, such subjects of inquiry as these, and
you would at present put an end to almost all my pur
suits. Investigation with me is nearly asleep on all other
subjects. I do nothing when I do not think of you; and
look upon myself to have lost so much of every day as
your image has not occupied. Upon this head, however,
I have very little to tax myself withal. If to lose sight
of you be to furnish myself with an occasion of reproach,
I shall not so endanger the quiet of my conscience.
' I was to have gone with Charles Grey on Friday to
visit the prophet.1 Unfortunately he was taken up the
1 Samuel Brothers, an ex-naval officer, who believed himself a
descendant of the House of David, and announced that on November
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
day before. So that an experiment we had meant to
make on him was left unattempted. He says Grey is
descended from the Hebrews, and therefore, like all the
rest of that generation, makes him (Mr. Brothers) an un
conscious obeisance when he passes him. By this token he
says he knows Grey. Now we were in hopes that Brothers
would have been unable to recognise him when we waited
upon him. But the man is, I believe, quite mad.
' I was out of bed this morning before half-past six
o'clock, and went to enjoy les reveries (Tune promenade
solitaire in the park. I walked from Spring Gardens
thro' the Queen's and Hyde Park as far as Kensington,
and returned to breakfast at a quarter after eight. It
was one of the most delicious mornings I ever beheld,
and calculated to excite all the benevolence of a heart
that rejoices in the display of natural beauty. Certainly,
there is a fine moral feeling that diffuses itself thro'
the frame of man when he contemplates the softer
embellishments of the material system. That man has
no soul who can walk indifferent and unmoved amidst
the gorgeous scenery of luxuriant nature, who cannot
descend to communicate with the objects of sense, or
find incitements to virtue and dissuasions from vice in
tracing the progress of vegetation. All these things
have great effect upon me. I feel myself improved by
considering them. My soul seems almost stripped of
" this muddy vesture of decay," and to partake, for the
moment of a superior intelligence. This, my dear
friend, is not romance ; it is the effort of our purest
19, I79S> he would be revealed as Prince of the Hebrews and Ruler of
the World. He was arrested on March 4, 1795, for treasonable practices,
was defended in the House of Commons by Mr. Halhed, and finally
placed in a lunatic asylum.
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
reason ; it is a struggle to get rid of our earthly encum
brances; it is a virtuous feeling, flowing from a quick
susceptibility of the beauty and the goodness of God's
works. Do you never feel this, my beloved friend ? If
you do, good and kind as you are at all moments, yet in
such as these you feel some more than ordinary inclina
tion, some loftier and more sublime propensities, to
relieve distress, to comfort the afflicted, and to diffuse
far and wide, without distinction and without limit, the
blessings and the benefits of heavenly charity. Oh, my
dearest friend, what would I not have given to have
had you with me this morning! Farewell. Write and
comfort me.' PART IV
The last letter of the series is dated May 23rd, and
tells its own melancholy story. From it may be gathered
the reasons given by Bel for putting an end to the
correspondence. ' My dear Friend [it runs], —
' I could give you a world of reasons why I have not
yet answered your last letter. But it is of little use
to mention them. Neither shall I attempt to make you
conceive the severe affliction which I have suffered, and
yet suffer. My sorrows only concern myself, and I feel
them too acutely to affect to describe them. I confess
that I was surprised — I was not quite prepared ; for I
did not perceive the necessity for making me miserable.
Yet as you mean me well, I must be grateful for your
kindness, tho' it is associated with death. Once in
my life I have been made uncomfortable, and once
beyond measure wretched, by two persons who chose to
consult my happiness, not by my idea of it, but by theirs.
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
My father has for many years made me uncomfortable,
because he foresaw that it was essential to my comfort to
be a great lawyer. Another person, in whose hands was
every hope and every wish of my life, is destroying those
hopes and wishes with one blow, because she knows it. is
expedient for my happiness to lose all that can make me
happy. It is true, my own ideas are very contrary — as
opposite as the two poles. But where I am not con
sulted, I can have no voice, and therefore submit, not
indeed with satisfaction, not by conviction, not from
reason, but by necessity and thro' force. He who lies
bleeding at the mercy of another may die without
struggling, be he ever so reluctant to part with life. I
have too much reason to fear that this is my case. Your
letter is not written in the spirit of conference, but of
decision. My own happiness is professedly the question.
Yet it does not advise with me, but determines. In that
case, what part can I take? I have no choice. You
must, therefore, my friend, act as you please. You will
always act as you believe right — of that I have no doubt.
As for me, it is quite another consideration. You have
only to act. It is I who must feel the consequences for
ever. Your part is simple and quickly taken. Mine is
the sad remembrance and long regret.
' How little did I think when I wrote you that last
letter, which, it seems, determined you to think of so
hasty a resolution, — how little did I dream of the effect
it was to produce. You had previously expressed your
concern at my uneasiness. I wrote to assure you that so
far from being uneasy at our connection, it was my only
pleasure. This still more convinced you that I was
unhappy. I wish to God that I had never written that
letter ; but I could not possibly foresee that you would
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
understand it in such a light. There were expressions of
affection in it that you did not like. I do not recollect in
particular what these were. It is perhaps unfortunate
that I love you so tenderly. But I cannot help it, and
sometimes I cannot avoid saying so. Have you no motive
to forgive this ? Surely you should not make me miserable
because my expressions discover that I wish you happy.
' One or two of your sentiments that I have lately
guessed at have taught me to suspect that since you have
known me more, you have liked me less. You may not
be aware of this, and perhaps you will tell me so. But I
feel that it is so, tho' I cannot prove it. If you could
read my mind, you would know my reasons. But they
would appear ridiculous on paper.
'I do not wish to say much upon this unfortunate
subject. My heart is too full to utter what is intelligible ;
and since your thoughts upon the letter that I last wrote
to Mr. Digby have been known to me, I despair of saying
anything which may be any more persuasive to you. I
regret mightily that you saw that letter, for more reasons
than one. I forgot to desire Mr. Digby not to show it
to you. I could have said a great deal more in favour
of what I then proposed. But I perceive you are not
likely to listen to what I might then have added, and
my heart is so exhausted that it cannot waste itself in
expressing what it foresees to be ineffectual. You were
grieved, you said, at thinking how uneasy your illness
would make me. Would my friend Losh have been justi
fied in loosening our intimacy merely because I discovered
my anxiety by attending him every day at Hampstead ?
' No, my dear Bel, if you seek to reduce and cool my
affections till they cease to feel pain when the object of
them is in danger, you must model me anew. If I am to
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
be punished, first by the suffering of my friends, and then
for having sympathised with them, I shall not long
experience such double chastisement. A heart like this
cannot long endure it. In short, I can say nothing. I
know not what to ask of you, because I know not what
you may not refuse. If you think proper to allow me to
spend a few days with you at the Park, and to talk with
you seriously upon all these things, I need not say
whether that will give me pleasure. But. tell me first
whether you are resolved upon acting wholly from your
self, or would listen also to me. I would not willingly
tease you, if you are forearmed against all I may say,
and that my reasoning is all to no purpose. As for
seeing you for a few hours, this would in my present
state only agitate without relieving. I have too much
to say to you to say it in one breath, scattered as are all
my ideas, and confused and tumultuous as are all my
feelings. I could observe upon your letter at great
length. But the time is passed away when I found
happiness in lengthening my letters to you ! Be not
angry at anything I may have said — I hardly know what
I have said — ce pauvre cceur a tant aimS. God bless you.
May you be happy.'
There is no evidence to prove that the lovers ever met
or corresponded again. In the following October Miss
Gunning married General Alexander Ross, best known
as the friend and aide-de-camp of Lord Cornwallis.
General Ross, who was then in his fifty-fourth year, had
been appointed Surveyor-General of the Ordnance in
June, 1795. In September John Tweddell went abroad
for an indefinite period, avowedly with the object of
studying men and manners in order to qualify himself
for a diplomatic career. His letters from the Continent,
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
which were published in his Literary Remains, contain
little that would interest a modern reader, since they
deal for the most part with regions now familiar to every
tourist. A few short extracts, however, may be worth
quoting, as illustrating the acquaintances he formed with
several of the distinguished French SmigrSs who then
found an asylum in Germany or Russia;
Mr. Tweddell's first stay was at Hamburg, where he
remained about four months in order to study German
and perfect himself in French. His letters of introduc
tion admitted him into the best society of the place,
and here he became acquainted with Madame de Flahault
(1761-1836), author of Adele de Senauge and other
romances ; M. de Souza, the Portuguese minister, whom
she afterwards married ; Madame de Genlis, Madame de
la Rochefoucault, the young Duke of Orleans, Louis
Philippe, that political cleric the Abbe Montesquiou,
and the Comte de Rivarol,1 once among the brightest
stars of French society, and now condemned to hide
their brilliancy in the remote Northern town. Most of
Tweddell's letters are addressed to his own family ; but
among his other correspondents were Mr. Digby (whose
wife had died on May 25th), an early friend, Mr, James
Losh, and a Mrs. Ward. In writing to the last-named
lady he assures her that he cares little for the news of the
day, since from births he has nothing to hope, and from
deaths he has everything to fear, while ' with marriages I
have no concern. Only this I know, that for the most
part they are ill-assorted, and that those which promise
happiness are generally broken, together with the hearts
of those whose hopes are disappointed. . . . Some of my
Author of the famous Petit Almanach des Grands Hommes and other
works.
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
recollections are of the painful sort, as you know. I,
however, do everything in the world to give myself
spirits. But I am not always the same. Madame de
Flahault says in a letter which she has given me to her
niece, the Marquise de Nadaillac, at Berlin : " II est un
peu melancolique. Je l'ai assure que si ses chagrins
venoient de quelques souvenirs heureux, ou trop in-
fortunes, mais chers encore, votre amabilite lui feroit
oublier toutes les femmes de son pays." '
At Berlin, where Tweddell arrived about the end of
January, 1796, he was cordially received by our Envoy
Extraordinary, Lord Elgin, and presented at Court,
where he had long and serious conversations with the
Prince Royal, afterwards Frederic William in., on poli
tical matters. ' Royalty has been extremely civil to me,'
he says in a letter to his father. ' Last Sunday night, at
the Queen's, one of the Princes engaged the lady whom
I meant to have danced with, and I was for a moment
without a partner. The Princess Royal 1 asked me why
I did not dance ; and upon telling her the circumstance,
asked me to dance with her. You see to what honours a
traveller may advance ! She is really a charming woman,
much the handsomest in Berlin. Who would have said
last year at this time that I should now be dancing every
other night at a Court, and playing cards two or three
times a week at a minister of state's ? After such a
revolution, you need not be astonished if I should be
converted into a courtier and a rascal. I assure you, the
two characters travel well together in this country.
Profligacy overflows in every way, politically and physi
cally, in public and in private life; the virtue of the
women and the poverty of the men are well matched.'
1 Afterward Queen Louise of Prussia.
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
His chief friend among the women was the Marquise
de Nadaillac. In a letter to Mr. Losh, dated Dresden,
March 24, he says: 'I have left at Berlin an acquaintance
that I regret very much, the Marquise de Nadaillac. She
is really an excellent woman, extremely instructed, full
of esprit, and esprit of a much higher cast than what is
usually called by that name. She converses better than
any person I ever saw, I think without exception. [He had
said much the same of Bel a year before.] At first, seeing
her only at Court, and in large societies, I did not par
ticularly admire in her anything but her style of talking ;
she seemed quite a coquette, as I often told her after
wards. But upon knowing her more and more intimately,
I was very much pleased with her. She has a greater
stock of real virtues than one can easily conceive. She
is an emigrSe, and therefore has prejudices. Sometimes
we almost quarrelled about politics, and sometimes about
religion. . . . Since I left you I have talked with no one
so intimately upon what relates to myself. The people
of Berlin talked very confidently of a relation between us
of a different nature, which was not true, friendship alone
being our bond of union ; but that their manners did not
allow them to comprehend. Plato did not publish his
system at the Berlin press ; besides that, Platonism is not
very common between a young man of twenty-six and a
young and interesting widow of twenty-seven.'
At Vienna, which was reached on April 6, Tweddell
had letters from Madame de Nadaillac to her friend the
Duchesse de Guiche, daughter of the Due de Polignac,1
with whom he quickly became on terms of intimacy.
' The family which has chiefly contributed to my enter-
1 The Duchesse de Polignac, the favourite of Marie Antoinette, had died
at Vienna in 1 793, shortly after the execution of her royal mistress.
2 a 369

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tainment and interest at this place,' he writes, ' is that
of the Duke of Polignac and the Duchesse de Guiche, his
daughter, which is literally the pleasantest family I ever
was acquainted with. They were, as you well know, the
first family at the Court of France, and their very delight
ful manners and interesting society have chiefly contri
buted to render this place pleasant to me ; I spend some
part of every evening with them.' Another new acquaint
ance was that literary and military genius the Prince
de Ligne, who was pronounced by no less an authority
than Madame de Stael to be the most brilliant talker in
Europe. After a short stay at Munich, Tweddell passed several
weeks in Switzerland, where he visited many regions
then unfamiliar, and is said to have prepared an account
of his tour for publication. He was not much attracted
by what he saw of Swiss society, except that of Lausanne,
where he was fortunate enough to make the acquaintance
of M. Necker and Madame de Stael, who invited him to
stay at Copet. To his mother he writes from the Castle
of Copet on November 9, 1796 : —
' My visit here has been highly agreeable. We have
had a very small party in the house— a Madame de Rillet,
M. Michel de Chateaurieux, and M. and Madame de
Stael. Necker talked to me a great deal, and with much
interest, about England. Upon France he said less, and
wished in general to avoid the subject. He is generally
thoughtful and silent, but I have had the good fortune
to contribute to his amusement by recounting to him
different circumstances, in our political affairs ; so that
Madame de Stael tells me she has never seen him for
many years so much interested, and so abstracted from
himself and his own thoughts. He was anxious that I
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
should give him an idea of the different manners of
style and oratory of the first speakers in our House of
Commons. As I recollected speeches of almost all of
thera, and possess in some degree the base faculty of
mimicry, without being, I hope, a mimic, I repeated
to him different speeches of Pitt, Fox, Sheridan, and
Dundas in their respective manners. He understands
English perfectly well, and you cannot conceive how
much he was delighted with this. He desired me to go
over them again ; and almost every day we have passed
several hours on similar topics. . . . Madame de Stael1
is a most surprising personage. She has more wit than
any man or woman I ever saw ; she is plain, and has no
good feature but her eyes ; and yet she contrives by her
astonishing powers of speech to talk herself into the
possession of a figure that is not disagreeable.'
From Switzerland the traveller returned to Vienna,
where he had intended to spend the winter. Here,
however, he found a letter awaiting him from the Due
de Polignac, which changed all his plans. The Duke,
who had gone with his family to settle in Poland,
explained that his own house was not yet habitable ; but
that among his neighbours was the Countess Potozka,
who was accustomed to invite such distinguished persons
as she thought would be an addition to her circle to
spend the winter at her house, and having heard much
of Mr. Tweddell (from the Polignacs), she now invited
him to stay with her for three months. This invitation
Tweddell thought too good to be refused. ' I shall see
new people and a new style of living,' he writes to his
family. 'For the great houses in Poland, such as the
1 Madame de Stael was then thirty years of age, and had just published
the most important of her earlier works, De V Influence des Passions.
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
Countess Potozka's, are conducted upon a footing quite
different from those of other countries ; it is a sort of
palace in which you have your own apartment perfectly
independent. She has officers to preside over the different
provinces of her household in the same manner as in a
little court. She was particularly connected with the
late Empress Catherine, and her fortunes were therefore
not affected in the division of Poland.'
The journey from Vienna to Tulczyn in the Ukraine
was not a pleasant undertaking in mid-winter. ' My
journey hither,' he writes just after his arrival, on
January 8, 1797, ' was full of accidents. I travelled
almost every night, and yet was eighteen days on the
road. During the snows I was lost several nights in the
Ukraine, and one night was overturned in a very un
pleasant manner. The carriage fell from a considerable
height. I did not, however, suffer much ; my head and
one of my legs were bruised, and I have still headaches.
The Countess has a very princely establishment indeed,
about a hundred and fifty persons daily in family. The
Marshal Suvarrow and a very great number of his officers
occupy one wing of the palace, which is a very large and
magnificent building. I have an apartment of three
rooms to myself. The family never muster before dinner
time. Each person orders breakfast in his own apart
ment, and has all the morning to himself; this is very
convenient. The Countess sends a servant to me every
morning to know if I want anything, and to ask at what
hour I choose to ride out. I have a carriage and four
horses whenever I please. . . . The Due de Polignac's
house is at a distance of half an hour's drive; I go
thither upon a traineau, i.e. a carriage embarked upon
a sledge ; and the road is one entire sheet of glass, over
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
which the horses gallop almost the whole of the way. I
have dined twice there, and was witness of the arrival of
news which gave me most cordial joy. . . . During the
time of dinner a courier arrived from Petersburg bringing
a letter to the Duke, written by the Emperor himself,
and containing these words : —
' " I have this day made a grant to the Due de Polignac
of an estate in Lithuania, containing a thousand peasants ;
and I have the pleasure of signifying it to him with my
own hand. (Signed) Paul."
' The estate is worth about _£)2000 sterling a year, in a
fine country, where the living costs absolutely nothing ;
for according to the tenure of the estate, horses,
meat, eggs, butter, etc., down to the minutest article,
are furnished by the peasants exclusively of their rent.
This grant, in addition to that of the Empress, will
make the Duke almost a rich man, and diminish his
sense of the losses which he has sustained in France.'
To his friend James Losh, Tweddell writes from Tulczyn
on February 5 : ' I have been here just a month, and am
much delighted with my residence. We are j ust restored
to tranquillity after a mighty bustle. There has been a
great wedding in the family ; we have had a mob of Russian
princes, and all the feet of Ukraine have been summoned
to dance. At present we are reduced to about sixteen
persons. Among these is the Marshal Suvarrow, the
hero of Ismael. He is a most extraordinary character.
He dines every morning at nine o'clock. He sleeps
almost naked. He affects a perfect indifference to heat
and cold, and quits his chamber, which approaches suffo
cation, in order to review his troops, in a thin linen
jacket, while the thermometer is at ten degrees below
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freezing.1 His manners correspond with his humours.
I dined with him this morning. He cried to me across
the table, " Tweddell ! " (he generally addressed by the
surname), " the French have taken Portsmouth. I have
just received a courier from England. The King is in
the Tower, and Sheridan is Protector." '
Another long journey of eighteen days and fifteen
nights, with two upsets on the road, brought the traveller
to Moscow in time for the Coronation of Paul in April,
1797. The ceremony he describes as one of unique
magnificence, but says that Paul is only a caricature of
Peter the Third, and an imitator of Frederick the Great.
He supped with Stanislas, ex-King of Poland, saw a great
deal of the highest Russian society, and in May followed
the rest of his friends to St. Petersburg. The journey
which he had projected to Constantinople at this time was
postponed until the autumn, and he spent the summer in
a tour through Finland to Stockholm, whence he writes
to Mrs. Ward, who was contemplating a visit to Paris : —
' Madame de Stael is now at Paris, and perhaps Madame
de Flahault. I will give you letters to both these ladies ;
they are both very clever women ; the former, indeed,
is a most superior person ; I have seen very few men
by any means equal to her in conversation ; she is
not handsome ; that, I suppose, makes no difference to
you. . . . Madame de Stael, however, has, I understand,
entirely eclipsed Madame Tallien, who is the belle of
Paris, and whose beauty has retired in grand disarray
before the prevailing wit of the daughter of Necker. I am
sure she will be glad to see you, on your own account first,
1 Suvorofs (as the name is more commonly spelt) "wardrobe is said to
have consisted of one uniform and one dressing-gown. He died in
disgrace in 1800, aged seventy-one.
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THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
and next on mine, as I have the good fortune to stand well
in her good graces.1 ... I understand that  [probably
Dr. Warton] is terribly annoyed about the Shakespearean
forgery. There is the misery of being a proud critic. I
am also among the number of the wise ones duped on
that occasion, and I should be well content to have no
other cares than those which that circumstance has occa
sioned me ; it was, to be sure, a very facetious humbug.'
In September Tweddell was back again at St. Peters
burg, and at the end of the month he set out for the
Crimea.2 The Due de Polignac's place, Woitovka, lay
directly in his way, and here he stayed several weeks. Of
course he was nearly killed in a carriage accident on the
way, his twelfth overturn in twelve months ; and it may
here be noted that he was as unlucky on sea as on land,
never making a voyage, according to his own account,
without encountering either a storm or a calm. On his
journey through the Crimea he stayed at Sympherol with
Professor Pallas,3 ' the most distinguished man of letters
in Russia,' made drawings of all the most interesting views
in the neighbourhood, and copied all the inscriptions he
could find. It was during his visit to the Polignacs that,
as he explains in a letter to Mr. Digby, a material change
took place in his way of living.
'I no longer,' he writes, 'eat flesh-meat, nor drink
fermented liquors. ... I am persuaded we have no other
right than the right of the strongest, to sacrifice to our
1 Madame de Stael said of John Tweddell : ' J'ai rencontre peu de
personnes dont le caractere inspirit plus d'attachement, et dont la
conversation fut plus interessante. '
2 As will be seen, Tweddell covered a great deal of the same ground
that Lady Craven had traversed twelve years earlier. After his death her
Travels were found among his books.
8 Author of the Flora Rossica and many other scientific works.
375

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
monstrous appetites the bodies of living things, of whose
qualities and relations we are ignorant ... to flay alive
and to dismember a defenceless creature, to pamper the
unsuspecting beast which grazes before us, with the
single view of sucking his blood and grinding his bones.
. . . Our passions must be much tamed and reduced by
abstinence from whatever irritates the blood, and conse
quently the habits of virtue must be invigorated, and
the facility of its practice greatly increased. . . . The
Duchesse de Guiche has adopted this plan also, and we
sustain every day the artillery of the whole house. In
the meantime we live upon rice, milk, eggs, potatoes,
bread, and dried fruits.'
After being compelled to wait six tedious weeks at
Odessa for the vessel in which he had engaged a passage,
Tweddell arrived at Constantinople on May 21, 1798, and
was hospitably entertained at the English Palace by our
Ambassador, Mr. Spencer Smythe. His further plans
were then uncertain. ' The French and the plague,' he
observes, * must decide in some measure where I shall
go. Be assured that I have no inclination to encounter
either disorder ; but, oh ! those monstrous despots who
call themselves republicans. They have degraded the
name ; they have done more harm to real liberty than
they ever promised to do good.' It is interesting to
note from this and the following passage how the feel
ings of a true lover of liberty, a theoretical republican,
and a former admirer of the principles of the French
Revolution, changed towards the people and the govern
ment that preached brotherhood and freedom, while it
practised cruelty and oppression : 1
' His friendship with the exiled aristocrats may have had something to
do with this change of feeling.
376

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
'The inordinate ambition of the five kings of France
[the pentarchial directory] ; their utter contempt of
their own principles in every one of their own acts of in
terior government ; their profligate usurpation of power
in annulling elections and ruling by military force;
their hateful plunder of their own infatuated allies;
their arrogant and disgusting pretensions to universal
sovereignty, and to all the property of the affiliated
republics ; together with their fulsome panegyrics upon
their own virtue, their patriotism, their superiority to
the ancients, and that purity of honour which in no one
instance they have not violated with the most offensive
and nauseous aggravations ; — all this horrible union
of whatever is calculated to wound a feeling and a
generous spirit, makes me especially execrate those who,
having had the fairest chance of benefiting the human
race, have converted all their medicines into poisons.
Their conduct towards America, and more especially
towards Switzerland, transports me with rage. The
French have done an eternal injury to the cause of
freedom ; they have misassigned its holy name and its
divine attributes to despotism in its worst form — to
violence personating justice.'
The traveller spent the whole summer in or near
Constantinople, relinquishing his plans of a tour in
Egypt in consequence of the disturbed state of the
country. ' Rebels on one hand,' he writes on Sep
tember 10, 'and the French on the other; a tottering
government and a discontented people; the strongest
fortress of European Turkey invaded ; add to all
this the plague in every quarter, and you will easily
imagine why I have chosen to pause rather than to pro
ceed.' Things, however, were beginning to wear a more
favourable aspect owing to the news just received of
377

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
Nelson's victory over the French at the battle of the Nile,
which had spread a great satisfaction throughout the
East. ' There have been public celebrations of the
victory at Rhodes,' writes Tweddell, 'during the three
days that Nelson stayed there ; and the Sultan, when he
heard of it, took an aigrette of diamonds out of his
turban (worth at least _£?1200) and sent it, with a letter
signed by himself, to Mr. Smythe, as a present to the
Admiral. This is the greatest honour he can confer on
any subject ; he knows no higher distinction.'
It was not until the end of October that our hero
found himself able to set out on his projected tour in
Greece, which was to include visits to Nicea, the lake of
Apollonia, Sestos and Abydos, the plain of Troy, Smyrna,
Ephesus, the Grecian islands, Athens, and the Morea. He
had already collected a large number of valuable draw
ings of Constantinople, its environs, and the costumes of
the country, and carried with him on his journey through
Greece a clever French artist, M. Preaux, who had been
employed by the Comte de Choiseul ; and being unable
to return to his own country, was glad to make the pro
posed tour, during which he was to execute drawings of
the most interesting buildings and ruins upon very
moderate conditions. Not wishing to be burdened with
overmuch baggage, Tweddell left all his papers and notes,
his collection of drawings, and his journals of the tours
in Switzerland and the Crimea, at Pera, with a Mr.
Thornton, a servant of the Levant Company, and author
of The Present State of Turkey.
Naturallv, Athens was the principal objective of so
ardent a classical scholar. Here he intended to spend at
least two months ; and ' I promise you,' he writes to his
father, ' those who come after me shall have nothing to
glean. Not only every temple and every archway, but
378

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
every stone and every inscription, shall be copied with
the most scrupulous fidelity.' He arrived at Athens on
December 29, and here he spent nearly double the pro
posed period, living, as he writes, ' very economically
and philosophically; solely intent upon the great objects
that surround us. We rise early, and dine at five o'clock.
The whole interval is employed in drawing on the one
hand ; and on the other, in considering the scenes of
ancient renown, the changes which they have undergone,
and the marks that yet distinguish them. I shall certainly
have the most valuable collection of drawings of this
country which was ever carried out of it.' Tweddell
believed, it is evident from his letters, that by his labori
ous investigations he should be enabled to correct and
supplement the observations of other workers in the
same field. Hisi special qualifications for such an under
taking were stated by no less an authority than Dr. Parr,
who says in a letter to Robert Tweddell, written after
John's death : —
' I know, and have often said, that in good taste and
good learning John Tweddell was more qualified to
discover and communicate what scholars would value than
any other traveller with whom I was acquainted. . . . He
had the finest ear both for the prose and poetry of Greek
and Latin writers ; he had a gaiety of fancy which must
have been of the highest use to him in surveying the
works both of nature and art. He had a clearness of
judgment which must have preserved him from the
impositions to which ordinary travellers are exposed.
His mind was impregnated with the poetical imagery of
the ancients. ... In truth, Mr. Tweddell ! he was pre
eminently formed to be a learned traveller; and then,
dear sir, to ardent curiosity and a right imagination he
added that love of truth which must have protected
379

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
him from the glittering ornaments and the false state
ments which often disgust me in Volney and other French
writers.' In March Tweddell was contemplating a tour in the
Peloponnesus, and was only waiting at Athens for a
Tartar messenger with letters from Constantinople ; but
on April 25 he is still at Athens, the messenger not
having yet arrived. He had received information, how
ever, of the total destruction of Pera by fire, and had every
reason to fear that the collections and j ournals which were
deposited with Mr. Thornton were irrevocably lost. 'My
share of this calamity appears no doubt very inconsider
able,' he writes, ' yet perhaps I would have consented to
lose one-half of all I may one day have rather than the
fruits of three years and a half of constant application.
. . . Amen ! I am wedded to calamity, and so must
think no more of this.' These words are worth quoting,
as showing the value that Tweddell set upon his papers,
which, as it happened, were rescued from the flames by
Mr. Thornton, only to suffer a more mysterious fate.
The owner heard of the safety of his property during the
travels which he undertook during May and June in the
Peloponnesus. From thence he returned to Athens in
July, intending only to remain there a week, on his way
to the Grecian Archipelago.
But the Grecian islands were to remain for ever unseen,
for both Tweddell and Preaux the artist were attacked
with a malignant fever, of which the former died on
July 25 after four days' illness, having only lately
passed his thirtieth birthday. He was buried at his
own request in the Temple of Theseus ; and twelve years
later, through the exertions of Lord Byron and other
travellers, a block of marble, sawed from one of the
bas-reliefs of the Parthenon, was placed over the grave,
380

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
bearing a Greek inscription composed by the Rev. Robert
Walpole. Many were the expressions of grief and regret
called forth from those who had known the dead scholar,
and expected him to fulfil the promise of his youth.
Dr. Parr, in a letter to Mr. Losh, alludes to Tweddell's
death as ' an event which must blast many of my fairest
prospects in that portion of existence which is reserved
for me. [Dr. Parr died in 1825, aged seventy-eight.]
You may assure his father that no man ever esteemed
his son more unfeignedly, ever respected him more deeply,
ever loved him more fondly than myself.' x Several other
admirers struggled valiantly, if unsuccessfully, in elegiac
verse with the impracticable name of Tweddell, e.g. —
' There where e'en Tweddell's mortal fire,
Alas, how soon must all expire ! '
And again —
' Is Tweddell gone ? and shall no voice be raised
His high endowments or his fate to sing ? '
It might be thought that the misfortunes of our hero
were over with his death, which perhaps to him was no
such unwelcome event. There are many passages in his
published letters which show that he suffered from a
profound melancholy, caused, it may be, as much by his
disappointment in his career as by his disappointment
in love. His ambition, he declared, was extinct, his
enthusiasm burnt out, all the brilliant society that he
had enjoyed since leaving England had made no serious
alteration upon the permanent feeling of his mind. ' I
have no particular grief at present,' he had written while
he was in Sweden, ' but I am not happy ; I feel a want of
something I once thought necessary to me ; and I don't
know what it is to possess that tranquil habit of thought
1 Dr. Parr composed a Latin epitaph for a tablet commemorating John
Tweddell, which was placed in the chapel of Haydon, Northumberland.
381

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
or feeling which some persons owe to mere health, and
others to the tenor of a contented life that has never
been disturbed.'
With the literary scandal that conferred a posthumous
celebrity on the name of John Tweddell it is not necessary
to deal at any length. Briefly, the facts are as follows :
After Tweddell's death, Lord Elgin, who had just
been sent out as Ambassador Extraordinary to the Porte,
ordered that all the dead man's effects (he died intestate)
should be sent to the British Chancery at Constantinople.
The collection of drawings and manuscripts that had
been left at Athens was embarked on board a vessel
which was wrecked or stranded in the Sea of Marmora,
her cargo remaining under water for three days. The
boxes containing Tweddell's property were recovered, and
on their arrival at Constantinople were placed in the cellars
of the Chancery, where they were left for eight weeks.
When at length they were opened, the contents were
found to be in a state resembling pulp, but the manuscripts
were still legible, and the drawings were ' restored ' by a
local artist. According to Lord Elgin's account, all the
effects, including those that had been deposited with
Mr. Thornton, were carefully packed by Professor Carlyle,
a member of his suite, and seen on board a homeward
bound vessel by his chaplain, Dr. Philip Hunt. This
property, valuable at least to the Tweddell family, never
arrived in England, nor, in spite of the most anxious
inquiries on the part of the dead man's friends, could its
whereabouts ever afterwards be traced. It had dis
appeared as completely and mysteriously as though the
earth had opened and swallowed it up.
The matter was allowed to rest for a dozen years ; and
then, the suspicions of Robert Tweddell having been
aroused that his brother's collections had been treated
382

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
with culpable negligence, if not actually tampered with,
he made further inquiries of Lord Elgin, and receiving no
very* satisfactory answers, petitioned the Levant Company
at Constantinople to institute a searching investigation
into the whole matter. The petition was granted, but
no further light was thrown on the mystery. Lord Elgin,
'by a strong effort of memory,' expressed his convic
tion that the goods had been sent home on the New
Adventure, which had suffered shipwreck on the way.
But inquiry proved that her cargo had included no
packages belonging to Mr. Tweddell, while no invoice or
bill of lading could be discovered to show upon what ship
the property had been embarked. On the other hand,
Mr. Thornton and other witnesses, who were evidently
adverse to Lord Elgin, declared that the drawings and
manuscripts had been left lying about at the Embassy,
where they were examined and copied by members of the
suite, and that some of the original costume drawings
were afterwards seen in Lord Elgin's private collection.
Mr. Thornton stated that in 1801 Lord Elgin expressed
to him the disappointment he had just experienced at the
refusal of Dr. Hunt to proceed to Athens for the super
intendence of his lordship's Pursuits in Greece, adding,
' I had prepared him for the purpose by allowing him the
use of Tweddell's papers and collections.'
In 1815 Robert Tweddell published his brother's
Remains in two quarto volumes, containing his corre
spondence, his Prolusiones Juveniles, and an Appendix
(of between two and three hundred pages) describing the
extraordinary disappearance of his collections. The
editor set forth at full length his communications with
Lord Elgin, and did not disguise his suspicions that his
lordship had tampered with the property committed to
his care. The book (which went into a second edition in
383

THE ROMANCE OF JOHN TWEDDELL
1816) was reviewed in the Edinburgh, the reviewer taking
a line which, though carefully guarded, was on the whole
inimical to Lord Elgin, and demanding that further light
should be thrown on the subject. The Ambassador
published his defence in the form of an intemperate and
not very convincing letter, which concludes with a warn
ing to the editor that if he persists in his evil courses
his journal will become an 'intolerable nuisance.' The
Quarterly also reviewed the book ; x and while pointing
out that the charge of misappropriation was absurd in
view of the absence of motive, held Lord Elgin convicted
of negligence in his treatment of Tweddell's property.
The subject caused, as might be supposed, a nine days'
wonder in the literary world. In the end Robert
Tweddell withdrew the most serious of his charges, and
the controversy was allowed to drop. Fate, grown tired
of its sport with a victim who was unconscious alike of
good or evil fortune, allowed poor John to sleep undis
turbed in Theseus' Temple, where the traveller may still,
in the words of one of those forgotten elegies —
' Pause on the tomb of him who sleeps below ;
Fancy's fond hope and learning's favourite child,
Accomplished Tweddell ! '
1 It was also discussed at considerable length in the British Critic and
in Blackwood,

INDEX

Abington, Mrs., 104, 114, 115,
183.
Albemarle, Anne, Countess of, 120.
Algarotti, Signor, 14.
Amelia, Princess, 6, 7, 12, 179.
Anspach, Elizabeth, Margravine of,
119, 182-200.
 Christian Frederic, Margrave
of, 144, 145, 167-184.
Badcock, Mr., 108.
Baillie, Joanna, 270, 285.
Bandello, Matthieu, 48.
Barrymore, Lord, 183.
Bassi, Signora, 16, 32.
Bath, Thomas, Marquis of, 28.
Bathurst, Allen, Earl of, 16, 17, 30,
31-
Beattie, Dr., 80.
Beauchamp, Lord, 50.
Beauclerk, Lord Aubrey, 35.
 Topham, 86.
Beccari, Dr., 32,
Beckford, Alderman, 67.
Bentinck, Lord Edward, 108.
Bentley, Joanna, 59.
 Richard, 58, 60, 69, 84.
 Richard, junior, 69, 74.
Berkeley, Augustus, Earl of, 119,
120, 121.
 Elizabeth, Countess of, 119,
121, 122, 123, 125, 126, 127,
128.
 Lady Elizabeth, 1 19-127.
 Frederic, Earl of, 126, 149,
158.
 Lady Georgiana, 121, 123,
124, 125.
2b

Berkeley, the Hon. Grantley, 183.
 Narbonne, 122.
Bernard, Dr., 84.
Bernsprunger, Baron, 179.
Berwick, Duke of, 126.
Bickerstaff, Isaac, 72.
Bingley, Mr., 3.
Blanca, Florida, 90, 93, 96.
Blessington, Charles, Earl of, 183.
Blount, Mrs., 38, 39.
 Sir Walter, 38.
Boothby, Sir Brooke, 275.
Boston, William, Lord, 125.
Boswell, James, 57, 80, 102.
Bottetour t, Lord, 122.
Boyle, Lady Dorothy, 24, 25.
Bristol, Elizabeth, Countess of,
144.
Brooke, Francis, Lord, 28, 40.
Brothers, Samuel, 362.
Bruce, Charles, Lord, 14.
Brunswick-Oels, Duke of, 179.
Brunton, Louisa, 185.
Buckingham and Chandos, Richard,
Duke of, 200.
Buckinghamshire, Albinia, Coun
tess of, 183.
Burke, Edmund, 70, 71, 79.
Burlington, Countess of, 24, 25.
 Earl of, 24, 25.
Burns, Jean, 286.
Bute, John, Earl of, 65, 68, 70, 75.
Byrom, John, 59.
Byron, George, Lord, 195.
Campbell, Lady Charlotte, 284.
 Miss, 14.
 Thomas, 293.
385

INDEX

Carlisle, Frederick, Earl of, 123.
Carlyle, Professor, 382.
Carnarvon, Marquis of, 164.
Carne, John, 289.
Caroline, Princess of Wales, 196.
 Queen, 4, 6, 7.
Carter, Elizabeth, 16, 31, 270.
Carteret, Frances, Lady, 45.
 George, Lord, 44, 45.
 Lady Sophia, 48.
Catherine, Empress of Russia, 151.
Chesterfield, Philip, Earl of, 44.
Choiseul, Comte de, 155, 156.
Cholmondeley, George, Earl of, 123.
Cibber, Mrs., 61.
Clairon, Mademoiselle, 169, 170,
171.
Clarence, Duke of, 193.
Clayton, Mrs., 6, 7, 8.
Coles, Miss, 149.
Colman, George, 83.
Congreve, William, 17.
Conway, Henry, 21.
 Francis, Lord, 28, 29, 51.
Corsi, Marchese, 23.
Cowper, William, 341.
Craggs, Ann, 121.
Craon, Princess, 26.
Craven, Elizabeth, Lady, 129-181.
 the Hon. Keppel, 184, 196.
 William, Lord, 126, 135, 136,
139. 159. 160, 181.
 William, Earl of, 185.
Cumberland, Bishop, 58.
 Elizabeth, 82.
 George, 90.
 Henry Frederic, Duke of,
126.
 Joanna, 59-
 Rev. Richard, 59, 60, 62, 63,
65. 77-
 Richard, 57-116.
 William, Duke of, 12, 13.
Czartoriski, Princess, 132, 151.
Dblany, Mrs., 45.
De Quincey, Thomas, 288.
D'Este, Captain, 285.
Digby, Colonel, 301, 365, 367.
386

Dilly, Charles, 62.
Dive, Miss, 9.
D'Oberkirk, Baroness, 169, 170.
Dodington, Bubb, 65, 66, 67, 183.
Dorset, Charles, Duke of, 143.
Drummond, Adam, 83.
Drury, Sir Thomas, 71.
Dunk, Miss, 64.
Durazzi, Signora, 16.
Eatoff, Henry, 109.
Edgeworth, Miss, 282.
Egremont, Charles, Earl of, 190,
123.
Elgin, Thomas, Earl of, 368, 382,
383. 384-
Elisee, Pere, 120.
Elizabeth, Madame, 143.
Euston, Charles, Earl of, 24, 25.
Eyre, Lord, 76.
Fanshawe, Catherine, 274.
Farren, Miss, 104.
Faulkener, George, 71.
 Miss, 71, 72.
Ferdinand, King of Naples, 176.
Fermor, Lady Charlotte, 21, 43,
47-
 Juliana, Lady, 21, 47.
 Lady Sophia, 21, 37, 41-
45-
 Sir William, 48.
Ferrier, Miss, 288,
Fielding, Henry, 52, 105, 107.
Finch, William, 47.
Fingall, Peter, Earl of, 121.
Fitz- James, Marquis de, 126.
Flahault, Madame de, 367, 374.
Fletcher, Sir Robert, 80.
Foote, Samuel, 70, 71, 78, 80, 104.
Forbes, Georgiana, Lady, 127.
 George, Lord, 123, 124, 125.
Foster, Lady Elizabeth, 144.
Fox, Charles, 132.
 Henry, 66.
Frederic William, Prince Royal of
Prussia, 368.
I Garrick, David, 57, 61, 67, 68, 74,

INDEX

77, 78, 80, 84, 85, 89, ioo, 101,
102, 113.
Gay, John, 17.
Gell, Sir William, 196.
Genlis, Madame de, 367.
George 11., 6.
George in., 47, 70.
Germaine, Lady Elizabeth, 122,
127.
 Lord George, 99, no.
Gibbon, Edward, 79.
Goldsmith, Oliver, 57, 80, 81, 83,
84, 116.
Gordon, Jane, Duchess of, 266,
275.
 Alexander, Duke of, 256, 292.
Gozzadini, Signora, 32.
Grafton, Charles, Duke of, 24, 25,
43-
Granard, Lord, 123.
Grant, Mrs. Anne, of Laggan, 237,
255-296.
 Duncan, 269, 282.
 Isabella, 289.
 Mr., 254, 260, 261.
Granville, Sophia, Countess, 45, 46.
 George, Earl, 44, 46.
Gray, Thomas, 86, 87, 88.
Grey, Mrs., 333.
 Charles, 333.
Guadagni, Signor, 23.
Guiche, Duchesse de, 370.
Guines, Due de, 132, 141, 142, 146.
Gunning, Isabel, 299, 301, 314,
316, 366.
 Margaret, 301.
 Sir Robert, 300.
Halhed, Mr., 348.
Halifax, George, Earl of, 62-64,
67, 68, 70-72.
Hamilton, William, 68, 70.
 Sir William, 176.
Harris, Mr., 115.
Harte, Emma, 176.
Hastings, Warren, 356.
Heidegger, 28.
Hemans, Mrs., 293.
Henderson, John, 104.

Hertford, Algernon, Earl'of, 4, 5,
SO-
 Frances, Countess of, 3-53.
 Francis, Earl of, 51.
Hervey, James, 51.
 Lady, 66, 70.
 Mr., 9.
Hill, Joseph, 158, 159.
Hobbes, Thomas, 23.
Holdernesse, Lord, 28, 41.
Hook, Mrs., 273.
Hunt, the Rev. Philip, 382.
Hussey, Abbe, 90, 92, 94.
Ireland, Samuel, 344.
Irving, Edward, 293.
Jeffrey, Francis, 278, 280.
Jeffries, Lord, 6.
Jenner, Edward, 137.
Jenyns, Soame, 79.
Johnson, the Rev. John, 274.
 Samuel, 4, 57, 79, 81, 100,
102.
Kaunitz, Count, 94.
 Prince, 150.
Keith, Lady, 275.
 Sir Robert, 149,
Kemble, John, 104.
Keppel, Admiral, 137.
Knapton, Mr., 45.
Knight, Charles, 234.
Lackington, George, 229, 234.
 James, 112, 205-234.
La Rochefoucault, 21, 22, 23.
Lauzun, Due de, 132, 141.
Le Brun, Madame, 129.
Lempster, George, Lord, 47.
 Thomas, Lord, 6, 9.
Lennox, Mrs., 6.
Leslie, Mr., 40.
LeTexier, M., 183.
Ligne, Prince de, 370.
Lincoln, Henry, Earl of, 41-44.
Lonsdale, Henry, Viscount, 15.
Loughborough, Alexander, Lord,
139-
387

INDEX

Louis xv., 13.
 xvi., 120.
Louise, Princess Royal of Prussia,
368.
Lowth, Dr., 84.
Luxborough, Lady, 49-52.
Lyttelton, George, Lord, 78.
Macartney, Lord, 138.
Macaulay, Thomas', 46.
Mackenzie, Henry, 278, 280.
Macpherson, James, 80, 262.
Macvicar, Anne, 239-254.
 Duncan, 239-242, 259.
Madden, Robert, 199, 200.
Mann, Sir Horace, 17, 25, 37, 42,
43, 48, 148.
Manners, Lady Frances, 8.
Marie Antoinette, 144.
Marlborough, Charles, Duke of, II,
12.
 John, Duke of, 152.
 Sarah, Duchess of, 7, 152.
Martin, Samuel, 75, 76.
Mason, William, 87, 99.
Meadows, Miss, 9.
Melcombe, Lord, 65, 69, 70.
Montagu, George, 74-
 Lady Mary Wortley, 3, 5, 7,
21. 23, 31, 33, 42, 43, 153.
Montesquiou, Abbe, 367.
Murphy, Thomas, 70, 89.
Murray, Lord Charles, 199, 200.
Nadaillac, Marquise de, 368,
369-
Necker, M., 370.
Neuilly, Madame de, 13.
Newcastle, Thomas, Duke of, 65.
Nichols, Dr., 61.
Nithsdale, Lord, 32.
 Lady, 32.
Norfolk, Charles, Duke of, 198.
North, Frederick, Lord, 98, 99.
Northumberland, Hugh, Duke of,
SI-
Nugent, George, Lord, 121.
Oliver, Dr., 47.

Orleans, Louis Philippe, Due d',
367-
Ossory, Lady, 89, 132.
Osuna, Duke of, 96.
Palatine, Sophia, Electress, 17.
Paley, Dr., 346.
Pallas, Professor, 375.
Pallavicini, General, 95.
Parr, Dr., 344, 379, 381.
Pearse, Dr., 36.
Pelham, Miss, 42.
Pembroke, Mary, Countess of, 9.
Penn, Wihiam> 47-
Pitt, George, 43.
Polignac, Due de, 370, 373,
375-
 Duchesse de, 143, 146.
Pomfret, Henrietta, Countess of,
3-49-
 Thomas, Earl of, 6, 7, 9,
48.
Pope, Alexander, 13, 17, 18, 26,
28, 38, 104.
Porteous, Dr., 272.
Portland, William, Duke of, 108.
Potemkin, Prince, 152.
Potozka, Countess, 372.
Preaux, M., 378, 380.
Prior, Matthew, 17.
Pulteney, Robert, 29.
Queensberry, Catherine, Duchess
of, 29.
 Charles, Duke of, 28.
Quin, James, 61.
Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 80, 82, 100,
.131-
Riccardi, Marchese, 19, 23.
Ridge, Elizabeth, 68.
Rivarol, Comte de, 367.
Robinson, Mrs., 135.
 Sir Thomas, 41.
Rochford, Lord, 28.
Rogers, Samuel, 57, 103.
Romanzof, Princess, 152.
Romney, George, 87, 100, 101,
102.

INDEX

Rosalba, 34.
Ross, General, 366.
Rowe, Mrs. , 6.
Rutland, Bridget, Duchess of, 8.
Sackville, George, Viscount, 89,
99, 108, 109.
St. Albans, Diana, Duchess of, 39.
St. George,. Chevalier de, 32.
St. John, the Hon. Frederick, 186.
Savage, Richard, 4.
Schuyler, Colonel, 240.
 Madame, 240, 241, 252, 273.
Schwellenberg, Madame, 1 80.
Scott, Sir Walter, 113, 275, 281,
290, 293.
Seckendorf, Baron, 180.
Sedgewicke, Mr., 72.
Sefton, William, Earl of, 185.
Seymour, Lady Betty, 51.
-h — Sir Edward, 50, 51.
Sharpe, Charles Kirkpatrick, 119,
191, 196.
Shenstone, William, 5, 49, 52.
Sheridan, Richard, 57, 85.
Siddons, Mrs., 104.
Smith, Nancy, 214.
Smithson, Sir Hugh, 51.
Somerset, Algernon, Duke of, 50,
Si-
 Charles, Duke of, 4.
 Frances, Duchess of, 51-53.
Southey, Robert, 285.
Spencer Smythe, Mr., 376.
Stael, Madame de, 371, 375.
Stafford, Lady, 66.
Stanhope, Lady Isabella, 126.
Stewart, Miss, 239.
Suffolk, Henrietta, Countess of, 14,
122.
Sundon, Lady, 6, 8, 9.
Suvarrow, Marshal, 372, 374.
Swift, Jonathan, 22 .

Tallien, Madame, 374.
Taylor, Dr., 185, 188, 190, 197.
Thomson, James, 5, 27, 49.
Thurloe, John, 18.
Thurlow, Edward, Lord, 132, 140.
Thynne, Henry, 4.
' Tiranna, La,' 95.
Townshend, Lady, 42.
Trapp, Dr., 15.
Tweddell, Francis, 300.
 John, 299-384.
 Robert, 389.
Tyrconnel, Lord, 123.
Vaucluse, Madame de, 131.
Vernon, Admiral, 35.
 -Mr., 153.
Vincent, Dr., 116.
Violante, Princess, 20.
Wales, Augusta, Princess of,
I2S-
Walpole, Edward, 181.
 Horace, 3, 17, 20, 25, 37, 41-
48, 70, 74, 86, 89, 129, 133-136,
142, 161, 165, 180.
 Lady, 17, 21.
 Sir Robert, 29.
 the Rev. Robert, 381.
Warburton, Dr., 67, 84.
Watts, Dr., 5.
Wesley, John, 209, 212, 222.
Westmoreland, Mary, Countess of,
14.
Weymouth, Thomas, Viscount, 4,
27, 28.
Whitbeld, George, 15.
Wigtoun, Countess of, 8.
William III. , 77.
Wilson, Professor, 280.
Winchelsea, Daniel, Earl of, 47.
Zanotti, Dr., 32.

389

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