Books: The Letters of Horace Walpole, Volume 2

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(540) George James Williams, Esq. son of the eminent lawyer,
William Peere Williams.-E.

233 Letter 120
To George Montagu, Esq.
Arlington Street, Jan. 7, 1755.

I imagined by your letter the Colonel was in town, and was
shocked at not having been to wait on him; upon inquiry, I find
he is not; and now, can conceive how he came to tell you, that
the town has been entertained with a paper of mine; I send it
you, to show you that this is one of the many fabulous
histories which have been spread in such quantities, and
without foundation.

I shall take care of your letter to Mr. Bentley. Mr. Chute is
at the Vine, or I know he would, as I do, beg his compliments
to Miss Montagu. You do not wish me joy on the approaching
nuptials of Mr. Harris and our Miss Anne. He is so amorous,
that whenever he sits by her, (and he cannot stand by her,) my
Lady Townshend, by a very happy expression, says, "he is always
setting his dress." Have you heard of a Countess Chamfelt, a
Bohemian, rich and hideous, who is arrived here, and is under
the protection of Lady Caroline Petersham @ She has a great
facility at languages, and has already learned, "D--n you, and
kiss me;" I beg her pardon, I believe she never uses the
former, but upon the miscarriage of the latter: in short, as
Doddington says, she has had the honour of performing at most
courts in Europe. Adieu!

234 letter 121
To Richard Bentley, Esq.
Arlington Street, Jan. 9, 1755.

I used to say that one could not go out of London for two days
without finding at one's return that something very
extraordinary had happened; but of late the climate had lost
its propensity to odd accidents. Madness be praised, we are a
little restored to the want of our senses! I have been twice
this Christmas at Strawberry Hill for a few days, and at each
return have been not a little surprised: the last time, at the
very unexpected death of Lord Albemarle,(541) who was taken
ill at Paris, going home from supper, and expired in a few
hours; and last week at the far more extraordinary death of
Montford.(542) He himself, with all his judgment in bets, I
think would have betted any man in England against himself for
self-murder: yet after having been supposed the sharpest
genius of his time, he, by all that appears, shot himself on
the distress of his circumstances; an apoplectic disposition I
believe concurring, either to lower his spirits, or to alarm
them. Ever since Miss * * * * lived with him, either from
liking her himself, as some think, or to tempt her to marry
his lilliputian figure, he has squandered vast sums at Horse-
heath, and in living. He lost twelve hundred a-year by Lord
Albemarle's death, and four by Lord Gage's, the same day. He
asked immediately for the government of Virginia or the
Foxhounds, and pressed for an answer with an eagerness that
surprised the Duke of Newcastle, who never had a notion of
pinning down the relief of his own or any other man's wants to
a day. Yet that seems to have been the case of Montford, who
determined to throw the die of life and death, Tuesday was
Se'nnight, on the answer he was to receive from court; which
did not prove favourable. He consulted indirectly, and at
last pretty directly several people on the easiest method of
finishing life; and seems to have thought that he had been too
explicit; for he invited company to dinner for the day after
his death, and ordered a supper at Whites, where he Supped,
too, the night before. He played at whist till one in the
morning; it was New Year's morning - Lord Robert Bertie drank
to him a happy new year; he clapped his hands strangely to his
eyes! In the morning he had a lawyer and three witnesses, and
executed his will, which he made them read twice over,
paragraph by paragraph: and then asking the lawyer if that
will would stand good, though a man were to shoot himself? and
being assured it would; he said, " Pray stay while I step into
the next room;"=-went into the next room and shot himself. He
clapped the pistol so close to his head, that they heard no
report. The housekeeper heard him fall, and, thinking he had
a fit, ran up with drops, and found his skull and brains shot
about the room You will be charmed with the friendship and
generosity of Sir Francis. Montford a little time since
opened his circumstances to him. Sir Francis said, "Montford,
if it will be of any service to you, you shall see what I have
done for you;" pulled out his will, and read it, where he had
left him a vast legacy. The beauty of this action is
heightened by Sir Francis's life not being worth a year's
purchase. I own I feel for the distress this man must have
felt, before he decided on so desperate an action. I knew him
but little; but he was good-natured and agreeable enough, and
had the most compendious understanding I ever knew. He had
affected a finesse in money matters beyond what he deserved,
and aimed at reducing even natural affections to a kind of
calculations, like Demoivre's. He was asked, soon after his
daughter's marriage, if she was with child: he replied, "upon
my word, I don't know; I have no bet upon it." This and poor
* * * *'s self-murder have brought to light another, which
happening in France, had been sunk; * * * *'s. I can tell you
that the ancient and worshipful company- of lovers are under a
great dilemma, upon a husband and a gamester killing
themselves: I don't know whether they will not apply to
Parliament for an exclusive charter for self-murder.

On the occasion of Montford's story, I heard another more
extraordinary. If a man insures his life, this killing
himself vacates the bargain; This (as in England almost every
thing begets a contradiction) has produced an office for
insuring in spite of self-murder; but not beyond three hundred
pounds. I suppose voluntary deaths were not the bon-ton. of
people in higher life. A man went and insured his life,
securing this privilege of a free-dying Englishman. He
carried the insurers to dine at a tavern, where they met
several other persons. After dinner he said to the
life--and-death brokers, "Gentlemen, it is fit that you should
be acquainted with the company: these honest men are
tradesmen, to whom I was in debt, without any means of paying,
but by your assistance; and now I am your humble servant!" He
pulled out a pistol and shot himself. Did you ever hear of
such a mixture of honesty and knavery?

Lord Rochford is to succeed as groom of the stole. The Duke
of Marlborough is privy-seal, in the room of Lord Gower, who
is dead; and the Duke of Rutland is lord steward. Lord
Albemarle's other offices and honours are still in petto.
When the king first saw this Lord Albemarle, he said, "Your
father had a great many good qualities, but he was a sieve!"-
-It is 'the last receiver into which I should have thought his
Majesty would have poured gold! You will be pleased with the
monarch's politesse. Sir John Bland and Offley made interest
to play at Twelfth-night, and succeeded--not at play, for they
lost 1400 pounds and 1300 pounds. As it is not usual for
people of no higher rank to play, the King thought they would
be bashful about it, and took particular care to do the
honours of his house to them, set only to them, and spoke to
them at his levee next morning.

You love new nostrums and ]Inventions: there is discovered a
method of inoculating the cattle for the distemper-it succeeds
so well that they are not even marked. How we advance rapidly
in discoveries, and in applying every thing to every thing!
Here is another secret, that will better answer your purpose,
and I hope mine too. They found out lately at the Duke of
Argyle's, that any kind of ink may be made of privet: it
becomes green ink by mixing salt of tartar. I don't know the
process; but I am promised it by Campbell, who told me of it
t'other day, when I carried him the true genealogy of the
Bentleys, which he assured me shall be inserted in the next
edition of the Biographia.

There sets out to-morrow morning, by the Southampton wagon,
such a cargo of trees for you, that a detachment of Kentishmen
would be furnished against an invasion if they were to unroll
the bundle. I write to Mr. S * * * * to recommend great care
of them. Observe how I answer your demands: are you as
punctual? The forests in your landscapes do not thrive like
those in' your letters. Here is a letter from G. Montagu; and
then I think I may bid you good-night!

(541) In his "Memoires," Vol. i. p. 366, Walpole says, "He
died suddenly at Paris, where his mistress had sold him to the
French court." A writer in the Quarterly Review, Vol Ixii. p.
5, states that what he here asserts was generally believed in
Paris; for that, in the "M`emoires Secrets," published in
continuation of Bachaumont's Journal, it is said, on occasion
of the Count d'Herouville's death in 1782, that " he had been
talked of for the ministry under Louis XV. and would probably
have obtained it, had it not been for 'son mariage trop
in`egal. Il avait `epous`e la fameuse Lolotte maitresse du
Comte d'Albemarle, l'ambassadeur d'Angleterre, laquelle
servait d'espion au minist`ere de France aupr`es de son amant,
et a touch`e en cons`equence jusqu'`a sa mort une pension de
la cour de 12,000 livres.' But if the French court purchased,
as he reports, and as is sufficiently probable, instructions
of our ambassador, they could have learned from them nothing
to facilitate their own schemes of aggression--nothing but
what they knew before; for the policy of England, defective as
it might be on other points, had this great and paramount
advantage,-that it was open, honest, and straightforward."-E.

(542) Henry Bromley, created Lord Montford of Horse-heath, in
1741. He married Frances, daughter of Thomas Wyndham, Esq.
and sister and heiress of Sir Francis Wyndham, of Trent, in
the county of Somerset.-E.

236 Letter 122
To Sir Horace Mann.
Arlington Street, Jan. 9, 1755.

I had an intention of deferring writing to you, my dear Sir,
till I could wish you joy on the completion of your
approaching dignity:(543) but as the Duke of Newcastle is not
quite so expeditious as my friendship is earnest; and as your
brother tells me that you have had some very unnecessary
qualms, from your silence to me on this chapter, I can no
longer avoid telling you how pleased I am with any accession
of distinction to you and your family; I should like nothing
better but an accession of appointments: but I shall say no
more on this head, where wishes are so barren as mine. Your
brother, who had not time to write by this post, desires me to
tell you that the Duke will be obliged to you, if you will
send him the new map of Rome and of the patrimony of St.
Peter, which his Royal Highness says is just published.

You will have heard long before you receive this, of Lord
Albemarle's(544) sudden death at Paris: every body is so sorry
for him!--without being so: yet as sorry as he would have been
for any body, or as he deserved. Can one really regret a man,
who, with the most meritorious wife(545) and sons(546) in the
world, and with near 15,000 pounds a year from the government,
leaves not a shilling to his family, lawful or illegitimate,
(and both very numerous,) but dies immensely in debt, though,
when he married, he had 90,000 pounds, in the funds, and my
Lady Albemarle brought him 25,000 pounds more, all which is
dissipated to 14,000 pounds! The King very handsomely, and
tired with having done so much for a man who had so little
pretensions to it, immediately gave my Lady Albemarle 1200
pounds a year pension, and I trust will take care of this
Lord, who is a great friend of mine, and what is much better
for him, the first favourite of the Duke. If I were as grave
an historian as my Lord Clarendon, I should now without any
scruple tell you a dream; you would either believe it from my
dignity of character, or conclude from my dignity of character
that I did not believe it myself. As neither of these
important evasions will serve my turn, I shall relate the
following, only prefacing, that I do believe the dream
happened, and happened right among the millions of dreams that
do not hit. Lord Bury was at Windsor with the Duke when the
express of his father's death arrived: he came to town time
enough to find his mother and sisters at breakfast. "Lord!
child," said my Lady Albemarle, "what brings you to town so
early?" He said he had been sent for. Says she "You are not
well!" "Yes," replied Lord Bury, "I am, but a little
flustered with something I have heard." "Let me feel your
pulse," said Lady Albemarle: "Oh!" continued she, "your father
is dead!" "Lord Madam," said Lord Bury, "how could that come
into your head? I should rather have imagined that you would
have thought it was my poor brother William" (who is just gone
to Lisbon for his health). "No," said my Lady Albemarle, "I
know it is your father; I dreamed last night that he was dead,
and came to take leave of me!" and immediately swooned.

Lord Albemarle's places are not yet given away: ambassador at
Paris, I suppose, there will be none; it was merely kept up to
gratify him-besides, when we have no minister we can deliver
no memorials. Lord Rochford is, I quite believe, to be groom
of the stole: that leaves your Turin open--besides such
trifles as a blue garter, the second troop of Guards, and the
government of Virginia.

A death much more extraordinary is that of my Lord Mountford,
who, having all his life aimed at the character of a moneyed
man, and of an artfully money-getting man, has shot himself,
on having ruined himself. If he had despised money, he could
not have shot himself with more deliberate resolution. The
Only points he seems to have considered in so mad an action,
were, not to be thought mad, and which would be the easiest
method of despatching Himself. It is strange that the passage
from life to death should be an object, when One is unhappy
enough to be determined to change one for the other.

I warned you in my last not to wonder if you should hear that
either Mr. Pitt or Mr. Fox had kissed hands for secretary of
state; the latter has kissed the secretary of State's hand for
being a cabinet councillor.(547) The more I see, the more I
am confirmed in my idea of this being the age of abortions.

I have received yours of December 13th, and find myself
obliged to my Lord of Cork for a remembrance of me, which I
could not expect he should have preserved. Lord Huntingdon I
know very well, and like very much: he has parts, great good
breeding, and will certainly make a figure. You are lucky in
such company; yet I wish you had Mr. Brand!

I need not desire you not to believe the stories of such a
mountebank as Taylor:(548) I only wonder that he should think
the names of our family a recommendation at Rome; we are not
conscious of any such merit: nor have any Of our eyes ever
wanted to be put out. Adieu! my dear Sir, my dear Sir Horace.

(543) Mr. Mann was on the ]5th of February created a baronet,
with a reversion to his brother Galfridus.-E.

(544) For an interesting account of this magnificent
spendthrift, see M`emoires de Marmontel.-D.

(545) Lady Anne Lenox, sister of Charles Duke of Richmond.

(546) George Lord Viscount Bury, lord of the bedchamber to the
Duke, and colonel of a regiment; Augustus, captain of a
man-of-war, who was with Lord Anson in his famous expedition;
and William, colonel of the Guards, and aide-de-camp to the
Duke,; the two other sons were very young.

(547) "I proposed an interview between Fox and the Duke of
Newcastle, which produced the following agreement-that Fox
should be called up to the cabinet council; that employments
should be given to some of his friends, who were not yet
provided for; and that others, who had places already, should
be removed to bigger stations. Fox, during the whole
negotiation, behaved like a man of sense and a man of honour;
very frank, very explicit, and not very unreasonable."
Waldegrave's Memoirs.-E.

(548) A quack oculist. [Generally called the Chevalier Taylor. He
published his travels in 1762; in which he styled himself
"Ophthalmiator Pontifical, Imperial, Royal," etc.]

238 Letter 123
To Richard Bentley, Esq.
Arlington Street, Feb. 8, 1755.

My dear sir,
By the wagon on Thursday there set out for Southampton a lady
whom you must call Phillis, but whom George Montagu and the
Gods would name Speckle-belly. Peter begged her for me; that
is, for you; that is, for Captain Dumaresque, after he had
been asked three guineas for another. I hope she will not be
poisoned with salt-water, like the poor Poyangers.(549) If
she should, you will at least observe, that your commissions
are not stillborn with me, as mine are with you. I draw(550)
a spotted dog, the moment you desire it.

George Montagu has intercepted the description I promised you
of the Russian masquerade: he wrote to beg it, and I cannot
transcribe from myself. In a few words, there were all the
beauties, and all the diamonds, and not a few of the uglies of
London. The Duke,(551) like Osman the Third, seemed in the
centre of his new seraglio, and I believe my lady and I
thought that my Lord Anson was the chief eunuch. My Lady
Coventry was dressed in a great style, and looked better than
ever. Lady Betty Spencer, like Rubens's wife (not the common
one with the hat), had all the bloom and bashfulness and
wildness of youth, with all the countenance of all the former
Marlboroughs. Lord Delawar was an excellent mask, from a
picture at Kensington of Queen Elizabeth's porter. Lady
Caroline Petersham, powdered with diamonds and crescents for a
Turkish slave, was still extremely handsome. The hazard was
excessively deep, to the astonishment of some Frenchmen of
quality who are here, and who I believe, from what they saw
that night, will not write to their court to dissuade their
armaments, on its not being worth their while to attack so
beggarly a nation. Our fleet is as little despicable; but
though the preparations on both sides are so great, I believe
the storm will blow over. They insist on our immediately
sending an ambassador to Paris; and to my great satisfaction,
my cousin and friend Lord Hertford is to be the man. This is
still an entire secret here, but will be known before you
receive this. The weather is very bitter, and keeps me from
Strawberry. Adieu!

(549) Mr. Walpole having called his gold-fish pond Poyang,
calls the gold-fish Poyangers.

(550) Alluding to Mr. Bentley's dilatoriness in exercising his
pencil at the request of Mr. Walpole.

(551) William Duke of Cumberland.

239 Letter 124
To Richard Bentley, Esq.
Arlington Street, Feb. 23, 1755.

My dear sir,
Your argosie is arrived safe; thank you for shells, trees,
cones; but above all, thank you for the landscape. As it is
your first attempt in oils, and has succeeded so much beyond
my expectation, (and being against my advice too, you may
believe the sincerity of my praises,) I must indulge my
Vasarihood, and write a dissertation upon it. You have united
and mellowed your colours, in a manner to make it look like an
old picture; yet there is something in the tone of it that is
not quite right. Mr. Chute thinks that you should have
exerted more of your force in tipping with light the edges on
which the sun breaks: my own opinion is, that the result of
the whole is not natural, by your having joined a Claude
Lorrain summer sky to a winter sea, which you have drawn from
the life. The water breaks fine] but the distant hills are
too strong, and the outlines much too hard ..The greatest
fault is the trees (not apt to be your stumbling-block): they
are not of a natural green, have no particular resemblance,
and are out of all proportion too large for the figures. Mend
these errors, and work away in oil. I am impatient to see
some Gothic ruins of your painting. This leads me naturally
to thank you for the sweet little cul-de-lampe to the entail
it is equal to any thing you have done in perspective and for
taste but the boy is too large.

For the block of granite I shall certainly think a louis well
bestowed--provided I do but get the block, and that you are
sure it will be equal to the sample you sent me. My room
remains in want of a table; and as it will take so much time
to polish it, I do wish you would be a little expeditious in
sending it.

I have but frippery news to tell you; no politics; for the
rudiments of a war, that is not to be a war, are not worth
detailing. In short, we have acted with spirit, have
got ready thirty ships of the line, and conclude that the
French will not care to examine whether they are well manned
or not. The House of Commons hears nothing but elections; the
Oxfordshire till seven at night three times a week: we have
passed ten evenings on the Colchester election, and last
Monday sat upon it till near two in the morning. Whoever
stands a contested election, and pays for his seat, and
attends the first session, surely buys the other six very
dear!

The great event is the catastrophe of Sir John Bland(552) who
has flirted away his whole fortune at hazard. He t'other
night exceeded what was lost by the late Duke of Bedford,
having at one period of the night (though he recovered the
greatest part of it) lost two-and-thirty thousand pounds. The
citizens put on their double-channeled pumps and trudge to St.
James's Street, in expectation of seeing judgments executed on
White's--angels with flaming swords, and devils flying away
with dice-boxes, like the prints in Sadeler's Hermits. Sir
John lost this immense sum to a Captain * @ * * *, who at
present has nothing but a few debts and his commission.

Garrick has produced a detestable English opera, which is
crowded by all true lovers of their country. To mark the
opposition to Italian operas, it is sung by some cast singers,
two Italians, and a French girl, and the chapel boys; and to
regale us with sense, it is Shakspeare's Midsummer Night's
Dream, which is forty times more nonsensical than the worst
translation of any Italian opera-books. But such sense and
such harmony are irresistible!

I am at present confined with a cold, which I caught by going
to a fire in the middle of the night, and in the middle of the
snow, two days ago. About five in the morning Harry waked me
with a candle in his hand, and cried, "Pray, your honour,
don't be frightened!"--"No, Harry, I am not: but what is it
that I am not to be frightened at?" --"There is a great fire
here in St. James's Street."--I rose, and indeed thought all
St. James's Street was on fire, but it proved in Bury Street.
However, you know I can't resist going to a fire; for it Is
certainly the only horrid sight that is fine. I slipped on my
slippers, and an embroidered suit that hung on the chair, and
ran to Bury Street, and stepped into a pipe that was broken up
for water.--It would have made a picture--the horror of the
flames, the snow, the day breaking with difficulty through so
foul a night, and my figure, party per pale, mud and gold. It
put me in mind of Lady Margaret Herbert's providence, who
asked somebody for a pretty pattern for a nightcap. "Lord!"
said they, "what signifies the pattern for a nightcap?" "Oh!
child," said she, "but you know, in case of fire." There were
two houses burnt, and a poor maid; an officer jumped out of
window, and is much hurt, and two young beauties were conveyed
out the same way in their shifts. there have been two more
great fires. Alderman Belchier's house at Epsom, that
belonged to the Prince, is burnt, and Beckford's fine
house(553) in the country, with pictures and furniture to a
great value. He says, "Oh! I have an odd fifty thousand
pounds in a drawer: I will build it up again: it won't be
above a thousand pounds apiece difference to my thirty
children." Adieu!

(552) Who shot himself at Kippax Park.-E.

(553) At Fonthill, in Wiltshire. The loss was computed at
thirty thousand pounds.-E.

241 letter 125
To Richard Bentley, Esq.
Arlington Street, March 6, 1755.

My dear sir,
I have to thank you for two letters and a picture. I hope my
thanks will have a more prosperous journey than my own letters
have had of late. You say you have received none since
January 9th. I have written three since that. I take care,
in conjunction with the times, to make them harmless enough
for the post. Whatever secrets I may have (and you know I
have no propensity to mystery) will keep very well till I have
the happiness of seeing you, though that date should be
farther off than I hope. As I mean my letters should relieve
some of your anxious or dull minutes, I will tempt no
postmasters or secretaries to retard them. The state of
affairs is much altered since my last epistle that persuaded
you of the distance of a war. So haughty and so ravenous an
answer came from France, that my Lord Hertford does not go.
As a little islander, you may be very easy: Jersey is not prey
for such fleets as are likely to encounter in the channel in
April. You must tremble in your Bigendian capacity, if you
mean to figure as a good citizen. I sympathize with you
extremely in the interruption it will give to our
correspondence. You, in an inactive little spot, cannot wish
more impatiently for every post that has the probability of a
letter, than I, in all the turbulence of London, do
constantly, never-failingly, for letters from you. Yet by my
busy, hurried, amused, irregular way of life, you would not
imagine that I had much time to care for my friends@ You know
how late I used to rise: it is worse and worse: I stay late at
debates and committees; for, with all our tranquillity and my
indifference, I think I am never out of the House of Commons:
from thence, it is the fashion of the winter to go to vast
assemblies, which are followed by vast suppers, and those by
balls. Last week I was from two at noon till ten at night at
the House: I came home, dined, new-dressed myself entirely,
went to a ball at Lord Holderness's, and stayed till five in
the morning. What an abominable young creature! But why may
not I be so! Old Haslang(554) dances at sixty-five; my Lady
Rochford without stays, and her husband the new groom of the
stole, dance. In short, when secretaries of state, cabinet
councillors, foreign ministers, dance like the universal
ballet in the Rehearsal, why should not I--see them? In
short, the true definition of me is, that I am a dancing
senator--Not that I do dance, or do any thing by being a
senator: but I go to balls, and to the House of Commons-to
look on: and you will believe me when I tell you, that I
really think the former the more serious occupation of the
two; at least the performers are most in earnest. What men
say to women, is at least as sincere as what they say to their
country. If perjury can give the devil a right to the souls
of men, he has titles by as many ways as my Lord Huntingdon is
descended from Edward the Third.