The day of days in Collingwood's life had at last arrived—that day to which he had looked forward throughout the weary years, when, his task honourably concluded, he could know that every beat of the waves was bearing him towards home and his loved ones. Yet as, prostrated with weakness, he lay in his cabin, listening to the familiar fret of the waters, he understood that the burden had been borne too long, the promised relief had come too late.

With the same dauntless courage with which he had faced existence he now accepted the knowledge that this day—the thought of which had sustained him through loneliness and battle and tempest—was to prove the day of his death. History indeed presents few events of an irony more profound. At sunset on March 6th, Collingwood set sail for England; at sunset on the 7th, he lay dead, and that fortitude with which he met a fate, the harshness of which must have cruelly enhanced his bodily anguish, presents to all time a sublime ending to a sublime career.

Meanwhile in England those whom he had loved continued to count the lessening days to his return and to plan with tender solicitude every means for cherishing and restoring the enfeebled frame which they fondly believed needed but care and happiness to endow it with renewed health. Little as they recked of the burden which the waves were, in truth, bringing them, the knowledge, when it arrived, came with a blow which stunned. In the first announcement of the news, the very terseness of the communication seems to recreate more vividly the intense feeling which the writer knew required no insistence.

On April 17th, 1810, Stanhope wrote briefly to the Vicar of Newcastle:—

GROSVENOR SQUARE.

DEAR SMITH,

You are the fittest person I know at Newcastle to execute with propriety a most painful & most melancholy office. I have only this moment been apprised of the loss both the public and the Collingwood family have sustained, and am so shocked with the intelligence that I can hardly write legibly. I enclose the letter. I am sure you will communicate it with all delicacy & due Preparation to Lady Collingwood & Mr and the Miss Collingwoods. Mrs Stanhope will endeavour to see Miss Collingwood to-morrow. Pray assure them of my readiness to be of every assistance to them in my power.

Of the manner in which the news arrived, Mrs Stanhope furnishes more details.

GROSVENOR SQUARE, April 23rd, 1810.

MY DEAR JOHN,

"I little thought when I wrote to you on Tuesday last that I should, before that post went out, hear the afflicting intelligence of the death of our great and valuable Friend, Lord Collingwood, whose loss is a publick calamity. But I will enter into particulars.

"Just after I went out at three, a second post arrived from Captain Thomas, desiring your father to communicate the dreadful tidings to poor Lady Collingwood. It was five when we received the letter; your father immediately enclosed the letter to the Vicar, to desire he would break it to the family, and I wrote to the Mistress of the School to acquaint the second girl. She wished to see no one or I should have called the next day. Mr Reay heard of the event before we did and recollecting that the Papers at Newcastle were delivered an hour before the letters, wisely sent off an Express; therefore I trust there was time for her to be somewhat prepared for the worst.

"With respect to ourselves, I need not tell you how shocked we were, and unfortunately, we had not only a large party to dinner that night, but some people in the evening. Amongst those who dined with us was Captain Waldegrave, who had not heard of it till he came here, and I never saw anyone so distressed, for Lord Collingwood had been a Father to him as well as to William; and he is one of the most pleasing young men I ever met with. Two days afterwards he brought here Mr Brown, the flag-lieutenant of the Ville de Paris, who gave me many interesting particulars, and spoke highly of William.

Your father has seen Lord Mulgrave twice, and it is settled that a monument at the Publick expence shall be executed for Lord Collingwood. He cannot have a publick funeral, but they wish the family to bury him at St Paul's near Lord Nelson, which your father is this day to write to propose, and I think it impossible Lady Collingwood can have any objection, in which case it will be attended by the Lords of the Admiralty & his own private friends. The Body is now at Greenwich, for it arrived at Portsmouth as soon as the letters announcing his death. He died like a hero, and when that character is added, as it was in him, to the Christian, it is great indeed.

On the same date Mr Stanhope wrote to his son—"I saw Lord Mulgrave the night before last, who desired I would inform Lady Collingwood and the family that it was meant to move in the House for a monument for Lord Collingwood in St Paul's, next to Nelson's. Of course the Body, which has arrived in the Thames, will be deposited in that Church, and the funeral must be splendid without ostentation—at the expense of the executors, or rather of the family." It was not, however, till May 8th that Mrs Stanhope was enabled to furnish her son with full details of the manner in which the intended ceremony was to be performed.

GROSVENOR SQUARE, May 8th., 1810.

I can tell you what Lord C.'s funeral is to be. It is to take place on Friday at St Paul's. Mr C. and one of his sisters are in town. He is anxious that it should be proper & your father has been his adviser, but he was determined that it should be as private as possible, as Lord Collingwood's wish on that subject was strongly expressed in his Will.

The Body is now at Greenwich where the Hearse & ten mourning Coaches will go. The company are to assemble at a room on the other side of Blackfriars Bridge, where betwixt 20 & 30 are to get into the mourning coaches, & their own are to follow, but no others. The company are, as far as I can recollect, besides the ten relations & connections, the first Lords of the Admiralty who have been in power since he had the Command—Gray, Mulgrave, T. Grenville; Ld St Vincent declined on account of health; the Chancellor & Sir Walter Scott; Admirals Ld Radstock & Harvey, Capt Waldegrave, Purvis, Irvyn Brown, Haywood— perhaps others; Doctors Gray & Fullerton, Sir M. Ridley & Mr Reay.

Government mean to vote him a national monument to be placed near Lord Nelson & the Body will be placed as near his as it can be. You will be glad to hear that there is a picture painted about a year & a half ago which Waldegrave will get for Mr C. I therefore hope there will be a print of him. His loss will be felt every day more & more. They say he saved to the country more than any Admiral did before, in repairs of the fleet; and to that country his life has been sacrificed.

A reference to Lord Collingwood written by the recipient of this letter, John Stanhope, although it presents no new reflection upon his career, is not without a peculiar interest in that it was a contemporary comment and one of unstudied pathos.

Lord Collingwood, [he wrote in 1810] has sacrificed his life to his country and to the full as much as has done his friend and commander Lord Nelson. But Nelson's death was glorious; he fell in the hour of victory amidst a nation's tears. Poor Collingwood resigned his life to his country, because she required his services; he yielded himself as a victim to a painful disease, solely occasioned by his incessant and anxious attention to his duties, when he knew from his physician that his existence might be spared if he were allowed to return to the quiet of domestic life. Must not his mind have sometimes recurred to his home; to his two daughters, now grown to the age of womanhood, but whom he remembered only as little children; so long had he been estranged from his country! Must he not have felt how delightfully he could spend his old age in the society of his family, at his own house at Chirton, the ancient possession of his ancestors, which had been left to him by my uncle, and in the enjoyment of a large fortune, which he had gained during his professional career! What a contrast did the reverse of the picture show! A lingering disease, a certain death. He repeatedly represented the state of his health to the Admiralty, but in vain; his country demanded his services; he gave her his life; and without even the consolation of thinking that the sacrifice he was making would be appreciated. "If Lord Mulgrave knew me," said he in one of his letters to my father, "he would know that I did not complain without sufficient cause."

It was thus that Collingwood came home—that the long exile ended and the tired frame attained to rest. On May 11th, he was laid by the side of Nelson in St Paul's, and the comrades of Trafalgar were re-united in a last repose. The ceremony on this occasion exhibited none of the pomp and circumstance which attended the obsequies of the hero of Trafalgar. In harmony with the wishes and the character of the dead man, so simple was it that the papers emphasise in surprise that "not even the choir service is to be sung on the occasion." And this, possibly, constitutes the sole particular in which England endeavoured to fulfil any desire of the man who had laid down his life in her service. His earnest request that the peerage which had been bestowed upon him might descend to his daughter, his pathetic representation that but for the unremitting nature of that service he would presumably have had a son to succeed him, were callously ignored. There were obvious reasons why Nelson's dying bequest to the nation of the woman he had loved remained unregarded, there was none that that of Collingwood should not have been granted and his barren honours thus made sweet to him. But his generation mourned him with idle tears, and succeeding generations have, possibly, done him scanty justice. Yet one, a master-mind in English Literature, has raised an eternal testimony to his worth—"Another true knight errant of those days," proclaims Thackeray, "was Cuthbert Collingwood, and I think, since Heaven made gentlemen, there is no record of a better one than that. Of brighter deeds, I grant you, we may read performed by others; but where of a nobler, kinder, more beautiful life of duty, of a gentler, truer heart? Beyond dazzle of success and blaze of genius, I fancy shining a hundred and a hundred times higher the sublime purity of Collingwood's gentle glory. His heroism stirs British hearts when we recall it. His love and goodness and piety make one thrill with happy emotion.... There are no words to tell what the heart feels in reading the simple phrases of such a hero. Here is victory and courage, but love sublimer and superior."

Nevertheless there is, in truth, little which appeals to the imagination of posterity in the story of that drab martyrdom. Moreover Collingwood is judged, not individually but by comparison. For ever he is obscured by the more dazzling vision of Nelson. It weighs little in his favour that, devoid of the vanity and the weakness which made of the latter a lesser man even though a greater genius, Collingwood, throughout his life, exhibited a nobility of soul which was never marred by one self-seeking thought, one mean word, one base action. That very fact militates against him. Collingwood had no dramatic instinct, and in the great issues of life he never played to the gallery; he has not even attached to his memory, as has Nelson, the glamour of a baffling and arresting intrigue. And there remains eternally to his disfavour that he did not die at the psychological moment. Whether he was, as some recent researches might lead us to believe, a greater strategist than Nelson, as he was undoubtedly a man of stronger principles and more disinterested motives, of wider education and of profounder political insight, it is not our province here to inquire. On his column in Trafalgar Square, to all time, Nelson stands aloft surveying the generations who do him homage; far away, on the shores of Tynemouth, a solitary figure of Collingwood, not erected till 1845, gazes out across the ocean of his exile. It is as though the loneliness which tortured that great soul in life haunts him beyond the grave, as the adulation which was balm to Nelson's soul remains his portion to all eternity. There might even be imagined an unconscious irony in the last reference to Collingwood which occurs in the Stanhope correspondence, wherein Mrs Stanhope, after the first horror which the news of her kinsman's death had evoked, sums up thus the immediate effect of that event upon her family life:—

May 10th.

London is very gay now.... To give you some idea how we go on, I will mention some of our engagements. To-night Opera; tomorrow, concerts at Mrs Boehms and Lady Castlereagh's; Thursday, Dow. Lady Glyn, Lady de Crespygny musick, and Lady Westmorland's; Saturday, Opera; 23rd., 24th and 26th Balls. On Friday, of course, there are cards, but I shall not go out on account of its being the funeral of our justly-lamented friend.



CHAPTER III

1806-1807

ON DITS FROM YORKSHIRE, LONDON AND RAMSGATE

Three years before his death, in the midst of the stress and labour which was undermining his bodily strength, Collingwood had written with regard to this same wearing anxiety—"My astonishment is to find that in England this does not seem to enter into the minds of the people, or at least not to interrupt their gaieties. England on the verge of ruin requires the care of all; but when that all is divided and contending for power, then it is that the foundation shakes."

To the lonely Admiral tossing on the ocean of his exile, absorbed in that mighty problem of England's defence, the attitude of his countrymen at home—their callousness and absorption in trivialities—had seemed well- nigh incredible. But propinquity affects proportion, and as a small object close at hand looms larger to the eye than a vast object upon a distant horizon, so the anomaly continued to be witnessed in England which has often formed part of the history of nations. Possibly one of the strangest phases of the French Revolution was that in which—while heads fell daily and the land ran blood—the round of theatres continued without interruption and the existence of a certain section of the public remained undisturbed. Thus it is not surprising to find, after the storm of feeling which was roused by the Battle of Trafalgar, how quickly personal interests superseded national, and the social life of the country reverted placidly to its normal groove.

True that Nelson's great victory, even while it had dealt a final and shattering blow to Napoleon's maritime power, had not been fraught with the vast consequences which in the moment of exultation it was fondly believed had been achieved. Bonaparte's supremacy in Europe remained unshaken, and his victory of Austerlitz, following hard upon Trafalgar, minimised the latter, while it crushed with despair the dying heart of Pitt. As we have seen, that year dawned darkly which was to witness the death of two of England's foremost statesmen, the great Tory in January, the great Whig in September; but while, big with import, history traced the tale of such giant upheavals in the national life, in strange contrast comes the quiet ripple of contemporary gossip.

"The Prince," wrote Mrs Stanhope from Yorkshire in the middle of September, "returns to attend Fox's funeral & then has said he will immediately come back to make his promised visits to Wentworth, Raby and Castle Howard." On the 20th of September Marianne wrote to her brother an account of H.R.H. attending Doncaster Races.

Doncaster Races were not near so splendid as they were expected to have been, few south country people, none of distinction.

The Prince of Wales looked wretchedly; he is thought to be in a bad state of health and was to be cupped last Monday. He arrived at Doncaster about two in the morning, and the yeomanry commanded by Mr Wortley met by order to escort him into the town at nine the next morning, so that was manque. The ball was very ill-managed, the Prince arrived at the rooms before they were lighted, neither of the stewards there to receive him—quite scandalous, I think.

The Same. Nov. 16th.

The Royal visitors at Wentworth were magnificently received. Lord Milton [1] exerts himself much in politicks, his only forte perhaps, however, that is better than if it were his only foible. Lady Milton charms everybody, I have never met with one exception.

The Prince, of course you know, inspected the Cavalry at Doncaster and complimented them much. They were out five days on permanent duty, on one of which Mr Foljambe gave the whole regiment a dinner in the Mansion House, a whole pipe of wine was consumed.

Lord Morpeth, [2] I am rejoiced to hear got his election. Mr Howard, his brother, is a very gentlemanlike, very handsome young man, worthy of his sister Lady Cawdor. [3] Would you believe it he has never been at Stackpole.

We were much disappointed on Friday by the non-arrival of Mr Wilberforce, [4] as I had promised myself much pleasure, even from so short a visit from such an excellent man. I have been reading some of his Views of Christianity, and tho' I believe it is in some parts rather methodistical, I think it quite an angelic book. If he talks as he writes he must be charming.

CANNON HALL November 28th, 1806.

A most dreadful and fatal accident happened on Tuesday at Woolley [5] about seven in the Evening. Mrs Fawkes, [6] Mother to Mrs Wentworth, went to an unfinished window, fell out & was killed on the spot. She fell eleven yards perpendicular height.

Mr Wentworth, and his brother Mr Armytage, were here. Mrs Wentworth was not well, & had not accompanied them, therefore she was at home at the Moment, & poor Mrs Farrer, sister to Mrs Fawkes was actually in the room. They immediately sent for Mr Wentworth, & you may imagine the distress in which he left us. Poor Mrs Wentworth had only just recovered from the shock of her Governess dying after an illness of a few days.

To turn to a more cheerful subject—as the occupations of this house interest you, I must describe the present drawing-room trio. Hour eight; tea ordered; at the top of the table, in a great chair, Anne, reading the Roman history. At the bottom, Marianne with two folios, making extracts from Palladio on Architecture. My occupation speaks for itself. I greatly doubt whether a busier scene could be found at Oxford at the same hour.

Miss Baker [7] mentions that Yarborough has been ill at Cambridge & wishes to know whether it arises from their intense studying that the young men at the Universities are so frequently indisposed.

Mrs Stanhope to John Spencer-Stanhope. GROVE, January 26th, 1807.

We are now returning to town, your father arrived there last Thursday. The waggon with our goods was overturned twice in going from Cannon Hall to Wakefield....

This day se'nnight we left home, & called at Woolley, but Mrs Wentworth was not well enough to see us. Thence we waded through the worst possible road to Hensworth where we found Sir Francis (Wood) with the gout and Lady Wood like a Ghoul....

More bad roads to Fryston where we found, including ourselves, a party of seventeen, three less than was expected, among others Lord and Lady Galway [8] and two Miss Moncktons.

The noise, riot and confusion of the house I shall not attempt to describe.

On the following day they drove from Fryston to a ball in the neighbourhood, of which Mrs Stanhope relates:—

We arrived about nine. The ball-room was beautiful. It was hung with white Calico, with a wreath of evergreens round the top of the room and festoons from it of the same all round; the only fault was the pure white of the Calico made all the ladies look dirty. There were 160 or 170 people, many I did not know, many Men, but where the majority came from I cannot pretend to say; Darlingtons, Ramsdens, Cookes, Taylors, etc, and our large party the chief from the neighbourhood.

The dances were too long and too crowded, which made it not pleasant for the dancers, but it was a fine ball, upon the whole, but much inferior in every respect to Kippax.

Your sisters danced a good deal, and both of them with a Bond Street lounger whose name was Carey. I believed he was rouged. He desired his hostess to introduce him to a partner, stipulating—"But let her be charming!" and as she had promised Anne, she had the good fortune, and I suppose he found her what he wished, for he afterwards honoured Marianne, and they were both vastly amused at his conceit and folly.

Michael Angelo [9] was superb. Since the honour the Prince did him, he has been obliged to part with many of his servants as they would no longer work.

We arrived at Fryston from the Ball at 1/2 past six, the rest of the party at 1/2 past seven, when they breakfasted before they went to bed.

The next day was breakfast all the morning long, & very jolly they were. Miles is as eccentric as ever. So odd a man I never saw.

Of their Yorkshire neighbours who did not live in the immediate vicinity, the family at Cannon Hall saw but little during the winter months; therefore, during their journeys to and from town, they invariably took the opportunity of staying a few nights with those friends whose houses happened to lie conveniently near the line of route. One of the places thus constantly visited by them was Fryston, where at this date there dwelt, with a numerous family, the widow of Richard Slater Milnes, formerly M.P. for York.

The position of the Milnes in Yorkshire was almost unique. In Wakefield, during the flight of years, there sprang into prominence certain merchant princes whose names became household words throughout the county. The Milnes, Heywoods and Naylors, in turn, rose to affluence; but foremost and distinct among these remained the Milnes, who from 1670 owned the great cloth trade of the North, and who, towards the close of the eighteenth century, were represented by four brothers whose firm had secured a monopoly of that trade between England and Russia.

These brothers, by reason of their wealth and influence, were received on terms of intimacy by the older county families. They built themselves each a substantial house in Wakefield, fashioned out of bricks which they manufactured and timber which they had imported from Russia, with which country they were naturally in constant communication in the course of their business. These houses, which stood close together, facing the main road through Wakefield, were handsome in construction and luxuriously furnished; but, by and by, two branches of the family migrated from the town of their birth; James Milnes built Thornes House, and Richard Slater Milnes purchased the estate of Fryston, where he took up his residence about 1790. His new possession was a larger and more comfortable home than the dwelling he had quitted, and although standing in the centre of the great West Riding industries, it was beautifully situated on the banks of the river Aire. Besides extensive gardens and shrubberies, it was surrounded by a fine park, while adjoining it were miles of beautiful larch and beech woods. On the death of Richard Slater Milnes it passed into the possession of his son, Robert Pemberton, who with his brother, Richard Rodes, were the only two sons in a family of nine children.

The brothers, in some particulars, presented a marked contrast to each other, though both were fascinating and clever.

Robert Pemberton was extremely eccentric, but brilliant. He was recognised to be full of promise, and it was anticipated that he would one day make a considerable stir in the political world. Writing of him many years later, John Stanhope mentioned the following anecdotes:—

"Mr Milnes of Fryston was one of my earliest friends. After a sharp contest with Mr Smyth of Heath he was returned for the Borough of Pontefract. His Maiden speech in Parliament produced a very great sensation; but a second speech which he made shortly after was considered as a failure, though Mr Plummer Ward, himself no bad judge, declared it was superior to the former and spoke highly of it. I rather think that Milnes terminated it abruptly and was considered to have broken down. He seems himself to have thought so for he made no further effort, and, soon after, abandoning all political views, turned his mind entirely to Agriculture.

"At that date Milnes was a wild, unstable creature, at one time devoting his days and nights to reading; at another giving them up to play; at another engrossed entirely with shooting; always agreeable, clever and sarcastick, he was everything by fits but nothing long, yet always dearly loved by his friends and companions, always a straightforward man, full of high feeling and honour.

"Perhaps nothing will give a better idea of the wild spirit of his character than an occurrence that took place in his youthful days. At a time when Battues and a system of the preservation of game as it is now carried on in Norfolk were little known in this part of the country, he undertook the entire management of the game at Fryston, and succeeded in stocking the Plantations there with abundance of Pheasants. Not content with giving his orders to the keepers, he used frequently to accompany them in their nightly watches.

"On one of these occasions they fell in with a party of poachers, who took to their heels.

"Milnes, who was the foremost in the chace, succeeded in grappling one of the fugitives. The man struggled on to the brink of a deep quarry and finding that Milnes did not slacken his grasp, determined to dare the jump, calculating, as he afterwards confessed, that as his limbs were strong and well knit, that he should suffer no damage, but that Milnes, being slight, would break his leg. Milnes, nothing daunted, kept his hold, and went down with the poacher, whose calculations were reversed, for he broke his legs, and Milnes escaped, comparatively speaking, unscathed."

Rodes Milnes, the younger brother of Pemberton, though gifted with less natural genius, at first bid fair to be of a more dependable character; and while his mother retained an interest in the firm of Milnes, Heywood & Co., he continued to go into Wakefield regularly two or three times a week to look after the business, driving himself in a phaeton drawn by a pair of beautiful black ponies. But later he became closely connected with the turf, and many lively stories are attached to his name. He and Mr Peter of Stapleton were racing associates, and their stable won the St Leger no fewer than five times in eight years; he was also a turf comrade of Lord Glasgow, and after a successful day at York Races, it is said that these two friends would station themselves at the window of the inn where they were staying and stop every passenger to insist that he or she should drink a glass of wine with them.

Rodes Milnes was exceedingly handsome, but later in life became very stout, after which he used to enjoy the pleasures of sport in a somewhat original fashion. In the middle of the plantations at Fryston was a mound on which he used to seat himself in a revolving chair; the keeper would then beat the neighbouring woods in order to drive the birds in the direction of the mound, and as they appeared, Rodes Milnes used to spin round in his chair and take rapid shots at the flying game.

As the Milnes withdrew themselves more and more from their former business, the Naylors came to the fore. For long this later firm was represented by two brothers, John and Jeremiah. The former was the ornamental partner, the latter the useful. John, clad in faultlessly cut clothes and a carefully powdered wig, was an impressive figure, and was well supported in his picturesque role by his wife, a handsome and stately dame. Jeremiah, the working bee, was less polished in manner and more careless in dress. As Rodes Milnes drove into Wakefield twice a week, so did Jeremiah Naylor drive into Leeds Market regularly every Tuesday and Saturday morning, in order to buy white and coloured cloth in its unfinished state. Thence he would return followed by one or two large waggons full of the cloth so purchased, which was subsequently finished, partly at the works of his firm and partly by cloth dressers in the town. Indeed, Jeremiah, who was noted for his shrewd business capacity and frugal tendencies, was said to have bought one-third of all the cloth manufactured in the West Riding.

Only on one occasion is it reported that the shrewd Yorkshireman was outwitted in a bargain. The story is thus amusingly told by the late Mr Clarkson of Alverthorpe Hall:—

"Mr Jeremiah Naylor had a favourite mare which used to take him to Leeds twice a week; but at last, from age, she got past her work, and he unwillingly consented to sell her. He drove her himself to Doncaster fair, and early in the day met with a customer; but at a very low price. After this shabby way of disposing of an old favourite he had to look out for a successor, and after dinner went again into the fair where, after a critical search, he saw for sale an animal likely to suit him, which took his fancy from its resemblance to his old favourite of twenty years before. The price was a stiff one, but the bargain was concluded at last, and the new purchase put into the harness, which seemed exactly to fit.

"Mr Naylor was delighted with the pace at which his fresh steed took him home to Wakefield; but on arriving at his house, was met by his old groom, who, after scanning the new acquisition, said dryly: 'Well, Sir, you've brought the old mare back again!' Mr Naylor rather rebuked the man, who replied by loosening the mare from the harness, when she walked straight to her own stand in the stable, and doubtless felt there was no place like home. The poor thing had been cropped and docked and groomed so as completely to deceive her old master."

As the Naylors waxed in wealth they considered themselves to be the successful rivals of the former great merchants of Wakefield, the Milnes and Heywoods, so that it is said a favourite toast of theirs was—"The Milnes were, the Heywoods are; and the Naylors will be"; a toast destined never to be realised, for in 1825 the mercantile house of the Naylors collapsed.

* * * * *

Another Yorkshire neighbour whom the Stanhopes visited at this date was Mr Beaumont of Whitley Beaumont, [10] and although on this occasion the entry regarding their visit is scanty, a fuller description of their eccentric host, written by Marianne the following autumn, may be here inserted:—

Nov. 14th, 1808.

Last Monday we met the Mills' at Grange, she, delightful as usual. We returned the next day, and in our road called on Mr Beaumont of Whitley.

The master of Whitley is a strange creature, half mad. He leads the life of a hermit, and has not had a brush, painter or carpenter in his house since he came into possession many, many years ago.

It is more like a haunted house in a romance than anything I ever saw. He is now an old man, and has never bought a morsel of furniture; half the house never was finished; one of the staircases has got no banisters. The stables were burnt down some time ago and have never yet been rebuilt. The rooms he lives in have not been put to rights for many years—a description of the things they contain would not be easy,—hats, wigs, coats, piles of newspapers, magazines and letters, draughts, bottles, wash-hand basins, pictures without frames, apples, tallow candles and broken tea-cups.

The whole house looks like a place for lumber. There are some fine rooms, but so damp and mouldy it is quite shocking. There is a chapel completely filled with old rubbish and a plaid bed which was put up for the Pretender.

In the room Mr Beaumont sleeps in I saw his coffin made of cedar wood. He scarcely ever sees a living creature and quite dislikes the sight of a woman. He does everything in the room, which no housemaid ever enters, nor indeed any part of the house.

We saw there Jack Mills, the Democrat, and his little boy who is christened Alfred Ankerstrom Mirabeau. Ankestrome was the man who killed the King of Sweden; Mirabeau the chief author of the French Revolution. He was godfather to this boy. Before you re-instate the Bourbons, should you not extirpate such a man?

Shortly after the return of the Stanhopes to town in 1807 they entertained a guest of a very opposite character, but nearly as remarkable for eccentricity as was the hermit of Whitley. In Walter Stanhope's journal for January 30th of that year is recorded a dinner party of strangely incongruous elements. "This night there dined with us Wilberforce, Wharton, Smedley, Skeffington, Sir Robert Peel and Ward."

John William Ward, afterwards Lord Dudley, was the son of a former Yorkshire neighbour of the Stanhopes, Julia, second daughter of Godfrey Bosville of Gunthwaite. As such he was an habitue of their entertainments both in London and the country, and was much liked by them in spite of his peculiarities, which occasionally led to most awkward contretemps.

An exceptionally brilliant man, agreeable, a profound scholar, a witty raconteur and noted for a remarkable memory, of which several surprising instances are still recorded, Mr Ward, in common with so many of his contemporaries, was also a celebrated gourmet, and experienced the popularity of the host who provides dinners of unusual excellence for his friends. In view of these recommendations, his eccentricities were treated with leniency by those who suffered from them; none the less, they were apt to occasion most of his acquaintances, including the Stanhopes, considerable alarm. For, a singularly absent-minded man, Mr Ward was not only in the habit of unconsciously uttering aloud his most secret reflections in a voice which could not fail to reach the ears of those most concerned, but his often uncomplimentary criticisms were sometimes, in complete mental aberration, actually addressed to the subject of his thoughts. At a dinner party this was extremely embarrassing, and when he was seen, according to his usual habit, to be engaged in stroking his chin contemplatively, preparatory to giving vent unwittingly to severe strictures upon his host or his fellow guests, universal uneasiness might be observed to prevail amongst all present.

Still more, such remarks on his part were apt to be uttered in a fashion calculated further to upset the gravity of those who overheard them. Even in ordinary conversation Mr Ward had a curious trick of employing two voices of a totally different type—one, Marianne Stanhope described as being drawn from the cellar, the other, as having its origin in more celestial regions. At one moment he spoke in the deepest bass, and the next in the highest tenor, these different tones sometimes succeeding each other with a rapidity which was singularly disconcerting, and which strangers found so perplexing that it was with difficulty they could believe two different persons were not addressing them in such varied notes. Yet, with all this eccentricity, his conversation was so well worth listening to that the matter and not the manner of it remained in the minds of his guests. Therefore, it was with universal regret that, during his later years, and after he had been Foreign Secretary under Lord Goderich, his friends learnt how his peculiarities had developed into mania, and how he had been placed under restraint.

Nor was he the only guest destined afterwards to be the victim of a tragic fate, amongst those present at the dinner party with which Mrs Stanhope began the season of 1807. Another man, then in the heyday of popularity and fame, was doomed to a yet sadder close to his meteoric career.

Sir Lumley Skeffington, of Skeffington Hall, Leicestershire, was a celebrated votary of fashion. Descended from "Awly O'Farrell, King of Conereene," and from innumerable Kings and Princes of Ireland, his ancient lineage, as well as his pronounced dandyism, gave him a claim upon the attentions of society, which was further augmented by his literary pretensions. Nevertheless, he subsequently experienced a reverse of fortune, typical of the days in which he lived; and of his rise and fall John Stanhope gives a brief account.

"Poor Skeffington," he relates, "was the Dandy of the day, par excellence. Remarkable for his ugliness, his dress was so exaggerated as to render his lack of beauty the more marked. He was a very good-natured man, and had nothing of the impertinence of manner of the fops who succeeded him. Moreover, he was a bel-esprit, writing epilogues and prologues, and was at one time the observed of all observers. I have seen him at an assembly literally surrounded by a group of admiring ladies."

Skeffington, in short, in 1805, wrote a play entitled "The Sleeping Beauty," which, produced at great expense at Drury Lane, gained for him much fame among his contemporaries and caused him for a time to be looked upon as a lion in the fashionable world. Enjoying to the full his reputation as a literary celebrity, he elected to ape certain mannerisms and eccentricities which he considered in keeping with this character. "He," Gronow mentions, "used to paint his face like a French toy. He dressed a la Robespierre and practised other follies, although the consummate old fop was a man of literary attainments, remarkable for his politeness and courtly manners, in fact, he was invited everywhere. You always knew of his approach by an avant courier (sic) of sweet smells, and as he advanced a little nearer, you might suppose yourself in the atmosphere of a barber's shop."

Skeffington, after the publication of his play, was known by the nickname of "The Sleeping Beauty," and a representation of him in that role John Stanhope describes as "the best caricature I ever saw." Tall, thin, and a complete slave to his toilet, Sir Lumley not only indulged in an abnormal use of perfumes and cosmetics, but was incessantly to be seen combing his scented tresses by the aid of a hand mirror, till it was suggested that one of his Royal ancestors must have formed a mesalliance with the mermaid who most appropriately figured in his armorial bearings, similarly employed. The extreme slimness of his figure was accentuated by a coat which he made as famous as Lord Petersham did the garment called after his name; and Byron added to the fame of the beau by mentioning him in the satire "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers":—

And sure great Skeffington must claim our praise For skirtless coats and skeletons of plays Renowned alike; whose genius ne'er confines Her flight to garnish Greenwood's gay designs, Nor sleeps with 'Sleeping Beauties,' but anon In five facetious Acts comes thundering on, While poor John Bull, bewildered with the scene, Stares, wondering what the devil it can mean.



Unfortunately, however, the harmless foibles of Sir Lumley were combined with an unbounded extravagance which finally involved the luckless dandy in a ruin as complete as it was pathetic. He disappeared from fashionable life to undergo a dreary imprisonment, and when he at last issued thence, the world which had showered blandishments upon him in his prosperity, would have no more of him. In vain did he dress exquisitely, enunciate witticisms and assume a gaiety of manner which he was far from feeling. The friends who had courted his society before his downfall now shunned his acquaintance, and a bon-mot uttered at his expense elicited the applause which his most happily-conceived jests failed to evoke. On some stranger pointing out Skeffington to Lord Alvanley, and inquiring who was that smart-looking individual, Alvanley responded with a wit more keen than kind—"It is a second edition of 'The Sleeping Beauty,' bound in calf, richly gilt and illustrated by many cuts."

For long did the luckless beau continue, with a pathetic persistence, to haunt the scenes of his former triumph. At theatres, at picture auctions, in the Park, and in all fashionable thoroughfares, he was a familiar sight, still with the passing of years the butt of the contemporaries who had once fawned upon him, and, as they gradually diminished, the standard jest of a younger generation. With the flight of Time, the blackness of his false ringlets never varied, the brilliant rouge of his cheeks, or the strange costume which he had worn during the heyday of his existence, and to which he clung after it had been obsolete for half a century. And with each year his slim figure became yet thinner, his back more bent, and his spindle legs more bowed, till at length the man who had been born early in the reign of George III. witnessed the dawning of the year 1850; after which the quaint figure of the once-famous Sir Lumley Skeffington was seen no more.



But of the fate which the future held for their guest, the Stanhopes can little have dreamed when Sir Lumley dined with them a few months after the production of his play and at the moment when his society was courted by all his acquaintances. The little dinner party composed of so many brilliant conversationalists was enjoyed by all present; the reaction which it represented to the host and hostess after the comparatively quiet week in Yorkshire was much appreciated by them; and two nights after the entry respecting it, Mrs Stanhope records further gaieties:—

Marianne went to the Opera last night with the charming Miss Glyn. It was thin & they were in their old box for the first time this season, & that is so high up, no one found them out, but she saw Frank Primrose [11] at a distance. The Opera is new done up and beautiful. Catalani [12] is very good in the Comic Opera, & there is a new dancer who is a scholar of Parisides, and dances delightfully. Kelly's room [13] is no longer open, therefore, the only ways out are the great and chair doors. However, one good has arisen—the large room has become the fashion.

London is thin, & the only party I have heard of is one at Mrs Knox's on the birthnight.

Marianne Spencer-Stanhope to John Spencer-Stanhope. February 8th, 1807.

Yesterday, we dined at Sir Richard Glyn's.... Poor Dickey! he was more forlorn than ever. I never did see such a little wooden puppet. He speechified just in the way you used to say he did at Christ Church to all the ladies in rotation. His chief business is getting chairs for the company. I think the old description of a husband would very well apply to him.... "It is a thing that sits at the bottom of the table & likes legs better than wings of Chicken."

The Duke of Norfolk, Papa has heard, just after accepting the Lord Lieutenancy of Surrey, at the Whig Club gave his old toasts—"The Sovereignty of the People." We have seen the youngest Prince of Holstein [14] & the tutor, as agreeable as usual. They heard of you at Inverary, the bad news arrived while they were in Ireland, they immediately set off for London, expecting to be ordered back to Holstein; on the contrary, they found a letter recommending them to stay quietly here. Papa means to give them a dinner. He dined the other day at his College Club himself & Lord Moira who has promised to meet the Princes here.

Papa is highly delighted with Mr Wilberforce's letter on the Slave Trade; Ld. Grenville's speech on that subject, he says, was the finest thing he ever heard.

Your love, Mrs Cator, [15] came to town for Court last Thursday. Miss Glyn saw her, and informed her how you were smitten. She laughed very hard and was much amused. She gives a curious account of the Cators & of the people she lives with at Beckenham, she says, she never was used to such people, at her uncle Sligo's; [16] but that Mr Cator [17] has known them all his life & likes them. He proposed in a curious manner. One day Miss Mahon said she must go & pack up her jewels. He asked her how many she had. She said, "About twenty pounds' worth." He said, "Well, I have about as many, suppose we club & put them together." Which they forthwith decided to do!

Our Sunday dish, Frank Primrose, is here.... I suppose we shall have him every Sunday till the family come to town. The Duchess of Gordon has taken a house in this Square, opposite the Law's in Duke St. I saw Kinnoull in the Pitt at the Opera last night. Our visitors were, the Prince Auguste for about two hours, & Jack Smyth. [18] Young Prince Estahazy [19] is one of the greatest beaux in town—he is of the first family in Hungary. The Princess of Wales not going to the Drawing-room was a sad disappointment. Some attribute it to the Prince, others hope it is her health. Dieu Sait.

Mrs Spencer-Stanhope. February 12th, 1807.

All the world is going to Court to-day, except us—& many hope to see the Princess there. I believe they will be disappointed, as there is some difficulty about her dressing in Carlton House & I suppose it is thought proper she should not go from any other.

Lady Chesterfield is to be the new Lady of the Bedchamber in the room of Lady Cardigan who declines on account of the age of her Lord, that she may dedicate more time to him.

The story of the unhappy marriage of Caroline of Brunswick with the Prince of Wales, afterwards George IV., is too well known to need repetition. Since 1796 she had lived apart from the Prince at Shooter's Hill or Blackheath, and was the object of much sympathy among a large section of the public. In 1806 reports respecting her conduct had led to there being instituted against her what was subsequently known as the delicate investigation, proceedings in which the prosecution relied principally on evidence supplied by Sir J. Douglas. The verdict was that her conduct had been imprudent but not criminal, and the populace, ever ready to take up the cause of one whom they considered unjustly treated, sang about the streets and under the windows of Carlton House, a refrain far from complimentary to H.R.H:—

"I married you 'tis true Not knowing what to do, My affairs at the time were So bad, bad, bad; But now my debts are paid And my fortune it is made, You may go home again to Your dad, dad, dad!" */

Great excitement naturally prevailed as to whether the Princess would or would not make her re-appearance at Court, but it was not till May 22nd, 1807, that she succeeded in asserting her right to do so, and on this occasion she seems to have enjoyed one of the few triumphs achieved in her unfortunate career.

Mrs Spencer-Stanhope to John Spencer-Stanhope. May 22nd, 1807.

The appearance of the Princess of Wales, both at Court and at the Opera you would read with pleasure. At the former place Sir J. Douglas was in the outer room, and a lady near who knew him by sight said something handsome of the Princess and that she hoped her Calumniators would be brought to justice. All around joined in cordially, and he slunk away.

The following year Mrs Stanhope wrote:—

Lady Hertford [20] is very busy trying to bring about a reconciliation between the Prince and Princess, and I hear she has made some progress.

Lady Hertford, who was long known by her nickname of the "Sultana," had become celebrated for her liaison with the Prince of Wales, which was destined to continue for some years till she was superseded in favour by Lady Conyngham. She was described as shy and insipid, her manners were stately and formal, and the impression which she conveyed was that of a person rigidly correct in comportment and morals. But if, indeed, she ever attempted to reunite the husband and wife whom her conduct had assisted to alienate, it was scarcely to be expected that such a mediator would meet with success in such a task. Of the luckless Princess, however, Mrs Stanhope was for long a distinct partisan; and on March 19th of that same year she wrote a description of the tactless Caroline which shows that, on occasions, the Princess could assume a dignity foreign to the usual tenor of her conduct.

Thursday, we attended the Drawingroom; most brilliant. The Princess of Wales looked extremely well & her manners are the most graceful and Royal of any I ever saw.

Ere that date, however, London had been plunged into confusion by the sudden fall of Lord Grenville's Ministry.

Marianne Spencer-Stanhope to John Spencer-Stanhope. April 27th, 1807, GROSVENOR SQUARE.

As Parliament is to be dissolved to-morrow or Tuesday, conceive the bustle which prevails thro'out this great town. The gentlemen are in agonies for their purses, and the ladies for their parties, which must either be postponed or destitute of beaux.... This last week we have been very gay—that is, we have been almost squeezed to death at sundry grand crowds, and knocked up with balls. Mrs Robinson's was good in everything but dancing, and Lady Scott's [21] was good in everything but company. The latter was nothing but a little dance, a rehearsal to a magnificent ball she means to give in May, in which she has asked us to dance in the French country dances—but helas! all that will now be at an end.... You would have been charmed with Lady Scott. I know how much you admire her, and to increase your delight, I will tell you what she eats for supper. After having already been at one table, she came to ours when everybody had done eating. She had first half a breast of mutton, then half a chicken, then a whole lobster, a blanc-manger & a mixed salad.

The Election of 1807 was one long celebrated in the history of Yorkshire, being unprecedented in the fierceness of the struggle it provoked. As is well known, there were in those days but two representatives for the entire county, and there was but one polling booth, which was in the castle yard at York. The retiring members on this occasion were Mr Walter Fawkes and William Wilberforce. The former did not seek re-election, for he took the dissolution so much to heart that he declared he should withdraw for ever from public life, but the latter speedily made good his right to represent the county once more. There remained, therefore, but one seat to be contested, and great was the excitement when it was found that the candidates were to be chosen from the two great Yorkshire houses of rival politics—Lord Milton, the son of Earl Fitzwilliam, in the Whig interest, and the Hon. Henry Lascelles, son of the Earl of Harewood, for the Tory party. Mr Stanhope, having secured his own election for his old seat of Carlisle, hastened back to Yorkshire to take part in the contest in favour of the Tory member there, whose chances of success he hoped would be enhanced by the youthfulness of Lord Milton, which gave his opponents a valuable handle for satire. As already pointed out, precocious in every role of life, Lord Milton had married at the age of nineteen, and having just attained his majority, was now anxious to represent the county.

Walter Spencer-Stanhope to John Spencer-Stanhope. CANNON HALL, May 18th, 1807.

I had no time to write to you this Day Se'nnight from Carlisle after my Election. I got to York on Tuesday night, attended the Nomination at York the next day, which was carried almost unanimously in Favour of Wilberforce, and by a great Majority in favour of Lascelles over Lord Milton, but nevertheless, this young Lordling, who was only of age the third of this month, told us he would demand a Poll on Wednesday next. My Canvass against him has been very successful and I mean, having concluded all my arrangements, both here and at Horsforth, to give my Vote on Thursday or Friday.

There has been a flood at Silkstone more tremendous than ever was known by the bursting of a cloud on the Hill to the West of the Village. An old woman and two children were drowned in one of the cottages near the Vicarage, and much damage was done all along the Course of the Brook. Strange Events seem becoming frequent in this Neighbourhood, for last year, you may have heard, during a violent storm a cottage was struck, an old woman and her two sons knocked out of the chairs in which they were seated at the table, and the soles of one of the Boys' shoes ripped from off his feet, although the entire party suffered no other damage.

To York, consequently, Stanhope repaired, where he found Lord Milton prepared to hold his own with spirit. On being taunted with his youth, he replied in the well-known words of Lord Chatham that it was a fault he would remedy every day, while a still more brilliant rejoinder to the attacks of his opponent gained him many votes. Mr Lascelles, determined to make a coup, on the Nomination day stepped across the hustings, and referring contemptuously to the age and short stature of his rival, offered him a whip and a top. Lord Milton took both with unruffled composure, and throwing the top into the crowd, he handed the whip back to his adversary with the remark that he thought Mr Lascelles' father might find greater use for it to flog his slaves in Jamaica. As the most vexed question at the election was the emancipation of the slaves, this sally provoked great enthusiasm. None the less, on the first day Mr Lascelles headed the poll.

Walter Spencer-Stanhope to John Spencer-Stanhope. YORK, May 22nd, 1807.

MY DEAR JOHN,

I have but a moment to tell you I am engaged in the severest contest that ever was known. On Wednesday the Poll began, and closed leaving Milton in a Minority, but yesterday we got near three hundred ahead, by getting early possession of the advances to the Polling Booths. To- day, Wilberforce, who was last yesterday, is regaining his lost ground fast, and I fully expect Lascelles will beat the young Lord, but the contest will be dreadful and the cost enormous. I like your eagerness, but you are full as well where you are. Were you here, you would have a fair chance of a Fever. I am a good deal heated, but not ill. We poll 2 or 3,000 a day.

What a charming account we have of William. We are all in high spirits this day. Wilberforce is the head of the Poll and Lascelles has gained upwards of fifty upon Milton.

May 27th.—Hoping that Lascelles is above 300 ahead, I left York this morning. I send you an Electioneering song I wrote, but you must not let anyone have a copy of it.

SONG.

Wave the flag, hoist the pennant, Hear our great Lord Lieutenant Who would save us the trouble of choice. "Let not Lascelles content you, Milton shall represent you, And I'll in the House guide his voice!"

Wise in speech, look, and act (I appeal to the fact), At nineteen he determined to marry, And all I could say, Till his twentieth birthday, Would hardly persuade him to tarry.

Ere at years of discretion, He sat a whole Session, E'en Grantham made way for the boy. Who's the fittest law-maker? He that's first a law-breaker; To catch thieves you a thief should employ.

What a lordling it is, With his carrotty phiz, So cried up, so flattered, so built on. You may oft take a rule From a nickname at School, And the boys named him old Lady Milton.

Oh patriot revered Go shave for a beard! Hie to Wentworth and finish this strife, York, Malton, the county, Disdained to be bound t'ye, Go and cherish your nice little wife,

Oh! soon may she bear You a fine son and heir; Then ten oxen whole you may roast; May Fitzwilliam carouse With two boys in the house Nor bewail Milton's Paradise Lost!

The contest lasted three weeks, while the actual polling occupied fifteen days, during which 25,120 votes were tendered. It is thus described in the Annals of Yorkshire:—

The county was in a state of the most violent agitation, party spirit being wound up to the highest pitch by the friends of the two noble families, and everything being done that money or personal exertion could accomplish; the roads in all directions were covered night and day with coaches, barouches, curricles, gigs, fly-waggons, and military cars with eight horses, conveying voters from the most remote parts of the county.... On the fifth day Lascelles passed his opponent and kept the lead till the 13th day, at the close of which the numbers stood,—Milton, 10,313; Lascelles, 10,255. Now the efforts were prodigious and the excitement maddening.

"All parties," wrote Mrs Stanhope, "consider themselves secure. Lord Milton met with more success than Mr Lascelles at Sheffield, Rotherham, Doncaster, and, I am sorry to add, Leeds. At Halifax, he had a very cold reception.... Mr Osbaldiston and another man were almost killed going in to vote, owing to the enormous crowd."

During all this time the state of York was indescribable, and since the public-houses were ordered by the candidates to supply gratis whatever refreshment the voters called for, the roads in every direction were lined with tipsy men who molested travellers, indulged in rioting, or slumbered in heaps by the roadside; so that, partly on account of the fatigue of travelling, but still more owing to the dangerous condition of the roads and of the city of York, the county gentlemen agreed together that the ladies who were entitled to vote should not exercise this privilege unless it should be found essential. [22]

At length the Poll closed, and amid unparalleled excitement it was found that the numbers stood thus:—

MR WILBERFORCE 11,806. LORD MILTON 11,177. Mr Lascelles 10,990.

When the news of Lord Milton's success became known in London on Sunday, all the Whig families caused their horses to be adorned with large orange favours, while the ladies at the fashionable promenade in Kensington Gardens made a lavish display of his colours. In Yorkshire, the event was celebrated by the victorious party with mad rejoicings, not the least remarkable being the behaviour of the people of Wakefield who, unable to do honour in person to the successful candidate, seized upon an old woman who lived on Clayton Hill and "chaired" her all round the town with wild enthusiasm. She was ever afterwards known by the nickname of "Lady Milton," and the street where she lived bore the name of Milton Street. But even the successful candidate must have found his triumph tempered by the fabulous cost of the election. The unusual size of the county, and the fact that voters had to be brought from and returned to such distant localities, while the cost of their transit and their keep was meanwhile defrayed by the candidates without stint, brought out the electioneering expenses at the enormous sum of L100,000 for each candidate. Lord Harewood, to whose outlay was added the mortification of its uselessness, is said to have kept a card in his pocket from that day forward with the ominous figures L100,000 inscribed on it, and whenever he was asked again to contest the county, he would produce this as an unanswerable argument against his doing so.

Meanwhile, at Ramsgate, Mrs Stanhope and her party were contenting themselves with whatever gaieties the place afforded, and on May 31st, 1807, Marianne Stanhope sent her brother an interesting account of the conditions prevailing there at that date.

NELSON'S CRESCENT.

Just now I think you would be very miserable here, for the wind is very high and whistles at every corner, the sea is rough and everything looks blowing. The night before last was dreadfully tempestuous, & all yesterday morning was very stormy, but it cleared out, happily for us, in the evening, so that we were able to take a turn on the pier.

That famous pier! The only thing worth seeing, I think, either in or out of Ramsgate, for you must know I have now seen almost all the lions:—that miserable forlorn Mansion, East Cliff, ci-devant Lord Keith's; the elegant little cake house of Mr Warne, who is going to Russia; the soi-disant cottage of Mr Yarrow, in the romantic vicinity of Pegwell Bay, celebrated, I am told for its fisheries; and last, though certainly not least, the splendid and deserted King's Gate. The building is very classic and elegant, but surely Tully's Villa must be a very different thing in the sweet Campagna of Italy, than placed on such a barren cliff. Poor fellow! Could he look out of the Elysian fields (for there, I suppose, we must place him) I think he would not admire the change of situation!

There is a regiment of Irish Dragoons here. The Colonel has just left them to take possession of a large fortune, & another officer has gone to Ireland to give a vote. Both the Irish and Germans have very good bands which often play before our windows & this is the only gaiety there is.

I am sure all the pleasure of this place must depend upon the company & when you have society that you like, what spot will not appear pleasant?

We are not too well off in that respect as you will think when I have described our acquaintance.

Our greatest intimate is Lady Jane Pery, [23] Lord Limerick's daughter, who has had so many complaints she is unable to move from her chair, though full of life and spirits. Lady Conyngham [24] is the great lady of the place, a nice, civil old woman. We were at a party at her house where we met all the natives. Her daughter, Miss Burton, is 6 ft. 4 in. in height & ugly in proportion, but very agreeable. To- morrow we are going to a party there where we are to meet everybody, for you must know that even in this small society there is an improper set. Lady Dunmore [25] & her daughters, Lady Virginia Murray, & the married one, Lady Susan Drew, [26] sisters to the Duchess of Sussex, [27] and Lord and Lady Edward Bentinck [28] & their two daughters are visited by very few proper people, but both these houses are the rendez-vous of the officers. Lady Sarah Drew had a ball the other night.

At Lady Conyngham's, we are to meet all these.

Miss Bentinck [29] is a great beauty; there has been a long affair between her and Hay Drummond, which is at last broke off by the lady. She had been sent to the Duke of Rutland's to be out of his way. Drummond contrived to introduce himself to the servants as her maid's beau, by which means he slept in the house and was able to walk with her before breakfast & late at night. At last her brother, who was shooting one morning early, & knew Drummond by sight well, found them out and gave the alarm. The Duke sent Miss Bentinck home directly, & they were to be married in September, but lo! she has changed her mind.

Mrs Spencer-Stanhope to John Spencer-Stanhope. NELSON'S CRESCENT, RAMSGATE, June 1st.

There are parties here, but the majority of women is quite ridiculous. Lord Cranley [30] the other night at Lady Conyngham's for a short time found himself the only man amongst twenty women. He said he looked as if he had broken into a Convent. I do not like his wit, he is too like a thing to be laughed at.

June 2.—We were last night at another party at Lady Conyngham's, where there were four card tables, and it was then settled that there should be a ball on the Birthday, to the no small pleasure of your sisters, who expect to have officers in plenty to dance with.

I do not believe there is any truth in Lady Glyn's report respecting Milnes, though I am convinced he thinks Miss H. Monckton very agreeable. [31] I am certain she asked Lady Galway, for she wrote me word she did not take Joy, [accept congratulations].

I have been here long enough to admire the sea, but the country will not do for a Yorkshirewoman.

June 5th.

Yesterday was the dullest Birthday I ever remember. The Guns were fired and something attempted by the Military on the sands, but it was high water, and they, moreover, fired ill. A Ball Miss Burton determined to have, and though neither Lady Edward Bentinck's party nor the Dunmores chose to attend, they danced nine couple very pleasantly. Some of the Gentlemen of the 13th had too loyally celebrated the King's Birthday, however, they did dance, and thanks to the Germans, we have some new figures, and two of them amused us very much with a Waltz, which we were very curious to see. [32] Your sisters and two men finished with a Reel, but as we were the only ladies remaining at one o'clock, we were obliged to come away, tho' the Dragoons all indignantly exclaimed that it was not keeping the Birthday. As there were more men than women, the dancing went on with spirit.

Some of the 13th went away early as they ride a race on Barham Downs this morning.

From Ramsgate, Mrs Stanhope and her Party appear to have gone a brief Tour, with which they were much pleased.

July 25th, 1807.

Our tour answered in every respect—the weather continued fine & the country through which we passed very pretty. When we arrived at Woodstock, we found we could not see the House at Blenheim before three, we therefore took fresh horses and drove all round the Park, and visited the House where Lord Rochester died. We then ate cold meat at the Inn, and at three went thro' the House & over the Pleasure Ground—large enough for a tolerable sized place. From thence, drove through the Parks of Ditchley & Hey Thorpe to Warwick.

The next morning we saw the Castle and grounds, and afterwards went to Mr Greathead's, Guy's Cliff, a pretty, small place, but noted for some beautiful paintings by his only Son who died at the age of 23 abroad. There are two pictures of Bonaparte, one with his Court face, the other when reviewing; both taken from recollection immediately after seeing him & said to be extremely like. He took a third which he presented to Louis Bonaparte.

This expedition appears to have terminated in a visit to the Lowthers at Swillington, where Mrs Stanhope records an instance of the drastic medical treatment in favour with our ancestors.

November 5th, 1807, SWILLINGTON.

Lady Lonsdale [33] is living at Leeds with Lady Elizabeth, who I fear is little, if any, better. And though Lady Lonsdale is willing to flatter herself, I fear she is too ill to be relieved by Grosvenor's plan of friction which is what they are now trying. She has five people to rub her at once.

Do send me some particulars of Miss Drummond's wedding. I hear such various stories—one that she was married in an old riding habit with a red scarf round her neck.

The recipient of Mrs Stanhope's correspondence, her son John, was at this date completing his education at Edinburgh, under the auspices of the famous Dugald Stewart, Professor of Moral Philosophy, who the year previously had received from the Whig Government a sinecure worth L600. Judging, however, by Mrs Stanhope's reference in the following letter to the kindly ministrations of a certain "Miss Anne," Moral Philosophy was not the only study which was engrossing the attention of John Stanhope.

CANNON HALL, November 23rd, 1807.

After the long quiz you will this morning receive from Marianne, perhaps a matter-of-fact letter from your mother may not be unacceptable, and if your weather in any degree resembles ours, the post will be a person held by you in great estimation, as you sit freezing over your fire.

I sincerely hope that Miss Anne's pills and grey Dinnark had the desired effect and that you are now quite in Ball trim. I like your account of Dugald Stewart and hope you retain a great deal of the knowledge which flows from his mouth. How I should like to hear him! For Moral Philosophy is my favourite study.

Your account of your dinners amused us. Sir John Sinclair [34] always collects from all quarters of the Globe; sometimes he mixes them oddly, but I think his dinners are not disagreeable. Knox, with whom you dined, lives in Grosvenor Street, his mother gives balls, and Mrs Beaumont expects she will be with her at Christmas on her road from Ireland.

It now snows as fast as possible. Thursday was a very bad day, and we have had severe frost ever since. I do not ever remember so determined a snow before Xmas, and all the old people foretell a hard winter.

Sir John Smith [35] is dead. Mrs Marriott [36] tried to be sorry, but when she recollected it would enable the Smiths to live in town and a hundred other et ceteras, for the life of her she could not grieve; and in truth he was not a man to be much regretted, he was of too selfish a character to be either much loved or esteemed.

We are much amused at the extract which you have sent us from Drummond Castle.

The extract in question, which was enclosed in this letter, runs as follows:—

PART OF THE JOURNAL OF THE CELEBRATED ELIZABETH WOODVILLE (afterwards Queen of Edward IV.) previous to her first marriage with Sir John Grey. Extracted from an ancient MS. preserved in Drummond Castle.

Monday morning. Rose at four o'clock & helped Catherine to milk the cows, Rachael, the other Dairy Maid having scalded her hands the night before. Made a Poultice for Rachael & gave Robin a penny to get something comfortable from the Apothecary's.

6 o'clock. The Bullock of Beef rather too much boiled & the beer rather stale. Mem: to talk to the Cook about the first fault & to mend the second myself by tapping a fresh barrell.

7 o'clock. Went to walk with the Lady Duchess, my Mother, [37] in the Courtyard. Fed 25 Men & Women. Chid Roger severely for expressing some ill words at attending us with the broken Meat.

8 o'clock. Went into the Paddock behind the house with my maid Dorothy, & caught Thump the black Poney & rode a matter of six miles without either Saddle or Bridle.

10 o'clock. Went to dinner. John Grey [38] a most comely Youth,—but what is that to me? a Virtuous Maiden should be entirely under the guidance of her Parents—John ate but little and stole a great many looks at me; said "Women could never be handsome in his opinion that were not good temper'd." I think my temper is not bad. No one finds fault with it but Roger, & he is the most disorderly serving man in our Family. John Grey likes white Teeth. My Teeth are of a pretty good colour, I think, & my hair is as black as Jet. John Grey, if I mistake not, is of the same opinion.

11 o'clock. Rose from table, the Company all desiring a walk in the Fields. John Grey would help me over every stile & twice he squeezed my hand. I can't say I have any great objections to John Grey. He plays at Prison Bars as well as any Country Gentleman; is remarkably dutiful to his Parents, my Lord and Lady; & never misses Church on a Sunday.

3 o'clock. Poor Robinson's house burnt down by accident. John Grey proposed a subscription among the Company for the relief of the Farmer & gave no less than 4L himself. Mem: Never saw him look so comely as at that Moment.

4 o'clock. Went to Prayers.

6 o'clock. Fed the Pigs and Poultry.

7 o'clock. Supper on Table, delayed to that hour on account of Robinson's misfortune. Mem: the Goose Pie too much baked & the Pork roasted to rags.

9 o'clock. The Company fast asleep. These late hours very disagreeable. Said my Prayers a second time, John Grey distracting my thoughts too much the first. Fell asleep at ten. Dreamed that John Grey had demanded me of my Father. [39]



CHAPTER IV

1808-1810

ON DITS FROM GROSVENOR SQUARE AND CANNON HALL

Marianne Spencer-Stanhope to John Spencer-Stanhope. GROSVENOR SQUARE, Jan 27th, 1808.

Poor Philip went to school to-day, to the great regret of all the party, for he is a general favourite. Such a lively little monkey I never saw.

On Sunday Roast Beef and Plum Pudding [1] dined with us, and were entertaining as usual, also Orator Milnes, who was quite fascinating, the first time I ever saw him so! He is perfectly different with his town face to what he appears in Yorkshire. Yesterday we had a pleasant dinnette. In the evening Lady Glyn arrived bien triste, and Mrs Beaumont all magnificence for Lady Castlereagh's. We were much surprised to find Count Holmar [2] in town, but we have had the mystery explained. He took the Princes back to their own country, and then came back here on account of his love for Miss Gifford, Lady Lansdowne's daughter by her first husband. [3] She is pretty and clever, without much fortune, but Lord Lansdowne has taken a fancy to her, has settled Southampton Castle upon her, and having no child of his own, intends making her an heiress. The young lady does not like the Count much, but her friends wish it, so there are delicacies and difficulties enough for a novel of the first order. He spent three months there this autumn, and certainly as far as a pale cheek, sunk eyes, and slender form can prove anything, he is either hopelessly consumptive or in love. So much for him!

Mrs Beaumont is quite on her high horse. 'Tis said he has asked for a peerage on account of his overwhelming influence in the county of York, all of which he employed in favour of Lord Milton! Bravo, say I!

Another story is that he has had the offer of a Swedish order, fees L150, a sky-blue ribbon, which gives no place, and the honour of being a Sir, not hereditary. I never heard of its being conferred on any but dancing masters and medical geniuses.

My father has become acquainted with Mrs Knox, and is much charmed with her. He says they seem to live in prodigious style, have a magnificent house, as finely furnished as Bretton. She said her son mentioned you in the highest terms.

We were at the Opera on Saturday. Fuller of men I never saw it; the boxes thin. The Duchess of A. was there looking fade. Kelly's room is at an end; so we had the pleasure of waiting, or rather starving in the great room for near an hour.

Marianne Stanhope, later, thus describes this room at the Opera where the audience assembled on leaving, and where each lady who was unattended by a cavalier of her own family, strove anxiously to escape the crowning ignominy of not having a beau to "hand her to her carriage."

Then came the pleasures of the crush-room, that most singular of all places of amusement, where a mob of good company assemble twice a week, in a thorough draft of air, to enjoy the pleasure of inhaling the odours of expiring lamps, amid the ceaseless din of "Lady Townley's carriage stops the way"—"Lord D——'s servants'—"—"the Duchess of N—-'s carriage"—"Lord P——'s coming down"—"The Duke of S—— must drive off," and sounds such as these constantly reiterated.

Young ladies by the dozens were to be seen freezing, with shawls off one shoulder, trying to inveigle some man, by means of sweet words or sweeter looks, to hand them to their carriages; the unfortunate mammas behind them, looking worn out in the service, ready to expire with the cold and bustle, sinking on the sofa opposite to the fireplace to await their turn with what patience they might. [4]

And after enlarging upon the various methods by which the representatives of the haut ton strove likewise to secure the satisfaction of "hearing their names proclaimed by each passer-by," she exclaims—"Say! ye frequenters of the Opera round-room, if these are not its chiefest pleasures?"

Meanwhile the flirtations which were wont to beguile this tedious hour invariably attracted much attention.

January 29th, 1808.

I have heard some news respecting the little Viscount which surprises me—that he is to marry the second Miss Bouverie as soon as she is presented. [5] That the eldest was cruel & moreover that he always preferred the second, though he has never given the slightest hint & did not go near her at the Opera, not even in the crush-room. He is gone to Bath, probably to avoid the talk & gossip of London till it is publickly declared.

February 22nd, 1808.

On Monday we were charmed at Drury Lane with Mrs Jordan in "Three weeks after Marriage." I admire her so much I could forgive the Duke of Clarence anything. On Friday, we had a dinner party at Mrs Glyn's—hum-drum enough. The next night we had a dinner here, at which we had George Hampson, who is now one of our great flirts; he has been much in Edinburgh and likes nothing better than Scotch dancing.

The dear Prims [Primroses] dine here a l'ordinaire. I met the Viscount in the Park with his love, and he went again in the evening, but I wonder they don't dine together of a Sunday. She is a nice little girl, very genteel and pleasing, but no beauty like her sister, who is all-conquering this year. At Court the other day she had a trimming and headdress of her own composition, all pheasant's feathers, the plumage of two-and-thirty. As for poor little Frankey [Frank Primrose] as Mary Lowther says, all the Roast Beef and Plum Pudding will produce nothing.

Miss de Visme [6] has not yet arrived. She has made great havoc among the Staffordshire beaux. Your old Square Flame, Miss Calcraft [7] is in a few months to come out a raging belle. She is amazingly admired by the few who have seen her. London is pronounced dullissimo, so pray continue to amuse yourself in Edinburgh, which by your account must be the gayest and pleasantest place in the world.

We are much obliged to the Duchess of Gordon for giving you so happy an opportunity of announcing the beautiful, or extraordinary presents we may expect to receive—perhaps Scotch husbands—who knows! Pray don't be dilatory. Miss Glyn is smarter, gayer, and a greater flirt than ever. A last attempt—may it succeed!

Mrs Spencer-Stanhope to John Spencer-Stanhope. February 26th, 1808.

Yesterday I had the pleasure of your gay, wild epistle. You remind me of the French prisoner who was asked how he spent his time. He answered—"We breakfast, then dance; dine, dance again; sup—encore la danse!" This I begin to suspect is a Scotch life, and very good for bile, provided the dinners are such as the prisoner partook of. You seem to be the happiest of the happy and the gayest of the gay.

Peter was quite shocked you had not mentioned Walter Scott. Have you ever met with him? Great expectations are formed of his poem. Campbell and Rogers are both going to publish poems.

March 11th, 1808.

I believe I have not written to you since your sisters were at the Argyle Rooms, [8] which they liked extremely, but where they had small opportunity of exhibiting their new steps. There was first an Operetta, then a supper, and afterwards an attempt at a dance; but the stupid English voted it not ton, and there were only about fifteen couples who ventured to defy this opinion—Marianne and Mr Macdonald one of them. Anne remained a spectator. As the dancing did not seem to be approved, Mr Greville said, for the future there should be none except upon ball nights.

March 16th, 1808.

We were at the Opera on Saturday and at the Argyle Rooms on Monday. At the latter place we had only a concert and supper—thin and I thought dull. The men are always in the house and have little time for anything but politicks.

The King is, I understand, quite provoked with the Opposition, and says that their present method of proceeding is different to any that has ever been in his reign. They depend upon wearing out the Constitutions of the Ministers. Your father told Lord Castlereagh he was certain it was all owing to his pale face and therefore he ought to put on a little rouge. The Lords sending back the Bill on the orders of Council had given great spirits to the Opposition.

The dullness of London is beyond anything I have ever known. The only new belle is Miss Hood, daughter to Lord Hood, who is quite beautiful.

Your friend Mr Macdonald did us the honour to remember us at the Argyle Rooms, but he has made so little impression on your sisters, they both asked who he was.

Mr Macdonald, who was unfortunate in having made so little impression upon Mrs Stanhope's daughters, was Archibald, third son of Alexander, Baron Macdonald of Sleat, called "Lord of the Isles." He was a great friend of John Stanhope, who, in 1806, had accompanied him on a canvassing tour through the Hebrides when such an expedition was fraught with discomfort and even danger, so little had civilization penetrated to that wild region since the days of Dr Johnson's famous tour seventy years previously. Failing in his canvass, Archibald Macdonald subsequently made another attempt to obtain a seat in Parliament, of which he sent the following account to the former companion of his efforts:—

Archibald Macdonald to John Spencer-Stanhope. METHVEN CASTLE, May 26th, 1808.

My Dear Stanhope,

You will have heard by this time that I have been half way to the North Pole (Kirkwall in the Orkneys) in quest of a seat in Par., and perhaps you will also have heard that I did not find it. However, I left no stone unturned in my researches—Philosopher's stone excepted—and only came back from my transportation four days ago, not a little happy to find myself at Methven again, for such a country I never beheld. Starvation reigns there with pinching sway, as both my nose and my stomach very soon informed me, for the one was nipped into a sort of beetroot colour by the North Winds, and the other was forced thro' a course of Salt Fish and Whiskey, for the hard season had laid an embargo on animal food, etc., and this you will say was pinching fare for a candidate from the land of plenty! Posts, only once a week, were irregular.

I must not forget to mention that I went to Orkney in the King's Cutter (The Royal George), and scarcely had we landed at Kirkwall than accounts were brought of a French privateer being within sight. Away went the Royal George, and, in 10 hours after, returned to her moorings with the Passepartout of 16 guns and 63 men from Dunkirk. The French Captain, Vanglieme, was my guest to Leith, and a most extraordinary genius he was, full of life and spirits, not in the least downcast at his misfortunes. He had a most excellent little band of music on board, which amused us all the way home; he is now on his Parole at Peebles. His behaviour to some English Captains that he had taken was so generous that they came forward to sign a certificate in his behalf to be presented by me to the Commander-in-Chief, everything that can be done for him I hope will be done—generosity for generosity.

I perceive a very beautiful place to be sold in ye papers, Park Place—Lord Malmesbury's. I wonder what they expect for it—it would suit me—but rather too high land.

Mrs Spencer-Stanhope to John Spencer-Stanhope. GROSVENOR SQUARE, June 11th, 1808.

The Princess of Wales danced all night at Burlington House with Lord Ebrington.... Mrs Bankes's rout was as full and as good as even she could wish, so many men scarcely ever seen at any Assembly, & in every respect it was good. The only disappointment was that the night would not permit of the world going into the Garden, tho' it was lighted & the Pandear Band played. Before we came away they were beginning to dance, but to that music I do not think it could be kept up with spirit.

We left dancing also at Lady Neave's, & had thoughts of returning there, but Mrs Bankes's was too pleasant to allow of our attempting to get away,—no easy thing if we had wished it, for I really believe there must have been near 2,000 people there.

A most desperate flirtation between Miss Glyn & Mr Archibald Grey. How fine "my Uncle Portland" would sound! Little Sir D——y would be killed with delight.

To-day and to-morrow we dine fourteen. Your father was at the House till past five yesterday morning. However, he stole an hour for Mrs Bankes's.

Mrs Bankes, the wife of the M.P. for Corfe Castle, [9] presumably gave this successful party for her two daughters, one of whom Lord Broughton, writing a few years later, describes as "lively and entertaining, very lovely and very clever, but a little odd." This latter characteristic appears to have been shared by her father, for various stories of his absent-mindedness have survived, and one mentioned by the same correspondent was often subsequently quoted with peculiar zest by his large circle of acquaintance. When Chantrey was thinking of a design for Satan, Mr Bankes, in the presence of a grave and learned assembly, volunteered the following unexpected recommendation: "My dear Chantrey, you had better choose some part of Satan's history and so make your task more easy—take, for instance, his conflict with sin and death!" The shout of laughter with which this unsolicited advice was received completely mystified Mr Bankes, who, for some time could not be persuaded that he had made any inappropriate suggestion. Nevertheless both he and his wife enjoyed exceptional popularity, and their parties were appreciated far more than the next entertainment referred to by Mrs Stanhope:—

June 20th.

Lady Dartmouth gives a breakfast at Blackheath this morning, the heat and dust will be dreadful. To-night we expect to be amused at the Argyle Rooms, as those who choose may go in masks. Lady Harrington goes nowhere, and the Marquis almost lives here.

Meanwhile the news from the continent was again calculated to arrest the attention of the most frivolous amongst the gay world of London. Events were assuming a more threatening aspect. The long-protracted Peninsular war had begun; but Sir Arthur Wellesley, dispatched to the relief of Portugal, three weeks after landing defeated Junot in a decisive victory at Roliga, on August 17th, 1808. Had he then pushed on, as it was said he wished to do, the whole French army must have surrendered; but his superior officers, Sir Harry Burrard and Sir Hugh Dalrymple, who landed on the two succeeding days, forbade all pursuit, and, it was asserted, obliged Wellesley to sign with them the pitiful Convention of Cintra, which allowed the French army to evacuate Portugal unharmed, and to be carried on British ships back to France. Junot admitted frankly that his men would have capitulated had they been pursued but two miles by the English, and so great was the indignation roused in England by the news of this fiasco, that the three generals demanded and obtained a court- martial. All were acquitted; but Wellesley, who had denounced the Convention vehemently before the Court, was instantly employed again, an honour which was denied to his superior officers. Hence the refrain, which became a favourite at the time.