"I am

the fence and the hill. Yet this is nothing to what is to come. The Bishop and I walked down to my meadow by the river. At this end were two fishermen in a boat, but their backs had been turned to the agitation, and they had seen nothing. At the farther end of the field was a gentleman fishing, and a woman by him; I had perceived him on the same spot at the time of the motion of the waters, which was rather beyond where it was terminated. I now thought myself sure of a witness, and concluded he could not have recovered his surprise. I ran up to him; "Sir," said I, "did you see that strange agitation of the waters ?" "When, Sir? when, Sir?" "Now, this very instant, not two minutes ago." He replied, with the phlegm of a philosopher, or of a man that can love fishing, Stay, Sir, let me recollect if I remember nothing of it." "Pray, Sir," said I, scarce able to help laughing, "you must remember whether you remember it or not, for it is scarce over." trying to recollect," said he, with the same coolness. Why, Sir," said I, "six of us saw it from my parlour window yonder." "Perhaps," answered he, "you might perceive it better where you were, but I suppose it was an earthquake." His nymph had seen nothing neither, and so we returned as wise as most who inquire into natural phenomena. We expect to hear to-morrow that there has been an earthquake somewhere; unless this appearance portended a statequake. You see, my impetuosity does not abate much; no, nor my youthfullity, which bears me out even at a sabat. I dined last week at Lady Blandford's, with her, the old Denbigh, the old Litchfield, and Methuselah knows who. I had stuck some sweet peas in my hair, was playing at quadrille, and singing to my sorcières. The Duchess of Argyle and Mrs. Young came in; you may guess how they stared; at last the Duchess asked what was the meaning of those flowers? "Lord, Madam," said I, " don't you know it is the fashion? The Duke of Bedford is come over with his hair full." Poor Mrs. Young took this in sober sadness, and has reported that the Duke of Bedford wears flowers. You will not know me less by a precipitation of this morning. Pitt' and I were busy adjusting the Gallery. Mr. Elliot came in and discomposed us; I was horridly tired of him. As he was going, he said, "Well, this house is so charming, I don't wonder at your being able to live so much alone." I, who shudder at the thought of anybody's living with me, replied very innocently, but a little too quick, "No, only pity me when I

1 Thomas Pitt, afterwards (1784) the first Lord Camelford.-CUNNINGHAM.

don't live alone." Pitt was shocked, and said, "To be sure he will never forgive you as long as he lives." Mrs. Leneve used often to advise me never to begin being civil to people I did not care for : "For," says she, "you grow weary of them, and can't help showing it, and so make it ten times worse, than if you had never attempted to please them."

I suppose you have read in the papers the massacre of my innocents. Every one of my Turkish sheep, that I have been nursing up these fourteen years, torn to pieces in one night by three strange dogs! They killed sixteen outright, and mangled the two others in such a manner, that I was forced to have them knocked on the head. However, I bore this better than an interruption.

I have scrawled and blotted this letter, so I don't know whether you can read it; but it is no matter, for I perceive it is all about myself; but what has one else in the dead of summer? In return, tell me as much as you please about yourself, which you know is always a most welcome subject to me. One may preserve one's spirits with one's juniors, but I defy anybody to care but about their cotemporaries. One wants to know about one's predecessors, but who has the least curiosity about their successors? This is abominable ingratitude: one takes wondrous pains to consign one's own memory to them at the same time that one feels the most perfect indifference to whatever relates to them themselves. Well, they will behave just so in their turns. Adieu!

871. TO SIR HORACE MANN.

Strawberry Hill, Sept. 1, 1763.

My letters are like the works of Vertot; I write nothing but les Révolutions d'Angleterre. Indeed, the present history is like some former I have sent you,-a revolution that has not taken place, and, resembling Lord Granville's,' begun and ended in three days. I could have despatched it last Tuesday with regard to the termination of it; but, though I heard it was begun, even on the Saturday while it was beginning, my curiosity did not carry me to town till Tuesday, when I found it all addled. Still, I knew too little to detail it to you; and, even now, I can tell you little more than the outlines and general report-but have patience; this is one of

In 1746.-WALPOLE.

the events which in this country will produce paper-war enough, and between attacks and defences one comes pretty near to the truth of the whole.

Last Sunday was se'nnight Lord Egremont died suddenly, though everybody knew he would die suddenly: he used no exercise, and could not be kept from eating, without which prodigious bleedings did not suffice. A day or two before he died, he said, "Well, I have but three turtle-dinners to come, and if I survive them I shall be immortal." He was writing, as my lady breakfasted, complained of a violent pain in his head, asked twice if he did not look very particularly, grew speechless, and expired that evening. He has left eighteen thousand pounds a-year, and, they say, an hundred and seventy thousand pounds in money. I hope you have as much philosophy as I have, or you will lose patience at these circumstances, when you are eager to hear the revolution. That week, you may be sure, was passed by the public in asking who was to be Secretary of State? It seemed to lie between your old friend, Lord Sandwich, and Lord Egmont. Lord Shelburne, a young aspirer, who intends the world shall hear more of him, et qui postule le ministère, was in the mean time one of the candidates to succeed Lord Egremont. Somebody said, "It ought to be given to him as you marry boys under age, and then send them to travel till they are ripe." While this vacancy was the public's only object, behold Mr. Pitt, in his chair, with two servants before it, goes openly, at nine o'clock on Saturday morning, through the Park to Buckingham House. You rub your eyes; so did the mob, and thought they did not see clear. Mr. Pitt, of all men alive, except Lord Temple and Mr. Wilkes, the most proscribed there, Mr. Pitt to Buckingham House! Oui, véritablement! What! to ask to be Secretary of State? By no means: sent for; desired to accept the Administration. Well, but do you know who stared more than the mob or you; the Ministers did; for it seems this was the act and deed of Lord Bute, who, though he had given the present Administration letters of attorney to act for him, has thought better of it, and retained the sole power himself; the consequence of which was, as it was before, that he grew horridly frightened, and advised this step, which has done him more hurt than all he had done before.

Mr. Pitt stayed with the King three hours; is said not to have

1 Sir Charles Wyndham, first Earl of Egremont.--WALPOLE.

demanded more than might well be expected that he would demand; and had all granted. The next day, Sunday, the Opposition were much pleased, looking on their desires as obtained; the Ministers, as much displeased, thinking themselves betrayed by Lord Bute. On Monday, Mr. Pitt, who the day before had seen the Duke of Newcastle and the Lord Mayor Beckford,-the one or the other of whom is supposed to have advised what follows,-went again to the King, with a large increase of demands. What those were are variously stated, nor do I pretend to tell you how far the particulars are exact. The general purport is, though I dare say not to the extent given out, that he insisted on a general dismission of all who had voted for the Peace; and that he notified his intention of attacking the Peace itself: that he particularly proscribed Lord Holland, Lord Halifax, Lord Sandwich, Lord Barrington, and Lord Shelburne ; named himself and Charles Townshend for Secretaries of State, Lord Temple for the Treasury, Pratt for Chancellor; proposed some place, not of business, for the Duke of Newcastle, forgot Mr. Legge, and desired the Duke of Cumberland for the head of the Army. They tell you, that the King asked him, "Mr. Pitt, if it is right for you to stand by your friends, why is it not as right for me to stand by mine?" and that the treaty broke off, on his Majesty's refusing to give up his friends. Broken off the negociation certainly is. Why broken, I shall, as I told you before, wait a Little before I settle my belief. The Ministers were sent for again; Mr. Pitt and Lord Temple, according to the modern well-bred usage, were at the levée yesterday, had each their Drawing Room question; and there ended this interlude.

It is said Lord Sandwich kisses hands to-morrow for Secretary of State. If a President of the Council is named too, I shall think they mean to stand it: if not, I shall conclude a door is still left open for treating.

There was a little episode, previous to this more dignified drama, which was on the point of employing the attention of the public, if it had not been overlaid by the revolution in question. The famous Mr. Wilkes was challenged at Paris, by one Forbes, an outlawed Scot in the French service, who could not digest the North Britons. Wilkes would have joked it off, but it would not do. He then insisted on seconds; Forbes said, duels were too dangerous in France for such extensive proceedings. Wilkes adhered to his demand. Forbes pulled him by the nose, or, as Lord Mark Kerr,'

1 Brother of the Marquis of Lothian, a very brave but remarkably formal man.WALPOLE.

in his well-bred formality, said to a gentleman, "Sir, you are to suppose I have thrown this glass of wine in your face." Wilkes cried out murder! The lieutenant de police was sent for, and obliged Forbes to promise that he would proceed no farther. Notwithstanding the present discussion, you may imagine the Scotch will not let this anecdote be still-born. It is cruel on Lord Talbot, whom Wilkes ventured to fight.

Other comical passages have happened to us at Paris. Their King, you know, is wondrous shy to strangers, awkward at a question, or too familiar. For instance, when the duke of Richmond was presented to him, he said, "Monsieur le Duc de Cumberland boude le Roi, n'est-ce pas ?" The duke was confounded. The King persisted, "Il le fait, n'est-il pas vrai ?" The duke answered very properly, "Ses ministres quelquefois, Sire, jamais sa Majesté." This did not stop him: "Et vous, milord, quand aurez-vous le cordon bleu?" George Selwyn, who stood behind the duke, said softly, "Answer that if you can, my lord." To Lord Holland, the King said, "Vous avez fait bien du bruit dans votre pays, n'est-ce pas ?" His answer was pretty too: "Sire, je fais tout mon possible pour le faire cesser." Lord Holland was better diverted with the Duchess d'Aiguillon; she got him and Lady Holland tickets for one of the best boxes to see the fireworks on the Peace, and carried them in her coach. When they arrived, he had forgot the tickets; she flew into a rage, and, sans marchander, abused him so grossly that Lady Holland coloured, and would not speak to her. Not content with this, when her footman opened the door of the coach, the duchess, before all the mob, said aloud, "C'est une des meilleures têtes de l'Angleterre, et voici la bêtise qu'il a fait!" and repeated it. He laughed, and the next day she recollected herself, and made an excuse.

Mrs. Poyntz' is au comble de la gloire at Versailles; she has cured Madame Victoire of the stone, by Mrs. Stephens's medicine. When Mrs. Poyntz took leave of them for Spa, they shut the door, and the whole Royal Family kissed her; for the King is so fond of his children that, they say, it was visible every day in his countenance whether his daughter was better or worse.

We sent you Sir William Stanhope,' and my lady, a fond couple;

1 Anna Maria Mordaunt, wife of Stephen Poyntz, governor of William, Duke of Cumberland. She had been a great beauty: the poem of 'The Fair Circassian' was written on her. She was Maid of Honour to Queen Caroline. [Vol. ii. p. 233].WALPOLE.

2 A man of wit, and brother of the famous Lord Chesterfield. His third wife was sister of Sir Francis Delaval.-WALPOLE.