amining the street passengers through an eyeglass with his remaining eye, (it was currently stated that the other was of glass,) and when a female pedestrian struck his fancy, an emissary was instantly dispatched after her. That no time might be lost, a pony was always kept saddled for the purpose. It is a fact,' says Wraxall, that he performed in his own draw'ing-room the scene of Paris and the goddesses. This classic 'exhibition took place in his house opposite the Green Park.' We do not believe that any exhibition took place at all-founding our scepticism more on the folly than the vice; yet it is melancholy to think to what human nature may be degraded by sensuality.

A striking illustration of his shrewdness was given by Lord Brougham, in his evidence before the Lords' Committee on Lord Campbell's Libel Bill:

The late Duke of Queensberry was a great alarmist in 1792, like many other very noble, very rich, and very honourable men. He thought there was an end of all things, and he used to be abusing prin. cipally the seditious writings of the day, giving them and their authors ill names in great abundance and variety, as infamous, detestable, abominable-when one day some toad-eater who attended his person, added, "Ay, indeed, and full of such falsehoods." "No," said the Duke, "not falsehoods-they are all so true; that is what makes them so abominable and so dangerous." If his grace had felt all that was said on the corruptions of parliament and office to be groundless, he would have let them write on in the same strain to the end of time.'

A characteristic trait has been preserved by Mr Wilberforce :·

I always observe that the owners of your grand houses have some snug corner in which they are glad to shelter themselves from their own magnificence.* I remember dining, when I was a young man, with the Duke of Queensberry, at his Richmond villa. The party was very small and select-Pitt, Lord and Lady Chatham, the Duchess of Gordon, and George Selwyn, (who lived for society, and continued in it till he looked really like the waxwork figure of a corpse,) were amongst the guests. We dined early, that some of our party might be ready to attend opera. The dinner was sumptuous, the views from the villa quite enchanting, and the Thames in all its glory; but the Duke looked on with indifference. "What is there," he said, "to make so much of in the Thames? I am quite tired of it—there it goes, flow, flow, flow, always

the

the same."

* And thus the most luxurious court in Europe, after all its boasted refinements, was glad to return at last, by this singular contrivance (the table volante at Choisy,) to the quiet and privacy of humble life.ROGERS' Poems, Note.

This is precisely what we should have expected from the Duke; and no one was better qualified than Mr Wilberforce to explain, why the glorious scene before them was a sealed book to the worn voluptuary-why his spirit's eye was blind to itwhy every simple, innocent, unforced gratification was denied to him and why the full enjoyment of natural beauty and sublimity is reserved for men of purer lives and higher minds than his.

The Duke's notions of comfort, on which his opinion was worth having, were expressed in a letter to Selwyn:-' I wish you were here (the place is not stated.) It is just the house you would wish to be in. There is an excellent library; a good parson; the best English and French cookery you ever tasted; strong coffee, and half-crown whist.'

It has been stated that he paid his physicians on the plan adopted by the Chinese emperors-so much per week for keeping him alive. If so, he cheated them; for the immediate cause of his death was imprudence in eating fruit. He died in 1810, firm and self-possessed. His deathbed was literally covered with unopened billets (more than seventy) from women of all classes, which he ordered to be laid on the counterpane as they were brought. His personal property exceeded a million, and his will, with its twenty-five codicils, was a curious document. He left L.150,000 and three houses to Mie Mie, and made her husband (the late Marquis of Hertford, a congenial spirit) his residuary legatee.

Selwyn's most intimate friends and frequent correspondents, after the Duke, were George James (alias Gilly) Williams, and Lord Carlisle.

Of Williams, little is known. He was the son of Peere Williams, the compiler of three volumes of Chancery cases, highly esteemed by equity lawyers. He was connected by marriage with Lord North, and, in 1774, was appointed Receiver-General of Excise. Selwyn, Edgecumbe, Walpole, and Williams, used to meet at stated periods at Strawberry Hill, and form what Walpole called his out-of-town party. Gilly's letters convey a highly favourable impression of his social pleasantry; and it seems that he soon acquired some reputation as a wit. I have desired

Lord R. Bertie (he writes in 1751) to propose me at White's. 'Don't let any member shake his head at me for a wit; for, God 'knows, he may as well reject me for being a giant.'

Frederick, fifth Earl of Carlisle, was a remarkable man in many ways. He filled some important public situations with credit; and on his being appointed Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, his intimate friend, Storer, writes I wish he was Secretary of State. It is a joke to think it too high a step. I am of the 'old King's opinion, that a man in this country is fit for any place

' he can get, and I am sure Carlisle will be fit for any place he 'will take.'

In literature, he distinguished himself as a poet; but unluckily he is principally known in that capacity through Lord Byron, who, in his English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, levels twelve unjust and acrimonious lines at him. In the first sketch of the poem these twelve lines were wanting, and their place was occupied by two

On one alone Apollo deigns to smile,

And crowns a new Roscommon in Carlisle."

Lord Carlisle had offended his young relation, between the writing and the printing of the poem, by refusing to introduce him on his taking his seat in the House of Lords. Lord Byron afterwards deeply regretted the injury. There is a beautiful atonement in the third canto of Childe Harold; and in writing, in 1814, to Mr Rogers, he thus expresses himself Is there any chance or possibility of making it up with Lord Carlisle, as I feel disposed to do any thing, reasonable or unreasonable, " to effect it?"

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In private life and early youth, Lord Carlisle, endowed with warm feelings, a lively fancy, and an excitable disposition, was peculiarly liable to be led astray by the temptations which assail young men of rank. In 1769, being then in his twenty-first year, he went abroad, desperately in love with some wedded fair one. She forms the burden of many a paragraph in his letters. to Selwyn; who, though nearly thirty years older, entered warmly into all his feelings.

I thought I had got the better of that extravagant passion, but I find I am relapsed again. I tremble at the consequences of the meeting, and yet I have not the courage, even in thought, to oppose its temptations. I shall exert all the firmness I am capable of, which, God knows, is very little, upon that occasion. If I am received with coolness, I shall feel it severely. I shall be miserable if I am made too welcome. Good God! what happiness would I not exchange, to be able to live with her without loving her more than friendship will allow! Is my picture hung up, or is it in the passage with its face turned to the walls?'

From the allusion to the picture, and other indications, it is clear that the mysterious lady (who has given rise to much surmise) was the beautiful Lady Sarah Bunbury, (née Lennox,) whom it is said George III. would have married, had he been allowed. His Majesty gave up his own wishes for the good of the country, but the impression remained. Mrs Pope, the actress, was very like Lady Sarah. On one occasion at the theatre, many years after his marriage, the King turned round to the Queen in a fit of melancholy abstraction, and said, pointing to Mrs Pope, 'She is like Lady Sarah still,'

Lord Carlisle got the better of this passion, and married at twenty-two. It would have been well for his peace of mind had he been equally successful in getting the better of a still more fatal one for play. Letter after letter is filled with good resolu tions, but the fascination was too strong. The blow came at

last.

July 1776.

'MY DEAR GEORGE, I have undone myself, and it is to no purpose to conceal from you my abominable madness and folly, though perhaps the particulars may not be known to the rest of the world. I never lost so much in five times as I have done to-night, and am in debt to the house for the whole. You may be sure I do not tell you this with an idea that you can be of the least assistance to me; it is a great deal more than your abilities are equal to. Let me see you, though: I shall be ashamed to look at you after your goodness to me.'

This letter is endorsed by Selwyn, After the loss of the ten thousand pounds;' which, following on other losses, appears to have sunk the Earl to the lowest depths of despondency.

'I do protest to you, that I am so tired of my present manner of passing my time-however I may be kept in countenance by the number of those of my own rank and superior fortune-that I never reflect on it without shame. If they will employ me in any part of the world, I will accept the employment; let it tear me, as it will, from every thing dear to me in this country.

*

*

*

*

If any of our expectations should be gratified in the winter, I cannot expect any thing sufficient to balance the expenses of living in London. If I accept any thing, I must attend Parliament-I must live in London. If I am not treated with consideration, I can live here; if that can be called living, which is wasting the best years of my life in obscurity; without society to dispel the gloom of a northern climate; left to myself to brood over my follies and indiscretions; to see my children deprived of education by those follies and indiscretions; to be forgotten; to lose my temper; to be neglected; to become cross and morose to those whom I have most reason to love! Except that the welfare and interest of others depend upon my existence, I should not wish that existence to be of long

duration.

So thought and felt a man apparently possessed of every blessing-youth, health, talent, birth, fortune, connexion, consideration, and domestic ties of the most endearing kind

6

Medio de fonte leporum

Surgit amari aliquid quod in ipsis floribus angat.”

The very accident (miscalled, advantage) of his position, commends the poisoned chalice to his lips, and the lord of Castle Howard longs for death at twenty-seven! But a truce to reflection till we have introduced another, and more memorable subject for it. Lord Carlisle's embarrassments were inextricably

1

mixed up with those of Charles James Fox; and it can therefore hardly be deemed a digression to turn at once to the passages in these volumes which relate to him. The few letters of his own that occur in them, are principally remarkable for ease and simplicity. For example:

· Paris, Nov. 1770.

Quantities of cousins visit us; amongst the rest the Duke of Berwick. What an animal it is! I supped last night with Lauzun, FitzJames, and some others, at what they call a Clob à l'Anglaise. It was in a petite maison of Lauzun's. There was Madame Briseau, and two other women. The supper was execrably bad. However, the champagne and tokay were excellent; notwithstanding which the fools made du ponche with bad rum. This club is to meet every Saturday, either here or at Versailles: I am glad to see that we cannot be foolisher in point of imitation than they are."

Principally through Selwyn's introduction, Fox was on a familiar footing with Madame du Deffand and her set.

Madame Geoffrin m'a chanté la palinodie. I dine there to-day; she enquires after you very much. I have supped at Madame du Deffand's, who asked me if I was déjà sous la tutèle de M. Selvin? I boasted that I was.'

In August 23, 1771, he writes what is most worthy of notice, as follows:

I am reading Clarendon, but scarcely get on faster than you did with your Charles the Fifth. I think the style bad, and that he has a good deal of the old woman in his way of thinking, but hate the opposite party so much that it gives one a kind of partiality for him.'

His marvellous powers as a debater were remarked very soon after his first entrance into parliament. In March 1770, his delighted father writes to Selwyn :

You know by this time that your panegyric upon Charles came about an hour after I had wrote mine to you of the 9th. He writes word that upon February the 12th he spoke very ill. I do not mind that, and when he speaks so well, as to be, as Lady Mary says, the wonder of the age, it does not give me so much pleasure as what you, very justly, I think, tell me de son cœur. And yet that may not signify. I have been honest and good-natured, nor can I repent of it; though convinced now that honesty is not the best policy, and that good-nature does not meet with the return it ought to do.'

It appears from a letter addressed by Lord Carlisle to Lady Holland (Fox's mother) in 1773, that he had become security for Fox to the amount of fifteen or sixteen thousand pounds; and a letter to Selwyn, in 1777, puts the ruinous character of their gambling transactions in the strongest light. Lord Ilchester (Fox's cousin,) had lost thirteen thousand pounds at one sitting to Lord Carlisle, who offered to take three thousand