His answer was, "Madam, in half a year all persons are alike; and the figure one is married to, like the prospect of the place one lives at, grows so familiar to one's eyes, that we look at it mechanically, without regarding either the beauties or deformities that strike a stranger." The Queen's answer was clever: "One may, and I believe one does, grow blind at last; but you must allow, my dear Lord Hervey, that there is a great difference, as long as one sees, in the manner of one's growing blind." The sisters spoke much in the same style as the mother, with horror at his figure, and commiseration for his wife. The Princess Emily said, "nothing on earth should have induced her to marry the monster." The Princess Caroline, in her soft sensible way, spoke truth and said, "She must own it was very bad, but that, in her sister's situation, all things considered, she believed she should have come to the same resolution."

From time to time, some traits of men and history oddly remind us of foreign courts in our own day. The Emperor of Germany, a personage in whom ambition and imbecility seem to have contended for the mastery, had commenced a war, which transferred hos. tilities into Italy. France, Sardinia, and Spain attacked him there, and pushed his army to the walls of Mantua. The position of Radetsky, while he continued constrained by a court which gave him little more than orders and counter-orders, was evidently the fac-simile of Austrian affairs in 1733. "Those affairs," says Lord Hervey, were so well managed, that with thirteen thousand men in Lombardy, and provisions for double the number, and ammunition in proportion, those essentials of war were so dispersed and scattered, that, whereever there were provisions there was no ammunition, and where there was ammunition there were no provisions, and where there were men there was neither ammunition nor provisions."

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The German war engaged a good deal of the public attention at this time; but much less in the nation than at the court. Prince Eugene, on the Rhine, marched to the relief of Philipsburg, while Marshal Berwick, with one hundred thousand men, carried on the siege. The high repu

tation of Prince Eugene had excited the King's hope that Philipsburg would be relieved. It was, however, taken. This gave rise to a smart saying of the Princess Royal. She observed to Lord Hervey, after the drawing-room, shrugging up her shoulders, "Was there ever any thing so unaccountable as the temper of papa! He has been snapping and snubbing every mortal for this week, because he began to think that Philipsburg would be taken; and this very day, that he hears it is actually taken, he is in as good humour as ever I saw him in my life. But all this seems so odd, that I am more angry at his good humour than I was at his bad." Lord Hervey said, with that sort of wit which was fashionable at the time, "that this was like David, who, when his child lived wore sackcloth, but when it was dead, shaved and drank wine."-" It may be like David," said the Princess, "but I am sure it is not like Solomon."

The King had a foolish habit of talking of war, of imagining his genius made for renown, and of pronouncing himself infinitely unlucky in not being permitted by his minister to gain laurels in Germany. Walpole exhibited his power in nothing more effectually than in preventing the operation of this thirst for "glory."— "He could not bear," said the monarch, "that while he was engaged only in treaties, letters, and despatches, his booby brother, the brutal King of Prussia, should pass his time in camps and in the midst of arms," neither desirous of the glory, nor fit for the employment.

Walpole, who saw the danger of involving England in this war, and probably the absurdity of going to war for the sake of any foreigners, reminded the King of the existence of the Pretender, and of the probability "that his crown would yet have to be fought for on British ground." As to the Queen, Lord Hervey said, "the shadow of the Pretender would beat the whole German body."

His lordship's knowledge of the world appears to have extinguished all his ideas of its generosity: for he finds a personal motive in every thing. Thus, he assigns three reasons for Walpole's pacific advice. One was, to avoid new clamour against his

administration; the next was, to avoid the unpopularity of new taxes; and the third was, that military business might not throw his power into the hands of military men.

The Memoir then proceeds "to toss and gore" all the prominent public men in succession. It tells us that the Duke of Newcastle, who always talked as his master talked," echoed all the King's "big words," and expatiated for ever on regaining Italy for the Emperor, chastising Spain, and humbling the pride of France. Next comes the Duke of Grafton; of whom it is said, that loving to make his court as well as the Duke of Newcastle, he talked in the same strain, and for the same reason; but "could never make any great compliment to the King and Queen of embracing their opinions, as he never understood things enough to have one of his own." Next comes Lord Grantham. "He was a degree still lower, and had the gift of reasoning in so small a proportion, that his existence was barely distinguished from a vegetable." Then follows Lord Harrington. Of him it is said that," with all his seeming phlegm, he was as tenacious of an opinion, when his indolence suffered him to form one, as any man living. His parts were of the common run of mankind. He was well bred, a man of honour, and fortunate, loved pleasure, and was infinitely lazy." The Queen once in speaking of him said, "There is a heavy insipid sloth about that man, that puts me out of all patience: he must have six hours to dress, six more to dine, six more for his intrigues, and six more to sleep; and there, for a minister, are the fourand-twenty admirably disposed of; and if, now and then, he borrows six of those hours, to do any thing relating to his office, it is for something that might be done in six minutes, and ought to have been done six days before."

We have then another instance of the discomforts of Royalty in those times. The day before the birthday, October 29, 1734, the court removed from Kensington to London, and the Queen, "who had long been out of order with a cough and a little lurking fever, notwithstanding she had been twice blooded, grew every hour worse and

VOL. LXIV.-NO. CCCXCV.

worse. However, the King forced her, the night she came from Kensingtonthe first of Farinelli's performancesto the Opera, and made her the next day go through all the tiresome ceremonies of drawing-rooms and balls, the fatigues of heats and crowds, and every other disagreeable appurtenance to the celebration of a birthday."

His lordship observes that "there was a strange affectation of an incapacity of being sick, that ran through the whole_royal family. I have known the King to get out of his bed, choking with a sore throat, and in a high fever, only to dress and have a levee, and, in five minutes after it, undress and return to his bed, till the same ridiculous farce of health was to be presented the next day at the same hour. He used to make the Queen, in like circumstances, commit the same extravagances; but never with more danger than at this time. In the morning drawing-room, she found her→ self so near swooning, that she was forced to send Lord Grantham to the King, to beg he would retire, for that she was unable to stand any longer; notwithstanding which, at night, he brought her into a still greater crowd at the ball, and there kept her till eleven o'clock."

The recollections of those times constantly bring the name of Lady Suffolk before the eye. We have no wish to advert to the grossnesses connected with the name; but the waning of her power gave a singular pungency to opinion in the palace. The Princesses were peculiarly candid upon the occasion. The Princess Emily "wished Lady Suffolk's disgrace, because she wished misfortune to most people. The Princess Caroline, because she thought it would please her mother. The Princess Royal was for having her crushed; and, when Lord Hervey made some remonstrance, she replied, that Lady Suffolk's conduct, with regard to politics, had been so impertinent, that she cannot be too ill used." It must seem strange to us that such topics should have been in the lips of any women, especially women of such rank-but they seem to have been discussed with the most perfect familiarity; and a name and conduct which ought to have been suppressed through mere delicacy, appear to have fur

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nished the principal conversation of the court.

The next affair was the quarrel with the Princess of Orange, from her reluctance to return to Holland. As she was about to be confined, her husband was desirous that his child should be born in Holland. To this the Princess demurred. However, they at length contrived to send her on board, and she sailed from Harwich; but after she had been some time at sea, she either grew so ill, or pretended to be so ill, that she either was, or pretended to be, in convulsions: we give his lordship's rather ungallant surmise. On this, and the wind not being quite fair, she obliged the captain of the yacht to put back to Harwich. She then despatched a courier to London with letters, written, as it was supposed, by her own absolute command, from her physician, her accoucheur, and her nurse, to say that she was disordered with her expedition, and that she could not be stirred for ten days from her bed, nor put to sea again, without the hazard of her child's life and her own. The King and Queen declined giving any orders. The Prince of Orange was written to, and he desired that his wife might go by France to Holland. The King, hating the bustle of a new parting, directed that she should cross the country from Harwich to Dover; but his Majesty, after having been informed that the roads were impassable at this time of the year in a coach, (how strangely this sounds in our day of universal locomotion!) permitted her to come to London and go over the bridge; but it was a positive command that she should not lie in in London, nor even come to St James's. Accordingly," after all her tricks and schemes, to avoid going to Holland, and to get back to London, she was obliged to comply with those orders; and had the mortification and disgrace to go, without seeing any of her family, over London Bridge to Dover."

A note conjectures, that the Princess Royal might have had some expectation of ascending the throne of England, neither of her brothers being then married; a circumstance, which may account for the Princess's anxiety to have her child born in this country.

The next scene is laid among the bishops. The bishopric of Winches

ter had been promised to Hoadly. Willis, the Bishop of Winchester, was seized with an apoplectic fit, and Lord Hervey instantly wrote to Hoadly, who was then Bishop of Salisbury, to come up to town and enforce his claim. The bishop wrote to the Queen and Sir Robert letters, which were to be delivered as soon as Willis was dead. The Queen, on presenting those letters, asked Lord Hervey if he did not blush for the conduct of his friend in this early and pressing application for a thing not yet vacant. While he was speaking, the King came in, and both King and Queen talked of Hoadly, in such a manner as plainly showed that they neither esteemed nor loved him, Potter, Bishop of Oxford, a great favourite of the Queen, strongly solicited Winchester, and would have obtained it, but for Walpole's suggestion, that the engagements to Hoadly could not be broken without scandal. Hoadly at last obtained Winchester; and, as the Memoir observes, one of the best preferments in the church was conferred upon a man hated by the King, disliked by the Queen, and long estranged from the friendship of Walpole. Then all followed in the way which might have been anticipated; the King not speaking a word to the new bishop, either when he kissed his hand or did homage; the Queen, when she found it could not be helped, making the most of promoting him,-and Bir Robert taking the whole merit of the promotion to himself.

Another source of contention now arose. The Chancellor Talbot had recommended Rundle, a chaplain of his father, the late Bishop of Durham, for the see of Gloucester, which had been vacant a twelvemonth. Gibson, Bishop of London, objected to him, that fourteen or fifteen years before he had been heard to speak disrespectfully of some portions of Scripture, and Rundle was suspected of Arianism. This reason was certainly sufficient to justify inquiry.

Sir Robert, in his usual style, tried to mediate; begged of the Chancellor to give up his support of Rundle, offering him at the same time a deanery, or to give him the Bishopric of Derry in Ireland, then possessed by Henry Downes; of whom the Memoir speaks

as a crazy old fellow with three thousand a-year. This affair ended in Benson's being made Bishop of Gloucester, and Secker Bishop of Bristol, both formerly chaplains to the Chancellor's father. Rundle was subsequently made Bishop of Derry, where he died, nine years after, in his sixtieth year, much regretted.

Walpole was now visibly approaching decline. He had become negligent of the claims of his friends, and solicitous only to conciliate his enemies. Of course, where he bought over one opponent, there were fifty others ready to fill up his place. This policy failed, and ought always to fail. At the close of the session, say the Memoirs, "the harvest of court favour was small, though the labourers were many." The only things to give away were the Privy Seal, by the retirement of Lord Lonsdale, and the Secretaryship at War, by the dismissal of Sir William Strickland, "who was become so weak in mind and body, that his head was as much in its second infancy as his limbs."

A new source of ministerial vexation was added to the mêlée, by the King's sudden determination to run over to Hanover, in spite of all remonstrance the royal answer being always "Pooh, stuff! You think to get the better of me, but you shall not."

Walpole, who dreaded that the King, once in Hanover, would plunge the country into a war, tried to set the Queen against this untoward journey; but her Majesty, though she gave the minister fair words, was in favour of the freak. The reasons assigned by the Memoir for her conduct being those rather irreverent ones, on the part of his lordship-pride in the éclat of the regency; the ease of being mistress of her hours, which was not the case for two hours together, when the King was in England; and, "besides these agrémens, she had the certainty of being, for six months at least, not only free from the fatigue of being obliged to entertain him for twenty hours in the wenty-four, but also from the more irksome office of being set up to receive the quotidian sallies of a temper that, let it be charged by what hand it would, used always to discharge

its hottest fire, on some pretence or other, upon her."

But one trouble arose from the King's going to Hanover, which her Majesty did not at all foresee;" and which was his becoming, soon after his arrival, so much attached to a Madame Walmoden, "a married woman of the first fashion in Hanover," that nobody in England talked of any thing but the declining power of the Queen.

They might justly have talked much more of the insult of this conduct to public morals; but we shall not go further into those details. They absolutely repel the common sense of propriety, to a degree which, we hope, will never be endurable in England. The King, however, gave her Majesty, in the long succession of his correspondence, the complete history of his passion, its progress, and his final purchase of the lady for 1000 ducats! A proof, as Lord Hervey says, more of his economy than his passion.

The life of courts is stripped of its glitter a good deal by the indefatigable courtier who has here left us his reminiscences; but it requires strong evidence, to believe that the persons who constitute the officials of royal households can submit to the humiliations described in these volumes.

The Queen narrates a sort of quarrel which she had with Lady Suffolk, a woman so notoriously scandalous, that the wife of George II. ought not to have suffered her to approach her person. The quarrel was, as a note conceives it, not about holding a basin for the Queen to wash in, but about holding it on her knees. (What person of any degree of self-respect can discover the difference?) But Lady Suffolk, on this nice distinction, consulted the well-known Lady Masham, bedchamber woman to Queen Anne, as to the point of etiquette. This authority delivered her judgment of chambermaid duties, in the following style :"When the Queen washed her hands, a page of the backstairs brought and set down upon a side-table the basin and ewer. Then the bedchamber woman set it before the Queen, and knelt on the other side of the table over against the Queen, the bedchamber lady only looking on. The bedchamber woman brought in the chocolate, and gave it

kneeling." Lady Suffolk, formerly Mrs Howard, had been bedchamber woman, and of course had performed this menialism! "We shall see byand-by," adds the note, "that the lady of the bedchamber, though a countess, presented the basin for the Queen's washing, on her knees."

If such things were done, we must own that it wholly exceeds our comprehension how they could be exacted on the one side, or submitted to on the other. We are sure that there is not a scullion in England who would stoop to hold a basin for her mistress's ablutions on her knees. Yet, however we may be surprised at the existence of such practices, it is impossible to feel the slightest sympathy for the persons whom their salaries tempt to the sufferance.

We have left ourselves but little room for the biography of Lord Hervey himself. He was born in 1696, the second son of the first Lord Bristol. He travelled; returned to solicit a commission; failed in his solicitation; became, of course, "a virtuous opponent of the court," and attached himself to the Prince and Princess, who held a sort of Opposition court at Richmond. Hervey, young, handsome, and polished, became a general favourite. He won the most accomplished woman of her time; married; and, in 1723, became Lord Hervey by the death of his elder brother, a man of ability, but of habits remarkably profligate.

On the death of George I., Hervey changed his politics; abandoned Pulteney; leveed Walpole; obtained a pension of £1000 a-year; received another gilded fetter, in the office of vicechamberlain, and became a courtier for life.

Whether to console himself for this showy slavery, or to indulge a natural taste for the sarcasm which is forbidden in the atmosphere of high life, he wrote the Memoirs, of which we have given a sketch. The prudence of his son, the third earl, kept them in secret. The marquis, nephew of that earl, probably regarding the time as past when they could provoke private resentment, has suffered them to emerge, and Mr Croker has edited them, for the benefit of the rising generation.

Whether the editor has done credit to himself or service to the public, by this employment of his hours of retirement, has been the subject of considerable question. That the volumes are amusing there can be no doubt; that they are flippant and frivolous there can be no question whatever; that they disclose conceptions of the interior of courts which may "make the rabble laugh and the judicious grieve," that, though filtered through three generations of correctors, they yet remain miry enough still, requires no further proof than their perusal.

We say this in no favouritism for either the King or the Queen: the truth was probably told of both. Their foreign habits evidently clung to them; and the purer feelings of England, as evidently, had not the power to purify the practices of their foreign descent. But if Lord Hervey's mind was exercised in giving the secret life of courts to the world, we think that a much more contemptuous subject for the pencil might be found, in the man who, earning his daily bread by his courtiership, pretended to independence of opinion; who, listening to every expression of royalty with a bow, and receiving every command with the submission of a slave, threw off the sycophant only to assume the satirist, and revenged his sense of servitude only by privately registering the errors of those, the dust of whose shoes he licked for twelve hours in every twenty-four.

But we must hope that the Memoirs of Lord Hervey will be the last with which the national curiosity is to be stimulated. We must have no further ill-natured overflowing on the absurdities of high life. If this fashion shall invade the shelves and scrinia of noble families, there is probably not a household of the higher ranks which may not furnish its tribute. We shall be overrun with feeble gossiping and obsolete scandal. No rational purpose can be held in view by indulging the posthumous malice of a discontented slave. No manly curiosity can be gratified by breaking up the tomb, showing us only the decay so long hidden by its marbles and escutcheons from the eye.-Requiescat.