LORD COWPER’S STUDY.
No. 1.
THE HONOURABLE SPENCER COWPER, DEAN OF DURHAM.
Canonicals. White bands.
BORN 1712, DIED 1774.
HE was the second son of the Lord Chancellor Cowper by his second wife, who mentions ‘our little Spencer,’ with great affection, in her Diary, when sick of some infantine complaint. He married, in 1743, Dorothy, daughter of Charles, second Viscount Townshend, by whom he had no children. He was buried in the Cathedral at Durham.
No. 2.
THE HONOURABLE EDWARD SPENCER COWPER, M.P.
Black coat. White cravat.
BORN 1779, DIED 1823.
THE third son of George, third Earl Cowper; born at Florence; came over to England for his education with his two elder brothers. Resided at Digswell, county Herts; represented Hertford in Parliament. Married, in 1808, Catherine, youngest daughter of Thomas March Philipps of Garendon Park, county Leicester. His widow married again the Rev. D. C. A. Hamilton.
No 3.
JOHN CLAVERING, ESQUIRE OF CHOPWELL, COUNTY DURHAM.
Crimson velvet coat, lined with blue silk. White cravat.
HE was brother to Mary, Countess Cowper, wife of the Chancellor, who makes frequent mention of him in her Diary. At his death his nephew Earl Cowper annexed the name of Clavering to his own patronymic, and inherited the fortune and estates of his maternal uncle.
No. 4.
WILLIAM COWPER, AFTERWARDS FIRST EARL, AND LORD CHANCELLOR, AS A YOUTH.
Slashed sleeves. Brown mantle.
No. 5.
MARY CLAVERING, WIFE TO THE FIRST EARL, LORD CHANCELLOR COWPER.
Yellow satin gown. Holding a book. Fountain in the background.
BORN 1635, DIED 1724.
By Sir Godfrey Kneller.
THE daughter of John Clavering, Esquire of Chopwell, county Durham, a younger branch of an ancient Northumbrian family, all Jacobite in their tendencies. Mary Clavering and William Cowper became acquainted in consequence of some law transactions, on which she had occasion to consult him at his chambers. Their marriage took place shortly after he was appointed Lord Keeper of the Great Seal. ‘The wooing was not long a-doing;’ but it was far from being calm or uninterrupted in its progress; and though Lady Cowper’s Diary, from which most of our materials are taken, does not commence till 1714, when she began her Court life, yet she goes back several years to tell us how many adverse influences were at work to prevent the union, which proved so well assorted. How my Lord, being a widower when the Queen gave him the Seals, it was no wonder (particularly as he was still young and very handsome) that the young women laid out all their snares to catch him. Lady Harriet de Vere especially marked him as her prey. This lady, daughter of the last Earl of Oxford of that family, was very poor, and of a damaged reputation. She had made several advances to my Lord through her kinswoman, Mrs. Morley, but finding nothing come of it, set a spy on his actions, and dogged his steps to find out the cause of this coldness, which turned out to be no other than pretty Mistress Mary Clavering; upon which a clandestine correspondence was begun,—letters purporting to be from some great personage, and threatening him with the ruin of his official prospects if he married the lady in question. The first letter came the day before the marriage; but as the union was kept a secret, the plotters still continued to prosecute their schemes. ‘And so for months my Lord had a letter of whole sheets every day to tell him I was a mean wretch and a coquette, and the like, and how that one night the Lord Wharton (a noted profligate) had said to my Lord Dorchester at the theatre, “Now let us go and hear Molly Clavering sing the opera all over again.” Which was a lie, for I never did play in any public company, but only at home when visitors asked me.’ Some time afterwards the Lord Keeper agreed to accompany one Mrs. Weedon (who said she had a fine lady to recommend to him), in order to discover who his clandestine correspondents were, and found his suspicions confirmed, for Lady Harriet de Vere and Mistress Kirke were the very ladies who waylaid and ogled him whenever he came out of chapel. Lady Harriet was full of ‘airs and graces,’ which were of no avail. She told Lord Cowper that the Queen was very anxious she should be married, and had promised to give her a dowry of £100,000, upon which the gentleman replied, on that score he durst not presume to marry her, as he had not an estate to make a settlement answerable to so large a fortune. At length they pressed him so hard, he was forced to confess he was already married, and that, in spite of all their abuse, he could only find one fault in his wife, and that was that she played the harpsichord better than any other woman in England. Now Lady Cowper says she never would have told this story had she not thought it incumbent upon her to do so, when the Duchess of St. Albans (Lady Harriet de Vere’s sister) recommended Mrs. Kirke as a fit person to be bedchamber woman to the Princess of Wales. For some reason, public or private, perhaps a combination, the Lord Keeper kept his marriage a secret at first. In one of his letters to his wife (with whom he kept up a brisk and affectionate correspondence) he says: ‘December, 1706. I am going to visit my mother, and shall begin to prepare her for what I hope she must know in a little time.’ In another letter he gives an account of a cold, dark journey, and how his only consolation was to think her journey was shorter, and by day-light, so that he was not in fear for what he was most concerned for.
In answer to her declaring she disliked grand speeches, he agrees, and thinks the truest love and highest esteem are able to give undeniable proofs of themselves; therefore he shall depend for ever on making love to her that way. A little later he writes playfully about the lady he has carried into the country (presumed to be a fat old housekeeper); and hopes that the picture of his ‘dear life’ may soon be finished, so as to console him in some measure in his next banishment. He begs her not to imagine from anything that may look a little trifling or cheerful in his letters, that his mind is constantly in that tune: ‘’Tis only when I enjoy this half conversation with you, who, I assure you, are the only satisfaction that I propose to my hopes in this life.’ Again, he cannot go to rest without expressing his concern and amazement at her collecting ‘so much disquiet from so harmless a passage,—’tis my want of skill, if it was not the language of a lover.’ He writes at great length to dispel his dear love’s ‘melancholy fancy,’ and values no prospect in life as the continuance of her favour, and the unspeakable satisfaction he shall ever derive from doing her all the good in his power; and so on.
The Diary of Mary, Lady Cowper, was published from private documents at Panshanger in 1864, and, though fragmentary, is very interesting. It commences with the accession of George I.; and the writer tells us she had been for some years past (apparently through the medium of Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough) in correspondence with Caroline of Anspach, Princess of Wales, who had written to her most kindly. Lord and Lady Cowper were both strongly in favour of the Hanoverian succession, the wife having embraced her husband’s political opinions in contradistinction to those of her father. On the arrival of the Royal Family, Lady Cowper was kindly received, but the offer of her services was evasively answered by the Princess, so much so that she took it for granted ‘Her Royal Highness had had so many applications on the subject that she could not take me into her service. I therefore resolved not to add to the number of her tormentors, and never mentioned the thing any more.’ She was confirmed in her opinion when she heard that two ladies had been already appointed, and she well knew ‘that the necessity of affairs often forces Princes to act contrary to their inclinations.’ The coronation took place in October 1714, and thither Lady Cowper went with Lady Bristol (herself a candidate for a post in the Princess’s household), who told her companion she well knew that she (Lady Cowper) was to get an appointment. The two ladies found the peeresses’ places so full that they had to seek accommodation elsewhere, and Lady Cowper settled herself next the pulpit stairs, when Lady Northampton and Lady Nottingham came hand in hand; and the latter ‘took my place from me, and I was forced to mount the pulpit stairs. I thought this rude; but her ill-breeding got me the best place in the Abbey, for I saw all the ceremony, which few besides did, and never was so affected with joy in my life.’ Here follows an amusing account of how Lady Nottingham broke from her place, and kneeled down in front, which nobody else did, facing the King, and repeating the Litany. ‘Everybody stared, and thought she had overdone the High Church part. The Lords over against me, seeing me thus mounted, said to my Lord “that they hoped I would preach,” upon which he answered “that he believed I had zeal enough for it,” whereupon Lord Nottingham made some malicious remark, said with such an air, that, joined with what Lady Nottingham had done that day, and some other little passages that had happened, opened my eyes, and showed me how that family maligned me.’ She takes occasion to mention that the ladies not walking in procession had no gold medals. Lady Dorchester stood next to her—Catherine Sedley, whom James II. made a peeress, and who was reported to have said, ‘I wonder for what quality the King chooses his mistresses; we are none of us handsome, and if we have wit, he has not enough to find it out.’[[4]] And when the Archbishop went round asking the consent of the people, she turned and said: ‘Does the old fool think that anybody here will say no to his question, where there are so many drawn swords?’
[4]. Charles II. said his brother’s mistresses were imposed upon him by his confessor as a penance.
The Princess asked Lady Cowper if Lady Essex Robartes had delivered a message, and, being answered in the negative, ‘Her Royal Highness went on to tell me I had made a conquest, and seeing me blush, continued, “It is M. Bernstorff, who never was in love in his life before, and it is so considerable a conquest that you ought to be proud of it; and I, to please him, have ordered him to make you a compliment from me.”’
Baron Bernstorff was indeed a good friend to have at Court, being at that time German Minister and prime favourite of George I., who consulted him on every appointment of every kind. He waited on Lady Cowper the same evening, and told her she was appointed ‘Dame du Palais,’ and was to kiss hands next day.
A friendship was formed, which withstood many a change and chance, and more than one misunderstanding. On the Baron taking leave, the lady intrusted him with her lord’s treatise, An Impartial View of the State of Parties, which she herself had translated into French, and transcribed for his Majesty’s perusal, who was no English scholar. ‘Great discussion whether the Princess, on going into the city, was to kiss the Lady Mayoress (and quoting of precedents); but as her late Majesty had not done so, it was arranged neither should the Princess.’ The new Lady-in-Waiting was in attendance when Her Royal Highness went to the Lord Mayor’s Show. ‘Poor Lady Humphrys made a sad figure in her black velvet, bawling to her page to hold up her train, being loath to lose the privilege of her Mayoralty. But the greatest jest of all was that the King and Prince had been told that the Lord Mayor had borrowed her for that day only. I had much ado to convince them of the contrary, though he by marriage is a sort of relation of my Lord’s first wife.’ Query, was that a sequiter? ‘They agreed’ (Lady Cowper is quite right to record any occasion on which the King and his son were of the same mind) ‘that if he had borrowed a wife, it would have been a different one from what she was.’
October 30th (Diary).—‘The Prince’s birthday: the Court splendid; the ball opened by him and the Princess. She danced in slippers (heelless shoes) very well; but he better than any one.’
Lord and Lady Cowper, from their relative positions, had often to keep company that cannot have been very palatable to so well-conducted a pair. ‘Supped at the Lord Chamberlain’s (the Duke of Shrewsbury); Lord and Lady Wharton and Madame Kielmansegge to wait on the King. Another evening; I was mightily amused; but I could not but feel uneasy at some words I overheard the Duchess of Bolton say in French, which led me to believe the two foreign ladies were no better than they should be.’ This remark alludes to Madame Kielmansegge, the daughter of the Countess Platen (who had been mistress to the Elector, George I.’s father), and wife of General Kielmansegge, after whose death she was created Countess of Darlington by the King. Horace Walpole paints a frightful picture of ‘the Ogress,’ whose appearance terrified him when a boy. The Duchess of Shrewsbury was an Italian lady, of wit and talent, whom Lady Cowper found it impossible to dislike as much as her lord, for she was very entertaining, though she would sometimes exceed the bounds of decency. Many members of the Princess’s own household were themselves of very doubtful reputation, and we find the name of Mademoiselle de Schulenberg of frequent recurrence in the Diary, a lady who had been maid of honour to the Electress Sophia, the King’s mother, and was afterwards created Duchess of Munster and Duchess of Kendal.
November 8th (Diary).—‘My birthday [she was twenty-nine]. God grant that the rest of my life may be passed according to his will, and in his service.’ High play was the order of the day at both Courts, and the Princess and her ladies sat down every night to stake more than they possessed, while the King was often very angry with those who would not gamble. ‘I played at basset as low as I could, for which I was rallied; but I told my mistress I only played out of duty, and nobody could think ill of me if, for the sake of my four children, I desired to save.’
From numerous entries in the Diary, it would appear that Lady Cowper was averse to spreading slanderous reports, which were daily poured into her ear, from party feeling, respecting many ladies of whom she had no reason to think ill; but the quarrels and cabals at Court were endless, and daily increasing; and she was sometimes drawn into a dispute from feelings of just indignation, such as when my Lady Nottingham accused Dr. Clarke (the famous controversialist, whom Voltaire called un moulin à raisonnement) of being a heretic. But on being pressed to quote the passage on which she founded so heavy a charge, her ladyship threw up her head and replied, she never had, nor did she ever intend, to look into his writings. Then said Lady Cowper, ‘What, madam! do you undertake to condemn anybody as a heretic, or to decide upon a controversy, without knowing what it is they maintain or believe? I would not venture to do so for all the world. All this happened before the Princess, and was not likely to advance Lady Nottingham’s wish to be governess to the young Princesses.’ Taking leave of her Royal mistress at the end of her week of waiting, she says: ‘I am so charmed with her good qualities, that I feel I never can do enough for her. I am come to Court with the fixed determination never to tell a lie, and she places more confidence in what I say than in any one else on that account.’ This was in the first year of Lady Cowper’s service. Unfortunately her enthusiasm in this quarter was destined to be modified. It was evidently always a pleasure to her to bring the name of any one in whom she was interested before the Royal notice. She told the Prince of Wales that she never failed to drink his health at dinner, ‘which made him smile and say, He did not wonder at the rude health he had enjoyed since he came to England; but I told him I and my children had constantly pledged him before his arrival, by the name of “Young Hanover, Brave!” which was the title Mr. Congreve (the poet) had given him in a ballad. The Prince, however, was not learned in English literature, and asked who Mr. Congreve was, which gave me an opportunity of saying all the good of him that he deserved.’ She also bestirred herself to get places under Government for her relations, who were for the most part very ungrateful; so much so, that she could not help answering rather pettishly, ‘that the next time they might get places for themselves, for I would meddle no more.’ And her lord was so angry with them, he was for depriving the offender of a commissionership he had himself bestowed at Lady Cowper’s instigation; ‘but I soothed him, and told him after all I did them good for conscience’ sake.’ The Lady-in-Waiting and her Royal mistress had many a laugh together in these early days over some of the eccentricities of Court life. Such, for instance, as when Madame Kielmansegge came to complain to the Princess that the Prince had said she had a very bad reputation at Hanover. The Princess did not think it likely—the Prince seldom said such things; but Madame cried, and declared people despised her in consequence, and she drew from her pocket a certificate, written and signed by her husband, General Kielmansegge, to say she was a faithful wife, and he had never had any reason to suspect her. The Princess smiled, and said she did not doubt it, but that it was a very bad reputation that wanted such a supporter. Another specimen was Madame Tron, the Venetian ambassadress, ‘who says, now she is come into a free country, she will live and go about like other people. But the Italian husband is more jealous than the German, and often beats his wife, which she is grown used to, and does not care about, unless he spoils her beauty. So she goes by the name of “La Beauté, sans Souci.” But she has been heard to exclaim, when he is chastising her, with a very Italian accent, “Oh prenez garde à mon visage!”’ ‘Lady Essex Robartes (daughter of Lord Nottingham) is just beginning her long journey to Cornwall, which she does with great fear.’
We cannot refrain from quoting Lady Cowper on the drama, when the Princess consulted her respecting the propriety of being present at the representation of ‘The Wanton Wife,’ or, as it was afterwards called, ‘The Amorous Widow,’ written by Betterton,—the Duchess of Roxburghe having given her opinion that nobody could see it with a good reputation. ‘I had seen it once, and few I believe had seen it so seldom; but it used to be a favourite play, and often bespoke by the ladies. I went with my mistress, who said she liked it as well as any play she had ever seen; and it certainly is not more obscene than all comedies are. It were to be wished our stage were chaster, and I hope, now it is under Mr. Steele’s direction, that it will mend;’ from which observation we may conclude that, at least in the particular of morals, our English stage has not deteriorated. It was evident the Lady-in-Waiting’s influence was high at this moment, since the Duchess of Roxburghe begged her to try and prevent Sir Henry St. John from being made a peer. It was he of whom the anecdote is told, that when his son was created Lord Bolingbroke, he said to him: ‘Ah, Harry, I always thought you would be hanged, and now I find you will be beheaded.’
Lady Cowper was apparently overpowered not only with solicitations to procure places for friends and acquaintances, but sometimes intrusted by her husband with messages of public importance to the Prince and Princess, or that still greater personage, Baron Bernstorff; and she seems to have carried out her mission with much discretion on more than one occasion, as we before remarked. The fair lady and her friend, the German baron, came to high words. He told her sharply one day, ‘“My Lord est beaucoup trop vif, et vous êtes beaucoup trop vive de votre côté. Les ministres se plaignent beaucoup de my Lord Cowper. Ils disent qu’il leur reproche trop souvent, les fautes qu’ils ont pu commettre.” The wife replied, “Notre seul but est de bien servir de roi.” He repeated his words, and then said with great violence, “Croyez moi, vous êtes trop vifs, tous les deux, cela ne vaut rien, cela tourne en ruine.” I believe it was the first time that an English lady, who had bread to put into her mouth, had been so treated. I knew whence all this storm came; and plainly saw our enemies had got the better.’
This was the time to which we have alluded in the notice of the Lord Chancellor. Now, although more especially at this time Lady Cowper was very desirous that her husband should retain office, for she ‘would rather live with him in a garret up three pair of stairs, than see him suffer,’ yet she always answered with spirit when the subject of his resignation was discussed. ‘Mrs. Clayton came in and told me it was reported that Lord Cowper was going to lay down. I answered, They say he is to be turned out, and they need not have given themselves the trouble; if they had but hinted to my Lord they were weary of him, he would have laid down. They know he has done it already, which is more than ever will be said of them.’ Though a courtier in the literal sense of the word, Lady Cowper disdained to trim and truckle, as most of her colleagues did.
She had carried herself towards the mighty baron with distant dignity, since the passage of arms to which we have alluded. He made his niece, Mademoiselle Schütz, his ambassador, to complain of having been treated distantly and coldly, never being allowed to see Lady Cowper alone of late, and so forth. When permitted to renew his visit, he expostulated with her on her believing that he was willing to oust her husband; and upon her saying she understood it was so destined by the Ministry, the baron made a world of asseverations of how he was incapable of injuring the Lord Chancellor, that the King had the greatest possible kindness for him, and that none could take his place from him but God alone, and so forth. Upon which Lady Cowper tossed her head and observed, ‘One must be fond of a place before you fear to lose it, and it was too painful a place to be fond of.’ Then the baron retorted that Lord Cowper was peevish and difficult, and so thought the King, and he begged her ladyship would use her best arguments to soften and make him more compliable;—which she certainly did, though she did not let Bernstorff into the secret, for, at least at this time of day, she was most unwilling to see her husband vacate the Woolsack.
The Mademoiselle Schütz to whom an allusion has been made, is thus described: ‘She was a pretty woman, and had good qualities, but was withal so assuming that she was mightily hated at Court. The Prince disliked her most especially, but I saw her very often.’ Too often, as it proved in the sequel, for the Fraülein made herself most obnoxious after a bit, coming at all hours, when not wanted, to the Cowpers’ house in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and ‘writing at every turn, which is very troublesome. I wish she had as many occupations as I have. I had a letter from her to offer to come and stay with me; I thank her for nothing. I had enough of her impertinence last night.’ Another time she insists on the loan of a costly pearl necklace, which the Lady-in-Waiting wanted to wear herself (not being overstocked with jewels), at the birthday; now it is a ‘lace head’ to go to Court in; now she wishes for a set of gold ribbons as a gift. ‘Commend me to a modest assurance. It lifts one out of many a pinch, I find. Lady William Powlett complained of her too, “she is very importunate, and always on the spunge.” I fell a-laughing, and said, “I was very glad it had come to anybody’s share besides mine.”
On the 5th of December in this year (1715), the Diary records the entrance into London of the Jacobite prisoners who had been taken at the battle of Preston,—their arms tied, and their horses led by soldiers. The mob insulted them, carrying a warming-pan before them in ridicule of the Pretender, and saying many spiteful things, which some of the prisoners returned with spirit. ‘The chief of my father’s family was among them, Clavering of Callalee, who is above seventy years old. I did not see them come into town, nor let any of my children do so. I thought it would be insulting to several relations I had there, though almost everybody else went to see them. I forgot to say M. Bernstorff made me a strange offer, through his niece, to let my cousin Tom Forster escape on the road, if I had a mind to it.’ This gentleman was knight of the shire for Northumberland, and was a general in the Jacobites’ army; he had proclaimed the Pretender at Warkworth. He was imprisoned in Newgate, but eventually escaped.
Lord Widdrington, who was impeached at the same time as Lord Derwentwater, was also a connection of hers; and she gives this as a reason she could not go to the State trials, although her Lord presided as Lord High Steward, an appointment which vexed her much. She gives the order of procession, with many servants, and coaches, one with six horses, Garter King at Arms, Usher of the Black Rod, etc. etc. Lady Cowper did not seem to take the same delight in the melancholy pageant as most of the fine world did, for she says, ‘I was told it was customary to have fine liveries on such an occasion, but had them all plain. I think it very wrong to make a parade on such an occasion as putting to death one’s fellow-creatures. The Princess came home much touched with compassion. What a pity that such cruelties should be necessary! My Lord’s speech on pronouncing sentence was commended by every one, but I esteem no one’s commendation like Dr. Clarke’s, who says, “’tis superlatively good, and that it is not possible to add or diminish one letter without hurting it.”’
Many entries in the Diary now speak of Lord Cowper’s continued illness, and how he had again a mind to quit office. His wife, who in spite of all the squabbles and ‘unpleasantness’ she describes, was still in high favour with the Prince and Princess, and was not insensible to the splendour and amusements of a Court life, loved her Lord above all such considerations, and told him she ‘would never oppose anything he had a mind to do,’ and, ‘after arguing calmly on the matter, I offered, if it would be any pleasure done him, to retire with him into the country, and what was more, never to repine at doing so, though it was the greatest sacrifice that could be made him. I believe he will accept.’ But a little while after she says, ‘My Lord is better, and not so much talk of retiring, though I laid it fairly in his way.’
The troublesome Fraülein Schütz seemed to have chosen this time of anxiety to be more importunate than ever about loans of jewels and finery: ‘When she asked me for my diamonds, saying she had less scruple in doing so because I look best in a state of nature, and jewels do not become me! Commend me to the assurance of these foreigners!’
On a similar occasion Lady Cowper makes some very moral reflections, slightly tempered by a dash of pardonable vanity. After an excuse for wearing an emerald necklace, which had been lent her lest she should disoblige her friend, she meant also to wear her own pearls in her hair, though she don’t care one brass farthing for making herself fine, and hopes always to make it her study rather to adorn her mind than to set off a vile body of dust and ashes!
The advice given to Mrs. Collingwood, the wife of one of the Jacobite prisoners, must have shocked the feelings of so loving a wife as Mary Cowper. Mr. Collingwood, a Northumberland gentleman, was under sentence of death, when his wife wrote to an influential friend to intercede in his behalf. Here is the answer: ‘I think you are mad when you talk of saving your husband’s life. Don’t you know you will have £500 a year jointure if he’s hanged, and not a groat if he’s saved? Consider, and let me know. I shall do nothing till then.’ There was no answer to the letter, and Collingwood was executed.
About this time great exertions were made to induce the King to reprieve some (at least) of the prisoners, and Lady Cowper was evidently instrumental in gaining that of Lord Carnwath, who would otherwise have suffered with Lords Kenmure and Derwentwater. She gave a letter from the imprisoned nobleman to the Princess, who wept on reading it, and sent word in answer that if Lord Carnwath would confess, she would give him her honour he should be saved, but that was the only way. Now, though the King was not over partial to ‘cette Diablesse de Princesse,’ as he often called her, yet the violent language and opinions she sometimes held were not altogether without their influence on the Royal mind. Lord Nithisdale escaped by the connivance of his devoted wife, and Lord Carnwath was reprieved. ‘God grant us peace to heal all our divisions, and to take away the rancour that is among us.’ ‘Lord Nithisdale’s escape confirmed; I hope he’ll get clear off; I never was better pleased at anything in my life, and I believe everybody is the same.’
March 1.—The Princess of Wales’s birthday. ‘I am ill, but must go to wish her many years of health and happiness, which I unfeignedly do, for she’s a most charming delightful friend as well as mistress.’ Her Royal Highness said M. Bernstorff had been urging the Prince to agree to Lord Cowper being made President of the Council, which the Prince refused to do, unless assured that Lord Cowper wished it. ‘I said Lord Cowper was ready to quit, if they found anybody better to put in his room, but would never change that of which he could acquit himself with honour, for that he could not perform at all.’
Party ran so high in this year (1716), that even a meteorological phenomenon—‘a light so great that from my windows I could see people walk across Lincoln’s Inn Fields though there was no moon’—was pressed by Whigs and Tories into their interests,—the former saying it was God’s judgment on the horrid rebellion, the latter that it was a mark of vengeance on the Whigs for the late executions. Mr. Gibson, the antiquary, says it has ever since been spoken of as ‘Lord Derwentwater’s lights.’ Lady Cowper was coming home in her chair on the night in question, and her bearers were so frightened that she was forced to let her glass down and preach to them all the way to comfort them. She observes that if anybody had overheard the dialogue they could not have helped laughing.
Lady Cowper’s chairmen were apparently not very efficient altogether; she twice complains of the shifts she was put to in consequence of their drunkenness, and her having to come home in the first hackney she could find. Another time she lost her servants altogether, and had to borrow the Duchess of Shrewsbury’s chair. The bickerings and altercations between the Court ladies were interminable, more especially between the German and English; and no wonder, when the Germans talked as one of their great ladies did, saying that ‘English ladies did not look like women of quality, but pitiful and sneaking, holding their heads down, and always seeming in a fright, whereas foreigners hold up their heads and hold out their bosoms, and look grand and stately;’ upon which Lady Deloraine replies, ‘We show our quality, madam, by our birth and titles, not by sticking out our bosoms.’
The Diary tells us that on May the 29th, those who disliked the reigning family wore green boughs, and on June the 10th (the Pretender’s birthday) white roses. Nothing now but cabal and intrigue, petty Court jealousies, bitter hatred and enmity among the political parties, the ins and the outs, and unseemly quarrels between the two highest in rank in the country.
It was settled that the King was to go to Hanover for at least six months, the question of the Regency during his absence being the worst bone of contention of all. But we have treated this subject more at large in the notice of Lord Cowper, who was constantly peacemaking and pouring good counsel into the ears of the Prince of Wales.
Diary.—‘For my part, I thought it so absolute a necessity to the public good to keep all things quiet, that I did heartily and successfully endeavour to conceal everything that tended to disunion, little thinking at the time it could ever be called a crime to keep things quiet.’
It was finally settled that the King was to go to Hanover, to which His Majesty looked forward with pleasure, greatly alloyed by the necessity of making his son Regent. Always jealous of him, he could not bear the idea of the Prince of Wales playing at King. When it was arranged that the Prince should be appointed to the Regency during His Majesty’s absence, there were as many restrictions put upon him as possible. In this summer (1716) the Court went to reside, with much splendour, at Hampton Court Palace, and the Diary leads us to believe there was some little enjoyment to be derived from that comparative retirement. But even here the spirit of unrest followed them: Lord Townshend, who came down frequently on public business, treated the Princess with so little respect, and paid such court to Mrs. Howard (to curry favour with the Prince) that both Lord and Lady Cowper expostulated with him, so effectually indeed as to prevail on the Minister to change his demeanour, ‘which brought the Princess into perfect tranquillity.’ Not for long, however, for when Lord Sunderland arrived to take leave, before joining the King at Hanover, he fell out with the Princess walking in the long gallery which looks on the gardens; and he talked so loud that Her Royal Highness desired him to speak lower, for the people in the garden would overhear him. ‘Let them hear,’ cries my Lord. The Princess answered, ‘Well, if you have a mind, let ‘em, only you shall walk next to the window, for in the humour we are both in, one of us must jump out, and I am resolved it sha’n’t be me.’ But for such stormy interludes, and the constant disquietude which the presence of Mrs. Howard (nor of her alone), must have occasioned the Princess, the time passed pleasantly enough, in Wolsey’s picturesque old palace, so lately increased in magnitude by the additions of Sir Christopher Wren. The gardens and pleasances too had been much improved and enlarged, for Queen Mary’s delectation, and the Princess, who was a great walker, spent many hours under the leafy shades of the lime grove, and wandering among the dark yews and evergreens.
Diary.—‘The Prince and Princess dined every day in public in Her Royal Highness’s apartments. The Lady-in-Waiting served at table, but my ill-health prevented me doing that service. In the afternoon my Royal mistress saw company, and read or writ till evening, when she walked in the garden for two or three hours together, and would go to the pavilion at the end of the bowling-green (which runs parallel with the river) to play there, but after the Countess of Buckenburgh fell and put her foot out, the Princess went there no more, but played in the green gallery. The Duchess of Monmouth was often with us, and the Princess loved her mightily, and, certainly, no woman of her years ever deserved it so well. She had all the fire and life of youth, and it was marvellous to see that the many afflictions she had suffered had not touched her wit and good-nature, but at upwards of threescore she had both in their full perfection.’ We cannot resist inserting this generous testimony to one who was distinguished by Royal favour at a time when petty jealousies and intense rivalry were at their height. Their Royal Highnesses left Hampton Court with part of their retinue by water, and as they glided along in a Royal barge, Lady Cowper thought ‘nothing in the world could be pleasanter than the passage, or give one a better idea of the richness and happiness of the kingdom.’ A break now occurs in the Diary, which began 1714, and which we have followed up to October 1716. That portion which concerned the next four years is not forthcoming, and the editor gives us a clue to the reason. In a memorandum by the Chancellor’s daughter, Lady Sarah, she copies a letter written to the postmaster at Hertford: ‘It is reported that at the time of the trial of the Bishop of Rochester Lord Cowper offered to be bail for him, which was so resented by a certain person of distinction that he moved for a warrant to search his Lordship’s house. News of this was sent to Lady Cowper, and though the report was to be despised, yet my mother had so many hints and intimations sent her by different people of a design to attack my father and try to involve his character in the examination then on foot, relating to Layer’s plot, that she took fright for some papers she had drawn up by way of diary, also some letters belonging to the Prince and Princess, which she had in her hands, relating to the quarrel in the Royal Family, that, not being able to place them in safety, in a hurry she burned such as she thought likely to do most harm.’ This is a reasonable explanation of the disappearance of the records of 1717, 1718,and 1719. In 1718 Lord Cowper resigned office, to the great regret of all well-thinking persons of whatever party, the details of which will be found in the Chancellor’s life. The feuds in the Royal Family had augmented in frequency and violence during these four years, and Lady Cowper resumes her narrative at a time when the scandal of these quarrels was so great as to render a reconciliation imperative on public grounds. Lord Cowper himself had lost much of the King’s favour by his adherence to the Prince, and the fair Lady-in-Waiting herself had to undergo many cold looks, and, what must have been more trying to such a steadfast nature as hers, the caprice and wayward moods of the mistress she still loved and served most loyally. New influences were at work, and new favourites on the scene. As to the reconciliation, though made a subject of public rejoicing, it was hollow enough. The King lost few opportunities of slighting his son and daughter-in-law, and he plagued her much, particularly on the vexed question of the custody of her children, who had been removed from her care. But we are anticipating. The Diary re-opens with a visit from Mr. Secretary Walpole (afterwards Sir Robert) to the Princess of Wales, with offers of reconciliation from the King, April 9, 1720. The Princess referred him to Lord Cowper, who lost no time in hastening to the Royal presence to discuss the matter.
The conditions were most unpalatable to the Prince and Princess, who were ‘in great anguish.’ They both asked the advice of Lord and Lady Cowper, and took that of Mr. Secretary Walpole. Among many leading men of the day, whom the Lady-in-Waiting had no reason to love, were that Minister and Lord Townshend in particular, and she did not approve of Walpole’s confession to my Lord, that he did almost everything through the medium of the Duchess of Kendal, who was ‘virtually Queen of England.’ Lady Cowper also complains that her mistress has been taught to suspect her all the winter, and that the Prince scarcely looks at her, and she marvels how Walpole has got such a hold of them that they only see through his eyes, and no longer recognise their real friends. Would not the leafy shades of Cole Green form a pleasant contrast to this vortex of antagonism?—so at least thought Lord Cowper, ‘who is sick of the whole affair, and goes out of town to hear no more of it, and it is more than odds, if he is not pleased with his treatment, that he will carry me with him.’
Grand rejoicings in honour of this reconciliation. Lady Cowper goes to congratulate the Prince and Princess: ‘The square full of coaches, the guards before the door, everything gay and laughing, everybody kissing, and wishing of joy. When I wished the Prince joy he embraced me, with all his old heartiness, five or six times, and the Princess burst into a loud laugh, and said: “Sir, I do think you two always kiss on great occasions.” All the town feignedly or unfeignedly happy. I kissed Lord Cowper on coming home, and said: “Well, I thank God your head is your own, and that is more than could be said six months ago.”’ And then she alludes to all the intrigues that were being carried on, and says: ‘There was not a rogue in the town but was engaged in some scheme and project to undo his country.’
The King still very distant to his son and daughter-in-law (with occasional variations of humour), and speaking of the pending change of Ministry, asked angrily if the Whigs could not come back, without the Prince of Wales. We have mentioned in Lord Cowper’s life how many overtures were made to him to return and resume office on the return of the Whigs to power. He came to his wife’s bedside one Sunday morning to let his ‘dear girl’ into his secrets,—how that he had thought with her to take service again, and that he had always considered a reconciliation so necessary, that it would help to make everything in its own condition again. And ‘I did think to accept of that offer made me, of my friend Kingston’s place, who has behaved himself so shamefully to me, that it would be a piece of justice upon him.’ But that, on further consideration, all his reasons for quitting office subsisted still. ‘I am old and infirm, and rich enough, and am resolved not to enslave myself to any power upon earth. At five-and-fifty it is time to think of making life easy. My infirmities will not let me struggle with knaves and fools. My tranquillity will content me more than all they can give me, under their power and influence.’ His wife said all she could to dissuade him from this decision, and he agreed with some of her arguments, but declared he thought any reproach better than the loss of his tranquillity, and that his resolution was taken. But to show he was not out of humour, he would ask for the key which had been promised Lady Cowper, and that he would accept a place in the Cabinet, but neither place nor pension, for he was resolved to live a freeman and an Englishman.
We have inserted this characteristic speech of Lord Cowper’s here, rather than in the notice appropriated to him, because it was made in private to his wife, and is recorded in her Diary. No wonder that after such a conversation, Lady Cowper was often tempted to answer the Princess and others with some degree of asperity when they insinuated that her lord was a place-hunter. The day before the new Ministry came in, she was in attendance on the Princess, and the new Lord Chancellor was there. ‘I dare say, Lady Cowper,’ said Her Royal Highness, laughing, ‘you are glad to see the purse in that hand.’ ‘Yes, truly,’ she replied; ‘I am right glad, and hope it will remain there until that hand is as weary of it as ours was.’
Diary.—‘Lord Cowper invited to the ministerial dinner; does not mean to go. Great hugging and kissing between the two old and the two new Ministers. They walk all four with their arms round one another to show they are all one.’ Now, though Lord Cowper could not be persuaded to change his resolution as regarded himself, he was most desirous to obtain the post of Mistress of the Robes for his wife, to whom the Princess had promised it, and who seemed best fitted by position, politics, and character, in all the Court. But the King wished the Duchess of St. Albans to remain, and that lady had ‘locked up the key in her cabinet, and did not intend to resign, unless compelled to do so.’ Lord Cowper waited several times on the Princess with the intention of urging his wife’s claim, but Her Royal Highness gave him no opportunity, and the lady was sorely aggrieved. ‘The Princess not willing to give me the key, yet she promised it. And when the King asked for some one else, she said: “Remember the obligations I am under to Lady Cowper, no one else can have it.” But now, she says, “Lady D. [Deloraine?] will be disobliged.” What claim has she?—is it for flying all over Richmond with the Prince?’
‘A new clamour for the Duchess of St. Albans. I am quite sick of this usage. Why did the Princess promise me the key, if she had not the power to give it? To what purpose such dissimulation? Sure she thought me a tame fool, who was to be easily imposed on, and who had not her interest at heart. The Germans used to call her, “Une grande comédienne:” I say no; if actors played their parts in such a manner they would be hissed off the stage, and must starve. She has disobliged the two best friends she ever had.’ Here follows a little bit of natural petulance. ‘There is indeed a great advantage in going to the drawing-room to be used as ill as Lord Sunderland pleases; he has undoubtedly taken care to betray his master for at least thirty pieces of silver; it were well if he would follow out the whole example, and go and hang himself.’ Alas for the change in Mary Cowper’s opinion of Caroline of Anspach, and her surroundings! She gives us a sarcastic speech made by the Archbishop of Canterbury (Wake), showing to the Princess his opinion of the state of public matters and public men at that crisis, which we therefore insert:—
‘Madam, we must now wish ourselves and the world joy. First of this happy reconciliation, and next of the honour, integrity, and disinterestedness of the Ministers, as well as their wisdom and virtue. They would be matchless were they not equalled by the two great governors of this Court, Townshend and Walpole. What glorious things must we not expect from the conduct of the first in the Ministry and the two last here? What happiness for the people to be under such directors! and what a glorious figure we must make all the world over when we are influenced by such counsels!’
‘No, sure, my Lord,’ answered the Princess, somewhat meekly; ‘those men are not our only advisers—what do you make of Lord Cowper?’
‘Oh! madam,’ replied the Archbishop, ‘he is not fit to be put on a level with such great men.’ Then the Archbishop asked her plainly if the Duchess of St. Albans was to have the key?
‘No, never!’ she said; ‘though she is always tormenting me about it.’
‘My Lord into the country for good; leaves me to get everything ready. Busy packing all day. The Princess asks why Lord Cowper leaves London; and answer, “To avoid importunity, and be quiet.” “And what makes you go so soon?” “Because he commands me, madam, and I have nothing to do but to obey.”’
The Cowpers still kept up their friendship with Baron Bernstorff, who was himself subject to the most capricious treatment in high places, and the German Baron, and the Lady-in-Waiting had many long discussions on political matters.
They were agreed on many subjects, and above all in abhorrence of the South Sea Scheme, which was then the great topic of the day. ‘Go into the country, nothing material there.’ But she ‘came back to go to the birthday of our most gracious King.’ ‘Waited on the Princess to Court, where was one of the greatest crowds I ever saw; it being greatly increased by our new Lords and Masters of the South Sea, who had more court made to them than the Ministers themselves.’
As a climax to the confusion that reigned between the rival Courts, the Lord Chamberlain, the Duke of Newcastle, chose to celebrate His Majesty’s birthday-night by getting drunk, in consequence of which the ladies of the Princess’s household had no places, but ‘stood in the heat and crowd all night.’ The Duchess of Shrewsbury scolded aloud, which only elicited insulting answers from the great official, and so indignant were the Princess’s ladies, that they all went home, with the exception of my Lady Dorset.
Here is another mention of the Chamberlain: ‘Newcastle stood before me both day and night. If I had not seen his face I should have known who it was, it being his peculiarity to turn his back upon those he has any obligations to.’ Another incident in Lady Cowper’s Court life shows the Princess of Wales could be flippant as well as capricious, but her attendant was a match for her. ‘She had a mind to be out of humour with me, and put on a frown. The King turned his back to me who was playing. But a sudden curiosity took him, and he turned his face round, and had his eyes fixed on me all night so intently, without being angry, that it was talked about. The Princess said to me next morning, that the King could not help liking me as well as ever; and that she saw plainly by his manner that I could do what I pleased, and that it was my own fault if I did not rule them all. I answered, for the thing itself I did not believe it at all, and, supposing it were true, power was too dear bought when one was to do such dishonourable work for it.’
July 5.—‘My waiting concluded without my having had any opportunity of saying one word to the Princess alone, without the door being open;’—her Royal mistress, whom she so much loved, and by whom, but a short time ago, she had been trusted, and consulted on every subject, public or private. It is probable Lady Cowper found much truth in a passage in one of the Duchess of Marlborough’s letters to her, though, as far as one could tell, her Grace’s taste did not always incline to private life! ‘I don’t wonder that you find it melancholy to be away from your Lord and children, for though the Princess is very easy and obliging,’—this was as early as 1716,—‘I think any one who has common sense or honesty must needs be weary of everything one meets with at Court. I have seen a good many, and lived in them many years, but I protest I was never pleased but when I was a child; and after I had been a maid of honour some time at fourteen I wished myself out of the Court as much as I wished to come into it before I knew what it was.’
We have been tempted step by step into lengthening our record of Mary, the first Countess Cowper, not only because we have authentic records of herself, and the Court she adorned, from her own pen, but because in those records we find so much nature and simplicity of style, so many evidences of her sterling qualities, her many accomplishments and excellent judgment, the whole tempered by playful sallies and pardonable petulance. A modest and well-conducted woman in a vicious Court, and uncontaminated by the immorality of those with whom she was compelled to associate; the worthy wife of a good and great man, whose loss she could not endure. She closed his eyes, and four months afterwards she once more lay by his side in their last resting-place.
Lord Cowper died in October 1723, and ‘in the latter end of December,’ says Lady Sarah Cowper, ‘my mother grew much weaker, and extremely ill. She lost her appetite, and at times her memory, so that she would speak of my father as if living, ask for him, and expect him home. When she recollected his death, it was with so lively a grief as if it had just happened. In short, she had really what is so often talked of, so seldom seen, a broken heart. She died on the 5th of February 1724.’
She expected him home; he did not come, and so she went to join him in ‘the Court of Heaven.’
No. 6.
WILLIAM VISCOUNT FORDWICH, AFTERWARDS SECOND EARL COWPER, SON AND HEIR OF THE LORD CHANCELLOR.
Blue velvet coat. White cravat. Powder.
No. 7.
MRS. GORE.
White flowered brocade. Lace cap.
She was the wife of Charles Gore, Esq. Her daughter married George, third Earl Cowper, whose acquaintance they made at Florence, where Mr. Gore and his family were residing.
No. 8.
GEORGIANA CAROLINA, SECOND WIFE OF THE SECOND EARL COWPER.
Grey gown. Blue bows.
BORN 1716, DIED 1780.
SHE was the younger daughter of John Lord Carteret, afterwards Earl Granville. Her sponsors were King George II. and his Queen, hence her baptismal names. In 1733-4 a contemporary paper announces her marriage:—‘The bride, a beautiful young lady, with a portion of £30,000, to the Hon. John Spencer, brother to the Duke of Marlborough, and grandson to Sarah, Duchess Dowager of Marlborough.’ John, or ‘Jack,’ as he was familiarly called, was one of those reckless spirits, who, in the days of which we are speaking, went by the name of ‘Rattlebrains,’ being very wilful, merry, extravagant, and the best company in the world! Better to laugh, talk, or drink, than to transact any business with. By this description it will be seen that between him and his aged grandmother there were many points of resemblance, and in consequence the Duchess was very partial to her scapegrace grandson. They fell out, it must be confessed, over and over again, but Jack always contrived to coax, cajole, or joke himself back into favour. On one festive occasion, when Sarah was presiding at the head of her own table at Althorp, supported by a crowd of daughters, sons-in-law, grandchildren, and what not, in the pride of wealth, relationship, and splendid surroundings, she said aloud, ‘Here am I, the root, encircled by my branches.’
‘True,’ says mischievous Jack, at the bottom of the table, in a whisper to his neighbour; ‘pity that the root should not be in its proper place, under ground.’ The young man to whom the sally was addressed was thrown into such convulsions of laughter that the Duchess’s curiosity was aroused, and she insisted on knowing the cause of so much mirth. Few people dared to gainsay the aged virago, and certainly not this timid youth; thus questioned, he had neither the courage nor the imagination for a false or evasive answer, and he blurted out the bare truth. The Duchess rose in a fury. ‘Leave the room, Jack,’ said she; ‘leave the house, and never darken my doors again.’ The culprit obeyed with an air of mock submission, and on reaching the door he turned, and with a profound salutation, quitted the apartment. But in another moment his head appeared above the sill of the window, which was open. He cleared it at a bound, vaulted into the room, and knelt at his grandmother’s feet. It was the window, not the door! A perfect reconciliation ensued; and so completely was Jack forgiven, that the Duchess settled a considerable annuity on him, pending the large fortune and estates he would inherit by her will, in addition to those left in trust for him by his grandfather the Duke.
Mrs. Delany, in her amusing diaries and letters, published of late years by Lady Llanover, to whom many thanks are due for the same, speaks constantly of her cousin Georgiana Granville, with an obvious pride in the relationship. She says, in writing to her sister, ‘You will expect to hear some account of our cousin Spencer. The marriage took place between eight and nine o’clock at night. The guests were very distinguished,—the Dukes and Duchesses of Marlborough and Bedford, Sir Robert and Lady Worsley, the bride’s grandparents, and numerous members of their family, Lord Morpeth, Colonel Montagu, etc. etc. After they were married, they played a pool of commerce, then retired between twelve and one, and went next day to Windsor Lodge. They are to return on Monday, to what was Mr. Percival’s lodging in Conduit Street. Georgiana was dressed in white satin, embroidered in silver, her laces very fine, and the jewels the Duchess of Marlborough gave her, magnificent. Frequent allusions are made by the writers of the day to these famous jewels in which Mrs. Spencer ‘sparkled.’ Then follows a catalogue of the bride’s wedding bravery, of laces and linen very fine, and flowered silks, such as would rouse the envy of many a lover of old brocade in modern times; a pink and silver poudesoy, a blue damask night-gown, and rich brocades, all stiff with embroidery.
John Spencer dying, his widow contracted a second marriage with Lord Cowper, and Mrs. Delany speaks of the union as being a very happy one, for ‘Georgiana is much attached to her new Lord and his children, and it is warmly reciprocated.’ Horace Walpole, in describing the gorgeous sight which the coronation of George III. and his Queen presented, gives an amusing account of the preparations for the same among the ladies: how several were dressed overnight, and reposed in armchairs, with watchers beside them to wake up the sleepers when in danger of ruffling their garments or tumbling their headdresses. Walpole conveyed Ladies Townshend, Hervey, Hertford, and Anne Conolly, with Mrs. Clive, to see the show in his deputy’s house at the gate of Westminster Hall. Says Lady Townshend, ‘I should like to go to a coronation, for I have never seen one.’ ‘Why,’ remarked Horace, ‘you walked at the last.’ ‘Yes, child,’ was the candid reply, ‘but I saw nothing; I only looked to see who was looking at me.’ There seemed to have been a great stir among the Countesses, who all objected to associate with Lady Macclesfield. Horace again: ‘My heraldry was much more offended with the ladies who did walk, than with those who walked out of place, but I was not so furiously angry as my Lady Cowper. She flatly refused at first to set a foot with my Lady Macclesfield, and when at last compelled to do so she set out at a round trot’ (to distance her companion?), ‘as if she designed to prove the antiquity of her family by walking as lustily as a maid of honour of Queen Guinevere.’ Mrs. Delany writes later on, ‘Lady Cowper is very much pleased at her son being made an Earl, and all the more as the honour was entirely unsolicited.’ Lord Spencer was a generous and dutiful son, and when his mother once more became a widow, he gave her a charming house at Richmond, fully furnished, where she was very hospitable to Mrs. Delany and that branch of her family, as well as to the relations and connections of both her husbands. Here her ‘cousin’ frequently mentions meeting Lady Spencer and her mother, Mrs. Poyntz, Anne Maria Mordaunt, who had been maid of honour to Queen Caroline, and governess to the Duke of Cumberland. Lady Cowper’s letters are lively and genial. In one, dated New Year’s Day, she says, ‘Last evening came Lord Montagu (only son of the Earl of Cardigan, created Baron Montagu). He spent most of the evening alone with me, and I played on the guitar, and sang to him. I hope we may not be talked about, for he is quite alive, I assure you, although he is fourscore struck, as the Duchess of Marlborough used to say.’ Georgiana retained her good looks to a very advanced age, for Mrs. Delany says, not long before her death, ‘I saw Lady Cowper yesterday. She is still the Glastonbury Rose.’ During her last illness, which was of some duration, her daughter-in-law, Lady Spencer, was unremitting in her attentions, driving over daily from her home at Wimbledon to Richmond, sometimes twice in the twenty-four hours, and often passing the night by the sufferer’s bedside.
No. 9.
LADY SARAH COWPER.
Black gown. Pink ribbons.
DIED 1758.
THE daughter of the first Earl, Lord Chancellor Cowper, by his second wife, Mary Clavering. Mrs. Delany in her lively and good-natured gossip makes frequent mention of Lady Sarah, with whom she became well acquainted, her ‘cousin Carteret’ being Lady Sarah’s sister-in-law. This was Georgiana Carteret, Lady Cowper, of whom we have just given a notice.
‘I envy you, says Mrs. Delany, writing to a friend, ‘for living in the neighbourhood. There is quite a happy nest of brothers and sisters. Lady Sarah has taken a little cottage to be near Lord Cowper, to whom she is tenderly attached. We had a delightful day when we drank tea at Panshanger, and we walked through a beautiful wood, Mrs. Poyntz and her daughter being of the party. Her daughter had married Lord Spencer, Lady Cowper’s son by her first husband. Lord and Lady Cowper took us to Cole Green, a good large house, with nothing in it except, oh! such a picture!’ This is an allusion to the magnificent portrait, by Vandyck, of Count John of Nassau Siegen and his family. Lady Sarah did not long enjoy the facilities which her little cottage afforded of constant intercourse with her relatives. She fell into bad health, which entailed great suffering, and died in 1758, making a sad gap in the happy family circle.
No. 10.
LADY CAROLINE SEYMOUR.
Low black gown. White sleeves.
Daughter of the second Earl Cowper by his first wife. Married to Henry Seymour, Esq.
No. 11.
WILLIAM LAMB, SECOND VISCOUNT MELBOURNE.
Dark coat. Blue tie.
By Partridge.
PASSAGE OPPOSITE LADY COWPER’S BOUDOIR.
SIR PENISTON LAMB, FIRST VISCOUNT MELBOURNE.
Head in pastel.
BORN 1745, DIED 1828.
HE was the son of Sir Matthew Lamb of Brocket Hall, county Hertford (originally in the possession of the Winnington family), by Charlotte, daughter of the Right Honourable Thomas Coke, and sister and heir of Charles Coke, who died suddenly at Geneva, leaving a very large fortune. Sir Peniston Lamb, besides inheriting half a million at his father’s death, came in for a considerable sum, the savings of his uncle, the Bishop of Peterborough, and to his accumulated wealth he added considerably by his alliance with the beautiful heiress, Miss Milbanke, in 1769.
He was a member of the House of Commons for many years; and in 1770 he was created an Irish Peer by the title of Baron Melbourne of Kilmore, county Cavan; in 1780 he was made a Viscount. He was handsome, gentlemanlike, genial, fond of the country and of sport, but had no love for study. On the contrary, he was illiterate for a man in his position; and one or two of his early love-letters to the celebrated actress, Mrs. Baddeley, have been quoted as examples of bad grammar and spelling. He was very popular in society, both in London and the country. But, for his own taste, he preferred his shooting or hunting parties to the brilliant reunions of Melbourne House, and was the idol of the neighbourhood round Brocket. He sat in the House of Commons for many years, but when his eldest son was old enough, he willingly made way for ‘Pen.’ He was one of the most indulgent of husbands, as we have said in Lady Melbourne’s Life, and used to declare he had given his wife her dowry back in diamonds. He was a most tender father, his health being much affected at the time by his son Peniston’s untimely death. The Prince of Wales prevailed on him to turn part of his park into a race-course, for he was easily persuaded to comply with the wishes of others, and was very kind to his eccentric daughter, Lady Caroline Lamb, who was fond of him in her own peculiar way. Lord Melbourne survived his wife some years, and died peacefully; carefully and tenderly nursed by his son William, and his daughter, Lady Cowper.
CORRIDOR.
