§ ii
The early impressions of the first duke, who grew to be so pompous, stout, and good-natured, and whose three sons gave him in their several ways so much anxiety, are not unattractive. There is a picture of him as a little slim boy, with his sister and their pet fawn; and there is Lord George’s own anecdote of his father’s childhood:
My father, having lost his own mother, was brought up chiefly by the Dowager Countess of Northampton, his grandmother. She being particularly acceptable to Queen Mary, that Princess commanded her always to bring her little grandson, Lord Buckhurst, to Kensington Palace, though at that time hardly four years of age, and he was allowed to amuse himself with a child’s cart in the gallery. King William, like almost all Dutchmen, never failed to attend the tea-table every evening. It happened that her Majesty having one afternoon by his desire made tea, and waiting for the King’s arrival, who was engaged on business in his cabinet at the other extremity of the gallery, the boy, hearing the Queen express her impatience at the delay, ran away to the closet, dragging after him the cart. When he arrived at the door, he knocked, and the King asking “Who is there?” “Lord Buck,” answered he. “And what does Lord Buck want with me?” replied his Majesty. “You must come to tea directly,” said he, “the Queen is waiting for you.” King William immediately laid down his pen and opened the door. Then taking the child in his arms, he placed Lord Buckhurst in the cart, and seizing the pole drew them both along the gallery to the room in which were seated the Queen, Lady Northampton, and the company. But no sooner had he entered the apartment, than, exhausted with the effort, which had forced the blood upon his lungs, and being constitutionally asthmatic, he threw himself into a chair, and for some minutes was incapable of uttering a word, breathing with the utmost difficulty. The Countess of Northampton, shocked at the consequences of her grandson’s indiscretion, would have punished him, but the King intervened on his behalf.
When a young man he went on the inevitable Grand Tour. This journey, it is fair to assume, which was taken at the instigation of his mother’s relations, was designed to keep him away from the influence of his enfeebled father and of his step-mother, Ann Roche, quite as much as for the benefit of his education. His father was very angry at this withdrawal of his son from his authority, and wrote to him:
i hear my Lady Northampton has ordered you not to obey me; if you take any notice of what she says i have enough in my power to make you suffer for it beyond what she will make you amends for. But i cannot imagine you to be such a fool as to be governed by the passion and folly of anybody.
Your affectionate father,
DORSET.
i expect you will come away by the next yocht.
The next yacht, however, came away without Lord Buckhurst, and the young man did not return to England until after his father’s death. Shortly after his succession and return he married Elizabeth Colyear, his “dear, dear Colly,” and was appointed Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports at a salary of £160 a year, and Lieutenant of Dover Castle at £50. This is the menu and cost of the dinner given by the youthful Lord Warden at Dover Castle on the 16th August 1709 on his being appointed by Queen Anne:
| £ | s. | d. | ||
|---|---|---|---|---|
| 5 | Soups | 3 | 0 | 0 |
| 12 | dishes of fish | 10 | 16 | 0 |
| 1 | Westphalia Ham and five fowls | 1 | 6 | 0 |
| 8 | dishes of pullets and oysters, with bacon | 4 | 16 | 0 |
| 10 | Almond puddings | 3 | 0 | 0 |
| 12 | haunches of venison, roast | 1 | 16 | 0 |
| 6 | dishes of roast pigs | 2 | 2 | 0 |
| 3 | dishes of roast geese | 1 | 4 | 0 |
| 12 | Venison pasties | 6 | 0 | 0 |
| 12 | white Fragacies with Peetets | 7 | 4 | 0 |
| 8 | dishes of “ragged” veal | 4 | 16 | 0 |
| Second Course | ||||
| 14 | dishes of ducks, turkey, and pigeons | 8 | 0 | 0 |
| 15 | codlin tarts, creamed | 4 | 10 | 0 |
| 12 | dishes of roast lobster | 4 | 16 | 0 |
| 12 | dishes of umble pies | 4 | 4 | 0 |
| 10 | dishes of fried fish | 5 | 0 | 0 |
| 8 | dishes of Chickens and rabbits | 4 | 0 | 0 |
| Ryders | ||||
| 5 | dishes of dried sweetmeats | 17 | 10 | 0 |
| 12 | dishes of jelly | 4 | 16 | 0 |
| 6 | dishes of Selebub cream | 2 | 8 | 0 |
| 13 | dishes of fruit | 10 | 0 | 0 |
| 8 | dishes of Almond Pies gilt | 4 | 16 | 0 |
| 12 | dishes of Custard Florentines | 3 | 12 | 0 |
| 8 | dishes of lobster | 3 | 4 | 0 |
| 120 | Intermediate plates of sorts | 9 | 0 | 0 |
| Side-Table | ||||
| A large chine of beef stuck with flags and banners | 5 | 10 | 0 | |
| 1 loaf of double refined sugar | 0 | 4 | 6 | |
| Oil and vinegar | 0 | 3 | 0 | |
| Outcharges and expenses of pewter, carriage, bread, wharfage, turnspits, glasses, mugs, for ten men, horses, use of bakehouse, cooks, coach hire | 76 | 16 | 9 | |
This was an office he held intermittently for many years, and on one occasion, England being then at war with Spain, two hundred and fifty butts, eight hogsheads, and fifty quarter casks of Spanish mountain wine, and one hundred jars of Raisins of the Sun, being washed up at Deal and Sandwich, they were adjudged to him as the Lord Warden’s perquisite of flotsam and jetsam.
In 1714 died Queen Anne, and Lord Dorset, with others, was sent to Hanover to announce to George his accession to the English throne. He returned from Hanover with the new King, and drove with him in his coach from Greenwich to London. On the way George related that thirty-three years earlier he had travelled to England as a suitor for the hand of Queen Anne: returning to Gravesend after the failure of his mission, he rode a common post-horse, which gave him a fall, so that he arrived at Gravesend covered with mud. The King amused himself in the coach with looking out for the place where this misfortune had come upon him, and pointed it out to Lord Dorset, who no doubt joined politely in the laughter.
Thus began that curious reign of a King who did not know the language of his adopted country, who spent as much time in his Hanoverian as in his English estates, and infinitely preferred them, who surrounded himself with German courtiers and mistresses, and who locked up his wife for two-and-thirty years as a punishment for her infidelity. The solemnity of Lord Dorset cannot have been out of place in such a court. Honours now crowded rapidly upon him, although at one moment he was temporarily deprived of all his offices for taking part in political intrigues. He was made a Knight of the Garter, six years later he was made a duke, he was given the office of Lord Steward, and finally he entered upon the first lap of his unfortunate career as Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. Before this, however, he was for the second time called upon to be the bearer of news of accession to a King of England. I give the account in Lord George’s words:
When the intelligence of his [George I’s] decease, which took place near Osnabrugh, in the end of July 1727, arrived in London, the Cabinet having immediately met, thought proper to dispatch the Duke of Dorset with the news to the Prince of Wales. He then resided at Kew, in a state of great alienation from the King, the two Courts maintaining no communication. Some little time being indispensable to enable my father to appear in a suitable manner before the new monarch, he sent forward the Duchess his wife, in order to announce the event. She arrived at Kew just as the Prince, according to his invariable custom, having undressed himself after dinner, had laid down in bed. The Duchess demanding permission to see him immediately, on business of the greatest importance, the servants acquainted the Princess of Wales with her arrival; and the Duchess, without a moment’s hesitation, informed her Royal Highness, that George the First lay dead at Osnabrugh, that the Cabinet had ordered her husband to be the bearer of the intelligence to his successor, and that the Duke would follow her in a short time. She added that not a moment should be lost in communicating so great an event to the Prince, as the Ministers wished him to come up to London that same evening, in order to summon a Privy Council, to issue a proclamation, and take other requisite measures, at the commencement of a new reign.
To the propriety of all these steps the Princess assented; but at the same time informed the Duchess, that she could not venture to enter her husband’s room, as he had only just taken off his clothes and composed himself to sleep. “Besides,” added she, “the Prince will not give credit to the intelligence, but will exclaim that it is a fabrication, designed for the purpose of exposing him.” The Duchess continued nevertheless to remonstrate with her Royal Highness, on the injurious consequences of losing time, and adding that the Duke of Dorset would expect to find the Prince not only apprised of it, but ready to accompany him to London. The Princess of Wales took off her shoes, opened the chamber door softly, and advanced up to the bedside, while my mother remained at the threshold, till she should be allowed to enter the apartment. As soon as the Princess came near the bed, a voice from under the clothes cried out in German, Was ist das? “I am come, sir,” answered she, “to announce to you the death of the King, which has taken place in Germany.” “That is one damned trick,” returned the Prince, “I do not believe one word of it.” “Sir,” said the Princess, “it is most certain. The Duchess of Dorset has just brought the intelligence, and the Duke will be here immediately. The Ministers hope that you will repair to town this very evening, as your presence there is indispensable.” Her Royal Highness then threw herself on her knees, to kiss the new King’s hand; and beckoning to the Duchess of Dorset to advance, she came in likewise, knelt down, and assured him of the indisputable truth of his father’s decease. Convinced at length of the fact, he consented to get up and dress himself. The Duke of Dorset arriving in his coach and six, almost immediately afterwards, George the Second quitted Kew the same evening for London.
George the Second, as Prince of Wales, had been on terms of personal friendship with the duke. He had stayed at Knole, when half an ox, four sheep, and a calf were provided, besides the following items for his visit:
| £ | s. | d. | |
|---|---|---|---|
| Butcher | 17 | 0 | 0 |
| Bread and flour | 4 | 0 | 0 |
| Fowls, butter and eggs | 14 | 15 | 0 |
| Poulterer | 11 | 14 | 0 |
| Fishmonger | 9 | 4 | 0 |
| Confectioner | 25 | 10 | 0 |
| Wine | 66 | 0 | 0 |
| Beer | 35 | 0 | 0 |
| Master-cook’s bill | 20 | 9 | 0 |
| To the cooks | 37 | 12 | 6 |
| The pewterer | 3 | 12 | 4 |
| The carrier | 9 | 0 | 0 |
| Lord Lumley’s Grenadiers | 3 | 4 | 6 |
| £257 | 1 | 4 |
The duke’s first essay in Ireland was not unsuccessful: he left affairs alone as far as he possibly could and was tolerably popular. It was only the second time, twenty years later, that he and Lord George incurred so much dislike. Into the political reasons for this I have already said that I will not, because I cannot, enter; I will only quote from a curious lampoon, preserved in the British Museum, which was written to celebrate the duke’s departure in 1754:
Ringing of the Bell
or
A Hue & Cry after Raymond the Fox
By ROGER SPY, Esq.
The bells are ringing, Hark! how they merrily toll. What is the cause of their joy? Or why this cheerful tintinnation? They seem animated, and their rejoicing seems sensible, so expressive of triumph and hilarity are their peals, treble, bass and tenor make excellent harmony, and strike the very heart; the ringers themselves pull with pleasure—what is it they toll forth, or what may the bells be supposed to say?
Interpreter
I’ll tell you what they say ...
St. Patrick’s
He was full of Pa-pa tricks,
Says the bell of St. Patrick’s.
St. Mary
I wonder how dare he,
Says the bell of St. Mary.
St. Bride
Our acts he belied,
Says the bell of St. Bride.
St. Ann
He played Cat-in-Pan,
Says the bell of St. Ann.
St. Andrew
Bad swash as e’er man drew,
Says the bell of St. Andrew.
St. Peter
No vinegar sweeter,
Says the bell of St. Peter.
St. Owen
In mischief full knowing,
Says the bell of St. Owen.
St. Thomas
The Lord keep him from us,
Says the bell of St. Thomas.
St. Nicholas Without
He put good men out,
Says St. Nicholas Without.
St. Nicholas Within
He put bad men in,
Says St. Nicholas Within.
Castle Bell
You’re a very bad parcel,
Says the bell of the Castle,
and so on, in the same vein.
His patronage of the actress Peg Woffington sets him in a more personal and amiable light. I have no evidence to prove whether he was following in the steps of his father; I only know that Peg Woffington’s portrait, like that of Nell Gwyn and of the Baccelli, is at Knole; that an old play-bill of hers was found behind the panelling in the Great Hall; that the duke gave her a command performance at Dublin; and, finally, that the following facetious petition—was it written by one of the duke’s disrespectful sons?—is among the Knole papers:
To his Grace LIONEL Duke of DORSET, Lord Lieut of Ireland
The humble Memorial of Margaret Woffington, Spinster. Most humbly sheweth
That your Memorialist is a woman of great merit and small fortune, and would be proud of an opportunity of shewing her zeal for his Majesty’s service by her ready acceptance and faithful discharge of any employment he shall graciously please to bestow upon her.
That her friends have been at great expense and trouble in procuring and perusing the list of the several places on this establishment, and find her extremely well qualified to discharge the Office of Housekeeper to his Majesty’s Castle as it doth not require much greater ability than the Rolls or the Chancellorship of the Exchequer.
That your Memorialist is a true friend to the present Constitution in opposition to all Mock Patriots and drinks the Brownlow Majority and the Minority for the Money-bill every day devoutly.
That she has already by the assistance of whisky made two considerable Proselytes Patrick O’Donoghoe and Thady Foley her Chairman tho’ one of them had been closeted by Col. Dilkes and the other taken by the hand by Sir Richd Cox, and verily believes if the same means were employed, the Opposition would soon lose its principal supporters.
That your Memorialist can produce two of the greatest Polemical Writers of the present Age in support of her character, 1st. Peter Willson who has abused her more than once in his Universal Advertiser—an honour which he is never known to confer on any but persons of the first ranks and character. 2dly Geo. Faulkner, in whose impartial Journal are contained a Score of Poems, One Dozen of Sonnets, Six letters from some of the best Critics, if you will take their own words for it, four Epigrams, besides occasional paragraphs, all composed in her praise, and which are at least as well written as they are printed.
That your Memorialist is little versed in the Housekeeper’s Arithmetic, having never been instructed in the doctrine of Items, Dittos, Sums Total and Balances, which circumstance, it is conceived, will turn out greatly to the advantage of the Government.
That her personal attachment to your Grace is so well known, that odd reports have been raised in relation to some intimacies that have past between two persons that shall be nameless, and which she defies her adversaries to prove.
Wherefore she humbly hopes that Your Grace will take the premises into your serious consideration, and oblige the present Incumbent to resign the said office, your Memorialist paying her the full value thereof, or if she continues obstinate as old women are apt to do, and refuses to sell, that the reversion may be granted to your Petitioner, and the rather as she conceives, if it be not done under your Grace’s administration, there may be some reason to fear it will never be done at all.
MARGARET WOFFINGTON.
Mem: She is ready and willing to act as first Chambermaid to your Grace, to warm your bed and tuck you in, which, as she is advised and verily believes, the present Housekeeper is in no manner qualified to do.