‘Lord Lyttelton,’ says the contemporary ‘Scots Magazine,’ ‘started up from a midnight sleep on perceiving a bird fluttering near the bed-curtains, which vanished suddenly when a female spirit in white raiment presented herself’ and prophesied Lord Lyttelton’s death in three days. His death is attributed to convulsions while undressing.
The ‘dream’ of Mr. Andrews (according to ‘The Scots Magazine’ of December 1779)* occurred at Dartford in Kent, on the night of November 27. It represented Lord Lyttelton drawing his bed-curtains, and saying, ‘It is all over,’ or some such words.
*The magazine appeared at the end of December.
This Mr. Andrews had been a drysalter. He made a large fortune, owned the powder-mills at Dartford, sat in Parliament, wrote plays which had some success, and was thought a good fellow in raffish society. Indeed, the society was not always raffish. In ‘Notes and Queries’ (December 26, 1874) H. S. says that his mother, daughter of Sir George Prescott, often met Mr. Andrews at their house, Theobalds Park, Herts. He was extremely agreeable, and, if pressed, would tell his little anecdote of November 27, 1779.
This proof that the Andrews tale is contemporary has led us away from the description of the final scene, given in ‘Past Feelings Renovated,’ by the person who brought the news to Mr. Andrews. His version includes a trick played with the watches and clocks. All were set on half an hour; the valet secretly made the change in Lord Lyttelton’s own timepiece. His lordship thus went to bed, as he thought, at 11.30, really at eleven o’clock, as in the Pitt Place document. At about twelve o’clock, midnight, the valet rushed in among the guests, who were discussing the odd circumstances, and said that his master was at the point of death. Lord Lyttelton had kept looking at his watch, and at a quarter past twelve (by his chronometer and his valet’s) he remarked, ‘This mysterious lady is not a true prophetess, I find.’ The real hour was then a quarter to twelve. At about half-past twelve, by HIS watch, twelve by the real time, he asked for his physic. The valet went into the dressing-room to prepare it (to fetch a spoon by other versions), when he heard his master ‘breathing very hard.’ ‘I ran to him, and found him in the agonies of death.’
There is something rather plausible in this narrative, corresponding, as it does, with the Pitt Place document, in which the valet, finding his master in a fit, leaves him and seeks assistance, instead of lowering his head that he might breathe more easily. Like the other, this tale makes suicide a most improbable explanation of Lord Lyttelton’s death. The affair of the watches is dramatic, but not improbable in itself. A correspondent of ‘The Gentleman’s Magazine’ (in 1815) only cites ‘a London paper’ as his authority. The writer of ‘Past Feelings Renovated’ (1828) adds that Mr. Andrews could never again be induced to sleep at Pitt Place, but, when visiting there, always lay at the Spread Eagle, in Epsom.
Let us now tabulate our results.
At Pitt Place, Epsom, or Hill Street, Berkeley Square, On November 24, Lord Lyttelton Dreamed of, or saw, A young woman and a robin. A bird which became a woman. A dove and a woman. Mrs. Amphlett (without a dove or robin). Some one else unknown.
In one variant, a clock and a preternatural light are thrown in, with a sermon which it were superfluous to quote. In another we have the derangement of clocks and watches. Lord Lyttelton’s stepmother believed in the dove. Lady Lyttelton did without a dove, but admitted a fluttering sound.
For causes of death we have—heart disease (a newspaper), breaking of a blood-vessel (Mason), suicide (Coulton), and ‘a suffocating fit’ (Pitt Place document). The balance is in favour of a suffocating fit, and is against suicide. On the whole, if we follow the Pitt Place Anonymous (writing some time after the event, for he calls Mr. Fortescue ‘Lord Fortescue’), we may conclude that Lord Lyttelton had been ill for some time. The making of his will suggests a natural apprehension on his part, rather than a purpose of suicide. There was a lively impression of coming death on his mind, but how it was made—whether by a dream, an hallucination, or what not—there is no good evidence to show.