The king and court were present and were witnesses of the demonstration; but while they savoured the incense, M. d’Herville, who had come over, Ambassador Extraordinary from France, to notify the death of Louis XIV., glided among the gay throng, and whispered to some of the masks whom he recognised, that London must not suppose that all was over. ‘The Chevalier’s retreat from Perth,’ said the Envoy, ‘is all a feint. It was concocted in France, only to prolong the time till the Regent of France can succour him openly!’ The next day, this whispered secret found loud and angry, or joyful expression, in London, according to the political feeling of the reporter. A few days later, the public had to speak on a subject of much more peaceful tendency. Sir Isaac Newton, accompanied by Dr. Clarke, had gone to St. James’s, and was received graciously by the Princess, in her own apartment, where Sir Isaac explained to her Highness and her ladies his system of philosophy. The Princess took great interest in the venerable octogenarian; and it was at her request that he drew up his ‘Abstract of a Treatise on Ancient Chronology.’
ADDISON, ON THE PRINCESS OF WALES.
On the 1st of March, the spirit of loyalty was further developed. It was the birthday of the Princess of Wales, and Addison seized the opportunity to overwhelm that lady with the most fulsome praise,—in the current number of the ‘Freeholder.’ According to the writer, she was the most beautiful, most religious, and most virtuous lady of her time. Her mirth was without levity, her wit without ill-nature; and then, as if the writer was mocking himself as well as the subject of his praise—the Princess’s delicacy was said to be on a par with her husband’s virtue—a touch of satire which happened to be perfectly true. On that day, too, church steeples rang peals of congratulations. ‘It was observable,’ said the Whig papers, ‘that the High-Church Wardens were very sparing of their bells; though they need not spare their ropes for the use of their friends, since there’s enough to be had for their service elsewhere.’
Lord Lumley, Master of the Horse, and eldest son of the Earl of Scarborough, distinguished himself by his loyal liberality. In front of his house, in Gerrard Street, Soho, as soon as night set in, an enormous bonfire of faggots was kindled. Three barrels of ale and beer were broached in the street, and thirst with means to quench it caused Jacobites to pass for Whigs, or to fraternise with them in drinking the health of the Princess. From the windows of the houses of the Earl of Manchester and of other peers, and from those of the house of the Ambassador from Morocco, gazed spectators of various hue and quality. The street was a highly fashionable street; but perhaps a little descending from its highest quality, as Lord Manchester’s house is occasionally described, for the benefit of enquirers, as ‘next to the Soup Shop.’
NITHSDALE IN DISGUISE.
While Soho was thus indulging in gaiety, a coach-and-six set off from the door of the Venetian Ambassador in Leicester Fields. It was on its way to Dover to meet his Excellency’s brother, who was expected to arrive at that port. Among the servants in the Ambassador’s livery was one who was not in the Ambassador’s service. This was the Earl of Nithsdale. After a sojourn of several days in the little room where he and his wife had found refuge, a more secure asylum was procured for him in the above Envoy’s house. Within the coach rode one Michel, one of his Excellency’s upper servants, but the Ambassador was doubtless in the secret. On arriving at Dover, Mr. Michel and the livery servant went on board a boat, hired by the former for Calais. The wind was so fair, the tide so favourable, and the passage was made so swiftly, that the captain remarked—things could not have been better if his passengers had been flying for their lives. The passengers on landing set forward together for Rome, where Michel became the confidential servant of the Earl. Soon, all London was certain of the fact that Lord Nithsdale had escaped to the continent.
LADY NITHSDALE IN DRURY LANE.
Shortly after, the Duchess of Buccleuch, from a house in Drury Lane, received a note from Lady Nithsdale, who would not write till she was assured of the earl’s safety. In her note, and in a private interview with the duchess, she stated that it was natural her lord’s escape should be attributed to her. It was flattering to her to be supposed worthy of the merit of such a deed; but that a mere supposition ought not to render her liable to punishment for an imaginary offence. She was desirous to obtain permission to live in freedom; and the Solicitor-General went so far as to state that as the countess had so much respect for Government as not to appear in public, it would be cruel to make further search for her. The Government, however, was less generous, and intimated that, if she publicly appeared in either England or Scotland, she would not remain unmolested.
At the same time, more comic scenes in this drama were being acted by Sir Robert Walpole and Colonel Cecil. That agent of the Chevalier was not aware he was playing the part of dupe. He was a simple, unlearned, honest fellow who had got it into his head that Walpole intended to restore the Stuarts, and that nothing better was to be done, meanwhile, than to let the minister know how the subordinate agents were proceeding, in order to bring about the same end. Walpole had the colonel to his house, pumped him dry, and then left him undisturbed till the springs were flowing again. Then, the poor Jacobite tool (applied to Hanoverian purposes) might be seen going down to Walpole’s house, crammed with intelligence which he was about to reveal where, for Jacobite objects, it should never be known.
COMIC AND SERIO-COMIC INCIDENTS.