Mechell, the King of Prussia’s minister, was recalled. That Prince had formerly desired Sir Charles Hanbury Williams might be recalled by us, without assigning reasons for that request. He was now reminded of that transaction, and called upon to satisfy us in the same manner. An epigram in politics very consonant to the genius of Sandwich, who loved to strike a stroke, and never allowed for the bad consequences it might have.

About the same time our merchants printed a memorial in the newspapers, complaining of their not being permitted to cut logwood; an ill appearance after a peace so favourable to them, and so recent. The Ministers published in the Gazette the King of Spain’s denial of knowing anything of that refusal, yet was not the Spanish Governor punished or recalled: and ere this matter was cold, Monsieur de Guerchy presented a memorial, demanding restitution of effects appertaining to the Duchy of Bretagne, that had been plundered from Belleisle. The Ministers referred the matter to General Hodgson,[7] who replied, “he had been ordered to take Belleisle, and had taken it: he knew nothing farther.”

On July 8th died William Pulteney, Earl of Bath,[8] little considered, though immensely rich; for it was known that he would neither part with his money to do good or harm. He left his vast wealth to an old brother whom he despised, and a few legacies to ancient domestics; but so sparingly, that it was plain he thought the smallest sum a valuable present.

On the 10th came on the trial of the Chevalier d’Eon. He had asked for farther time to assemble witnesses, but being refused, made no defence; and absconding, was found guilty. He remained in England, and often in London, undisturbed and unnoticed.[9] The printers of the “North Briton” were likewise found guilty. Lord Mansfield reprimanded Sergeant Glynn, counsel for the prisoners, for telling the jury that they were judges both of law and fact; the former of which, the Chief Justice denied, and said, if it was controverted he would take the opinion of the Judges thereon—a resource he was fond of applying to, when he could not alone support his own arbitrary assertions. He and the Ministers now finding themselves almost irresistible, pursued their blow. Two hundred informations were filed against printers: a larger number than had been prosecuted in the whole thirty-three years of the last reign!

On the 15th of the following month, came advice of Tortuga, or Turks’ Island, being seized by Count d’Estain. This man had been twice taken prisoner by us in the last war, and both times had forfeited his parole of honour; yet with a laudable clemency had been spared.[10] France had rewarded him with the Order of the Holy Ghost; and he now commanded a squadron in the West Indies, with which he committed this new hostility and infraction of the peace. I saw the importance of the moment, and endeavoured to spirit up addresses against the peace-makers; but languor prevailed, and none of our great Lords could be brought to send directions to their agents for transfusing indignation through their counties. In the meantime the Ministers made representations at Versailles, which, however, despairing of redress, they did not dare to announce in the Gazette till an answer came disavowing D’Estain, and promising to restore the island and pay damages; yet with no mark of displeasure towards their own commander, who, it was not doubted, had acted by direction, both to keep down our stocks, and in revenge for some vessels, which one of our captains had burned at Newfoundland, where they had encroached. The man justified himself by his general orders; nor did the Ministers, though they privately reprimanded him for his zeal, dare to break him; but fearing farther hostilities, four men-of-war were ordered to Newfoundland.

Mr. Legge, after languishing some months, died August 23rd. A blow considerable to our party, as he was the only man in it proper, on a change, to have been placed at the head of the House of Commons. His abilities were known and respected; his timidity and time-serving had not been much remarked, but by the few he had been most conversant with; for, being supple and cheerful and never offensive, he had always seemed to loiter behind his party, rather than to desert it. He met death with more manliness and unconcern than could have been expected, as he was not old, was happy, rich, and above the affectation of heroism or philosophy. An old friend visiting him the day before he died, Legge said to him, “Brother sportsman, I used to laugh at your being too heavy for a chase, but now you are come in at the death.” It was not equally sensible and unaffected, that he sent to Mr. Pitt, to acquaint him with his own approaching dissolution, and to exhort him to do his utmost to remove the present Ministers. Legge ought to have known how little Pitt would regard the death-bed admonition of a man for whom living he had little veneration. Legge left behind him, with orders for publication, a relation of his quarrel with Lord Bute, relating to an election for Hampshire. This piece neither hurt the Favourite, nor reflected honour on the deceased. That the former should have meddled in an election, even before his master’s accession to the Crown, could not surprise nor seriously shock any man: nor, though the narrative was not to appear till after his death, had Legge worked it up with a spirit to do himself honour. His obsequiousness pierced through the veil of hostility, and everybody saw that, without other views, he would not have encountered a rising Minister; nor by Legge’s own account, had the Favourite mitigated the scorn with which he treated him. I have said that Lord Bath loved money so much, that he thought a paltry sum, though given after his death, considerable bounty: it was much the same with Legge, he was so naturally compliant and inoffensive, that his daring to order the publication of a tame and posthumous satire seemed to him an effort of prodigious vengeance.[11]

If the Ministers exerted little spirit against our neighbours, it was feared, on the other hand, that there were hostile views in the disposal of military commands at home. In fact, the Scotch obtained commissions every day: if by Lord Bute’s influence, I rather think it was meant for a defensive guard for himself and the Court, than with views offensive to the Constitution. Depending on favour and promotion, the Scotch themselves might have crowded into the army. Still it spread jealousy and alarm; and Mr. Pitt himself expressed dissatisfaction. These murmurs were largely increased by the elevation of one Colonel Fletcher to an old regiment over thirty-seven officers his seniors, among whom was Colonel Howe,[12] brother of the Lord of that name, and himself lately returned with glory from the Havannah. As Fletcher was devoted to the Favourite, and known to owe this promotion to him, the partiality was the more grievously resented. To compensate for this step, the next regiment that fell was bestowed on Sir William Boothby,[13] but not without the secondary view of gaining this officer, who was a servant of the Duke of York.[14] That Prince returning from Italy passed to Paris; on which the King stopped his remittances, and obliged him to come home without delay. Grenville, who had taken umbrage at Lord Bute’s interfering in the disposal of military preferments, procured Sir William Boothby’s former regiment for Colonel Pearson.

To give the finishing blow to the hopes and credit of the Opposition, the Duke of Devonshire,[15] who had gone to Spa at the end of August for a paralytic disorder, died there in the vigour of his age. He was by no means an able or enterprising man, but enjoyed a character uncommonly respected; and was universally regretted by all the Whigs as head of their party. No man would have disputed that pre-eminence with him; and we wanted even a nominal head. We had in the space of a few months lost three material men,—Lord Hardwicke, Mr. Legge and the Duke of Devonshire. It was almost as unfortunate that we had kept Charles Yorke, Charles Townshend, and the Duke of Newcastle. The health of the Duke of Cumberland made his life as little to be depended on. At this very time he had two slight fits at Newmarket, and was reported dead; but was saved by the breaking out of St. Antony’s fire. The Duke of Devonshire bequeathed 5000l. to Mr. Conway; a legacy honourable to him, and conducive to his popularity. The nominal post of High Treasurer of Ireland being vacated by the death of that Duke, Lord Sandwich begged it for Lord Corke,[16] (who had married his niece, and from whose family it had passed to the Cavendishes by the marriage of the late Duke with the heiress of Boyle,[17]) but on supposition only that the new Duke would not ask it. “How shall we know,” said the King, “if his uncles will ask it for him?” Lord Sandwich said he could find out by his old fellow-traveller Lord Besborough,[18] who had married the late Duke’s sister. Lord Besborough, on the question being put to him by Sandwich as from himself, said laughing, “My Lord, is this to be a retainer?” “Why, to be sure,” replied Sandwich; “it will be expected that the family should not act as they have done.” The young Duke was but sixteen, was awkward, and full of the bashfulness of his race. He was entirely in the hands of his three uncles, the Lords George, Frederick, and John, all warm Whigs, enthusiasts to the memory of their father and brother, of characters eminently unstained, and not a little persuaded that their family was, and ought to be, the most distinguished in the kingdom. Their property was enormous, their credit great, and reputation truly honourable: but the talents of the race had never borne any proportion to their other advantages. The first Duke, besides being the finest gentleman of the age, had succeeded to the merits of his friend Lord Russel’s martyrdom. Since that period the family had affected to drop all polish, and to wear the manners of plain English gentlemen, under an outside that covered considerable pride. Sir Robert Walpole had made advantage of their popularity, and having strongly attached the second and third Dukes to himself, he had placed them before himself as the leaders of the Whig party, and cried up their unembellished good sense, though the second Duke had no sense at all,[19] and the third a very dubious portion.[20] William, the fourth and late Duke, with something more of the manners of a Court, had less abilities than his father. His brother Lord George[21] had none at all. Lord Frederick was lively, and having lived in Courts and Camps, a favourite of the Duke of Cumberland, was by far the most agreeable, and possessed the most useful sense of the whole family.[22] Lord John, the youngest, was hitherto little known. I shall have occasion to mention him frequently hereafter. He had read a good deal, and his eyes saw not faster than his memory retained. He was accurate in repeating words, sentences, nay volumes, if he pleased; nor was he defective in quickness or reasoning. Under the appearance of virgin modesty, he had a confidence in himself that nothing could equal, and a thirst of dominion that was still more extraordinary. It consisted solely in governing those with whom he was connected, without views either of interest or power. To be first, in however small a circle, was his wish; but in that circle he must be absolute: and he was as ready to sacrifice the interests and fortunes of those his friends and slaves, as he was his own. His plan seemed to be the tyranny of a moral philosopher. He was a kind of Heresiarch, that sought to be adored by his enthusiastic disciples, without a view of extending his sect beyond that circle.[23] His fair little person, and the quaintness with which he untreasured, as by rote, the stores of his memory, occasioned George Selwyn to call him the learned Canary-bird.[24]

These three Lords determined their nephew should ask no favour of the Court; nor would they suffer him to carry their late brother’s riband to the King, lest his Majesty should draw any promise or professions from so raw a lad; or lest the boy himself should be wanting in proper respect, or be too blunt, if the King should mention his father. Lord Frederick, as of the Bedchamber to the Duke of Cumberland, was the only one of the family that since their brother’s disgrace had gone to Court: he therefore was thought most proper to restore the badge of the Order. At the same time, lest they should be taxed with rudeness, they desired Lord Besborough to thank Sandwich, but beg he would not neglect the interests of his friend. On this Sandwich ordered the patent to be drawn for Lord Corke; but Lord Mansfield, fearing the loss of that feather might root the Cavendishes in Opposition, prevailed to have it retarded. When Lord Frederick carried the Garter, the King used many expressions of concern for the death of the late Duke. Lord Frederick replied, his Majesty had not had a better subject, and that the family had never imputed their brother’s disgrace to his Majesty’s own movements.

Having foreseen the death of the Duke of Devonshire, and apprehending that it would break up and dissolve our party, I determined to know if we had anything farther to trust to. During the summer I had had frequent conversations with Lord Lyttelton, who was on good terms again with Mr. Pitt and Lord Temple, and who really admired Conway. Lord Lyttelton’s object was to reconcile George Grenville and his brothers, and to make a coalition between that whole family and the Opposition, with or without the Bedfords, but totally to the exclusion of Lord Bute. No man so addicted to wisdom was less wise than Lord Lyttelton; no man so propense to art was less artful; no man staked his honesty to less purpose, for he was so awkward that honesty was the only quality that seemed natural to him. His cunning was so often in default, that he was a kind of beacon that warned men not to approach the shallows on which he founded his attachments, always at a wrong season.[25] Mr. Pitt had neither tasted his views nor reasons; and Lord Temple, who was growing less disinclined to his brother George, neither trusted Lord Lyttelton with that secret, nor with the growing coolness between him and Mr. Pitt. On this miscarriage I resolved to feel my way myself, and went to Stowe. My doubts, if any remained, were there fully cleared away. I discovered that Lord Temple had no influence, scarce any intercourse with Mr. Pitt; and, though he endeavoured to slide over that coolness, I was determined to fathom it; and did. I said I had prayed Lord Lyttelton to bring about an interview between Mr. Conway and Mr. Pitt; that the latter wanted a second in the House of Commons, and could have no man so confidential, trusty, or creditable, as the former; that I was sorry to find no disposition to union in his Lordship’s friends; and that though I would try my utmost till Christmas to cement our party, I should give over a foolish and hopeless opposition, if I met encouragement nowhere.