I suppose you have heard all the exorbitant demands of the heralds for your pedigree! I have seen one this morning, infinitely richer and better done, which will not cost more; it is for my Lady Pomfret. You would be entertained with all her imagination in it. She and my lord both descend from Edward the First, by his two Queens. The pedigree is painted in a book: instead of a vulgar genealogical tree, she has devised a pine-apple plant, sprouting out of a basket, on which is King Edward's head; on the other leaves are all the intermediate arms; the fruit is sliced open, and discovers the busts of the Earl and Countess, from whence issue their issue! I have had the old Vere pedigree lately In my hands, which derives that house from Lucius Verus; but I am now grown to bear no descent but my Lord Chesterfield's, who has placed among the portraits of his ancestors two old heads, inscribed Adam de Stanhope and Eve de Stanhope; the ridicule is admirable. Old Peter Leneve, the herald, who thought ridicule consisted in not being of an old family, made this epitaph, and it was a good one, for young Craggs, whose father had been a footman, "Here lies the last who died before the first of his family!" Pray mind, how I string old stories together to-day. This old Craggs,(177) who was angry with Arthur More, who had worn a 78 livery too, and who was getting into a coach with him, turned about and said, "Why, Arthur, I am always going to get up behind; are not you!" I told this story the other day to George Selwyn, whose passion is to see coffins and corpses, and executions: he replied, "that Arthur More had had his coffin chained to that of his mistress."—"Lord!" said I, "how do you know!"—"Why, I saw them the other day in a vault at St. Giles's." He was walking this week in Westminster Abbey with Lord Abergavenny, and met the man who shows the tombs, "Oh! your servant, Mr. Selwyn; I expected to have seen you here the other day, when the old Duke of Richmond's body was taken up." Shall I tell you another story of George Selwyn before I tap the chapter of Richmond, which you see opens here very apropos? With this strange and dismal turn, he has infinite fun and humour in him. He went lately on a party of pleasure to see places with Lord Abergavenny and a pretty Mrs. Frere, who love one another a little. At Cornbury there are portraits of all the royalists and regicides, and illustrious headless.(178) Mrs. Frere ran about, looked at nothing, let him look at nothing, screamed about Indian paper, and hurried over all the rest. George grew peevish, called her back, told her it was monstrous. when he had come so far with her, to let him see nothing; "And you are a fool, you don't know what you missed in the other room."—"Why, what?"—"Why, my Lord Holland'S(179) picture."—"Well! what is my Lord Holland to me?"—"Why, do you know," said he, ,that my Lord Holland's body lies in the same vault in Kensington church with my Lord Abergavenny's mother?" Lord! she 'was so obliged, and thanked him a thousand times.
The Duke of Richmond is dead, vastly lamented: the Duchess is left in great circumstances. Lord Albemarle, Lord Lincoln, the Duke of Marlborough, Duke of Leeds, and the Duke of Rutland, are talked of for master of the horse. The first is likeliest to succeed; the Pelhams wish most to have the last: you know he is Lady Catherine's brother, and at present attached to the Prince. His son Lord Granby's match, which is at last to be finished to-morrow, has been a mighty topic of conversation lately. The bride is one of the great heiresses of old proud Somerset. Lord Winchilsea, who is her uncle, and who has married the other sister very loosely to his own relation, Lord Guernsey, has tied up Lord Granby so rigorously that the Duke of Rutland has endeavoured to break the match. She has four thousand pounds a year: he is said to have the same in present, but not to touch hers. He is in debt ten thousand pounds. She was to give him ten, which now Lord Winchilsea refuses. Upon the strength of her fortune, Lord Granby proposed to treat her with presents of twelve thousand pounds; but desired her to buy them. She, who never saw nor knew the value of ten shillings while her father lived, and has had no time to learn it, bespoke away so roundly, that for one article of the plate she ordered ten sauceboats: besides this, she and her sister have squandered seven thousand pounds apiece in all kind of baubles and frippery; so her four thousand pounds a-year is to be set apart for two years to pay her debts. Don't you like this English management? two of the greatest fortunes meeting and setting out with poverty and want! Sir Thomas Bootle, the Prince's chancellor, who is one of the guardians, wanted to have her tradesmen's bills taxed; but in the mean time he has wanted to marry her Duchess-mother: his love-letter has been copied and dispersed every where. To give you a sufficient instance of his absurdity, the first time he went with the Prince of Wales to Cliefden, he made a nightgown, cap, and slippers of gold brocade, in which he came down to breakfast the next morning.
My friend M'Lean is still the fashion: have not I reason to call him my friend? He says, if the pistol had shot me, he had another for himself. Can I do less than say I will be hanged if he is? They have made a print, a very dull one, of what I think I said to Lady Caroline Petersham about him,
,Thus I stand like the Turk with his doxies around!"
You have seen in the papers a Hanoverian duel, but may be you don't know that it was an affair of jealousy. Swiegel, the slain, was here two years ago, and paid his court so Assiduously to the Countess(180) that it was intimated to him to return; and the summer we went thither afterwards, he was advised to stay at his villa. Since that, he has grown more discreet and a favourite. Freychappel came hither lately, was proclaimed a beauty by the monarch, and to return the compliment, made a tender of all his charms where Swiegel had. the latter recollected his own passion Jostled Freychappel, fought, and was killed. I am glad he never heard what poor Gibberne was intended for.
They have put in the papers a good story made on White's: a man dropped down dead at the door, was carried in: the club immediately made bets whether he was dead or not, and when they were going to bleed him, the wagerers for his death interposed, and said it would affect the fairness of the bet.
Mr. Whithed has been so unlucky as to have a large part of his seat,(181) which he had just repaired, burnt down: it is a great disappointment to me, too, who was going thither Gothicizing. I want an act of parliament to make master-builders liable to pay for any damage occasioned by fire before their workmen have quitted it. Adieu! This I call a very gossiping letter; I wish you don't call it worse.
(172) Joseph Damer, afterwards created Lord Milton in Ireland, married Lady Caroline Sackville, daughter of Lionel, Duke of Dorset.
(173) Thomas Pelham, of Stanmer; a young gentleman who travelled with Mr. Milbank.
(174) The highest part of the Apennine between Florence and Bologna.