LETTER LXXVII.
Potsdam.
On the days when there is no public court at Sans-Souci, we generally dine with Lord Marechal, who is always happy to see the D—— of H——, and is of great service to all British subjects while they remain here or at Berlin. Exclusive of other reasons he may have for esteeming the Duke, his Lordship evidently displays a kind of partiality for his Grace, as the first man in point of rank belonging to his country. This appears in a thousand instances; for with very liberal sentiments, and a most benevolent heart, this venerable nobleman still retains a few Caledonian prejudices.
He asked one day of the D——, If he reckoned himself a Scotchman? Most certainly I do, replied his Grace. By so doing you lie under a mistake, said my Lord; for I can assure you, and I am convinced the best lawyers in England will do the same, that you have a much juster claim to all the privileges belonging to your English title of B——n, though some of them, I fear, are still disputed.
It is to be hoped, said the D——, that the House of Peers will not always refuse to do my family justice; on a thorough examination of the case, I still flatter myself they will grant me those privileges, which have been, for no valid reasons, refused my ancestors. But in the mean time, why will your Lordship, more cruel than the Peers, deny my birth-right as a Scotchman?
Because your birth gives you no such right, replied the Earl; for you in reality are but a North Briton:—unless your Grace can prove that you were born before the Union. But, continued he, with an air of triumph, I am a real Scotchman:—adding a little after, with a sigh, and in a plaintive accent—and almost the only one in the world—All the Scots of my acquaintance are now dead.