Oh! my dear children, fond as I am of ye all, I had sooner at this instant hear of your deaths, than that you should become gamesters and spendthrifts. No, not even with the specious accompaniments of a good head and temper, for of what avail is it to a parent that a child possesses both, if their conduct is as abominable as that of the vilest. If these walls could speak, how would they resound with the bitter cries and tears of aged parents, distracted in their last few years by the behaviour of good-hearted sons, but more especially of one who is still renowned for an excellent heart. I know of two good-hearted persons who have been, and still are, a curse to their connections by bringing ruin and distress upon them.
LORD WYCOMBE
It is difficult to be in a more embarrassed situation with respect to Ld. Lansdown than we are in. Ld. Wycombe is come to England, calls here, and lives at Richmond, peremptorily refusing to see his father, that he may, as he calls it, keep up a good understanding between them. Mrs. W. is living at Richmond in a state of melancholy and despair that borders upon intellectual derangement, refusing to see anybody, even me. Wycombe’s behaviour to his father admits of no apology. Slight and disregard towards a parent is at all times a defenceless cause, but, under the present circumstances, far beyond the power of an excuse. He has just obtained from him all he wanted—independence, the sale of estates to pay off debts, and getting rid of a borough, and now he will not even pay to a father that respect due to his age and infirmities were he but a common acquaintance.
Ld. L., who has more travers in his understanding than most men, and as many as his son,—et c’est tout dire, imagines that Mrs. W. is a most artful, designing person, and that she is the cause of Wycombe’s estrangement; that I, as her friend, assist in the machinations; and that Ld. H. is a dupe to us both. He fancies that I have great influence over Wycombe, and could persuade him to call if I chose, as he knows I once made him go to Bath to see him. Per contra, Wycombe believes that his father has what he calls ‘got me over,’ and that my entreaties that he should call upon him, instead of arising from my own conviction of the propriety of them for his character, are merely the effects of his father’s management. In short, they are both so wrong-headed, and so far wide of the simple truth, that I have resolved not to say another word. All I have done is proceeded from my gratitude to Ld. L. for his good-nature to me, and my regard for Wycombe. Ld. L., like all warm-hearted people, can never suppose the error to be in the person he loves, and he always shifts the fault to those he is connected with at the time. Wycombe’s conduct is atrocious. He is revenging upon old age and infirmity the little vexations he experienced in his youth.
Ld. L.’s notions upon many subjects are so extravagant that, unless I had proofs about some of them, I could not possibly credit that any person of common sense or knowledge of the world could entertain them. He looks upon Mrs. Smith’s[234] marriage as a profligate abandonment. What he admires is a woman of rank marrying her equal whom she rather dislikes, and conquering a partiality to another, but fulfilling all her duties scrupulously and punctiliously. Lady Warwick, who is in that predicament, is his highest object of admiration.
Smith and he do not harmonise exactly; both lofty tempers, one claiming a superiority the other is not disposed to yield to. He is a most impracticable man to act with in politics. He has had the merit of bringing forward many distinguished men, but from his complaints of their desertion and ingratitude one perceives how much he exacts dependence, and how unreasonable he is. He used always to complain that though he voted with ye Opposition, yet they never told him what they intended. Upon the breaking, or rather stoppage, of the Bank, Messrs. Fox, Grey, and Sheridan went to him to concert measures for the ensuing debate,[235] upon which he said, ‘I will tell you, gentlemen, very fairly, my opinion, which has always been for publicity and simplicity.’ With these two words they were obliged to be contented and extract from them what meaning they could, if any they had. One day, when Grey was talking confidentially to him, he burst out suddenly, and said: ‘Aye, but I have had one, Mr. Grey, already slip through my fingers.’ Grey was in a great rage; he meant Pitt.
MRS. SMITH
Mrs. S. is a superannuated, prudish beauty. She has survived her attraits without perceiving their dereliction, and what seems as odd, those about her are equally dim-sighted. Her sister, Ld. L., and even Miss Fox, speak of her charms as they might have done 15 years ago. She is what a lively Frenchman called ‘demoiselle froide.’ She has no conversation, and her understanding, like Ld. Burleigh’s, must be taken upon trust, as she is too profound to open. Those who live with her say she has wonderful capacity, but as it is known to only 2 or 3 persons, she must submit to the aspersion of being suspected of great dulness. Au reste, I believe she is a good sort of person. Her eagerness to marry Smith, and delight at having done so, betray more warmth than by her cold exterior one may presume. She likes to be suspected of feeling.
I suspect there is not a more inveterate lover of pleasure than a well-matured prude; great prudery generally argues a more than usual warmth of constitution. The wearer of prudery, being conscious there is much to hide, falls into the extreme of reserve, whereas a naturally-disposed person is not troubled with any forbidden temptations, and appears lively and sprightly without fear of incurring severe observations.
The rage for German plays still continues. The stage abounds with them, and the press is loaded with translations, and some, in point of morality, very questionable. One of the causes that create them in Germany occasions their being relished here. The same dull apathy of character that demands something extraordinary to rouse it subsists in both countries, as we have nothing to boast on the score of liveliness beyond the good, dull Germans.