21st.—Went to the churchyard, from whence there is a celebrated view, which, however, I think little of; the walk in it is shady and pretty. 21st, came through Hereford to Foxley. At Hereford D. of Norfolk insisted upon our giving him one day. 22nd, 23rd, stayed at Foxley. The General was there. 24th, went to Ld. Oxford’s[5] at Eywood. Charles unwell, and left at Foxley with Drew. 25th, stayed at Eywood. 26th, I returned alone to see Charles, and joined the whole party at Downton Castle, Mr. Knight’s,[6] in the eve. late. 27th, returned to Foxley. 28th, came to this place, Holme Court, the D. of Norfolk’s. Stayed yesterday, and go away to-day, 30th.
LADY OXFORD
Ly. O. has lost her vivacity and beauty. She is in a deplorable state of spirits, proceeding, I fancy, from an enthusiastic, romantic admiration of Sr. Francis’s ideal perfections. She fancies herself a victim of sensibility, and is really so drooping that I should scarcely be surprised if she perished from imagining grief. Mr. Knight encourages her in those bursts of sensibility; he compares her tears to April showers that sprinkle and revive the freshness of the violet. Be the cause what it may, her beauty is impaired; her eyes, which were always full and prominent, now from thinness start out. It is also probable that her languor may arise from having lost the relish which the novelty gave of being a great lady. She appears from an affectation of naïveté weaker than she is; in a whining, monotonous, childish tone she uses fine phrases for common conversation. She said to Ld. H. upon the Slave Trade, ‘I am always for justice and humanity, ar’n’t you?’ And to the General: ‘In case of a revolution, you, of course, would take the side of the people against the King, would not you?’ The house is comfortable, and they live with a degree of splendour they are unequal to, as he has ruined himself by his ostentation and her total ignorance of the value of money.
Mr. Knight wrote a famous work upon the traces still to be found in Italy of a primitive worship. He has assembled a large collection of these symbols in bronze, marble, etc. He is a passionate admirer of the ancients, and studies in nature antique forms and contours. Ly. Hamilton was his favourite; she absent, the admiration is transferred to Ly. O. He is a middle-aged man, and has a large fortune. His pursuits are classical even to pedantry. He has made a good house and fine grounds, and lives with a degree of luxurious recherche.
The Duke of Norfolk[7] is an extraordinary instance of the impossibility of situation being sufficient to secure happiness: he, however, finds in his own good temper an antidote to all the vexations of his life. He has all that rank, dignity, and wealth can give; he married a beautiful woman whose person he liked, possessed of 15,000l. pr. anm. About eight years after she became mad, and from being intestate her immense possessions escheat to the Crown, there being no male heir to the Scudamores. It appears to be a hardship that the laws afford no relief to a person united to one insane, as no pretext can be more valid towards the dissolution of a marriage than an obstacle of that nature that impedes the fulfilling of every function belonging to the institution. He maintains with solid magnificence the splendour of his rank; everything about him bespeaks wealth and luxurious comfort. His servants are old domestics, fat, sleek, and happy; his table is profuse and exquisite. His taste is bad; he loves society, but has no selection, and swallows wine for quantity, not quality: he is gross in everything. The Dss.’s madness has taken a sombre, farouche turn; she hates all mankind. The clergyman during a lucid interval advised her to read religious books, supplied her with some, and mingled his advice with pious exhortations. She acquiesced, and took the books. A few days after she returned them with scorn, saying, ‘I wish I could believe your d——d trumpery, as I should then be certain two-thirds of mankind would roast in H——! It was curious that in the Gospels she could find matter to gratify her malignity. The Duke behaves uncommonly well to her.
DR. INGENHOUSZ
Mrs. Clive, Ly. Plymouth’s sister, went there to meet me. She is a shrewd, sensible woman. Her husband is a Jacobin of the worst sort, envy actuating all his equalising principles.[8] Wm. Scott, Ly. O.’s brother, another Jacobin, was there: he is merry and good-humoured, and tho’ a zealous disciple of Horne Tooke’s a few good briefs to get him a pied à terre will cure him of his democracy. I knew him many years ago at Nice. Capt. Morris,[9] the famous singer of his own witty songs, entertained us with some of them; he is drunken and dull, and since the death of a favourite son, has renounced singing any of his light songs. He made a superstitious vow to God Almighty that he would not.
We slept at Gloucester on the 30th. On ye 31st passed through pretty Rodborough Vale, and Badminton Park, not a fine place, tho’ large, and arrived here, Bowood, 31st August, Saturday. Found Ld. Lansdown in high good humour and cordiality with me, and in very good health and spirits. The Smiths were just come from Warwick. Mr. Dumont is here, and two or three other indifferent people. Poor old Ingenhousz is dying rapidly. He is shrunk to a skeleton. Ld. L. with great humanity and feeling affords him an asylum, which his other friends were averse to, as the beholding of a dying man is a painful spectacle. He talks with intrepidity of death, but, hélas! where can the courage come from? The subject is a painful one.
Dumont and I walked every morning, that is to say, the three I stayed, in ye garden: his conversation is always amusing and instructive. We talked over books that we each liked, especially Bonnet’s beautiful work, Contemplation de la nature, which contains many interesting expositions of the wonderful economy of nature in the structure of plants and animals. Had he not too frequently allowed his imagination to run off with him when he turns to the attributes of the divinity, he would tire less, but his apostrophes which aim at sublimity are generally incomprehensible and bombast.
Whilst I have been travelling I have not been idle in the way of reading; we have read already ye first seven volumes of Henry’s History of England. It is written upon a more extensive plan than that suggested by Voltaire and partly adopted by Hume.