Horne Tooke has at length got into Parlt. for the rotten borough of Old Sarum, through the patronage of Lord Camelford. Ld. Temple has given notice of a motion to investigate into his eligibility; the question is whether he can sit in Parlt. after having taken priest’s orders. He has already spoken frequently, but his wit suits the mob at the hustings better than the genteel mob of Parlt. He is too fond of talking of himself, and his jokes are trite. He made formerly a very satirical good joke in a toast, and it was so well disguised that what is very Jacobinical appears extremely loyal—‘The brave followers of the Duke of York,’ meaning the French, who pursued him when his army was put to flight in Holland. It will be a good expulsion for ye Opposition, as he is very mischievous, and would overset any little popularity they might acquire if they could conduct themselves with tolerable prudence.
11th March.—Lord Morpeth is to be married in a few days to Lady Georgina Cavendish, a suitable match in every respect. Without possessing great beauty she has many charms, and is so well disposed that il a beau jeu before him, if he will renounce le gros jeu, but it unfortunately happens that love only suspends that passion when it has taken deep root. However, he has so good an understanding and such right feelings, that what a man can do to conquer a vicious habit he will do.
A MOTHER’S SORROWS
The loss of my child sits heavily upon me, my heart is oftentimes overflowing, and my health very much impaired. The system that Sr. Walter Farquhar[168] has put me upon is calculated to rouse my constitution, but grief and a certain natural morbid tendency may baffle all his endeavours. My Charles is delicate, and has frequent and severe attacks: anxiety for him and regrets for my poor Ste. make the hours of reflection and solitude pass sorrowfully over. There is a sensation in a mother’s breast at the loss of an infant that partakes of the feeling of instinct. It is a species of savage despair. Alas! to lose my pretty infant, just beginning to prattle his little innocent wishes, and imagination so busily aids my grief by tracing what he might have been. In those dreary nights whilst I sat watching his disturbed sleep, I knelt down and poured out to God a fervent prayer for his recovery, and swore that if he were spared me the remainder of my life should be devoted to the exercise of religious duties; that I should believe in the mercy of a God who could listen to and alleviate my woe. Had he lived I should have been a pious enthusiast. I have no superstition in my nature, but from what I then felt it is obvious how the mind may be worked upon when weakened and perplexed by contending passions of fear, hope, and terror.
Ah! my child, perhaps if I had not left you in the summer, but stayed and watched with maternal care all your little ailments, I might have had you still; but the disease was inveterate. He was opened, and his fatal malady ascertained—two tubercles upon his lung, and a pint of water upon his chest. The surgeon and medical men who attended thought the disease was inherent, and that nothing could have saved him, but even in the most inveterate hereditary diseases life is prolonged to a very advanced period by care. But it is over, and regret is now superfluous.
An interesting play, taken from the French, is now acting with success at Drury Lane.[169] The story is of a deaf and dumb boy found in the streets of Paris, who became from his infirmities a pupil of the celebrated Abbé d’Epée, who discovers great intelligence in the boy, and from various circumstances suspects he is of high origin, but abandoned from motives of interest by his family. This he infers from his distress at the meanness of his clothes, his expressions of delight at seeing a Chief Magistrate, whom he gives his patron to understand resembles in dress one who used to caress him. From a variety of incidents the Abbé at length traces that he is the orphan of a great magistrate, defrauded of his rights by a false guardian. I only mention the piece to show the spirit of the times.
The first night it was played, Theodore, the orphan, to show his talents, is asked to give his opinion who is the greatest genius France has produced. He replied, in writing, ‘For science, D’Alembert, wit, Voltaire, sentiment, Rousseau.’ This was deemed Jacobinical, and it is now strangely transposed, ‘For science, Pascal, wit, Boileau, and sentiment, Montesquieu.’ This is absurd, but, much as it is so, the fury of the times is very much abated within these few years, or rather year.
LADY OXFORD
Lady Oxford passed a few days here with her daughter and sisters, and by a harmless supercherie she contrived that Sir Francis Burdett should be invited, a scheme I disliked, as she is so gentle and good that it pains me to see her a prey to him. Knight was here also. To use a vulgar phrase, he has corrupted her mind by filling her head with innumerable vain conceits, and teaching her to exclaim against institutions, especially that of marriage, to which she says she has been a helpless victim. If I were to see much of her she might perhaps be benefited, for as nobody can do more mischief to a woman than a woman, so perhaps might one reverse the maxim and say nobody can do more good. A little mild reproof and disapprobation of some of her doctrines might possibly rescue her from the gulf.
Soon after Fox’s arrival in March (as mentioned already somewhere in these scrawls) a negotiation was set on foot to bring together all the opposers of Governt. to procure a degree of concert in their proceedings. Tierney was instrumental in getting Ld. Moira and Ld. Lansdown together. Soon after, a numerous meeting at the house of the former was held, where Fox, D. of Bedford, Grey, and others all came to an agreement as to their mode of acting in case of a Regency. The King recovered unexpectedly and rapidly, and the zealous Patriots dispersed.