February 14th, 1806.
Mamma must, I am sure, have informed you of our various proceedings, in her numerous letters to you, and therefore I will not torment you with a repetition. Our life since we came to London has passed in its usual routine of faisant bien des riens; arranging the teaching geniuses, making the usual purchases and visiting the usual set; walking in Hyde Park, and watching the people in the Square. This morning, we have Mr Roussin for the third time, have taken a short turn in the Park, and called on Mrs M. Marriott, and at present Anne is rehearsing to Myer on the harp, who is all astonishment at the progress she has made. We dine and stay the evening at the Dowager Lady Glyn's.
Anne relishes London vastly, and hitherto the little going out she has had agrees with her. The Opera is her delight. Papa took William there, and I never saw a child so happy. He enjoys going out prodigiously.
Are you not outrageous at the manner in which Mr Singleton, [31] son- in-law to the great man who died for his country, was turned out? I think it is really a disgrace to the Nation. I should have thought every connection of my Lord Cornwallis would have been distinguished with honours, instead of which he is turned out of Office as soon as the account arrived of his Father-in-Law's death.
The papers have indeed been in a most bloody humour, they have unjustly killed Lord Coventry, Lord Uxbridge, Lord Harrowby, and it was astonishingly reported that Lord Melville had destroyed himself, when he was quite well. It really was curious to hear people inquiring in the most melancholy tone, what was the cause of such a Lord's death, and the next person announcing merrily that he was perfectly well! Lord Kinnaird is expected home daily with the transports.
We heard the other day that the Princesses had received a letter from the Duchess of Wurtemburg [32] since she had seen the Empress of France. Upon entering, the Duchess said she felt something like effroi, which Madame Bonaparte took for Froid and she threw over her shoulders a most beautiful shawl she had been wearing herself. The Emperor was very polite and never named England or the English. He brought a most superb présent de noces for the Princess of Wurtemburg who is going to be married.
I wish also to tell you a story I heard of Erskine. He was dining one evening with a large party at Carlton House. The conversation turned upon Sir Robert Calder's sentence. [33] Erskine said, to set a pack of yellow Admirals who had never seen active service to judge a brave and distinguished Officer was horrible. "They might as well," said he, "set a parcel of Attorney's clerks to judge Erskine!" Is not this Chancellor Ego?—This was just before he was Chancellor. His wife died a short time ago, and his daughter wrote word to a friend that had her father known how soon her mother would die, he would not have behaved better to her! They must all be mad, I think.
Thomas Erskine, the third son of the 10th Earl of Buchan, was, in 1806, appointed Lord High Chancellor of Great Britain and elevated to the Peerage the same year by the title of Baron Erskine. Brilliant, eloquent and witty, from his habit of invariably talking about himself and his concerns, he was given the name of Chancellor Ego. Owing to his being of opposite politics, the Stanhopes were disposed to view him somewhat disparagingly, and owned, indeed, but slight acquaintance with him till years afterwards when they met him at Holkham. It was on the occasion of a dinner-party in London, however, that Lord Erskine once told John Stanhope the following story, and which the latter used to recount as an instance of the Chancellor's genuine kindliness of heart.
"In the days of my youth", Lord Erskine related, "I arrived in Edinburgh one morning after a lengthy absence from Scotland, feeling delighted at the prospect of re-visiting my old haunts and looking up my old friends. I went first to a bookseller's shop which I was fond of visiting, and as I was leaving it, to my surprise and pleasure I encountered an old butler who had been for many years in my father's service. I noticed, however, to my regret, that the old man looked greatly changed. He was pale, worn and shadowy as a ghost. Moreover, when I greeted him genially he showed little excitement at the unexpected encounter. 'I came to meet your honour,' he said, very gravely, 'I want to solicit your interference with my Lord to recover a sum of money due to me which the steward at the last settlement would not pay.'
"Struck both by his manner and his unaccountable knowledge of my movements, I decided to question him further respecting the cause of his evident distress. Stepping back into the shop, therefore, I invited him to follow me, explaining that there we could discuss the matter privately. When, however, I turned round to hear what he had to tell me, I found that he was gone, nor, on returning to the door, could I see him anywhere in the street.