There is a statement which having found its way into such an authority as "Chandler's Debates," has been incorporated in works pretending to historical accuracy. On a debate arising out of the Bill for the Encouragement and increase of Seamen, in 1740, Pitt is represented as attacking Mr. Horace Walpole for having ventured on a reference to his youth. The fact is, that these debates were imaginary or constructed on a very slight foundation. Dr. Johnson, as is well known, before he had obtained his colossal reputation, drew up fictitious reports of what took place in the House of Commons.
Mr. Walpole having in a discussion been severely handled by Pitt, Lyttleton, and the Granvilles, all of whom were much his juniors, lamented that though he had been so long in business, young men should be found so much better informed in political matters than himself. He added that he had at least one consolation in remembering that his own son being twenty years of age, must be as much the superior of Pitt, Lyttleton, and the Granvilles, as they were wiser than himself. Pitt having his youth thus mercilessly flung in his face, got up in a rage, commencing—"With the greatest reverence to the gray hairs of the gentleman," but was stopped by Mr. Walpole pulling off his wig, and disclosing a grizzled poll beneath. This excited very general laughter, in which Pitt joined with such heartiness, as quite to forget his anger.
The younger Walpole always preserved a delicacy of figure, approaching effeminacy: his dress was simple: his manners studiously courteous: but his features, though agreeable, were not handsome; the most expressive portion being his eyes, which, when animated in conversation, flashed with intelligence. A close observer has stated, that "his laugh was forced and uncouth, and even his smile not the most pleasing." This may, perhaps, be attributed to the pain he habitually suffered, since the age of twenty-five, from the gout, which in the latter part of his life attacked his hands and feet with great severity. During the last half of his existence he was not only extremely abstemious, but his habits indicated a constitution that could brave alterations of temperature, from which much stronger men would shrink.
His hour of rising was usually nine, and then, preceded by his favorite little dog, which was sure to be as plump as idleness and good feeding could render it, he entered the breakfast-room. The dog took his place beside him on the sofa. From the silver tea-kettle, kept at an even temperature by the lamp beneath, he poured into a cup of the rarest Japan porcelain, the beverage "that cheers, but not inebriates." This was replenished two or three times, while he broke his fast on the finest bread, and the sweetest butter that could be obtained. He, at the same time, fed his four-footed favorite, and then, mixing a basin of bread and milk, he opened the window, and threw it out to the squirrels, who instantly sprang from bough to bough in the neighboring trees, and then bounded along the ground to their meal.
At dinner, which was usually about four o'clock, he ate moderately of the lightest food, quenching his thirst from a decanter of water that stood in an ice-pail under the table. Coffee was served almost immediately, to which he proceeded up stairs, as he dined in the small parlor or large dining-room, according to the number of his guests. He would take his seat on the sofa, and amuse the company with a current of lively gossip and scandal, relieved with observations on books and art, in illustration of objects brought from the library or any other portion of the house—for the whole might be regarded as a museum. His snuff-box, filled from a canister of tabac d'etrennes from Fribourg's, placed in a marble urn at one of the windows to keep it moist, was handed round, and he frequently enjoyed its pungent fragrance till his guests had departed—this was rarely till about two o'clock. If earlier, Walpole was sure to be found with pen in hand, continuing whatever work he might have in progress, or communicating to some of his numerous friends the news and gossip of the day.
The whole of the forenoon, till dinner-time, was often employed by him in attending upon visitors, rambling about the grounds, or taking excursions upon the river. He rarely wore a hat, his throat was generally exposed, and he was quite regardless of the dew, replying, to the earnest solicitude of his friends, "My back is the same with my face, and my neck is like my nose."
Sometimes of an evening he would go out to pay a visit to his neighbor, Kitty Clive, and then the hours passed by in a rivalry of anecdote and pleasantry; for Kitty, like himself had seen a great deal of the world, and was full of its recollections.
AN INCIDENT OF INDIAN LIFE.
In the year 1848 I found myself traveling through the Mysorean country of Seringapatam, so familiar to every reader of Indian history, for the rapid rise of that crafty but talented Asiatic Hyder Ali.