ver come and cast an eye on it!-But are even our visions pure from alloy? Does not some drawback always hang over them? and, being visions, how rapidly must not they fleet away? Yes, yes; our smiles and our tears are almost as transient as the lustre of the morning and the shadows of the evening, and almost as frequently interchanged. Our passions form airy balloons-we know not how to direct them; and the very inflammable matter that transports them, often makes the bubble burst, Adieu! LETTER CCCCXXVII. Strawberry Hill, Nov. 1, 1784. You are one of the last men in the world to be comforted by a legacy for the loss of a friend; nor can one see it in any agreeable light, but as a testimony of real affection. An old friend is a double loss when one's self is not young. However, it is the frequent untying of such strings that accustoms one to one's own departure. The patriarchs might preserve a relish for life, even when five hundred years old; because their children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren, were all upon as lasting an establishment; and, I suppose, the affec tions of the ancestry were as vivacious as themselves. But, in the post-diluvian system, long-lived parents are often more unfortunate than we old bachelors, and survive their children. For my part, who have outlived some friends and most of my contemporaries, I am attached to being but by few threads. I see little difference between living in Otaheite, and with new generations. Small advantage has one in the latter intercourse, but in not having an unknown language to learn; nay, one has part of a new tongue to practise when there is a distance of fifty years between the two vocabularies. My dear old friend, Madame du Deffand, often said, she did not understand modern French. Swift was out of humour with many words coined in his own time;-a common foible with elderly men, who seem to think that every thing was in perfection when they entered the world, and could not be altered but for the worse. Thank you for the account of the arrival of the Duchess of Albany. It is one of the last chapters of the House of Stuart; whose history— tarry but a little-may be written, like that of the Medici. The episode of the Princess of Stolberg is more proper for an Atalantis.† *The Pretender's wife, daughter of the Prince of Stolberg, and great-granddaughter of the outlawed Earl of Ailesbury, who died at Brussels. The Countess of Albany was separated from her husband on account of his ill-usage, and was supposed to like Count Alfieri (the poet,) a Piedmontese gentleman, who had been in England, where he fought a duel with the second Lord Ligonier, on having an intrigue with his wife, who was daughter of Lord Rivers, and who was soon after divorced. In a letter to Walpole, dated Florence, October 8th, Sir Horace Mann had told Such anecdotes, however, come within my compass, who live too much out of the world to know what bigger monarchs are doing. Newspapers tell me your Lord Paramount is going to annihilate that ficti tious state, Holland. I shall not be surprised if he, France, and Prussia, divide it, like Poland, in order to settle the Republic! perhaps, may create a kingdom for the Prince of Orange out of the Hague and five miles round. Your nephew, though arrived, I have not yet seen; he is in Kent with his daughters. The new Signora Mozzi I should think not enchanted with her husband's passing eldest on the wedding-night. She will take care not to choose a philosopher for her second. This scrap, which in reality is but a reply to some paragraphs in yours, gives itself the denomination of a letter, to keep up the decorum of regularity, which idle veterans have no excuse for neglecting, and often practise mechanically. I began it last night, "because I had nothing else to do, and quitted it because I had nothing more to say;" which was the whole of a letter from a French lady to her husband, and in which there was humour, as she was more indifferent to him him that "The arrival of Lady Charlotte Stuart, Duchess of Albany, has occasioned some little bustle in the town. A French lady, who for thirty years had been totally neglected, but on a sudden transformed into a Duchess, was an object that excited the curiosity of both sexes-the men, to see her figure; the ladies, scrupulously to examine that, and the new modes she has brought from Paris: the result of all which is, that she is allowed to be a good figure, tall and wellmade, but that the features of her face resemble too much those of her father to be handsome. She is gay, lively, and very affable, and has the behaviour of a wellbred Frenchwoman, without assuming the least distinction among our ladies on account of her new dignity. They flock to her door to leave their cards, which she is to return; though the Countess, her step-mother, did not, and therefore, or perhaps for another reason, lived alone with Count Alfieri, who, as a writer of tragedies, formed the plot of her elopement, on which the acknowledgment of this natural daughter, all the honours she has received, and the future advantage she will have by being heiress to all her father can leave her, depend. Perhaps neither the Countess nor her lover foresaw all this, and it is very probable that she will repent of it, and consequently detest her adviser. The Countess renounced every thing to obtain her liberty, gave up her pin-money, which was 3000 crowns a year, and could not obtain any thing for a separate maintenance; so that she does not receive a shilling from the Stuart family, and is only to enjoy a jointure of 6000 crowns after her husband's death-a poor equivalent for what she has lost. However, she obtained a pension from the Court of France soon after her separation, where her complaints were listened to with compassion, and 20,000 petits écus, which she now lives upon. The new Duchess has appeared at the theatres, which were crowded on her account, with all her father's jewels, which are very fine. He asked leave of the Duke to put a baldachino or dais over her boxes in each theatre, and a velvet carpet to hang before it, which was refused; but had permission to line the boxes as he pleased. That in the great theatre is hung with crimson damask: the cushion is velvet, with gold lace. In the other theatre, it is yellow damask. The Count is much pleased with this distinction. The Duchess brought with her, as a dame de campagnie, a French woman, who married an Irish officer named O'Donnel: and an écuyer named Nairn, a Scotchman, whom they call my Lord. We have heard that the King of France has legitimated her so far as to inherit what her father possesses in France."-From an unpublished Letter. -ED. than I am to you. Now I do resume it, I find it not so convenient; for my hand shakes, being very nervous in a morning. It might shake for another reason, which I should not disguise if the true one; for nothing is so foolish as concealing one's age, since one cannot deceive the only person who can care whether one is a year or two older or younger one's self. That secrecy convinces me, amongst other reasons, that nothing is falser than the common maxim, that no one knows himself. Whom the deuce should one know, if not the person one sees the oftenest and observes the most, and who has not a thought but one knows? Elderly women, who repair their faces, prove they discover the decay; and yet flatter themselves that others will not discover the alteration which even repairs make. I should think that a daily looking-glass and conscience would leave neither women nor men ignorant of themselves. We are silly animals! even our wisdom but consists in remarks on the follies of others, if not on our own; and, as we are of the same species, we are sure of not being exempt: for myself, I am clear that I was born, and shall die, with no exclusive patent! LETTER CCCCXXVIII. Berkeley Square, Nov. 8, 1784. As I wrote to you but a week ago, don't imagine from another so soon that I have any thing fresh to tell you. On the contrary, I only write to answer a letter of very antique date from you, which I received from your nephew yesterday, with the parcel of mine. I questioned him strictly, as usual; and his account of you is very good. He says, you are sometimes languid in a morning; but was not you so in the century when we were together? If he described me as justly to you, you must think me the Old Man of the Mountain. But what signify languors or wrinkles, if one does not suffer pain, nor has a mind that wishes to be younger than its body? that is, if one is neither miserable nor ridiculous, it is no matter what the register says. Your nephew seems much benefited by his journey; and I encourage him to renew them frequently, for both your sakes. --- You tell me but it was on the 11th of September when you told me so that Cavalier Mozzi had not received the general acquittance from Mr. Hoare. If still not received, he should write to Mr. Hoare or Sharpe. I have taken my leave, and cannot recommence. You surprise me with the notice that old Ramsay had a hand in that trumpery. I do not mean that I wonder at his being a bad poet-I did not know he was one at all, though a very good scribbler; but an old dotard! to be sporting and playing at leap-frog with brats. I came to town yesterday to bespeak some winter clothes, and hear *The Arno Miscellany. that the Emperor has marched three-score thousand men towards Holland. We shall now feel a fresh consequence of the blessed American war! It begot the late war with Holland; the remaining animosity of which, and our present impotence, will prevent us from defending the Dutch and thence, when Austria, as well as France, are grown great maritime powers, we shall be a single one, and probably the weakest of the three! But as I never meddle with the book of futurity, and its commentators-guesses, I leave that matter to younger readers. Ireland, as far as my spare intelligence extends, is a little come to its senses. * Landed property, though no genius, has discovered that Popery, if admitted to a community of votes, would be apt to inquire into the old titles of estates; and to remember, that prescription never holds against any Church-militant, especially not against the Church of Rome. You know I have ever been averse to toleration of an intolerant religion. I have frequently talked myself hoarse with many of my best friends, on the impossibility of satisfying Irish Catholics without restoring their estates. It was particularly silly to revive the subject in this age, when Popery was so rapidly declining. The world had the felicity to see that fashion passing away-for modes of religion are but graver fashions; nor will any thing but contradiction keep fashion up. Its inconvenience is discovered, if let alone; or, as women say of their gowns, it is cut and turned, or variety is sought; and some mantua-maker or priest, that wants business, invents a new mode, which takes the faster, the more it inverts its predecessor. I shall not wonder if Cæsar, after ravaging, or dividing, or seizing half Europe, should grow devout, and give it some novel religion of his own manufacture. I have had as many disputes on the Reformation of Parliament. I do not love removing land-marks. Whether it is the leaven of which my pap was made, or whether my father's Quieta non movere is irradicable, experiments are not to my taste; but I find I am talking "about it and about it," because I really have nothing to tell you, and know nothing. I do worse than live out of the world, for I live with the old women of my neighbourhood. I read little, not bestowing my eyes without an object. In short, I am perfectly idie; and such a glutton of my tranquillity, that I had rather do nothing than discompose it. I would go out quietly; and, as one is sure of being forgotten the moment one is gone, it is as well to anticipate oblivion. * The concessions to the Romanists were rejected, but were soon after given with large additions.-ED. VOL. II.-30 than I am to you. Now I do resume it, I find it not so convenient; for my hand shakes, being very nervous in a morning. It might shake for another reason, which I should not disguise if the true one; for nothing is so foolish as concealing one's age, since one cannot deceive the only person who can care whether one is a year or two older or younger-one's self. That secrecy convinces me, amongst other reasons, that nothing is falser than the common maxim, that no one knows himself. Whom the deuce should one know, if not the person one sees the oftenest and observes the most, and who has not a thought but one knows? Elderly women, who repair their faces, prove they discover the decay; and yet flatter themselves that others will not dis cover the alteration which even repairs make. I should think that a daily looking-glass and conscience would leave neither women nor men ignorant of themselves. We are silly animals! even our wisdom but consists in remarks on the follies of others, if not on our own; and, as we are of the same species, we are sure of not being exempt: for myself, I am clear that I was born, and shall die, with no exclusive patent! LETTER CCCCXXVIII. Berkeley Square, Nov. 8, 1784. As I wrote to you but a week ago, don't imagine from another so soon that I have any thing fresh to tell you, On the contrary, I only write to answer a letter of very antique date from you, which I received from your nephew yesterday, with the parcel of mine. I questioned him strictly, as usual; and his account of you is very good. He says, you are sometimes languid in a morning; but was not you so in the century when we were together? If he described me as justly to you, you must think me the Old Man of the Mountain. But what signify languors or wrinkles, if one does not suffer pain, nor has a mind that wishes to be younger than its body? that is, if one is nei ther miserable nor ridiculous, it is no matter what the register says. Your nephew seems much benefited by his journey; and I encourage him to renew them frequently, for both your sakes. You tell me-but it was on the 11th of September when you told me so that Cavalier Mozzi had not received the general acquittance from Mr. Hoare. If still not received, he should write to Mr. Hoare or Sharpe. I have taken my leave, and cannot recommence. You surprise me with the notice that old Ramsay had a hand in that trumpery. I do not mean that I wonder at his being a bad poet-l did not know he was one at all, though a very good scribbler; but an old dotard! to be sporting and playing at leap-frog with brats. I came to town yesterday to bespeak some winter clothes, and hear * The Arno Miscellany. |