Chapter IX: Part 9

'When we see the son of that great man, forming himself by so worthy an example, and in every action exhibiting a lively resemblance of his father; when we consider the eloquence he has exerted with so much applause in the parliament of Ireland, and his turn and application, even in early youth to the serious and weighty affairs of the public, we willingly decree him honours which are neither superior to his merits, nor earlier than the expectation of our good subjects.'

As soon as the duke of Wharton came of age, he was introduced to the house of lords in England, with the like blaze of reputation, and raised jealousies in the breasts of the most consummately artful, and best qualified in the house of peers. A little before the death of lord Stanhope, his grace, who was constant in nothing but inconstancy, again changed sides, opposed the court, and endeavoured to defeat all the schemes of the ministry.

He appeared one of the most forward and vigorous in the defence of the bishop of Rochester, and in opposing the bill for inflicting pains and penalties on that prelate.

The judicious observations he made on the trial of the bishop, and the manner in which he summed up and compared a long and perplexed kind of evidence, with inimitable art and perspicuity, may be seen in the duke's speech upon that extraordinary occasion, which is a lasting proof of his amazing abilities in the legislative capacity, as well as of his general knowledge of public business.

He, however, did not confine this spirit of opposition to the house of lords, but exerted it both in city and country, promoting in all kinds of elections such persons as were supposed to be no fautors of the court. Such was the hatred he now conceived to the ministry, and such his desire of becoming eminent; that he even pushed himself into the city of London; was invested with the rights and privileges of a citizen, and was entered a member of the wax-chandler's company; by virtue of which he appeared at all meetings, charmed all societies, and voted in his own right upon all occasions.

Notwithstanding his astonishing activity in opposition to the court, he was not yet satisfied that he had done enough. He could not be in all places, and in all companies at once. As much an orator as he was, he could not talk to the whole nation, and therefore he printed his thoughts twice a week, in a paper called the True-Briton, several thousands of which being dispersed weekly, the duke was pleased to find the whole kingdom giving attention to him, and admiring him as an author, though they did not at all approve his reasoning.

Those political papers, which were reckoned by some the standard of good sense, and elegant writing, were collected together in his life-time, and reprinted by his order, with a preface, in which he gives his reasons for engaging in an undertaking so uncommon to a person of his distinction.

Here it will not be improper to remark, that notwithstanding all those instances of the duke's zeal, his sincerity in opposing the ministry was yet suspected, as his former behaviour was so very inconsistent with it; but he never failed to justify himself throughout the different and contrary courses of his conduct, pretending always to have acted consistently with the honour and interest of the realm. But he never was able in this particular to obtain the public judgment in his favour.

It is impossible to reconcile all the various actions of this noble-man. He was certainly too much governed by whim and accident. From this time forward, however, though he might deviate from the strict rules of a moral life, he cannot be said to have done so with respect to his politics. The same principles on which he set out, he carried to his grave, with steadiness through all the events of fortune, and underwent such necessities, as few of his quality ever experienced, in a cause, the revival and success of which had long been desperate, before he engaged in it.

The duke's boundless profusion had by this time so burthened his estate, that a decree of chancery took hold on it, and vested it in the hands of trustees for the payment of his debts, but not without making a provision of 1200 l. per annum for his subsistence. This allowance not being sufficient to support his title with suitable dignity at home, he proposed to go abroad for some years, 'till his estate should clear itself of incumbrances. His friends, for his own sake, were pleased with this resolution, and every body considered this course as the most prudent, that in such circumstances could be taken. But in this the world was deceived, for he went abroad from no such prudent motive, oeconomy being a virtue of which he never had the least notion in any part of his life. His business at Vienna was to execute a private commission, not in favour of the English ministry, nor did he ever shine to greater advantage, as to his personal character, than at the Imperial court.

From Vienna his grace made a tour to the court of Spain, where his arrival alarmed the English minister so much, that two expresses were sent from Madrid to London, upon the apprehension that his grace was received there in the character of an ambassador, upon which the duke received a summons under the Privy Seal to return home. His behaviour on this occasion was a sufficient indication that he never designed to return to England, whilst affairs remained in the same state, and the administration in the same hands they then were in. This he often declared from his going abroad the second time, which, no doubt, was the occasion of his treating that solemn order with so much indignity, and endeavouring to enflame the Spanish court, not only against the person who delivered the warrant, but against the court of Great Britain itself, for exercising an act of power, as he was pleased to call it, within the jurisdiction of his Catholic Majesty. After this he acted openly in the service of the Pretender, and appeared at his court, where he was received with great marks of favour.

While his grace was thus employed abroad, his duchess, who had been neglected by him, died in England, on the 14th of April 1726, and left no issue behind her. The lady's death gave the duke no great shock. He was disencumbered of her and had now an opportunity of mending his fortune by marriage.

Soon after this, the duke fell violently in love with Mademoiselle Obern, a beautiful young lady at the Spanish court, who was then one of the maids of honour to the Queen of Spain. She was daughter of an Irish colonel in that service, who being dead, her mother lived upon a pension the King allowed her, so that this lady's fortune consisted chiefly in her personal accomplishments. Many arguments were used by their friends on both sides to dissuade them from the marriage. The Queen of Spain, when the duke asked her consent, represented to him in the most lively terms, that the consequence of the match would be misery to both, and absolutely refused her consent.

Having now no hopes of obtaining her, he fell into a violent melancholy, which introduced a lingering fever, of which he languished 'till he was almost ready to drop into the ground. This circumstance reaching her Majesty's ear, she was moved with his distress, and sent him word to endeavour the recovery of his health, and as soon as he was able to appear abroad, she would speak to him in a more favourable manner, than at their last interview. The duke upon receiving this news, imagined it the best way to take the advantage of the kind disposition her Majesty was in; and summoning to his assistance his little remaining strength, he threw himself at her Majesty's feet, and begged of her either to give him Mademoiselle Obern, or not to order him to live, assuring her, in the language of tragedy, that she was to pronounce the sentence of his life, or death. The Queen consented, but told him he would soon repent it, and the young lady being dazzled with the lustre of a ducal title, and besides having a real value for her lover, they were soon united by an indissoluble bond.

After the solemnization of his marriage, he passed some time at Rome, where he accepted of a blue garter, affected to appear with the title of duke of Northumberland, and for awhile enjoyed the confidence of the exiled Prince. But as he could not always keep himself within the bounds of the Italian gravity, and having no employment to amuse his active temper, he ran into his usual excesses, which giving offence, it was thought proper for him to remove from that city for the present, lest he should fall into actual disgrace. Accordingly the duke quitted Rome, and went by sea to Barcelona, where hearing that the trenches were opening before Gibraltar, he resolved upon a new scene of life, which few suspected he would ever engage in. He wrote a letter to the King of Spain, acquainting him, 'That he designed to take up arms in his Majesty's service, and apprehending that his forces were going to reduce the town of Gibraltar under his obedience, he hoped he should have his permission to assist at the siege as a volunteer.'

This done, he went to the camp, taking his duchess along with him, and was received with all the marks of respect due to his quality. The Conde de la Torres, who commanded there, delivered him an obliging letter from the King his master, thanking him for the honour he intended him, by serving in his troops, and during that siege, appointed him his aid-de-camp, by which, post the duke was to give an account of all transactions to his Majesty himself, which obliged him to be often in the trenches, and to expose his person to imminent danger. During this siege want of courage was never imputed to him; on the contrary, he was often guilty of the most imprudent rashness. One evening he went close to the walls, near one of the posts of the town, and threatened the soldiers of the garrison. They asked who he was? he readily answered, the duke of Wharton; and though he appeared there as an enemy, they suffered him to return to the trenches without firing one shot at him.

This siege was ended, and the duke received no other hurt, than a wound in his foot by the bursting of a grenade, and when nothing more was to be done in the camp, he went to court, where he was held in the utmost respect by the principal nobility. The King likewise, as a mark of his favour, was pleased to give him a commission of Colonel Agregate (that was the term) to one of the Irish regiments, called Hibernia, and commanded by the marquis de Castelar.

Could the duke have been satisfied with that state of life, and regulated his expences according to his income, he had it then in his power to live, if not affluently, at least easily. But in a short time he was for changing the scene of action; he grew weary of Madrid, and set his heart on Rome. In consequence of this resolution, he wrote a letter to the Chevalier de St. George, full of respect and submission, expressing a desire of visiting his court; but the Chevalier returned for answer, that he thought it more advisable for his grace to draw near England, than make a tour to Rome, that he might be able to accommodate matters with the government at home, and take some care of his personal estate. The Chevalier very prudently judged, that so wretched an oeconomist as the duke, would be too great a burden to a person, whose finances were not in a much better condition than his own. Be that as it may, the duke seemed resolved to follow his advice, and accordingly set out for France, in company with his duchess, and attended by two or three servants, arrived at Paris in May 1728. He sent a letter to Mr. Walpole then embassador there, to let him know he designed to visit him. That gentleman returned the duke a civil answer, importing, 'that he should be glad to see his grace at his own time, if he intended it a public visit; if a private one, they would agree upon an hour, that should be most convenient.' The duke declared that he would come publicly, which he did next day, and his discourse with that minister was suitable to the usual gaiety of his temper; for though he spoke of returning home, it was in such an undetermined way, that Mr. Walpole could not guess his real intentions. He received the duke however with his usual complaisance, and with a respect agreeable to his quality, but was not a little surprized, when, at parting, his grace told him, he was going to dine with the bishop of Rochester. Mr. Walpole answered, 'That if he had a design of making that prelate a visit, there was no manner of occasion for telling him of it.' Thus they parted, and never again had another interview.

The duke made little stay at Paris, but proceeded to Rouen in his way, as some imagined, to England; but there he stopt, and took up his residence, without reflecting in the least on the business that brought him to France. He was so far from making any concession to the government in order to make his peace, that he did not give himself the least trouble about his personal estate, or any other concern in England. The duke had about 600 l. in his possession, when he arrived at Rouen, where more of his servants joined him from Spain. There he formed his houshold, and made a calculation, in which there appeared to be but one mistake, that is, he proportioned his expences, not according to his income, but quality; and though every argument was used to convince him of this error, at once so obvious and fatal, yet he would hearken to no admonition while he had one crown left.

At Rouen, as in every other place, the duke charmed all those who conversed with him; he was warmly received by persons of the first distinction in that province, with whom he took the diversion of hunting twice a week, 'till some news arrived, which would have given interruption to the mirth of any other man; but the alteration was scarce to be perceived in him.

This was a Bill of Indictment preferred against Philip duke of Wharton, for high treason. The fact laid to his charge was, appearing in arms before, and firing off cannon against, his Majesty's town of Gibraltar. Here we cannot omit an anecdote, from which the reader may draw what conclusion he pleases. During the time the proceedings against the duke were at a stand in the long vacation, a gentleman of character, intimately acquainted with the duke, and also with his affairs in England; one who enjoyed the sunshine of court favour, and was a Member of Parliament, went over to Rouen to visit his grace, in company with another gentleman. These two visitants took a great deal of pains to persuade him to submit to the government, and return to his estate, which they assured him he might do, by writing a letter to the King, or the ministry. This alone, without any other pretensions to favour, was to re-establish him, and leave him the free enjoyment of his estate, which, notwithstanding all the reductions, would even then have yielded 6000 l. a year. This point they sollicited incessantly, and their words of honour were given, to remove all scruples his grace might have about the performance of the conditions. Their interpositions were however in vain; he refused to submit to the ministry, or write to the King, and thought it beneath him to ask a favour.

This conduct of the duke may be imputed, by some, to pride and obstinacy, but a more natural construction is, that he was afraid of treachery. He could not discover upon what motives, two persons whom he looked upon as creatures of the court, would give themselves the trouble to come to Rouen, in order to persuade him to act for his own interest, unless they had some concealed views of such a nature, perhaps, as would prove fatal to him, should he submit.

He soon after this received advice from England, that his trustees could remit him no more of his annuity, on account of the indictment preferred against him. There was now a dreadful prospect before him; his money was wasted; all future supplies cut off; and there was a large family to support, without any hopes of relief. He began now to feel the effects of the indictment, which he before held in so much contempt; he complained of it as a rigorous proceeding, because it laid him under a necessity of asking a favour, and receiving it in a public manner, which he fancied neither consistent with his honour, or reputation. Thus exasperated against the government, he wrote the memorable paper which he contrived to get printed in Mist's Journal, under the colour of an account of Mirevais and Sultan Ezref, which contained severe reflexions on the administration. Mean time the duke's credit at Rouen began to sink; he was attended every morning with a considerable levee, consisting of the tradesmen of that city, who came with importunate faces to demand payment of their bills, which he discharged by quitting Rouen, leaving his horses and equipage to be sold, and the money to be divided among them. The duke, before this event, had thrown himself at the feet of the Chevalier de St. George, as the only possible resource he had left. Accordingly he wrote him a most moving letter, giving him a detail of his present sufferings, very pathetically representing the distress to which he was reduced, and humbly imploring his protection, with what little assistance might be necessary to enable him to support such a burthen of calamities, as he found otherwise too heavy to bear.

* * * * *

The duke having now returned to Paris, made a considerable reformation in his houshold affairs, and placed himself in a private family, while the duchess went to a relation's at St. Germains. In the mean while the answer of the letter sent to Rome came in its proper time, in which his imprudent conduct was represented; but at the same time was touched with so light and delicate a hand, that it gave the duke but little uneasiness. No hopes were given him, that he should be gratified in his extravagancies, or flattered in his levities; on the contrary he was told, 'That as his past conduct had not merited any favour, nothing but his future behaviour could recommend him to it.' The duke had sufficient penetration to discover by this hint, that he was not likely to be abandoned, which was consolation enough to one of his sanguine temper, in the then desperate situation of his affairs.--The Chevalier de St. George soon after sent him 2000 l. for his support, of which he was no sooner in possession, than he squandered it away in a course of extravagance. In reality, money seemed to be such a burthen to him, that he bent all his thoughts to get rid of it as fast as possible; and he was as unwilling his companions should be troubled with it as himself. As a proof of this strange temper we shall quote one instance amongst many in the words of the writer of his life, which will serve to shew the heedless profusion of that unaccountable nobleman.

'A young Irish lord of the duke's acquaintance, of a sweet obliging and generous disposition, happening to be at St. Germains, at the time his grace was paying a visit to his lady; the duke came to him one night, with an air of business, and told his lordship that an affair of importance called him instantly to Paris, in which no time was to be lost, wherefore he begged the favour of his lordship's coach. The young nobleman lent it very readily, but as the duke was stepping into it, he added, that he should reckon it an additional obligation, if his lordship would give him, his company: As the duke was alone, the young lord either could not, or would not, refuse him. They went together for Paris, where they arrived about midnight. The duke's companion then supposing his grace's business might demand privacy, offered to leave him and come again, when it should be finished; but he assured his lordship it was not necessary; upon which they went upon the following frolic together. The first thing to be done, was to hire a coach and four horses; the next to find out the music belonging to the Opera, six or eight of which his grace engaged at a set price: The young lord could not imagine in what this would end; till they returned to St. Germains, which was at five the next morning when the duke marching directly with his troop to the castle, ordered them to strike upon the stairs. Then the plot broke out into execution, being no more than to serenade some young ladies, near whose apartments they then were.

'This piece of extravagant gallantry being over, the duke persuaded the young lord to go about a mile off, to Poissy, where an English gentleman 'of their acquaintance lived: His lordship consenting, the duke took with him a pair of trumpets, and a kettle-drum, to give the music a more martial air: But to this the Opera music made an objection at first, because as they should be wanted that night in their posts, they should forfeit half a louis d' or each, for non-appearance. Half a louis d' or! says his grace, follow the duke of Wharton, and all your forfeitures shall be paid. They did so, and entered Poissy in such a musical manner, that they alarmed the whole town, and their friend did not know whether he had best keep his house, or fly for it; but the affair was soon explained, and the musical troop was entertained by the gentleman their friend, in a very handsome manner. This frolic being now finished, there was one thing more absolutely necessary, viz. to discharge the reckoning, upon which occasion the duke in a very laconic manner addressed himself to the young lord.' My lord, says he, 'I have not one livre in my pocket, wherefore I must desire you to pay these fellows, and I'll do as much for you whenever I am able. Upon this his lordship with great chearfulness, paid all demands, amounting to 25 louis d' ors.'

It may seem a strange observation, but it is certainly true, that the brute creation differs not more from the rational in many respects, than a man from himself: That by suffering passions to usurp the dominion of the soul, human nature is stript of its dignity, debased to the beasts that perish, and still rendered more ignominious by the complications of guilt. We have already seen the duke of Wharton set up as the idol of an admiring people; an august senate listened to the enchantments of his eloquence; a powerful ministry dreading his resolutions; he was courted, flattered, feared; and obeyed. View him now, and the scene is shifted. Observe him descending to the most abject trifling, stooping to the meanest expedients, and the orator and statesman transformed to the vagabond and the wanderer.

No incident in this nobleman's life has been represented more to his disadvantage, and is in itself more interesting than the following. The account which is here inserted was sent to a friend by the duke's express order.

A Scots peer with whom both the duke, and the duchess lived in great intimacy in Italy, happening to come to Paris, when the duke was there, they renewed their acquaintance and friendship, and for some time continued with mutual freedom, till the duke had reason to believe from what he heard from others, that the peer had boasted favours from the duchess of Wharton.

This instance of wanton vanity, the duke could not help resenting, though he often declared since the quarrel, that he never had the least suspicion of the duchess's honour. He resolved therefore very prudently to call the Scots lord to an account, without letting him know it was for the duchess or so much as mentioning her name; accordingly he took occasion to do it in this manner.

It happened that the duke of Wharton and his lordship met at a lady's whom they mutually visited, and the duke dropping his glove by chance, his lordship took it up, and returned it to the duke; who thereupon asked him if he would take it up in all it's forms? To which his lordship answered, yes, my lord, in all its forms.

Some days after, the duke gave a ball at St. Germains, to which he invited the Scots nobleman, and some person indiscretely asked his grace whether he had forbid the duchess's dancing with lord C----. This gave the duke fresh reason to believe that the Scots peer had been administring new grounds for his resentment, by the wantonness of calumny. He dissembled his uneasiness for the present, and very politely entertained the company till five o'clock in the morning, when he went away without the ceremony of taking leave; and the next news that was heard of him was from Paris, from whence he sent a challenge to lord C----d, to follow him to Flanders.

The challenge was delivered by his servant, and was to this effect: 'That his lordship might remember his saying he took up his glove in all its forms, which upon mature reflexion, his grace looked upon to be such an affront, as was not to be born, wherefore he desired his lordship to meet him at Valenciennes, where he would expect him with a friend and a pair of pistols; and on failure of his lordship's coming his grace would post him, &c.

The servant who delivered the letter, did not keep its contents a secret; and lord C----d was taken into custody, when he was about setting out to meet his grace. All that remained then for his lordship to do, was to send a gentleman into Flanders, to acquaint the duke with what happened to him. His grace upon seeing the gentleman, imagining him to be his lordship's second, spoke to him in this manner; 'Sir, I hope my lord will favour me so far as to let us use pistols, because the wound I received in my foot before Gibraltar, in some measure disables me from the sword.' Hereupon the gentleman replied with some emotion, 'My lord duke, you might chuse what you please; my lord C----d will fight you with any weapon, from a small pin to a great cannon; but this is not the case, my lord is under an arrest, by order of the duke of Berwick.'

His grace being thus disappointed in the duel, and his money being almost spent, he returned to Paris, and was also put under an arrest till the affair was made up by the interposition of the duke of Berwick, under whose cognizance it properly came as Marshal of France.

The duke's behaviour on this occasion, so far from being reproachable, seems to be the most manly action of his whole life. What man of spirit would not resent the behaviour of another, who should boast of favours from his wife, especially when in all probability he never received any?

His grace's conducting the quarrel, so as to save the reputation of his duchess, by not so much as having her name called in question, was at once prudent, and tender; for whether a lady is guilty or no, if the least suspicion is once raised, there are detractors enough in the world ready to fix the stain upon her. The Scots lord deserved the severest treatment, for living in strict friendship with two persons of quality, and then with an insidious cruelty endeavouring to sow the seeds of eternal discord between them, and all to gratify a little vanity: Than such a conduct nothing can be more reproachable.

Not long after this adventure, a whim seized the duke of going into a convent, in order to prepare for Easter; and while he was there, he talked with so much force and energy upon all points of religion, that the pious fathers beheld him with admiration. Mankind were for some time in suspense, what would be the issue of this new course of life; but he soon put an end to their speculations by appearing again in the world, and running headlong into as wild courses of vice and extravagance, as he had ever before done. He had for a companion, a gentleman for whom he entertained a very high esteem; but one who was as much an enemy as possible to such a licentious behaviour. In another situation, our noble author would have found it a happiness to be constantly attended by a person of his honour, probity, and good sense; but the duke's strange and unaccountable conduct, rendered the best endeavours to serve him ineffectual. In a letter which that gentleman wrote to a friend in London, he concludes with a melancholy representation of the duke's present circumstances;

----'However, notwithstanding what I have suffered, and what my brother 'madman' has done to undo himself, and every body who was so unlucky as to have the least concern with him, I could not help being sensibly moved on so extraordinary a vicissitude of fortune, to see a great man fallen from that shining light, in which I have beheld him in the house of lords, to such a degree of obscurity, that I have beheld the meanest commoner here decline his company; and the Jew he would sometimes fasten on, grow tired of it, for you know he is a bad orator in his cups, and of late he has been seldom sober. A week before he left Paris, he was so reduced, that he had not one single crown at command, and was forced to thrust in with any acquaintance for a lodging: Walsh and I have had him by turns, all to avoid a crowd of duns, which he had of all sizes, from 1400 livres to 4, who hunted him so close, that he was forced to retire to some of the neighbouring villages for safety. I, sick as I was, hurried about Paris to get him money, and to St. Germains to get him linen. I bought him one shirt and a cravat, which, with 500 livres, his whole stock, he and his duchess, attended by one servant, set out for Spain. All the news I have heard of him since, is, that a day or two after he sent for captain Brierly, and two or three of his domestics to follow him; but none but the captain obeyed the summons. Where they are now I cannot tell, but I fear they must be in great distress by this time, if he has had no other supplies; and so ends my melancholy story.'

In this deplorable situation did the duke leave Paris, an instance indeed of the strange reverse of fortune, but for which he could not blame the severity of providence, or the persecution of enemies, but his own unbounded profusion, a slave to which he seems to have been born. As a long journey did not very well suit with his grace's finances, so he went for Orleans, thence fell down the river Loire to Nantz in Britany, and there he stopt some time 'till he got a remittance from Paris, which was squandered almost as soon as received. At Nantz some of his ragged servants rejoined him, and from thence he took shipping with them from Bilboa, as if he had been carrying recruits to the Spanish regiment. From Bilboa he wrote a humorous letter to a friend at Paris, such as his fancy, not his circumstances, dictated, giving a whimsical account of his voyage, and his manner of passing away his time. But at the end, as if he had been a little affected with his late misconduct, he concludes thus, 'notwithstanding what the world may say of me,

'Be kind to my remains, and O! defend,
Against your judgment, your departed friend[A].'

When the duke arrived at Bilboa, he had neither friends, money, nor credit, more than what the reputation of his Spanish commission procured him. Upon the strength of that he left his duchess and servant there, and went to his regiment, where he was obliged to support himself upon the pay of 18 pistoles a month, but could get no relief for the poor lady and family he left behind him. The distress of the duchess was inexpressible, nor is it easy to conceive what would have been the consequence, if her unhappy circumstances had not reached the ear of another exiled nobleman at Madrid, who could not hear of her sufferings without relieving her. This generous exile, touched with her calamities, sent her a hundred Spanish pistoles, which relieved her grace from a kind of captivity, and enabled her to come to Madrid, where she lived with her mother and grandmother, while the duke attended his regiment. Not long after this, the duke's family had a great loss in the death of his lady's mother, by which they were deprived of a pension they before enjoyed from the crown of Spain; but this was fortunately repaired by the interest of a nobleman at court, who procured the duchess's two sisters to be minuted down for Maids of Honour to the Queen of Spain, whenever a vacancy should happen, but to enter immediately upon the salary of these places. Her Majesty likewise took the duchess to attend her person.

There have been many instances of people, who have sustained the greatest shocks which adversity can inflict, through a whole life of suffering, and yet at last have yielded to the influence of a trifling evil: something like this was the case of the duke of Wharton, which the following story will illustrate.

He was in garrison at Barcelona, and coming from a ball one night, in company with some ladies, a man in a masque, whom he did not know, was guilty of some rudeness to him. The duke enquired who he was, and being informed that he was valet de chambre to the marquis de Risbourg, governour of Catalonia, he suffered himself to be transported by the first motions of his passion, and caned him. The fellow complained of this usage to his master, who at first took no notice of it, imagining his grace would make some excuse to him for such a procedure, but whether the duke thought it beneath his quality to make any apology for beating a menial servant, who had been rude to him, or would not do it upon another account, he spoke not a word about it. The marquis resenting this behaviour, two days after ordered the duke to prison. He obeyed, and went to Fort Montjuich: as soon as he arrived there, the marquis sent him word, he might come out when he pleased; the duke answered, he scorned to accept liberty at his hands, and would not stir without an order from the court, imagining they would highly condemn the governour's conduct; but the marquis had too much credit with the minister, to suffer any diminution of his power on that account; he received only a sharp rebuke, and the duke had orders to repair to his quarters, without entering again into Barcelona. This last mortification renewed the remembrance of all his misfortunes; he sunk beneath this accident, and giving way to melancholy, fell into a deep consumption. Had the duke maintained his usual spirit, he would probably have challenged the marquis, and revenged the affront of the servant upon the master, who had made the quarrel his own, by resenting the valet's deserved correction.

About the beginning of the year 1731 he declined so fast, being in his quarters, at Lerida, that he had not the use of his limbs, so as to move without assistance; but as he was free from pain, he did not lose all his gaiety. He continued in this ill state of health for two months, when he gained a little strength, and found some benefit from a certain mineral water in the mountains of Catalonia; but his constitution was too much spent to recover the shocks it had received. He relapsed the May following at Terragana, whither he removed with his regiment; and going to the above mentioned waters, the benefit whereof he had already experienced, he fell into one of those fainting fits, to which he had for some time been subject, in a small village, and was utterly destitute of all the necessaries of life, 'till some charitable fathers of a Bernardine convent, offered him what assistance their house afforded. The duke accepted their kind proposal, upon which they removed him to their convent, and administered all the relief in their power. Under this hospitable roof, after languishing a week, died the duke of Wharton, without one friend, or acquaintance to close his eyes. His funeral was performed in the same manner in which the fathers inter those of their own fraternity.

Thus we have endeavoured to exhibit an adequate picture of the duke of Wharton, a man whose life was as strongly chequered with the vicissitudes of fortune, as his abilities were various and astonishing. He is an instance of the great imbecility of intellectual powers, when once they spurn the dictates of prudence, and the maxims of life. With all the lustre of his understanding, when his fortune was wasted, and his circumstances low, he fell into contempt; they who formerly worshipped him, fled from him, and despised his wit when attended with poverty. So true is it that,

Want is the scorn of every wealthy fool,
And wit in rags is turn'd to ridicule.

The duke of Wharton seems to have lived as if the world should be new modelled for him; for he would conform to none of the rules, by which the little happiness the world can yield, is to be attained. But we shall not here enlarge on his character, as we can present it to the reader, drawn in the most lively manner, by the masterly touches of Pope, who in one of his familiar epistles, thus characterizes him.

POPE's Epistle on the KNOWLEDGE
and CHARACTERS of MEN.

Wharton, the scorn and wonder of our days,
Whose darling passion was the lust of praise:
Born with whate'er could win it from the wise,
Women and fools must like him, or he dies;
Tho' wond'ring senates hung on all he spoke,
The club must hail him master of the joke.
Shall parts so various aim at nothing new?
He'll shine a Tully and a Wilmot too;
Then turns repentant, and his God adores,
With the same spirit that he drinks and whores;
Enough if all around him but admire,
And now the Punk applaud, and now the Friar.
Thus with each gift of nature and of art,
And wanting nothing but an honest heart;
Grown all to all, from no one vice exempt;
And most contemptible, to shun contempt;
His passion still to covet gen'ral praise,
His life, to forfeit it a thousand ways;
A constant bounty which no friend has made;
An angel tongue which no man can persuade;
A fool, with more of wit than half mankind,
Too rash for thought, for action too refin'd:
A tyrant to the wife his heart approves;
A rebel to the very King he loves;
He dies, sad out-cast of each church and state,
And, harder still! flagitious, yet not great.
Ask you why Wharton broke thro' ev'ry rule?
'Twas all for fear the Knaves should call him Fool.

Pope's Works, Vol. III. The duke is author of two volumes of poems, of which we shall select the following as a specimen.

The FEAR of DEATH.

Say, sov'reign queen of awful night,
Dread tyrant say!
Why parting throes this lab'ring frame distend,
Why dire convulsions rend,
And teeming horrors wreck th' astonish'd sight?
Why shrinks the trembling soul,
Why with amazement full
Pines at thy rule, and sickens at thy sway?
Why low'r the thunder of thy brow,
Why livid angers glow,
Mistaken phantom, say?
Far hence exert thy awful reign,
Where tutelary shrines and solemn busts
Inclose the hallow'd dust:
Where feeble tapers shed a gloomy ray,
And statues pity feign;
Where pale-ey'd griefs their wasting vigils keep,
There brood with sullen state, and nod with downy sleep.
Advance ye lurid ministers of death!
And swell the annals of her reign:
Crack every nerve, sluice every vein;
And choak the avenues of breath.
Freeze, freeze, ye purple tides!
Or scorch with seering flames, Æra's nature flows in tepid streams,
And life's meanders glide.
Let keen despair her icy progress make,
And slacken'd nerves their talk forsake;
Years damp the vital fire.
Yawn all ye horrors of the flood;
And curl your swelling surges higher.
Survey the road!
Where desolating storms, and vengeful fates,
The gawdy scene deface;
Ambition in its widest havock trace
Thro' widow'd cities, and unpeopl'd states.
And is this all!
Are these the threaten'd terrors of your reign?
O dream of fancy'd power!
Quit, quit, th' affected shew,
This pageantry of grief, and labour'd pomp of woe.
Draw the pleasing scene,
Where dreadful thunders never rowl, nor giddy tempests low'r.
Scenes delighting!
Peace inviting,
Passions sooth'd, and tumult dying;
Aera's rowling,
Fears controuling,
Always new, and always flying.
We dread we know not what, we fear we know not why,
Our cheated fancy shrinks, nor sees to die
Is but to slumber into immortality.
All reconciling name!
In space unbounded as in power;
Where fancy limits cannot frame;
Nor reason launch beyond the shore:
An equal state from all distinction free,
Spread like the wide expanse of vast immensity.
Seditious tumults there obey,
And feuds their zeal forget:
Debated empires own one common sway,
There learn'd disputes unite;
Nor crowded volumes the long war maintain:
There rival chiefs combine
To fill the gen'ral chorus of her reign.
So streams from either pole,
Thro' diff'rent tracks their wat'ry journies rowl;
Then in the blending ocean lose their name,
And with consenting waves and mingl'd tides forever flow the same.

[Footnote A: These two lines are taken from Dryden, who addressed them to Congreve, when he recommended to him the care of his works.]

* * * * *

Colonel CODRINGTON,

This gentleman was of the first rank of wit and gallantry. He received his education at All Souls College in the university of Oxford, to which he left a donation of 30,000 l. by his will, part of which was to be appropriated for building a new library[A]. He was many years governour of the Leeward Islands, where he died, but was buried at Oxford. He is mentioned here, on account of some small pieces of poetry, which he wrote with much elegance and politeness. Amongst these pieces is an epilogue to Mr. Southern's tragedy called The Fate of Capua, in which are the following verses;

Wives still are wives, and he that will be billing,
Must not think cuckoldom deserves a killing.
What if the gentle creature had been kissing,
Nothing the good man married for was missing.
Had he the secret of her birth-right known,
'Tis odds the faithful Annals would have shewn
The wives of half his race more lucky than his own.

[Footnote A: Jacob.]

* * * * *

EDWARD WARD,

A man of low extraction, and who never received any regular education. He was an imitator of the famous Butler, and wrote his Reformation, a poem, with an aim at the same kind of humour which has so remarkably distinguished Hudibras. 'Of late years, says Mr. Jacob, he has kept a public house in the city, but in a genteel way.' Ward was, in his own droll manner, a violent antagonist to the Low Church Whigs and in consequence, of this, drew to his house such people as had a mind to indulge their spleen against the government, by retailing little stories of treason. He was thought to be a man of strong natural parts, and possessed a very agreeable pleasantry of temper. Ward was much affronted when he read Mr. Jacob's account, in which he mentions his keeping a public house in the city, and in a book called Apollo's Maggot, declared this account to be a great falsity, protesting that his public house was not in the City, but in Moorfields[A].

The chief of this author's pieces are,

Hudibras Redivivus, a political Poem.

Don Quixote, translated into Hudibrastic Verse.

Ecclesiae & Fastio, a Dialogue between Bow-steeple Dragon, and the Exchange Grasshopper. A Ramble through the Heavens, or The Revels of the Gods.

The Cavalcade, a Poem.

Marriage Dialogues, or A Poetical Peep into the State of Matrimony.

A Trip to Jamaica.

The Sots Paradise, or The Humours of a Derby Alehouse.

A Battle without Bloodshed, or Military Discipline Buffoon'd.

All Men Mad, or England a Great Bedlam, 4to. 1704.

The Double Welcome, a Poem to the Duke of Marlborough.

Apollo's Maggot in his Cups, or The Whimsical Creation of a Little Satirical Poet; a Lyric Ode, dedicated to Dickey Dickenson, the witty, but deformed Governor of Scarborough Spaw, 8vo. 1729.

The Ambitious Father, or The Politician's Advice to his Son; a Poem in five Cantos, 1733, the last work he left finished.

Mr. Ward's works, if collected, would amount to five volumes in 8vo. but he is most distinguished by his London Spy, a celebrated work in prose.

[Footnote A: Notes on the Dunciad.]

* * * * *

Sir ROGER L'ESTRANGE,

This gentleman was second son of Sir Hammon L'Estrange of Hunston in Norfolk, knt. and was born anno 1617[A]. In the year 1644 Sir Roger having obtained a commission from King Charles I. for reducing Lynne in Norfolk, then in possession of the Parliament, his design was discovered to colonel Walton the governour, and his person seized. Upon the failing of this enterprize he was tried by a court-martial at Guildhall, London, and condemned to lose his life as a spy, coming from the King's quarters without drum, trumpet, or pass; but was afterwards reprieved, and continued in Newgate several years. Sir Roger in a work of his, called Truth and Loyalty Vindicated, has informed us, that, when he received sentence of death, which was pronounced against him by Dr. Mills, then judge advocate, and afterwards chancellor to the bishop of Norwich, he was cast into Newgate, where he was visited by Mr. Thorowgood and Mr. Arrowsmith, two members of the assembly of divines, who kindly offered him their utmost interest if he would make some petitionary acknowledgment, and submit to take the covenant, which he refused. But that he might obtain a reprieve, he wrote several letters to the earl of Northumberland, the earl of Stamford, and others of the nobility, from whom he received favours. In the House of Commons he was particularly obliged to Sir John Corbet, and Sir Henry Cholmondley. He was reprieved in order to a further hearing; but after almost thirty months spent in vain endeavours, either to come to a hearing, or to put himself into an exchangeable condition, he printed a state of his case, as an Appeal from the Court-martial to the Parliament, dated at Newgate in 1647.

After almost four years imprisonment, with his keeper's privity, he slipt into Kent, and then with much difficulty got beyond sea. About the latter end of August 1653, upon the dissolution of the Long Parliament, by Cromwel, he returned into England, and presently acquainted the council, then sitting at Whitehall, that finding himself within the Act of Indemnity, he thought it his duty to give them notice of his return. Soon after this he was served with the following order,

Wednesday September 7, 1655,

Ordered,

That Roger L'Estrange be sent unto, to attend the committee of this council for examination.

JOHN THURLOE, Secretary.

This order laid him under a necessity of attending for his discharge, but perceiving his business to advance very slowly, and his father at that time lying upon his death-bed, he was sollicitous to have his discharge as much hastened as possible, that he might pay his duty to his father, whom he had not seen for many years before. Mr. Strickland was one of the commissioners appointed to examine him, and the person from whom, in the judgment of his friends, he was to expect the least favour. Mr. L'Estrange therefore to render him more propitious to his purpose, paid him the compliment of a visit, telling him frankly that he was returned upon the invitation of the Act of Indemnity; and laying before him how much it concerned him, both in comfort and interest, to see his dying father. Mr. Strickland, in place of complying with Mr. L'Estrange's proposition, answered, that he would find himself mistaken, and that his case was not included in that Act. Mr. L'Estrange's reply to him was, 'that he might have been safe among the Turks upon the same terms; and so he left him. From that time matters beginning to look worse and worse, he considered it, as his last expedient, to address Cromwel himself. After several disappointments, for want of opportunity, he spoke to him at last in the Cock-pit, and the sum of his desire was, either a speedy examination, or that it might be deferred 'till he had seen his father. Cromwel remonstrated against the restlessness of his party, observed, 'that rigour was not his inclination, but that he was but one man, and could do little by himself; and that Mr. L'Estrange's party would do well to give some better testimony of their quiet, and peaceable intentions.' Mr. L'Estrange told him, 'that every man was to answer for his own actions, at his own peril;' and so Cromwel took his leave. Some time after this Mr. L'Estrange was called, and Mr. Strickland, with another gentleman, were his examiners; but the latter pressed nothing against him. Mr. Strickland indeed insisted upon his condemnation, and would have deprived him of the benefit of the Act of Indemnity, telling him at last, 'that he had given no evidence of the change of his mind, and consequently was not to be trusted.' Mr. L'Estrange's final answer was to this effect, 'that it was his interest to change his opinion, if he could, and that whenever he found reason so to do, he would obey the sense of his own mind.' Some few days after this he was discharged[B]. 'During the dependency of this affair (says Mr. L'Estrange) I might well be seen at Whitehall, but that I spake to Cromwel on any other business than this, that I either sought, or pretended to, any privacy with him, or that I ever spake to him after this time, I absolutely disown. Concerning the story of the fiddle[C], this I suppose might be the rise of it: being in St. James's Park, I heard an organ touched in a little low room of one Mr. Henckson's; I went in, and found a private company of some five or six persons. They desired me to take up a Viol, and bear a part. I did so, and that part too, not much advance to the reputation of my cunning. By and by, without the least colour of design, or expectation, in comes Cromwel. He found us playing, and, as I remember, so he left us.--As to bribing of his attendants, I disclaim it. I never spake to Thurloe, but once in my life, and that was about my discharge. Nor did I ever give bribe, little or great, in the family.'

The above declaration Sir Roger was obliged to make, as some of his enemies wanted to turn those circumstances of favour he received from the Oliverian government to his disadvantage, and prevent his rising in court distinction.