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The Autobiography of Dr. Alexander Carlyle of Inveresk
Chapter IV - 1745-1746 AGE, 21-22


ON Monday morning, the 9th of October, old style, my father and I set out for Newcastle on horseback, where we arrived on Wednesday to dinner. Having secured my passage on board a small vessel going to Rotterdam, that was to sail whenever there was a convoy, we rode to Sunderland to visit some emigrants whom we understood were there, and found old George Buchan and his brother-in-law, Mr. William Grant, afterwards Lord Advocate, and Lord Prestongrange. We dined with them, and were told that Lord Drummore and many others of our friends had taken up their residence at Bishop Auckland, where they wished to have been had there been room. Next day my father and the servant set out on their journey home, and I having been acquainted with some of the Common Council of Newcastle, was invited to dine with the mayor at one of their guild dinners. A Mr. Fenwick, I think, was mayor that year. I was seated at the end of one of the long tables in the same room, next Mr. John Simpson, afterwards Alderman Simpson, sheriff of Newcastle for that year. As I was fresh from Scotland, I had to answer all the questions that were put tome concerning the affairs of that country, and I saw my intelligence punctually detailed in the Newcastle Journal next morning. Of that company there was one gentleman, a wine merchant, who was alive in the year 1797 or 1798, when happening to dine with the mayor, the subject was talked of, and he recollected it perfectly.

At the inn where I slept I met with my companion Bob Cunningham, who had been a Volunteer in Edinburgh, and with Francis Garden, who had been taken prisoner by the rebels, as narrated in Home's History. [The incident is mentioned above, p. 145. Francis Garden was raised to the bench in 1764, when he took the title of Lord Garden-stone: he was author of miscellanies in prose and verse, and travelling memorandums. The immediately following sentences might seem to refer to him, but they are intended to refer to Cunningham. —J. H. B.] He and I supped together one of the nights. He was studying law; but his father being an officer, and at that time Lieutenant of Stirling Castle, he had a military turn, which was heightened by the short campaign he had made. He resented the bad usage his father's nephew, Murray of Broughton, the Pretender's Secretary, had given him during the day he was a captive, and was determined to become a volunteer in some regiment till the rebellion was suppressed; but expressed a strong abhorrence at the subordination in the army, and the mortifications to which it exposed a man. I argued that he ought either to return immediately to his studies, or fix on the army for his profession, and stated the difference between modern armies and those of Greece and Rome, with which his imagination was fired, where a man could be a leading citizen and a great general at the same time. He debated on this point till two in the morning, and though lie did not confess he was convinced, he went into the army immediately, and rose till he became a general of horse in Ireland. He was; at the time I met him, very handsome, and had an enlightened and ardent mind. He went to Durham next morning, and I never saw him more.

On the Tuesday I was summoned to go down to Shields, as the sloop had fallen down there, and was to sail immediately with the London convoy. I went down accordingly, and had to live for six days with the rude and ignorant masters of colliers. There was one army surgeon of the name of Allan, a Stirling man, who had taken his passage, and had some conversation. At last, on Monday the 14th of October, I went on board the Blagdon of Newcastle, Tim `Whinny, master, who boasted that his vessel had ridden out the great storm of January 29, 1739, at the back of Inchkeith. She was loaded with kits of butter and glass bottles. I was the only passenger. There was, besides the master, a mate, an old sailor, and two boys. As we let the great ships go out before us, it was night almost before we got over the bar.

Next day, the weather being calm and moderate, we had an agreeable sail along the coast of Yorkshire; in the evening, however, the gale rose, separated the fleet of about eighty sail, and drove us off shore. We passed a dreary night with sickness, and not without fear, for the idle boys had mislaid things, and it was two hours before the hatches could be closed. The gale abated in the morning, and about mid-day we made for the coast again, but did not come in with the land till two o'clock, when we descried the Norfolk coast, and saw many ships making for Yarmouth. About ten at night we came up with them, and found them to be part of the fleet with which we had sailed from Shields. Next day, Friday the 18th, we came into Yarmouth Roads, when the master and I went ashore in the boat. The master was as much a stranger there as I was, for though he had been often in the roads, he had never gone ashore. This town is handsome, and lies in a singular situation. It stands on a flat plain, about a quarter of a mile from the sea. It is an oblong square, about a mile in length, and a third part as broad. The whole length is intersected by three streets, which are rather too narrow. That nearest is well built, and lands on the market-place to the north, which is very spacious, and remarkably well provided with every kind of vivres for the pot and the spit.

The market-women are clean beyond example, and the butchers themselves dressed with great neatness indeed. In short, there was nothing to offend the eye or any of the senses in Yarmouth market. Very genteel-looking women were providing for their families. But the quay which is on the west side of the town, and lies parallel to the beach, is the most remarkable thing about the town, though there is a fine old Gothic church in the market-place, with a very lofty steeple, the spire of which is crooked, and likewise a fine modern chapel-of-ease in the street leading to it. The quay is a mile long, and is formed by a river, the mouth of which, above a mile distant at the village of Gorleston, forms the harbour. The largest colliers can deliver their goods at the quay, and the street behind it has only one row of the handsomest houses in the town. As the master and I knew nobody, we went into the house of a Robin Sad, at the sign of the Three Kings, who, standing at his own door near the south end of the quay, had such an inviting aspect and manner that I could not resist him. His house was perhaps not second-best, but it was cleanly, and I stayed two nights with him. He entertained me much, for he had been several years a mate in the Mediterranean in his youth, and was vain and boastful, and presumptuous and ignorant, to my great delight.

In the evening two men had come into the house and drank a pot or two of ale. He said they were customhouse officers, and was ill-pleased, as they did not use to frequent his house, but they had come into the common room on hearing of my being in the house; and though they sat at a distance from the fireplace, where the landlord and I were, they could hear our conversation. Next morning, after nine, they came again, and with many apologies, addressing themselves to me, said they had orders from the Commissioners to inquire my name and designation, as they understood I was going beyond sea to Holland. I had no scruple in writing it down to them. They returned in half an hour and told me that they were ordered to carry me before the Lord Mayor. I went accordingly down to Justice Hall, where I waited a little while in an ante-chamber, and overheard my landlord Sad under examination. He was very high and resentful in his answers, and had a tone of contempt for men who, he said, were unfit to rule, as they did not know the value of any coins but those of England. He answered with a still more saucy pride, when they asked him what expense I made, and in the end told them exultingly that I had ordered him to buy the best goose in the market for to-morrow's dinner. I was called in and examined. The Mayor was an old grey-headed man, of a mild address. He had been a common fisher, and had become very rich, though he could not write, but signed his name with a stamp. After my examination, under which I had nothing to conceal, they told me, as I was going abroad, they were obliged to tender me the oaths or detain me. I objected to that, as they had no ground of suspicion, and offered to show them my diploma as Master of Arts of the University of Edinburgh, and a Latin letter from the University of Glasgow to any Foreign University where I might happen to go. They declined looking at them, and insisted on my taking the oaths, which, accordingly were administered, and I was dismissed. I did not know that the habeas coypus was not then suspended, and that if they had detained me I could have recovered large expenses from them. I amused myself in town till the master came on shore, when, after dinner, we walked down to Gorleston, the harbour at the mouth of the river, where we heard of three vessels which were to sail without convoy, on Monday, with the ebb tide.

I stayed this night with landlord Sad, and invited the master to dine with us next day, being Sunday, when we were to have our fine goose roasted. I went in the morning to their fine chapel, which was paneled with mahogany, and saw a very populous audience. The service and the sermon were but so so. Tim Whinny came in good time, and we were on board by four o'clock, and fell down opposite the harbour of Gorleston. As the three colliers which were to venture over to Holland without convoy were bound for a different port from Helvoet, which was our object, our master spent all the morning of Monday making inquiry for any ship that was going where we were bound, and ranged the coast down as far as Lowestoff for this purpose, but was disappointed. This made us so late of sailing, that the three ships which took through the gat or opening between sand-banks, were almost out of sight before we ventured to sail. Tim's caution was increased by his having his whole property on board, which he often mentioned. At last, after a solemn council on the quarter-deck, where I gave my voice strongly for our immediate departure, we followed the track of the three ships, the last of which was still in sight; and having a fine night, with a fair breeze of wind, we came within sight of land at ten o'clock next day. The shore is so flat, and the country so level, that one sees nothing on approaching it but tops of steeples and masts of ships. Early in the afternoon I got on shore at Helvoet, on the island of Voorn, and put up at an English house, where one Fell was the landlord.

There I saw the first specimen of Dutch cleanliness, so little to be expected in a small seaport. As I wished to be as soon as I could at Rotterdam, I quitted my friend Tim Whinny to come up at his leisure, and went on board the Rotterdam schuyt at nine in the morning, and arrived there in a few hours. The beauty of this town, and of the river Maas that flows by it and forms its harbour, is well known. The sight of the Boompjes, and of the canals that carry shipping through the whole town, surprised and pleased me much. I had been directed to put up at Caters, an English house, where I took up my lodgings accordingly, and adhered to it in the two or three trips I made afterwards to this city, and found it an exceeding good house, where the expense was moderate, and everything good. In the afternoon I inquired for Mr. Robert Herries, on whom I had my credit, and found his house on the Scotch Dyke, after passing in the doit-boat over the canal that separates it from the end of the Boompjes.

From Mr. Herries I met with a very kind reception. He was a handsome young man, of a good family in Annandale, who had not succeeded in business at Dumfries, and had been sent over by my uncle Provost George Bell, of that town, as their agent and factor—as at that time they dealt pretty deep in the tobacco trade. He had immediately assimilated to the manners of the Dutch, and was much respected among them. He lived in a very good house, with a Mr. Robertson and his wife from Aberdeen—very sensible, good sort of people. They took very much to me, and insisted on my dining with them every day. Next door to them lived a Mr. Livingston, from Aberdeen also, who was thought to be rich. His wife was the daughter of Mr. Kennedy, one of the ministers of the Scotch Church. She was a very handsome and agreeable woman; and neither of the ladies having children, they had little care, and lived a very sociable and pleasant life, especially my landlady, whose attractions consisted chiefly in good sense and good temper. Our neighbour being young and gay as well as handsome, had not quite so much liberty. Mr. Herries and his friends advised me to remain some days with them, because, our king's birthday having happened lately, the British students were to have a grand entertainment, and it was better for me to escape the expense that might be incurred by going there too soon. Besides, I had to equip myself in clothes, and with a sword and other necessaries, with which I could be better and cheaper supplied at Rotterdam than at Leyden. I took their advice, and they were so obliging as to have new company for me every day, among whom were Mess. Kennedy, and Ainslie his colleague; the first was popular, and pompous, and political, and an Irishman. The second was a plain; sensible Scotchman, less sought after, but more respectable than his colleague. During my stay at Rotterdam I was informed of everything, and saw everything that was new or curious.
Travelling in Holland by means of the canals is easy and commodious; and though the country is so flat that one can see to no distance, yet the banks of the canals, especially as you approach the cities, are so:much adorned with pleasure-houses and flower-gardens as to furnish a constant succession, not of the grand and sublime or magnificent works of nature, but of a profusion of the rich and gaudy effects of opulence without taste. When I arrived at Leyden, which was in a few hours, I found my lodgings ready, having had a correspondence from Rotterdam with Thomas Dickson, M.D., afterwards my brother-in-law. They were in the house of a Madame Vandertasse, on the Long Bridge. There were in her house besides, Mr. Dickson, Dr. John Gregory, Mr. Nicholas Monckly, and a Mr. Skirrat, a student of law. Vandertasse's was an established lodging-house, her father and mother having carried on that business, so that we lived very well thereat a moderate rate—that is, sixteen stivers for dinner, two for coffee, six for supper and for breakfast. She was a lively little Frenchwoman, about thirty-six, had been tolerably well-looking, and was plump and in good condition. As she had only one maid-servant, and five gentlemen to provide for, she led an active and laborious life; insomuch that she had but little time for her toilet, except in the article of the coif, which no Frenchwoman omits. But on Sundays, when she had leisure to dress herself for the French Church, either in the morning or evening, then who but Mademoiselle Vandertasse! She spoke English perfectly well, as the guests of the house had been mostly British.

As I had come last, I had the worst bed-chamber. Besides board, we paid pretty high for our rooms, and dearest of all for fuel, which was chiefly peat. We had very good small claret at a shilling a bottle, giving her the benefit of our exemption from town duty for sixty stoups of wine for every student. Our house was in high repute for the best coffee, so that our friends were pleased when they were invited to partake with us of that delicious beverage. We had no company to dinner; but in the evenings about a dozen of us met at one another's rooms in turn three times a week, and drank coffee, and smoked tobacco, and chatted about politics, and drank claret, and supped on bukkam (Dutch red-herrings), and eggs, and salad, and never sat later than twelve o'clock —at Mr. Gowan's, the clergyman, never later than ten, unless when we deceived him by making such a noise when the hour was ringing as prevented his hearing it.

Though I had not been acquainted with John Gregory formerly, which was owing to my two winters' residence at Glasgow when he was in Edinburgh, yet, as he knew most of my friends there, we soon became intimate together, and generally passed two hours every forenoon in walking. His friend Monckly being very fat, and a bad walker, could not follow us. There were at this time about twenty-two British students at Leyden, of whom, besides the five at our house already named, were the Honourable Charles Townshend, afterwards a distinguished statesman and husband to Lady Dalkeith, the mother of the Duke of Buccleuch; Mr. James Johnstone, junior, of Westerhall; Dr. Anthony Askew; John Campbell, junior, of Stonefield; his tutor Mr. Morton, afterwards a professor at St. Andrews; John Wilkes, [The famous Radical M.P.] his companion Mr. Bland, and their tutor Mr. Lyson; Mr. Freeman from Jamaica; Mr. Doddeswell, [Of Mr. Doddeswell, Burke wrote: "There never was a soul so remote as his from duplicity, or fear, so perfectly free from any rapacious unevenness of temper which embitters friendships and perplexes business."] afterwards Chancellor of the Exchequer; Mr. Wetherell from the West Indies; Dr. Charles Congalton, to this day physician in Edinburgh; an Irish gentleman, Keefe, I think, in his house; Willie Gordon, afterwards K.B., with four or five more, whose names I have forgot, and who did not associate with my friends.

On the first Sunday evening I was in Leyden, I walked round the Cingle-a fine walk on the outside of the Rhine, which formed the wet ditch of the town—with John Gregory, who introduced me to the British students as we met them, not without giving me a short character of them, which I found in general a very just outline. When we came to John Wilkes, whose ugly countenance in early youth was very striking, I asked earnestly who he was. His answer was, that he was the son of a London distiller or brewer, who wanted to be a fine gentleman and man of taste, which he could never be, for God and nature had been against him. I came to know Wilkes very well afterwards, and found him to be a sprightly entertaining fellow-too much so for his years, as he was but eighteen; for even then he showed something of daring profligacy, for which he was afterwards notorious. Though he was fond of learning, and passionately desirous of being thought something extraordinary, he was unlucky in having an old ignorant pedant of a dissenting parson for his tutor. This man, a Mr. Leeson or Lyson, had been singled out by the father as the best tutor in the world for his most promising son, because, at the age of threescore, after studying controversy for more than thirty years, he told his congregation that he was going to leave them, and would tell them the reason next Sunday; when, being fully convened, he told them that, with much anxiety and care, he had examined the Arian controversy, and was now convinced that the creed he had read to them as his creed was false, and that he had now adopted that of the Arians, and was to bid them farewell. The people were shocked with this creed, and not so sorry as they would otherwise have been to part with him, for he was a good-natured well-meaning man. His chief object seemed to be to make Wilkes an Arian also, and he teased him so much about it that he was obliged to declare that he did not believe the Bible at all, which produced a quarrel between them, and Wilkes, for refuge, went frequently to Utrecht, where he met with Immateriality Baxter, as he was called, who then attended Lord Blantyre and Mr. Hay of Drummellier, as he had formerly done Lord John Gray.

This gentleman was more to Wilkes's taste than his own tutor; for though lie was a profound philosopher and a hard student, he was at the same time a man of theworld, and of such pleasing conversation as attracted the young. Baxter was so much pleased with Wilkes that he dedicated one of his pieces to him. He died in 1750, which fact leads me to correct an error in the account of Baxter's life, in which he is much praised for his keeping well with Wilkes, though he had given so much umbrage to the Scotch. But this is a gross mistake, for the people of that nation were alwaysWilkes's favourites till 1763, thirteen years after Baxter's death, when he became a violent party-writer, and wished to raise his fame and fortune on the ruin of Lord Bute. [The friendship here alluded to is interesting, as affording evidence that Wilkes had been able to attach to himself at least one virtuous and enlightened friend. Baxter afterwards wrote to him thus: "We talked much on this, you may remember, in the capuchin's garden at Spa. I have finished the Prima Cura; it is in the dialogue way, and design to inscribe it to my dear John Wilkes, whom, under a borrowed name, I have made one of the interlocutors. If you are against this -",him (which a passionate love for you has made me conceive) I will drop it."—Wilkes's Correspondence, i. 15. Wilkes does not appear to have been against this whim. The Appendix to the First Part of the Inquiry into the Nature of the Human Soul, appeared in 1750, within a few months after this letter was written. Its author did not live to see it printed, but it contains the dedication.—J. H. B.]

Wilkes was very fond of shining in conversation very prematurely, for at that time he had but little knowledge except what he derived from Baxter in his frequent visits to Utrecht. In the art of shining, however, he was much outdone by Charles Townshend, who was not above a year older, and had still less furniture in his head; but then his person and manners were more engaging. He had more wit and humour, and a turn for mimicry; and, above all, had the talent of translating other men's thoughts, which they had produced in the simple style of conversation, into the most charming language, which not only took the ear but elevated the thoughts. No person I ever knew nearly equalled Charles Townshend in this talent, but Dr. Robertson, who, though he had a very great fund of knowledge and thought of his own, was yet so passionately fond of shining, that he seized what was nearest at hand—the conversation of his friends of that morning or the day before [Lord Cockburn's sketch of Dr. Robertson in his later years (Memorials of his Life and Times) notices this strong characteristic of the Principal.]—and embellished it with such rich language, that they hardly knew it again themselves, insomuch that he was the greatest plagiary in conversation that ever I knew. It is to this, probably, that his biographer alludes (his strong itch for shining) when he confesses he liked his conversation best when he had not an audience. [In allusion evidently to the following passage in Dugald Stewart's account of the life and writings of Robertson.—J. H. S. "In the company of strangers he increased his exertions to amuse and inform; and the splendid variety of his conversation was commonly the chief circumstance on which they dwelt in enumerating his talents; and yet I must acknowledge, for my own part, that much as I always admired his powers, when they were thus called forth, I enjoyed his society less than when I saw him in the circle of his intimates, or in the bosom of his family."]

Gregory's chum, Dr. Monckly, had this talent too, and exercised it so as to bring on him the highest ridicule. He was in reality an ignorant vain blockhead, who had the most passionate desire of shining, which Gregory was entirely above. His usual method was to get Gregory into his room, either before or after breakfast, when he settled with him what were to be the leading topics of the day, especially at our coffee-parties and our club suppers, for we soon broke him of his attempt to shine at dinner. Having thus settled everything with Gregory, and heard his opinion, he let him go a-walking with me, and jotted down the topics and arguments he had heard. The very prospect of the glory he was to earn in the evening made him contented and happy all day. Gregory kept his secret as I did, who was generally let into it in our walk, and prayed not to contradict the fat man, which I seldom did when he was not too provoking. Unfortunately, one night Gregory took it into his head to contradict him when he was haranguing very pompously on tragedy or comedy, or some subject of criticism. The poor man looked as if he had been shot, and after recovering himself, said with a ghastly smile, "Surely this was not always your opinion." Gregory persisted, and after saying that criticism was a subject on which he thought it lawful to change, he entirely refuted the poor undone doctor: not another word did he utter the whole evening. He had his coffee in his room next morning, and sent for Gregory before we left the parlour. I waited for an hour, when at last he joined me, and told me he had been rated at no allowance by the fat man; and when he defended himself by saying that he had gone far beyond the bounds prescribed, the poor soul fell into tears, and said he was undone, as he had lost the only friend he had in the world. It cost Gregory some time to comfort him and to exhort him, by exacting from him some deference to himself at our future parties (for the blockhead till then had never so much as said what is your opinion on this subject, Dr. Gregory). A new settlement was made between them, and we went on very well; for when some of the rest were debating bona fide with the absurd animal, I, who was in the secret, gave him line and encouragement till he had got far beyond his depth, while Gregory was sitting silent in a corner, and never interposed till he was in danger of being drowned in the mud. This may seem a cruel amusement, but I forgave Gregory, for there was no living with Monckly without it.

We passed our time in general very agreeably, and very profitably too; for the conversations at our evening meetings of young men of good knowledge, intended for different professions, could not fail to be instructive, much more so than the lectures, which, except two, that of civil law and that of chemistry, were very dull. I asked Gregory why he did not attend the lectures, which he answered by asking in his turn why I did not attend the divinity professors (for there was no less than four of them). Having heard all they could say in a much better form at home, we went but rarely, and for form's sake only, to hear the Dutchmen. At this time we were in great anxiety about the Rebellion, and were frequently three or four weeks without getting a packet from England; insomuch that Gregory and I agreed to make a trip to Rotterdam to learn if they had heard anything by fishing-boats. We went one day and returned the next without learning anything. We dined with my agreeable friends on the Scotch Dyke, Herries and Robertson. In returning in the schuyt, I said to Gregory that he would be laughed at for having gone so far and having brought back no news, but if he would support me I would frame a gazette. He promised, and I immediately wrote a few paragraphs, which I said I had copied from Allan the banker's private letter he had got by a fishing-boat. This was to impose on Dr. Askew, for Allan was his banker. I took care also to make Admiral Townshend take two ships of the line at Newfoundland, for he was Charles Townshend's uncle, and so on with the rest of our friends. On our arrival they all assembled at our lodging, and our news passed current for all that day. At night we disclosed our fabrication, being unable to hold out any longer. On another occasion I went down with Dr. Askew, who, as a learned man of twenty-eight, had come over to Leyden to collate manuscripts of Æschylus for a new edition. His father had given him io,000 in the stocks, so that he was a man of importance. Askew's errand at this time was to cheat his banker Allan, as he said he would draw on him for £100, which he did not want, because Exchange was at that time against Holland. In vain did I try to persuade him that the banker would take care not to lose by him. But he persisted, such being the skill in business of this eminent Grecian. He had some drollery, but neither much sense nor useful learning. He was much alarmed when the Highlanders got as far as Derby, and believed that London would be taken and the bank ruined. I endeavoured in vain to raise his spirits; at last I told him that personally I did not much care, for I had nothing to lose, and would not return to Britain under a bad Government. You are the very man I want, says he, for I have £400 or £500 worth of books, and some name as a Greek scholar. We'll begin book-selling, and you shall be my partner and auctioneer, This was soon settled, and as soon forgot when the rebels marched back from Derby. When Gregory and I were alarmed at some of the expensive suppers some of our friends gave from the taverns, we went to Askew, whose turn was next, and easily persuaded him to limit his suppers to eggs and bukkarn and salad, which he accordingly gave us next night, which, with tobacco of 40 stivers a lb. and very good claret, pleased us all. After this no more fine suppers were presented, and Gowans, the old minister of the Scottish Church, [The Rev. Mr. Go\vans was minister of the Scots Kirk at Leyder, from 1716 till 1753.] ventured to be of our number, and was very pleasant.

I went twice to the Hague, which was then a very delightful place. Here I met with my kinsman, Willie Jardine, now Sir William, who was a cornet in the Prince of Orange's Horse Guards, and then a very handsome genteel fellow, for as odd as he has turned out since. Though I had no introduction to anybody there, and no acquaintance but the two students who accompanied me the first time, I thought it a delightful place. A ball that was given about this time by the Imperial Ambassador, on the Empress's birthday, was fatal to one of our students—a very genteel, agreeable rake, as ever I saw, from the West Indies. At a preceding dancing assembly he had been taken out by a Princess of Waldeck, and had acquitted himself so well that she procured him an invitation to the birthday ball, and engaged him to dance with her. He had run himself out a good deal before; and a fine suit of white and silver, which cost 6o, completed his distress, and he was obliged to retire without showing it to us more than once. There was another West Indian there, a Mr. Freeman, a man of fortune, sedate and sensible. He was very handsome and well-made. Having been three years in Leyden, he was the best skater there. There was an East India captain resident in that city, whom the Dutch set up as a rival to Freeman, and they frequently appeared on the Rhine together. The Dutchman was tall and jolly, but very active withal. The ladies, however, gave the palm to Freeman, who was so handsome, and having a figure much like Garrick, all his motions were perfectly genteel. This gentleman, after we left Leyden, made the tour of Italy, Sicily, and Greece, with Willie Gordon and Doddeswell; the former of whom told me long afterwards that he had died soon after he returned to Jamaica, which was Gordon's own native country, though his parents were Scotch, and cousins of Gordon of Hawhead, in Aberdeenshire. He was too young and too dissipated to attend our evening meetings; neither did Charles Congalton, who was one of the best young men I have ever known. His pretence was that lie could not leave his Irish chum of the name of Keefe; but the truth was, that having been bred a Jacobite, and having many friends and relations in the Rebellion, lie did not like to keep company with those who were warm friends of Government. Dickson and he were my companions on a tour to Amsterdam, where we stayed only three days, and were much pleased with the magnificence, wealth, and trade of that city. Dickson was a very honest fellow, but rather dull, and a hard student. As I commonly sat up an hour after the rest had gone to their rooms, chatting or reading French with Mademoiselle, and as Dickson's apartment was next the parlour, he complained much of the noise we made, laughing and talking, because it disturbed him, who was a midnight student. He broke in upon us with impertinent curiosity, but I drove him to his bed, and by sitting up an hour longer that night, and making more noise than usual, we reduced him to patience and close quarters ever after, and we made less noise. I mentioned somewhere that Mademoiselle had paid for her English, which was true, for she had an affair with a Scotch gentleman ten or twelve years before, and had followed him to Leith on pretence of a promise, of which, however, she made nothing but a piece of money.

At Christmas time, three or four of us passed three days at Rotterdam, where my friends were very agreeable to my companions. Young Kennedy, whom we had known at Amsterdam, was visiting his father at this time, as well as young Ainslie, the other minister's son, which improved our parties. Mrs. Kennedy, the mother, was ill of a consumption, and British physicians being in great credit there, Monckly, who was called Doctor, though he had not taken his degree, being always more forward than anybody in showing himself off, was pitched upon by Mr. Kennedy to visit his wife. Gregory, who was really a physician, and had acquired both knowledge and skill by having been an apprentice in his brother's shop at Aberdeen, and visited the patients with him, was kept in the background; but he was anxiously consulted by Monckly twice a-day, and taught him his lesson, which he repeated very exactly, for I heard him two or three times, being a familiar in the house, while the good Doctor was unconscious that I knew of his secret oracle. For all this, Monckly was only ridiculous on account of his childish vanity, and his love of showing himself off. He was, in reality, a very good-natured and obliging man, of much benevolence as well as courtesy. He practised afterwards in London with credit, for they cured him of his affectation at Batson's. He died not many years after.

At this time five or six of us made an agreeable journey on skates, to see the painted glass in the church at Tergou. It was distant twelve miles. We left Rotterdam at ten o'clock, saw the church, and dined, and returned to Rotterdam between five and six in the evening. It was moonlight, and a gentle breeze on our back, so that we returned in an hour and a quarter.

Gregory, though a far abler man than Monckly, and not less a man of learning for his age than of taste, in the most important qualities was not superior to Monckly. When he was afterwards tried by the ardent spirits of Edinburgh and the prying eyes of rivalship, he did not escape without the imputation of being cold, selfish, and cunning. His pretensions to be more religious than others of his profession, and his constant eulogies on the female sex as at least equal, if not superior, to the male, were supposed to be lures of reputation, or professional arts to get into business. When those objections were made to him at Edinburgh, I was able to take off the edge from them, by assuring people that his notions and modes of talking were not newly adopted for a purpose, for that when at Leyden, at the age of twenty-one or twenty-two, he was equally incessant and warm on those topics, though he had not a female to flatter, nor ever went to church but when I dragged him to please old Gowans. Having found Aberdeen too narrow a circle for him, he tried London for a twelvemonth without success—for being ungainly in his person and manner, and no lucky accident having befallen him, he could not make his way suddenly in a situation where external graces and address go much further than profound learning or professional skill. Dr. Gregory, however, was not without address, for he was much a master of conversation on all subjects, and without gross flattery obtained even more than a favourable hearing to himself; for never contradicting you at first, but rather assenting or yielding, as it were, to your knowledge and taste, he very often brought you round to think as he did, and to consider him a superior man. In all my dealings with him—for he was my family physician—I found him friendly, affectionate, and generous.

An unlucky accident happened about the end of January, which disturbed the harmony of our society, and introduced uneasiness and suspicion among us. At an evening meeting, where I happened not to be, Charles Townshend, who had a great deal of wit which he was fond to show, even sometimes at the expense of his friends, though in reality one of the best-natured of men, took it in his head to make a butt of James Johnstone, afterwards Sir James of Westerhall. [Brother of Sir William Johnstone Pulteney, by whom he was succeeded in the baronetcy of Westerhall.] Not contented with the smartness of his raillery, lest it should be obscure, lie frequently accompanied it with that motion of the tongue in the cheek which explains and aggravates everything. He continued during the evening to make game of James, who, slow of apprehension and unsuspicious, had taken all in good part. Some one of the company, however, who had felt Charles's smartness, which he did not choose to resent, had gone in the morning to Johnstone and opened his eyes on Townshend's behaviour over-night.

Johnstone, though not apt to take offence, was prompt enough in his resentment when taken, and immediately resolved to put Charles's courage to the test. I was sent for next forenoon by twelve o'clock to Charles's lodgings, who looked pale and undone, more than I had ever seen him. He was liable at that time to convulsion fits, which seldom failed to attack him after a late supper. I asked him what was the matter with him; he answered, that he had been late up, and had been ill. He next asked me if I had ever observed him use James Johnstone with ill-natured raillery or sarcasm in company, or ridicule him behind his back. I answered him that I had never perceived anything between them but that playsome kind of raillery so frequent among good friends and companions, and that when Johnstone was absent I had never heard him ridicule him but for trifles, in spite of which I conceived he had a respect for him. Upon this he showed me a letter from Johnstone, taxing him with having often treated him with contempt in company, and particularly for his behaviour the night before, which having been made to advert to by a friend who was sharper-sighted than him, had brought sundry things to his recollection, which, though he did not mind at the time, were fully explained to him by his behaviour to him the night before. The letter concluded with a challenge. "And what answer are you to make to this?" said I. "Not fight, to be sure," said he, "for I have no quarrel with Johnstone, who is the best-natured man in the world," "If you can make it up, and keep it secret, it may do, otherwise you'll be dishonoured by the transaction." I added, " Find out the malicious scoundrel if you can who has acted like a vile informer, and take vengeance on him." He seemed quite irresolute, and I left him with this advice, either to make it up, or put it over as soon as possible. He made it up, to be sure, but it was in a manner that hurt him, for Johnstone and he went round all the lodgings in Leyden, and inquired of everybody if any of them had ever heard or seen him ridicule Johnstone. Everybody said no to this, and he and Johnstone became the greater friends. But it did him more harm than it would or ought to have done at his raw age, if he had not afterwards betrayed want of firmness of character. This was a pity, for he had unbounded capacity and application, and was good-tempered and affectionate.

This accident in some measure broke the bond of our society, but it was of little importance to us, who meant to leave Leyden very soon. Gregory and I had agreed to go to London together, and when Monckly heard of this resolution, he determined to accompany us. His monitor had advised him to take his degree in Leyden, but the honest man did not choose to stand the examination; and he knew that by paying a little more he could get his diploma sent after him. Dickson remained to take his degree, as he regarded the additional guineas much more than he feared the examination. Gregory, with a degree of malice due to the fat man for his vanity and presumption, pressed him very much to abide the trial, and blazoned to him the inglorious retreat he was about to make; but it would not do, as Gregory knew perfectly beforehand.

About the end of February or the beginning of March we set out on our return to Britain ; when, passing two days very agreeably with our friends at Rotterdam, we fell down to Helvoet, and took our passage on board the packet, which was to sail for Harwich next morning. On the journey and voyage Monckly assumed his proper station, which was that of treasurer and director ; and, to say the truth, lie did it well ; for except in one instance, he managed our affairs with a decent economy, no less than with the generosity that became his assumed office. The exception to this was his allowing himself to be imposed upon by the landlord of the inn at Helvoet, in laying in sea-stores for our voyage, for he said he had known packets on the sea for a week by calms, etc. The director elect, therefore, laid in a cold ham and a couple of fowls, with a sirloin of beef, nine bottles of wine and three of brandy, none of all which we were able to taste except the brandy.

We sailed from Helvoet at eight in the morning, and having a fine brisk gale, quite fair, we arrived on the coast of England by eight in the evening; though, having made the land too far to the northward, it was near twelve before we got down to Harwich. We had beds in the cabin, and were all so heartily seasick that we were hardly able to lift up our heads the whole day, far less to partake of any of our sea-stores, except a little brandy to settle our stomachs.

We had one cabin passenger, who was afterwards much celebrated. When we were on the quarter-deck in the morning, we observed three foreigners, of different ages, who had under their care a young person of about sixteen, very handsome indeed, whom we took for a Hanoverian baron coming to Britain to pay his court at St. James's. The gale freshened so soon that we had not an opportunity of conversing with those foreigners, when we were obliged to take to our beds in the cabin. The young person was the only one of the strangers who had a berth there, because, as we supposed, it occasioned an additional freight. My bed was directly opposite to that of the stranger, but we were so sick that there was no conversation among us till the young foreigner became very frightened in spite of the sickness, and called out to me in French, if we were not in danger. The voice betrayed her sex at once, no less than her fears. I consoled her as well as I could, and soon brought her above the fear of danger. This beautiful person was Violetti the dancer, ["She surprised her audience at her first appearance on the stage; for at her beginning to caper she showed a neat pair of black velvet breeches, with roll'd stockings; but finding they were unusual in England she changed them the next time for a pair of white drawers."—Lord Stafford in Cathcart Collection.] who was engaged to the opera in the Haymarket. This we were made certain of by the man, who called himself her father, waiting on us next day at Harwich, requesting our countenance to his daughter on her first appearance, and on her benefit. I accordingly was at the opera the first night she appeared, where she was the first dancer, and maintained her ground till Garrick married her.

We had so much trouble about our baggage that we did not get from Harwich till one o'clock, and I was obliged to leave Leeson's picture, which I had undertaken to carry to London for John Wilkes. We passed the night at Colchester, where the foreigners were likely to be roughly treated, as the servants at the inn took offence at the young woman in men's clothes, as one room was only bespoke for all the four. We interposed, however, when Monckly's authority, backed by us, prevented their being insulted. They travelled in a separate coach from us, but we made the young lady dine with us next day, which secured her good treatment. We were so late in getting to London that we remained all night together in an inn in Friday Street, and separated next day, with a promise of seeing one another often ; yet so great is the city of London, and so busy is everybody kept there, that, intimate as we had been, it was three weeks or a month before we met again. We had not yet found out the British Coffeehouse, where so many of our countrymen assembled daily. [This noted coffeehouse was so much patronised by Scotsmen that Horace Walpole notes, when the Duke of Bedford wished to secure support to a motion in the House of Lords, he wrote to sixteen Scottish peers placing the letters under one cover addressed to the British Coffeehouse.]

I got a coach, and went to New Bond Street to my cousin, Captain Lyon's, who had been married for a few years to Lady Catherine Brydges, a daughter of the Marquess of Carnarvon, and grandchild of the Duke of Chandos. Lyon's mother was an acquaintance of the Marchioness, the young lady's mother of the Dysart family. The Marchioness had fallen in love with Lyon, who was one of the handsomest men in London, but he escaped by marrying the daughter, who, though not handsome, was young and alluring, and had the prospect of a great fortune, as she had only one sister, who was deformed. Here I renewed my acquaintance with my aunt Lyon, who was still a fine woman. Her elder sister, Mrs. Paterson, the widow of a Captain Paterson of the Bannockburn family, a very plain-looking sensible woman, kept house with her, while the son and his family lived in the next house, which belonged to Mrs. Lyon. Lady Catherine had by this time two girls, three and four years of age, as beautiful children as ever were seen. They had bespoke for me a small lodging in Little Haddon Street, within sight of the back of their house. Lyon was a cheerful fine fellow as ever was born, who had just returned with his troop of the Horse-Guards from Flanders, where he and they had been for two campaigns under the Duke of Cumberland. With them and their friends I passed part of my time; but having found some of my old friends lounging about the British and Forrest's Coffeehouses, in Cockspur Street, Charing Cross—viz. John Blair, afterwards a prebendary of Westminster, Robert Smith, afterwards distinguished by the appellation of the Duke of Roxburgh's Smith, who introduced me to Dr. Smollett, with whom he was intimate, and Charles Congalton arriving in a few weeks from Leyden, who was a stranger as well as myself in London —I was at no loss how to pass my time agreeably, when Lyon and his family were engaged in their own circle. [Of John Blair, the chronologist, some notices will be found in the History of Hinckley (of which he was vicar) by Nichols, in the sixth volume of the Topographia Britannica. Robert Smith is probably the same who succeeded Bentley as Master of Trinity College, Cambridge. He was very eminent in optics and mathematics, but scarcely anything is now known of him beyond a scanty notice in Hutton's Mathematical Dictionary.—J. H. B.]

By Lyon, however, I was introduced to some families of condition, and was carried to court of an evening, for George II. at that time had evening drawing-rooms, where his Majesty and Princess Amelia, who had been a lovely woman, played at cards, and the courtiers sauntered for an hour or two. This was a very insipid amusement. I went with Lyon also and his lady to a ridotta at the Haymarket, a ball where there were not fewer than fifteen hundred people, and which Robert Keith, the ambassador, told me, in the entry, was a strong proof of the greatness and opulence of London, for he had stood in the entry, he said, and had seen all the ladies come in, and was certain that not one-half of them were of the Court end of the town, for he knew every one of them. Lady Catherine Lyon, whom I squired that night, and with whom I danced, introduced me to many of her acquaintances, and among the rest to Lady Dalkeith and her sisters, the daughters of John, Duke of Argyle, who, she said, were her cousins. The Countess was then with child of Henry, Duke of Buccleuch, [ Henry, third Duke of Buccleuch and fifth Duke of Queensberry. He succeeded his grandfather in 1751.] who was born on the 14th of September thereafter, who was my much respected patron and highly-honoured friend.

Captain Lyon introduced me to his friends, the officers of the Horse-Guards, with whom I lived a good deal. The troop he belonged to, which, I think, was Lord Tyrawley's, [James, Lord Tyrawley, became Ambassador at Lisbon, Governor of Port Mahon and Gibraltar, and colonel of a regiment of Horse-Guards.] was one of the two which had been abroad in Flanders, between whom and those at home there was a strong emulation who should entertain most expensively when on guard. Their parties were generally in the evening, when they had the most expensive suppers that could be got from a tavern—amongst other things champagne and ice-creams, both which were new to me, and the last then rare in London. I had many very agreeable parties with those officers, who were all men of the world, and some of them of erudition and understanding. One I must particularly mention was Captain Elliot, afterwards Lord Heathfield, [Second son of Sir Gilbert Elliot, third baronet of Stobs, Roxburghshire.] the celebrated defender of Gibraltar. A parcel of us happened to meet in the Park in a fine evening in April, who, on asking each other how they were engaged, seven or eight of us agreed to sup at the Cardigan at Charing Cross, among whom Elliot was one. Lyon and I undertook to go directly to the house and bespeak a room, and were soon joined by our company and two or three more of their friends, whom they had met in their walk. WVe passed the evening very pleasantly, and when the bill was called for, a Mr. Philips, who was in the chair, and who, by the death of a relation that morning, had succeeded to an estate of £z000 a-year, wished to pay the whole reckoning, which he said was a trifle. This was resisted. He then said he would play odds or evens with all the company in their turns, whether he or they should pay. This was agreed to, and he contrived to lose to everybody except Captain Elliot, who said he never played for his reckoning. I observed on this afterwards to Lyon that this appeared particular, and that Elliot, though by his conversation a very sensible man, yet did not yield to the humour of the company, which was to gratify Philips. He answered me, that though Captain Elliot was somewhat singular and austere in his manners, yet he was a very worthy and able officer, for whom he had great esteem. This trait of singularity occurred to me when he became so distinguished an officer, whom I should rather have noted as sour and untractable.

John Blair had passed his trials as a preacher in Scotland, but having a few hundred pounds of patrimony, chose to pay a visit to London, where he loitered till he spent it all. After some time he thought of completing and publishing his Chronological Tables, the plan of which had been given him by Dr. Hugh Blair, the celebrated preacher. He became acquainted with the Bishop of Lincoln, with whom he was soon a favourite, and having been ordained by him, was presented to the living of Burton Cogles, in his diocese. He was afterwards teacher of mathematics to the Duke of York, the King's brother, and was by his interest preferred to be a prebendary of Westminster. He was a lively agreeable fellow, and one of the most friendly men in the world. Smith had been abroad with the young Laird of M'Leod of that period, and was called home with his pupil when the Rebellion began. He had been ill rewarded, and was on his shifts in London. He was a man of superior understanding, and of a most gentlemanly address. With Smollett he was very intimate. We four, with one or two more, frequently resorted to a small tavern in the corner of Cockspur Street at the Golden Ball, where we had a frugal supper and a little punch, as the finances of none of the company were in very good order. But we had rich enough conversation on literary subjects, which was enlivened by Smollett's agreeable stories, which he told with peculiar grace.

Soon after our acquaintance, Smollett showed me his tragedy of James r. of Scotland, which he never could bring on the stage. For this the managers could not be blamed, though it soured him against them, and he appealed to the public by printing it; but the public seemed to take part with the managers.

I was in the coffeehouse with Smollett when the news of the battle of Culloden arrived, and when London all over was in a perfect uproar of joy. It was then that Jack Stuart, the son of the Provost, [Lord Provost of Edinburgh when Prince Charlie took possession of the city.] behaved in the manner I before mentioned. About 9 o'clock I wished to go home to Lyon's, in New Bond Street, as I had promised to sup with him that night, it being the anniversary of his marriage night, or the birthday of one of his children. I asked Smollett if he was ready to go, as he lived at Mayfair; he said he was, and would conduct me. The mob were so riotous, and the squibs so numerous and incessant that we were glad to go into a narrow entry to put our wigs in our pockets, and to take our swords from our belts and walk with them in our hands, as everybody then wore swords ; and, after cautioning me against speaking a word, lest the mob should discover my country and become insolent, "for John Bull," says he, "is as haughty and valiant to-night as he was abject and cowardly on the Black Wednesday when the Highlanders were at Derby." After we got to the head of the Haymarket through incessant fire, the Doctor led me by narrow lanes, where we met nobody but a few boys at a pitiful bonfire, who very civilly asked us for sixpence, which I gave them. I saw not Smollett again for some time after, when he showed Smith and me the manuscript of his Teat's of Scotland, which was published not long after, and had such a run of approbation. Smollett, though a Tory, was not a Jacobite, but he had the feelings of a Scotch gentleman on the reported cruelties that were said to be exercised after the battle of Culloden.

My cousin Lyon was an Englishman born, though of Scottish parents, and an officer in the Guards, and perfectly loyal, and yet even he did not seem to rejoice so cordially at the victory as I expected. "What's the matter?" says I; "has your Strathmore blood got up, that you are not pleased with the quelling of the Rebellion?" "God knows," said he, "I heartily rejoice that it is quelled; but I'm sorry that it has been accomplished by the Duke of C----, for if he was before the most insolent of all commanders, what will he be now?" I afterwards found that this sentiment prevailed more than I had imagined; and yet, though no general, he had certainly more parts and talents than any of the family.

I was witness to a scene in the British Coffeehouse, which was afterwards explained to me. Captain David Cheap, who was on Anson's voyage, and had been wrecked on the coast of Chili, and was detained there for some time by the Spaniards, had arrived in London, and frequented this coffeehouse. Being a man of sense and knowledge, he was employed by Lord Anson to look out for a proper person to write his voyage, the chaplain, whose journal furnished the chief materials, being unequal to the task. Captain Cheap had a predilection for his countrymen, and having heard of Guthrie, the writer of the Westminster Journal, etc., he had come down to the coffeehouse that evening to inquire about him, and, if he was pleased with what he heard, would have him introduced. Not long after Cheap had sat down and called for coffee, Guthrie arrived, dressed in laced clothes, and talking loud to everybody, and soon fell a-wrangling with a gentleman about tragedy and comedy and the unities, etc., and laid down the law of the drama in a peremptory manner, supporting his arguments with cursing and swearing. I saw he [Cheap] was astonished, when rising and going to the bar, he asked who this was, and finding it was Guthrie, whom he had come down to inquire about, he paid his coffee and slunk off in silence. I knew him well afterwards, and asked him one day if he remembered the incident. He told me that it was true that he came there with the design of talking with Guthrie, on the subject of the voyage, but was so much disgusted with his vapouring manner that he thought no more of him. [Of William Guthrie, whose name is on the title-pages of many voluminous works, one of which, the Geographical Grammar, had great celebrity and a vast circulation, various notices will be found in D'Israeli's Calamities of Authors and Boswell's Johnson. The account of Anson's voyage, so well esteemed in its own day, and so well worth reading in the present, both from the interesting character of the events and the admirable way in which they are told, professes to have been compiled from Anson's own papers by Richard WValter, surgeon of the Centurion, one of the vessels in the expedition. It is believed, however, that the work was edited, if not almost rewritten, by Benjamin Robins, the mathematician. William Davis, in his Obio, or Bibliographical and Literary Anecdotes and Memoranda, says: "Walter's manuscript, which was at first intended to have been printed, being little more than a transcript from the ship's journals, Mr. Robins was recommended as a proper person to revise it; and it was then determined that the whole should be written by him, the transcripts of the journals serving as materials only; and that, with the Introduction and many dissertations in the body of the book, of which not the least hint had been given by Walter, he extended the account, in his own peculiar style and manner, to nearly twice its original size." Davis prints a letter from Lord Anson, tending to confirm his statement.J.H.B.]

I met Captain Cheap in Scotland two years after this, when he came to visit his relations. I met him often at his half-brother's, George Cheap, Collector of Customs, at Prestonpans, and in summer at goat-whey quarters, where I lived with him for three weeks, and became very confidential with him. He had a sound and sagacious understanding and an intrepid mind, and had great injustice done to him in Byron's Narrative, which Major Hamilton, [Of the 8th Dragoons, from which he retired in 1762. He built a house at Musselburgh which he called Olivebank, the site of which is now occupied by the North British Railway.] who was one of the unfortunate people in the Wager, told me was in many things false or exaggerated. [The book here referred to, written by the poet's grandfather, and cited in Don Juan as "My grandad's Narrative," was very popular. Its title is "The Narrative of the Honourable John Byron (commander in a late expedition round the world) ; containing an account of the great distresses suffered by himself and his companions on the coast of Patagonia, from the year i 740 till their arrival in England in 1746; with a description of St. Jago de Chili, and the manners and customs of the inhabitants. Also a relation of the loss of the Wager man-of-war, one of Lord Anson's squadron," 1768.—J. H, B.] One instance I remember, which is this, that Cheap was so selfish that he had concealed four pounds of seal in the lining of his coat to abstract from the company for his own use. He, no doubt, had the piece of seal, and Captain Hamilton saw him secrete it; but when they had got clear of a cazique, who plundered them of all he could, the captain producing his seal, said to his companions, "That devil wanted to reduce me to his own terms by famine, but I out plotted him; for with this piece of seal we could have held out twenty-four hours longer." Another trait of his character Captain Hamilton told me, which was,—that when they arrived in Chili, to the number of eleven, who had adhered to Cheap, and who were truly, for hunger and nakedness, worse than the lowest beggars, and were delighted with the arrival of a Spanish officer from the governor, who presented Cheap with a petition, which he said he behoved to sign, otherwise they could not be taken under the protection of the Spanish governor; Cheap, having glanced this paper with his eye, and throwing it indignantly on the ground, said sternly to the officer that he would not sign such a paper, for the officers of the King of England could die of hunger, but they disdained to beg. Hamilton and Byron and all the people fell into despair, for they believed that the captain was gone mad, and that they were all undone. But it had a quite contrary effect, for the officer now treated him with unbounded respect, and, going hastily to the governor, returned immediately with a blank sheet of paper, and desired Captain Cheap to dictate or write his request in his own way.

Hamilton added that Byron and he being then very young, about sixteen or seventeen, they frequently thought they were ruined by the captain's behaviour, which was often mysterious, and always arrogant and high; but that yet in the sequel they found that he had always acted under the guidance of a sagacious foresight. This was marking him as a character truly fit for command, which was the conclusion I drew from my intercourse with him in Scotland. On my inquiring at Hamilton what had made Byron so severe, he said he believed it was that the captain one day had called him "puppy" when he was petulant, and feeling himself in the wrong, he endeavoured to make up with Byron by greater civility, which the other rejecting, Cheap kept him at a greater distance. He entirely cleared Cheap from any blame for shooting Cozens, into which he was led by unavoidable circumstances, and which completely re-established his authority.

As I had seen the Chevalier Prince Charles frequently in Scotland, I was appealed to if a print that was selling in all the shops was not like him. My answer was, that it had not the least resemblance. Having been taken one night, however, to a meeting of the Royal Society by Microscope Baker, there was introduced a Hanoverian baron, whose likeness was so strong to the print which passed for the young Pretender, that I had no doubt that, he being a stranger, the print sellers had got him sketched out, that they might make something of it before his vera effigies could be had. Experiments in electricity were then but new in England, and I saw them well exhibited at Baker's, whose wife, by the by, was a daughter of the celebrated Daniel Defoe.

I dined frequently with a club of officers, mostly Scotch, at a coffeehouse at Church Court in the Strand, where Charles Congalton lodged, and who introduced me to the club, many of whom were old acquaintances, such as Captain Henry Fletcher, Boyd Porterfield, and sundry more who had been spared at the fatal battle of Fontenoy. We had an excellent dinner at 10d. I thought as good as those in Holland at a guilder. The company, however, were so much pleased that they voluntarily raised it to 1s. 6d., and they were right, for as they generally went to the play at six o'clock, the advance of the ordinary left them at liberty to forsake the bottle early.

The theatres were not very attractive this season, as Garrick had gone over to Dublin; there still remained, however, what was enough for a stranger—Mrs. Pritchard, and Mrs. Clive, and Macklin, who were all excellent in their way. But I had seen Hughes and Mrs. Hamilton in Edinburgh, and whether or not it might be owing to the force of first impressions, I then thought that they were not surpassed by those I saw in London.

Of the literary people I met with at this time in London, I must not forget Thomson the poet and Dr. Armstrong. [Armstrong belonged to Castleton, Roxburghshire. He was a poet and essayist as well as a physician, in which profession he attributed his limited success to the fact that " he could neither tell a heap of lies in his own praise wherever he went; nor intrigue with nurses, much less assimilate with the various knots of pert insipid, lively stupid, well-bred impertinent, good-humoured malicious, obliging deceitful, waspy drivelling gossips; nor enter into juntos with people who were not to his liking."--Armstrong's Medical Essays.] Dickson had come to London from Leyden with his degree of M.D., and had been introduced to Armstrong, who was his countryman. A party was formed at the Ducie Tavern at Temple Bar, where the company were Armstrong, Dickson, and Andrew Millar, with Murdoch his friend. [As to Dickson, see further on, p. 215. The Reverend Patrick Murdoch was the author of several scientific works, and of memoirs of M'Laurin the mathematician and Thomson the poet, to whom he is said to have sat for the portrait of the "little, fat, round, oily man of God" in the Castle of Indolence, who "had a roguish twinkle in his eye, and shone all glittering with ungodly dew." —J.H.B.] Thomson came at last, and disappointed me both by his appearance and conversation. Armstrong bore him down, having got into his sarcastical vein by the wine he had drunk before Thomson joined us.

At that particular time strangers were excluded from the House of Commons, and I had not then a strong curiosity for that kind of entertainment. I saw all the sights as usual for strangers in London, and having procured a small pamphlet which described the public buildings with taste and discernment, I visited them with that in my hand. On Sundays I went with Lyon and his family to St. George's Church in Hanover Square. Sometimes I went to St. James's Church to hear Dr. Secker, [Dr. Secker became Archbishop of Canterbury and baptized George IV. "As he began life a dissenter," writes Mrs. Montague, "anxious churchwomen thought that the Archbishop's christening George, Prince of Wales, would not make a Christian of him. And it cannot be said that it did."—Doran's Lady of the Last Century.] who was the rector of that parish and a fine preacher. I was twice at the opera, which seemed so very far from real life and so unnatural that I was pleased with nothing but the dancing, which was exquisite, especially that of Violetti.


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