vourite haunt of the sea-fowl. At the appearance of Mary and Fitzmaurice, the birds started away with a simultaneous burst, and wheeled and hovered over them with lond melancholy screams, literally obscuring the air for some moments by the abrupt expansion of such a multitude of wings. Large flocks of cormorants, with their long picturesque forms of shining jet, and gulls with their white breasts and wild bright eyes and backs of ashy gray, have their nests in this part of the coast, and are to be seen promiscuously mingled along the rocks, to which they give an extraordinary appearance by their inconceivable numbers and the contrasts of their colours and shapes. It was not the first time that Mary had ventured to this place with her companion. In more auspicious hours they had visited it together, and, among the solemn sights and sounds which it presented, had tempered down the giddy ecstasy of youthful enjoyment to the reflective sobriety in which true happiness is best felt and understood. In their present altered condition, Fitzmaurice only found the place favourable to the darkest contemplations; and, as he stood with Mary on the brink of the abyss, after a long silence, he hastily turned to her, and, with a hurried but emphatical expression, borrowing the language of another enthusiast, exclaimed; "Do you remember the ancient use of the rock of Leucadia ? This place resembles it in many respects: the rock is high, the water is deep, and I am in despair." Mary did not shrink back at this dreadful question; she only clung more closely to his arm, as if resolute to share his fate, should he be so desperate as to decide it there. Fitzmaurice was the first to recover from this horrible state of mind, and suatched her away with trembling eagerness. "This place," said he, "is not good for us, diary. These brown rocks look churlishly upon us, and these clamorous birds are shrieking their dismissal to me too harshly and too soon." He supported her to the foot of the cliff, and, after walking for a short distance along the beach, turned into a deep recess formed by a chasm in the rock. Hiere they were quite concealed from observation from the land side, and could descry any vessel or boat that might appear on the sea, whose murmur was the only sound that now reached their ears. There are, along this shore, several of these secluded inlets, which, notwithstanding the cries of the sea-birds resounding among the adjacent heights, are so silent and so lonely that they might seem to have had no visiters but the waves since the foundation of the world. Such was the tranquillity of the spot to which these lovers had now retired, and where they were about to undergo the agony of parting without hope of reunion. The majestie rocks were around and above them; the sun was in his glory, in the rich blue heaven; the green space of waters spread before them; and the waves, pursuing each other over the yellow sands, rippled at their feet. To happy lovers such a scene and such an hour would have sent into the heart a summer feeling." To an exile, about to be cut off for ever from his native shore, where, in future, his very name would be a by-word of execration-except among the lowly and devoted peasants, whose wretchedness of condition had only been aggravated by the frantic plot in which he had encouraged them-exccpt, too, with her who was, as yet for a little while, sitting pale and speechless at his sideto him, and to that young fond victim of his errors and her love, how did that sun shine in mockery, and that peaceful retreat invite to happiness in vain! They sate in the mute anguish of hopelessness, neither daring to address the other, lest the answer should be-farewell! had not entirely cast me off from your regard. To-night I shall be abroad on the Atlantic. I shall never behold you more; but I shall hear that you are the bride of some better and happier man, and my yearning heart will torment me into madness." O, my unhappy friend," replied Mary, "how shall I convince you of the error of that fear? To-night you will be on the Atlantic-Shall I go with you, Gerald, and break my mother's heart, and make the hearth of my father desolate ?" No, lovely and generous girl; I will never lure you from your parents to follow the fortunes of an outlawed man. I am not so lost to honour as to tempt you to such a sacrifice and such a crime." Overcome with agitation, Fitzmaurice burst into tears. Those of Mary had long been flowing; but when she saw her lover weep, she threw herself into his arms with a shriek of which the thrilling delirious agony was such that Fitzmaurice, for years afterwards, could not revert to this moment without shuddering. She clung to his bosom with the energy of a maniac, while he soothed her with all the prodigality of fond expression. They were suddenly alarmed by a screaming whistle, still more shrill and piercing than that which had given Fitzmaurice notice of Mary's arrival at the cliff. "What can that sound mean?' whispered Mary, trembling; it is surely the cry of a banshee; no human signal was ever so dreadful." "It is the ery of my death-ghost, Mary," said Fitzmaurice, solemnly, after pausing to listen for a few seconds; "I am taken in the toils. Can Dillon have betrayed me? Now leave me, and God for ever and for ever bless you!" "I will not leave you, Gerald," was the answer; and she twined her arms round him and listened. Then, suddenly disengaging herself, she exclaimed: " Fly, fly, Fitzmaurice, I hear the tread of many feet upon the sands." "It is too late to fly," he replied, "the bloodhounds are too near: but let them not see you; remain in this cave, and I will meet them." arin. He kissed her cheek and rushed forward; but he dragged her with him, for she had again clung to his At that instant a detachment of twelve foot-soldiers, with an officer, appeared, accompanied by two persons on horseback, Sir Guy Vernon (followed by a groom) and Mr Sullivan. Fitzmaurice stood motionless, with Mary on his arm, till they came close up. Sir Guy's astonishment and rage, at finding his daughter in such a situation, it would not be easy to depict. He had never, till that instant, suspected her attachment.. Sir Guy poured out a volley of execrations, and fiercely called on the soldiers to seize the papist traitor, Gerald Fitzmaurice O'Neil, whom he further insulted with abuse to which he received no answer. The officer had halted his men, and he now commanded them not to stir; and, walking singly up to Fitzmaurice, he said to him, in a tone not unsoftened by compassion, "Sir, you are my prioner." Fitzmaurice Lent his head in acquiescence, while Mary precipitated herself towards her father, and implored him to have mercy, which was now not less far from his inclination than from his power. His only notice of her supplication was, "Take that wretched girl away, Sullivan, and see her home." Gerald Fitzmaurice was carried off by the party; but Mary, on her way home, contrives a rescue for her lover, which is completely successful, and which deepens his admiration of the tenderness and energy of her from whom he was parted for ever. He Fitzmaurice at last remembered that Mary was far from home, and that many reasons required the termina-escapes from Sligo in an American merchantman ; tion of this useless and afflicting interview. He address. ed her in a voice almost inarticulate from emotion. “I resolved at all risks to see you, Mary, before my departure; and perhaps I owe my safety to this resolution; for a quarter where I am so well known is the last in which my enemies would expect to find me. I thought that it would be some alleviation to my misery if I could but be convinced that, in spite of my unworthiness, you but the lovers, after long separation, meet again; nor are their trials ended; and the close of the story, though it may disappoint the ordinary readers of romance, gently harmonizes with its sober, mournful, and life-like tone. Gerald was now a Roman Catholic priest, the disciple of Fenelon, filled with high notions of the dutics of his sacred function; and Mary became his placid and comparatively happy Protestant friend; and no tongue was heard to utter, nor mind known to harbour a sentiment injurious to the reputation of either of these early and passionate lovers, and ever devoted friends. In the tale of The Royalist, Hofer is introduced; and the dreamy and half-mad German student, the boy Stapps, who had vowed the death of Napoleon, and expiated an attempt on the life of the emperor by the forfeiture of his own life. Napoleon is represented, in the Philadelphic Tales, as the prey of continual apprehensions from secret assassins, and as having consulted personal safety, as much as ambition, in a union with an Austrian princess. The historical scenes, if they display knowledge and ability, are, however, not so pleasing as the family groups of the Hoffmans, the parish priest, and his housekeeper in the village of Mollis, and the canton of Glaris, and the households of Hofer and his brave compatriots in the Tyrol. Nothing, indeed, can be more charming than the freshness of the characters and the pictures of national manners, or the descriptions of the magnificent and lovely scenery of the Alps, with their lakes and valleys, and the merry and picturesque penitential pilgrimage to the altar of Our Lady of the Hermits. Mr Quillinan has, apparently, a personal knowledge of this region, and also of those parts of the peninsula which he describes in the "Sisters of the Douro." In this tale he has, in the conversations of a young Portuguese lady with her admirer, an English officer, gracefully given a rapid view of the literature of Portu gal. Indeed, the whole of these compositions display talents and attainments which do not necessarily belong to even the better order of romance writers. One, at parting, would like to be better certified that this author's dislike of Napoleon proceeded not from lurking royalist prejudice, but from a sincere love of that liberty which Napoleon despised, betrayed, and trampled under foot. We have left ourselves no space to speak of "The Siege of Florence," another historical romance well worthy of the distinction of being classed with "Cromwell" and "The Conspirators;" but, approaching nearer to the standard of pure romance, in its wild characters and marvellous incidents. As a well-connected story, it is much superior to the historical novel of Cromwell, while, in many scenes, it approaches the descriptive beauty of "The Conspirators." That we may not need to return to novels again, for some time, we shall catalogue those we can recommend :-" The Dowager," by Mrs Gore, whose works need no recommendation; "The Three Peers," by Lady Stepney, an entertaining romance, and a work which, as a juvenile performance, we regard as of high promise; "The Romance of Jewish History," by the Misses Moss, young Jewesses, well read in the romantic annals of their illustrious nation, and by no means deficient in circulating-library lore. To "Cromwell" we purpose to return. It is not a work to be either slighted or slightly handled : and our space for novels is fully occupied. MEMOIRS OF JEREMY BENTHAM. BY JOHN BOWRING. PART VIII. REMINISCENCES OF BOWOOD, ITS INMATES AND VISITERS. "Bowood, Monday Evening, (half after 10 o'Clock) Sept. 17, 1781. "The whist-table is just broke up, supper is announced, the game at chess between Lord Chatham and Miss V—, is drawing near to a conclusion, and, while the rest of the people are hovering round them, waiting for the event, I have taken French leave of them all, and stolen up here, that I may be a good boy to-morrow, and rise betimes. This Lord and Lady Tracton are the queerest jigs you ever saw my lord wears his bobwig, black coat, and coloured worsted stockings, and looks like a plain, stout, thick set country parson. My lady is a little shrivelled figure, of about sixty-with a hook nose, and ferret eyes, a long white beard, and a parchment mahoganycoloured skin—in a gray riding-habit, with a black hat and feather. Nobody speaks to her, nor she to any body; she has been sticking close to her husband's side while he has been playing at whist, but would not play herself. "We people. Pitts. "Tuesday Evening, September 18th. have, just now, a monstrous heap of Departed before breakfast, Pratt and the Remain, Lord and Lady Tracton. Arrived before dinner, Lord Dartry and Colonel Barré, seemingly in company. Arrived before tea, Lord Camden, Miss Pratt, his daughter, and a Mr Smith, now or formerly a captain in the East India service. The carriages came in together; but whether Smith belongs to Lord Camden and his daughter I cannot tell; no signs of converse between them have I seen. Lord Dartry is a chatty sort of man, and seems to know everybody; does not seem to trouble his head about party, but mixes with the Government as well as Opposition men. His wife is a good deal in favour with the queen, and often with her. She is of the family of the Penns. Miss Pratt is very fat; not handsome nor very young: but well-bred, conversable, sensible, and, as far as one can judge, good-natured. Lord and Lady S., Lord Tracton, Lord Dartry, and Colonel Barré have been at the whist table; the rest of us | 20th ; but let that pass. I will go on at present round the book table, à l'ordinaire, except that, with my Journal. Thursday, nothing happened for the last half-hour, Lord Camden has been walk- that I can recollect worth mentioning. No fresh ing in a passage room with Barré. With Lord visiters. Camden I have had, as yet, scarce any communication; but, while the women have been at their work, I, with my book before me, have been joining in conversation occasionally with his daughter; and Lords C. and S., I observed, were in close conversation for some time, with looks that seemed to indicate that they were talking about me. 66 Wednesday Afternoon, 8 o'clock. "This morning, before breakfast, Lord and Lady Tracton took themselves off. Joy go with them; they were a pair of cd sangliers, the latter more particularly to my dear Lady Shelburne, whose footsteps I adore. Miss V, alas! leaves us the day after to-morrow, without redemption. I forgot to tell you of a dinner visiter we had the day before yesterday, a Mr Talbot, a name he had taken from an estate, instead of Davenport. He is a young man but lately come of age. He has been to Christ Church in Oxford, and has now thoughts of going into the army. His family-house is in the neighbourhood-at or near Cosham, where Methuen lives; it is an old monastery-one of the most perfect, they say, in England; it is a vast place; and the estate, though a nominal £2,000 a-year, is so reduced by encumbrances, as to bring him in, it is said, scarce £500; so that a profession is absolutely necessary to him. The man whom he has his estate from, was obliged to fly the country for Italian eccentricities. In the young man himself there is nothing that seems remarkable. "Barré loves to sit over his claret, pushes it about pretty briskly, and abounds in stories that are well told, and very entertaining. He really seems to have a great command of language; he states clearly and forcibly; and, upon all points, his words are fluent and well-chosen. Lord Dartry is also intelligent and entertaining. They were talking over Irish affairs this afternoon; their conversation was instructive: when they differed, as they did now and then, about matters of fact as well as opinion, it was with great firmness and urbanity. I put a word in now and then to keep the ball up, and to avoid appearing a perfect ninny: but it was pain and grief to me. My health is, somehow or other, in wretched order. I scarce know how to get up early enough; even six o'clock is too late. "Hyde Parker, it is said (this is Barré's story,) is not to have any thing after all. Being offered the command of a fleet against the Dutch, he demanded a reinforcement, but was denied. Afterwards a reinforcement was ordered: then he declared himself willing to serve, but then they would not let him. This, Col. Barré said, he had from an officer who is intimate with Parker, Ah, Johnny,' (said the old man, to his friend,) it was a rare bout; 'twould ha' done thy heart good to have seen it; there was not a shot that did not take effect on either side.' "September 24th, Monday Erening, half after 10 o'clock, "This morning, at eight, I received yours of the "On Friday, the prediction given of Miss V's departure in the last page was but too well verified. There was a little incidentno, I won't go on with the sentence-a little piece of attention she showed me the night before, which, while it flattered my vanity, made me feel the loss of her the more sensibly. "On the Sunday before, she and I had been playing at chess. Pitt, who did not play at the whist-table, and Lord Chatham, who cut in and out, had been occasionally looking on. After she had lost two games to me, which was as many as she ever had been used to play, she gave it up; whereupon Pitt proposed we should play, which we did, and I beat him. 66 im Finding he had no chance with me, he complained of its hurting his head, and gave it up mediately; towards the close of the evening, Lord Chatham gave me a challenge. I accepted it. From something that Pitt had said, I expected to have found him an easy conquest, especially as there was something seemingly irregular in the opening of his game; but it was a confounded bite; for I soon found Iris hand as heavy over me as I ever have felt yours: in short, he beat me shamefully, and the outcries I made on that occasion were such as would naturally convey to other people a formidable idea of his prowess. Now, what is all this to Miss V? Why, the next evening, Tuesday, Pitt first proposed a game to her; they played, and I don't know which beat, but, after playing one game, she declined playing any more. The words were scarce out of her mouth, when Lord Shelburne, from the whist-table, by way of saying something, called to me, as if pitying me for not being able to get a game. Upon that day, each of them proposed I should play with the other. After some pour parlers, as Miss Vhad before declined playing any more with Pitt, I thought it would be civiler to both of them for me not to make any proposal to her; so I asked Pitt, but he declined it, saying, as he did before, that his head would not bear more than a game at a sitting. Accordingly the chess board was laid aside, and we took to our books à l'ordinaire. About an hour, or an hour and a half afterwards, Lord Chatham having cut out at the whist-table, came to the library-table and proposed to Miss V- to play a game with him. She consented, and they had just time to play a game before supper. He beat her, of course, though not with so high a hand as one would have expected. Tuesday morning, as I told you, Lord Chatham went away; and, on Tuesday and Wednesday evenings, as Miss Pratt was there, and not playing at whist, I thought it not proper to say any thing about chess to Miss V. Well, now comes the mighty favour. On Thursday, towards the close of the evening, she called me to her, and asked me (which was what she had never done before) whether I would play a game at chess with her, observing that she had used me excessively ill in refusing me, in a and then playing with Lord Chatham. Mighty | me of her being just going to write to you, and that thankful I was, as you may imagine. We sat she likes you as well, ay, better, than she does me. down immediately, and we were mighty sociable Lord Shelburne introduced me to Miss F and merry; more so than I had ever observed her more particular manner than he did anybody else, on any occasion before; insomuch that Lord Shel- as a favourite of Miss V's. We are very good burne, from the whist-table, took notice of it; add- friends: she, too, plays at chess; she is very fond ing, that, whatever was the reason, he never saw of it. We played yesterday; and, I suppose, shall her laugh with anybody so much as with me. be playing every evening. She seems a good-naWhen I talked to her about going, and asked her tured, pleasant kind of girl; but has not much to what time it was to be in the morning, she said say for herself, as yet, as you may imagine. Her that I should not see her, for that it would be be- face-I had like to have forgot her face-is far fore I was up. Well!-and what of all this?— from an unpleasing one: but the form of it, which you will say; a fine winded story this is, à la is rather too long, a mouth, which is the Fmode de Bentham, to cook up about nothing at all. mouth, and a set of teeth, which, though white, Why, to be sure it is; and if this had happened are rather too large, save her from being a beauty. with some women, I should never have made any "On Friday, at dinner, we had again Mr Bull reflection on it, even in my own mind, much less and Captain Onslow; and now, for the first time, have thought of boring you with it; but were you a Mr Brooke, who was upon a visit to Mr Bull. but acquainted with the girl, and à portée (as Clin- | Brooke is, or has been, something in the law; proton would say) to observe the extreme dignity, and bably at the bar. I have a notion of having seen coolness, and silence, and reserve, as much as is him taking notes in the King's Bench-a little, consistent with great good nature, (which it would dapper man, with a sharp face. Captain Onsłow be injustice to deny her,) you would then, and not told me, that Brooke had lately met the Q. S. P.'s otherwise, be able to estimate the value of any such at Bath, drinking tea at Mr Poole's; a man who little expression of complacency as I have been is a son of Sergeant Poole, had a good fortune, but mentioning. Oh! and I have not told you either was once at the Crown-office with Abbot. Brooke that it was by her means that I got upon the foot-has a house somewhere in this country. ing that I am upon of playing upon the harpsichord, (I mean upon the fiddle with the harpsichord,) every afternoon with Lady Shelburne; but that story I shall spare you: nor of the air of cordiality and attention with which she received the whisper in which I took my leave of her at night: in short, she actually took the sort of notice which no well-court connexions. She has distributed money for bred woman could have avoided taking of any man who was paying her a compliment of that sort. In the morning, you will have concluded, I made a point of being in the way to hand her to her carriage; but I did not, thinking it might be deemed an act of impertinence, and might give occasion to her maid, or people who did not know the great gulfs of a hundred and fifty kinds that are fixed between us, to prate. 66 You can't imagine what a reserve there is in the manners of this house, and how little there has been of gallantry towards her in the behaviour of all the men that have been here, young and old, as far as I have had occasion to observe. "Lord Shelburne's carriage took us but one stage; there it waited (it was at Malmesbury) for Miss Fox, who is sent here from Warwick castle, (you will excuse me, but it really is the Earl of Warwick's castle at Warwick, and not Captain Donellan's in exchange.) Miss F- is a little girl, between thirteen and fourteen; a sister, and the only one, of the present Lord II, who is about nine, consequently niece to C F and to Lady Shelburne, and great-niece to the Duchess of Bedford. The Duke of Bedford is now at this same Warwick castle; we shall hardly see him here, at least, I shan't. She is very prettily made, and has already a very womanly sort of bosom, I assure you; as much so as a certain friend of ours at Brompton, notwithstanding the difference of age. By the by, I have a letter from that same friend at Brompton, who is a saucy slut, and tells "On Saturday there dined with us, a Mrs Johns. Mrs Johns was a sort of dependent of Lord S.'s first wife; lives gratis in a little house of my lord's close by; is a Methodist; comes a-begging to great people for money to give in charity; is a conversable woman, who has seen the world, and has the queen; and, though she has the dress and appearance of an upper servant, has had correspondence with all manner of great people, and could be made use of occasionally to put news about. This is the account Lord S. was giving me of her. "On Sunday, nothing happened that I recollect. "On Monday, Lord Dartry left us: it was he that pushed the bottle about, and not Colonel Barré. I beg the colonel's pardon. He is a valetudinarian; finds it necessary to have bottle a-day in his guts; is fond of religion, and of cards; does not know very well what to do with himself; hunts out oddities and knicknacks, and frequents auctions. "On Tuesday, in the morning, Captain Smith took his departure. He was once an East India director; he has a house in Bloomsbury Square, and another at Ashsted, near Epsom. He found out that I was profoundly conversant with E. India affairs (you know how profoundly,) offered me access to unedited maps and MSS. of various kinds, and gave me pressing and repeated invitations to both his houses; mentioning connexions that he had with people who were philosophical men, and would be glad to be acquainted with me. Shall I go? I can't tell; we'll talk about it. He wrote a pamphlet once on India affairs, which Lord S. had taken notice of as one he approved of mightily, and never knew Smith to be the author till Monday night. It is entitled "Observations on the Present Posture of Affairs in India, Svo." "The same morning, Lord Camden and Miss Pratt went off to Beckford's at Fonthill; but they return to-morrow, or next day. Beckford, I told you before, was to have a grand féte on the 27th or 28th, upon his coming of age. Lord Camden went yesterday, in order to be before the fete; I suppose on account of Miss Pratt's not being prepared for it in the article of clothes. Lord Shelburne goes on Friday and returns the next day. Lord Camden likes all these bustles; Lord S. not. Nor would he go, I believe, but in view of fixing or drawing young Beckford into his party. Between him and old Beckford the alderman, you know, I suppose, that there was an intimate connexion. "This was the day that Lord S. was to give the second and last treat to his corporation people; the first had been given since I have been here. Having missed that opportunity, I was very glad of this occasion of being witness to such a scene. I accordingly went and dined at Calne with my lord and Colonel Barré. We drank tea at Mr Bull's, and, coming home, found Mrs Dunning. She had left her husband at Bristol, and he is expected on Friday or Saturday. She plays on the harpsichord most divinely. I have just been accompanying her. is "Well, but I must go down-Miss F waiting for me. Parson Townsend came to-day to dinner; and now we shall probably settle a day for Lord S. and Barré to go and dine with them; and that will probably fix the date of my departure from this place. What do you think I heard from Barré yesterday in the coach? that Mrs Armestead had taken, or bought, Lady Tankerville's, on St. Anne's Hill; so that you will have her for a neighbour. Who pays for it, whether Lord Derby or the prince, I have not learnt. Send these two sheets to Davies, as soon as you get a frank, together with all the others which are not exclusively to yourself. The copying machine does not do." "Bowood, 28th September, 1781. "One of Lord Shelburne's channels of American intelligence, is through General Grey, with whom he appears to be on a footing of some intimacy. Grey is, at present, at Plymouth, and from thence sends him letters which he (Grey) has received from America. General Camden was giving instances that have come very lately within his knowledge of the freedom used at the Post-office with letters that come from thence. In one letter, which he seemed to have seen, a part was actually cut out; but it was managed so clumsily, that what remained announced the contents of what was taken away. Lord S. was telling me, upon a former occasion, that there was a whole department in the office on purpose for that business. "The same accounts still continue that we have heard before, of Clinton's eccentricities: that he shats himself up for three or four days together, and is seen by nobody. It seems to be true that he has recalled Lord Cornwallis, either through jealousy or necessity. A paper received by Lord S. makes Washington upwards of 11,000 strong, including 4000, and, I think, two hundred French, but exclusive of militia: pieces of cannon, eightysix. I saw the particulars in his hand; but I must not think of copying. There was a talk of 7000 or 8000 militia. Clinton was said to have about 9000 men that he could spare from ports and garrisons. Washington's vicinity straitened him, it is said, for provisions; and that was mentioned as the chief reason for his recalling Cornwallis. "When Lord Bristol came here, it was, as he said, to thank Lord Shelburne for favours; I mean the share he had in getting him the bishoprick. When the late Lord Bristol was Lordlieutenant, the bishoprick being vacant, he got a promise of it from the king. Meantime, Lord Townshend succeeded; and he, regardless of his predecessor's promise, made interest for somebody else. Lord Shelburne, when Secretary of State, reminded the king of his promise, and obtained the necessary document, which he sent over without delay. After this, Lord S. thought himself well entitled, upon the present occasion, to ask Lord B. for an Irish living, which he wants just now to satisfy the cravings of a man of Calne, who has a son a parson, and whose political chastity is assailed by Robinson of the Treasury. Lord Bristol changed the discourse, and would not hear him. This is exact: having heard Lord S. repeat it two or three times, Barré says, and says it seriously, that now he has some chance; but that, had Lord B. promised, he would have none. Everybody seems to be agreed about two things: that he is touched in his noddle, and that he draws a long bow. "Lord Dartry says, the Irish exports, by the last accounts, were four millions a-year. Barré doubts, but Lord Dartry insists. Barré says he will write over to know. "Some time after Lord Hertford had been Lord lieutenant of Ireland, umbrage had been taken by the House of Lords there at something relative to one of their clerks. Being closely interrogated, he confessed at length, with much agitation, that the profits of his place were not what they might seem to be; for that, on being appointed to it, he had been forced to undertake for paying so much to Lord Beauchamp, whether a gross sum or an annuity, I forget. The House, therefore, transmitted a state of the case, with a complaint, to be laid before his majesty. It came, as in course, to Lord Shelburne; he being then Secretary of State. Lord S. from a notion of decency, thought proper, before he presented it, to give notice to Lord Hertford. He, accordingly, wrote a note to Lord H., saying that he had some particular business which he wished to talk to him about, and that he would be glad either to wait on him or to receive his visit. Lord H., little thinking how nearly it concerned him, gave rather a cavalier answer, appointing Lord S. to wait on him. What passed afterwards was slurred over in an obscure way, as usual; but so it was, that the complaint was stifled (as Lord S. says he must acknowledge to his shame,) and never reached the king. This is odd enough; for how came the Lords, when they |