The Press.
London, England, 1853-05-28 00:00:00

PI

takes up a long packet with "E. B." in the
corner. It is I prolix MS. written in a tie
mulous, hurried hand, with copious interliuea-
tious. But the morning is too oppressive to
be ,in with poring over politics, and that dirty
vil scrawl unl?on crumpled paper, with news
about " Seagull * fran the famed Sam Wili-
ng. arrests his eyes. The political MS. it
crumpled into a drawer, and, while our states
man, with something like bustling activity.
makes fresh notes in his betting-book ' there is
usher din one his dearest friends. It is
Fitzpatrick, e, dandy of the eighteenth century.
an Irish humorist with some Parisian grace,
and something of a military carriage. He is
prematurely haggard and careworn from the
campaiens of pleasure, and his conversation.
neither edifying nor instructive, is vastly
amusing. And while the two Mends are con-
fidentially discussing of their common affairs,
for they arc eteep in each other's secrets, plea
sant noise of laughter is heard on the stairs,
and the swarthy face of Fox is gladdened as
his dear sprightly Jack Townshend comes in
along with the " Hare of many friends." What
cokes ! what mirth! what capital sayings
sparkle, flash, and fly about that little shabby
drawing-room !It is brilliant with the hues
of fancy and humour. And Fox himself-'*ith
what an easy, delighted air he enjoys the
banter and good humour of his companions!
The names of the gifted and the beautiful are
mentioned, and Fox tears open his invitations
to the various scenes of gaiety and joy where
his prosenen is persuasively bidden in the au
tographs of the fashionable rulers of the age.
Well, our statesman leads a pleasant life, and
who would say that politics are a grave pur-
suit? Ay, or a great one !
Vet stay!! We must see more of the life of
this man of ease. The day is wearing on, and
ho saunters out to Brookes's. Every hand is
put out to welcome him, and he is evidently
the favourite of the club. Around him are
clustered the Fitzroy*, and the Keppels,
anu
the St. Johns. How glad he is to see George
Byng, and with what warmth he greets that
•delicate, slender young man---the new member
for Northumberland—a man of brilliant pro-
mise—Charles Grey ! Every ono is glad to
see him. and he has a word for all. He is the
king of his company, until a new arrival comes,
and with courteous environment the great t arty
lender acknowledges the presence of George
Prince of Wales. They were early this morn-
ing in each other's company before, and the
Prince's face betrays what Fox's countenance
does not show—that a night of joy had been
seeeeeded by the headache of repentance.
Aud now the Prince and Fox retire to a pri-
vate room, where we must not, intrude on the
secret plottings its which the vanity of Court
bfe, and the passions of a political chieftain
ark' eomtningled, lint soon the secret council
is at an end, and, after a fresh ambuscade has
been plotted against Mr. Pitt, the Prince and
Fox emerge in high spirits, and the Prince
gaily ehallenges Lord Derby to a game of bil-
liards, while Fox mounts his horse and goes
to the Park. How the crowd look after him !
How all the idlers regard his well-known face!
Set` 111111 beside the chariot yonder! Who
could think that this was a man deep in state
atlitivs. while he eagerly talks gossip and prat-
tles badinage to the delighted ears of those
lovely sisters, the Duchess of Devonshire and
lady Dmicannon. Yes! He has made them
happy. Ile certainly will join the coalition
water party up to Richmond. What a gay.
joyous scene it is to-day, and what a blaze of
fashion is in the Park ! All eyes leolt towards
Fox, as he continues to loiter by the side of
the Duchess of Devonshire's chariot. See how
admiring groups of provincials are gazing with
admiration at the great lion of the day. They
seri ttinise his careless, easy dress, and note his
blue and buff costume. They see his face,
unclouded with care. and hear his laugh, while
be tells light. gay anecdotes to the brilliant
occupants of the chariot. Hero comes Lady
Lade and her eternal ponies ; and the Duchess
looks grave, and Fox bites his lips. And here

+ " Seagull" won the °Wands at Agent, and in stakes (then
smaller than new) won Onset on 1,6001. He easily beat the
Prinne of Wales's " -" at Ascot, two miles for flee
the •

E..__
respe _ _ _ _ _,e4 htus-
dist oldness, vote slam depending on _ miteh. ism Chilling
used to ssy "Mr. For was s grind man, and knosed 'oases verT,
weir I 41111 Holland thinks it beneath " the dignity of hinting
to debt:ribs iiii uzullf* spealll4loSs on the tor&

THE PRESS

comes the Countess of Clermont along with
Lady William Gordon, telling of life at Paris
and Marie Antoinette. There is a gentleman
riding near, and, as he salutes Charles Fox,
the Duchess of Devonshire, wita her sprightly
vivacity, quotes the line of the " Kolliad "
« The cos* Villiers with his Saxes wakes
Here comes the brilliant Colonel St. Leger, a
star of fashion, and idol of the fair. He is
welcomed with the sweetest smiles by the
Dot hese of Devonshire. But the smile
vanishes as St. Leger announces that the
Duchess of Rutland, the brightest ornament
of the Pittite female aristocracy, is driving
hither in her pony carriage. There they are,
the two rival beauties of the day—Devonshire
excelling in fascination, and Rutland unrivalled
in grace—the first a daughter of the house of
Spencer, and inheriting much of the versatile
talent of her race; the second a Somerset, with
the blood of the Plantagenets in her veins.
Both equal in the amount of admiration which
followed them, but Devonshire decidedly car-
rying the palm in popularity, and the other
achieving the victory in power. What a stately
air has Rutland as she proudly sweeps by!
Fresh from her vice-regal throne, she seems to
have acquired more imposing dignity. And
she smiles with flattered pride as she thinks
of the lines in which Fox announced her con-
quest, when she was Marchioness of Granby :
" Ye meteors, who with mad career
Have rov'd through Fashion's atmosphere,
Anti thou, young, fair, fantastic Devon,
Wild as the comet in mid heaven,
Hide your diminished heads, nor stay
1" usurp the shining realms of day,
For set., th' unsullied morning light,
With beams more constant and more bright,
Iler splendid course begins to run,
And all creation hails the attn."+
Aud uow Fox rides on slowly. One might
suppose that he had much more to think of
in life than toying and coquetting with pretty
women. Is this the fitting life for a man pro
fessing to live for empire? Instead of toying
with beauties, ought he not to be studying statis-
tics" What would Sir Robert Down,
thou snarler!! Know that it is an age of pas-
sion, of vague aspirations, of grand and stir-
ring social th caries. It is in the latter end of
the eighteenth century, before the steam-
engine is invented, when the name of Peel is
only mentioned with spinning jennies, and
Sheridan's lines on the new baronetcy:—long
before the time when a Clerk talking blue-books
for three hours could be hailed as a debater.
It is characteristic of the time that the first
debater should be also the fashion of the day.
Ay ! the fashion ; and what spell there was in
that word in those days. when Fox was play-
ing his great part ! It would have been good
policy in those days for a statesman with the
King and Queen adverse to him to court the
smiles of celebrated beauty. But. see ! He is
not a ilivonrite with all the lovely women.
There is another lady in a pony carriage—for
ny driving is the female rage of the time.
What a decided cut this lady has given to Fox,
who seemed anxious to salute her! She is
very beautiful still, though already she has
haul two husbands, and seine say that she is
secretly married to --- ; but. thereby
hangs a tale. and there, too, lies the reason
why Mrs. Fitzherbert turns away her head
from Charles Fox.ll
And now the Park is getting thin, and the
gay charioteers turn homeward their fairy
steeds. Fox, too, is preparing to leave. He
looks mother more grave than we could like.
Could the apparition of Mrs. Fitzherbert have
suggested unpleasant thoughts to him? Or
does he wont to shake oil' that boring Tom

• The lion. John Charles Villiers, a great friend of the Prince
of Wales, father of the present Earl of Clarendon.
+ See "The Meteor, the Comet. and the Sun," from Mr. Fox's
Tien, %%emu in in honour of the Marchioness of Onuthy.
It is in these lines occur
" epieenian Darner.
For John searee knows which eex can claim her:'
These lines are not printed in the memoirs of Fox under re% few.
• Mr. Peel, Mr. Peel,
hi ret mil for your zeal.
I rn told they have dublid you Sir Bob—
liy eoorse Manchester stuff,
VIM have got wealth enough.
And for honours you'll now drive a job. Mr. Peel.
For honours you'll now drive ajob."
See the letter (vol. ii.. p. 27e). in which Mr. Fos dissuades the
Prince from thinking of the marriage. Mr. Fox's aunt, Lady
Sarah, was very near being Queen of England seemly/a Walpomar-
-1
and Mr. Grenville. Shevras a eery extraordinarywoman. First e
ried to one of the Dunbtur of Suffolk, she was subsequently
united to Mokior George Napier. and was mother of the eon•
*lnca of Seinde and the brilliant Waterton of the Peninsular
War.

SATURDAY,

Stepney who Wants to ride with him? Well,
he is at last alone riding out through Mouses-
ter-gate, and he puts his horse to a canter, aid
is soon at his favourite adjostr-s-the house of
Mrs. Armistead. Ah! that name tionjureattp
recollections of unlawful love. Yes ! and of a
love that cherished Fox as he was lova, by
none other in the world ! Which of all his
gay worldly companions, of all the friends that
extolled his genius, would do as that woman,
and risk life to secure the existence of the
popular leader? Now she is his mistress, but
the day shall come when he will gratefully call
her by the sacred name of wife, and give her
his hand in marriage, as the only recompense
in his power for risking her life as his
nurse in a contagious malady that but for her
would have proved mortal.*
She seems surprised to see him. She did
not expect him for another hour. So much
the better—he has something to read before
dinner. Tossing himself on a sofa, he draws
from his pocket a paper that we saw this morn-
ing. Yes ! it is the "E. B." paper ; and with
knit brows he begins to apply himself to a dis-
quisition from the pen of " the greatest philo-
sopher in action that the world ever saw. "t Fox
reads—admires, and learns from one who in
the science of politics was his master. "Well,"
he mutters, " what genius and kno*ledge this
good Edmund has! Yet the House of Com-
mons prefers me to him, and Burke knows It,
and by Jove the House is right ! for where
could a House of Commons be found to follow
this profound reasoning, these soaring flights
of fancy? Speeches, as I often say, are made
to be spoken, and not to be read, as the House
knows by instinct. Fox on his legs, and
Burke upon paper—such is the right division
of labour." Be masters the paper with rapid
facility, tenaciously grasps its facts, and *ith
intuitive logic sees the variety of views which
the speculative mind of Burke has suggested.
Without a ruffle on his brow, he joyously an-
nounces that he has got his task ready for the
Commons, joins his mistress at their quiet
dinner, where she eagerly listens to her Charles
eloquently rhapsodising about the merits of a
marvellous new actress—one Mrs. Siddons—
with at voice almost as grand as that of Mr.
Pitt, and with a delivery unrivalled by the ora-
tors of any time. Well ! while Fox is dining.
we shall see what the Commons are about,
who arc eagerly waiting for his appearance.
Here we are in old St. Stephens! The first
thing .that strikes us is the plainness of the room
where the chief rulers of the British empire are
assetnbled. Here is no splendid hall, no
tesselated corridor, no long-drawn vistas, or
fretted vaults of Gothic architecture. The
whole Owe reminds one of a superior descrip-
tion of at Dissenting meeting-house. Here are
the gentlemen of England assembled to the
number of nearly five hundred. How easy it,
is to know the Opposition, with the number
of blue and butts amongst them. What
a number of old men are in the House!
and there are also at number of very young
men, fresh from college. But where is Pitt ?
He has not come yet ; there is his place vacant
on the Treasury bench, and there is Pitt's
right-hand man—tall Harry I)ll.lHW—ready to
sing the Scotch tune of " What wants Inc'?"
Look at that (aid, queer creature, looking like
on overgrown shrimp in contortions. Ah !
that is at great. friend of Pites—lis young
Wilberforce, the member for Yorkshire. The
young man talking to him, with a star on his
breast, and with a pair of eyes outshining his
star. is young Lord Mornington—a poor Irish
Lord—rather a favourite of the King. He has
not yet realised the expectations formed of
him. There is Sir John Scott, the Attorney
General, with his grave, sensible, sturdy face.
What a contrast he is to that elegant aristo.
eratie-looking member on the front Opposition

-------_
* The eanse of the marriage as t.tated in the text has not
been nehlistwil before, to our knowledge. but we have it 01)
pri-
rate information. lox wan taken from his lodgings in the even-
ing to St. James's Clittreli, and married privately by the 1100.
an Rev. Mr. St. John. It UR% the first that he left
hod
use after his illnesn. See also his linestime to his wife on his tif-
tied' birthday.
+ So said sir Jaroes Mackintosh, applying Burke's own defini-
tion of political science. "It is the business of the speculative
philosopher to mark the proper ends of government. It. is the
province of the statesman, who is the philosopher in odic% to
And meow for these ends."—(Thoteghte on the Disecnsteate.) This
distinction has always been overlooked by the Benthonites and
Rad,cals. tlence their spurious philosophy and shallow libe•
, Wino.

w

f..► ;~"`

MAY 28, 1853.

bench ! That is Mr. Erskine. another of the
brilliant advocates who have failed in St. Ste-
phen's. There, at the middle of the front
bench, is Rose, the Secretary to the Treasury.
eareworn and flurried, looking as anxious as if
his New Forest propetiy was taken from him.
How unlike he is to his brother Secretary—
Steele—the member for Chichester—a picture
of Silenus. But what a Babel of noise! We
can scarcely catch a word that falls from the
member on his legs. vehemently flourishing
paper in his hand. how odd it looks to bee
a public speaker haranguing with spectacles
on nose, like this unheard member ' 7is
Burke! All ! You see what a rage he is in,
while, thanks to that clownish-looking person
—Rolle, the member for Devon—not a word is
heard from " the greatest man then
But the fault is not altogether with the Com-
mons. Like other men Of genius. Burke is
arrogant, morose, and is embittered with
personal annoyances. 'Tis the unhappiest
time of his life 4 He sits down—and how well
listened to is the next speaker, with his formal,
slow, and precise manner. That's George
Bankes, the member for Corti. Castle—one of
the most independent men in the House—a
man who would not barter his independence for
an earldom. See how that tall emaciated-look-
ing man is noting the statements of liankes.
He gets up to reply. 'Tim Sir Philip Francis.
How impatient are his gestures ! how sharp is
his tone ! how acrimonious in manner ! And
he is followed by some nondescript on the
Treasury bench. But see the bustle below
the bar!
Yes ! there stalks the stately figure of
William Pitt, nntrelting along the gangway to
the Treasury bench ! He looks like one born
for power, with that wide imperial brow—that
lordly air of supremacy—that sovereign stare
at the embattled front of Opposition. There
is something of his sire about his carriage
but his features have the Grenville look, as his
blood partakes of its phlegm. He is dressed
with elaborate formality, in his customary
black waistcoat and blue body-coat. And now
there is fresh noise below the gangway—and
while the Speaker. roaring " Order, oraer!
below the bar"—
" Ui vain the power of mtrengthening porter Mel%
And nods to Lielhuny for fedi' supplies"—
in COMC4 the much-desired Charles Fox,
greatly to the relief of the diseomfitted Oppo-
sition, who now have the worst of the debate.
That is Lord Surrey—the Protestant Lord
Surrey—talking to Fox. People whisper that
I,ord Surrey is still a Papist, and it is said
that he wears that ugly coat on hint as a
penance. And now Sheridan is up! How
well he does it! and how readily the House
gives its ear to him, while he dazzles it with
ingenious thoughts, amuses with his fancy,
though his declamation fails to stir the pas-
sions. His tone is not deeper or higher than
that of the comedy in which he has immor-
talised his name. How angry poor Burke
looks at. Sheridan's success ! Rivals at the
same side are always more jealous than avowed
adversaries face to face.
At last Pitt rises. All is hushed. llis
figure seems too tall for an orator, and his
aspect is frbidding. with its stern and
haughty air. lint his voice is that of a demi-
god. How gloriously it fills the ear, as the
speaker's swelling sentences are fluently rolled
forth in mellifluous harmony. The action is
flowing and facile, too unvaried for perfectly
artistic grace, but with enough of elocutionary
art. Not only every word but every syllable
is distinctly caught. If we had not heard him
we could scarcely imagine this blended force
and harmony. this energy without discord,
this marvellous facility united to imposing
stateliness. In his words. as in his matter,
there is no appeal to our imagination, but the
whole man, with. his air of heavett-given dicta-
torship, his awe-inspiring severity of deport•
ntent, his lofty wont for his foes, his evident
faith in hitnself—justifled by his vast powers
—we say, the whole man does kindle up our
imagination, and vitalises our recollection of
Athenian and Roman story. Here is that
man whose prowess would have daunted the
sensitive soul of Cicero, whose logic of clear-
ness beyond all that the schools could teach,

• Mr. Macaulay, in eamay " Warren flaming's."
t rittc Wilindvrce's Diary for thie i criod uf