The Lives of the Poets of Great Britain and Ireland/Volume 4/Philip Duke of Wharton

Philip Duke of Wharton.

The unhappy nobleman, the memoirs of whoſe life we are now about to relate, was endowed by nature with all thoſe ſhining qualifications by which a great man can be formed. He poſſeſſed a moſt extenſive memory, a ſtrong and lively imagination, and quick and ready apprehenſion.

By the immediate authority of his father, our noble author’s ſtudies were confined to one particular branch of learning; with a view, no doubt, that his ſon’s uncommon genius might make the greater progreſs, and ſhine with a ſuperior luſtre in that ſpecies of erudition he had made choice of for him. On this account it was, that the earl his father would not permit the young lord to go to public or private ſchools, or to any college, or univerſity, but had him carefully inſtructed by domeſtic tutors; and as he gave an early diſplay of the moſt aſtoniſhing parts, the earl bent all his thoughts how to improve them in the beſt manner, for his ſon’s future advantage.

As ſoon as this ſprightly genius, had laid a ſufficient foundation in claſſical learning, he ſtudied hiſtory, particularly that of his own country, by which he was able to diſcern the principles of the conſtitution, the revolutions it has undergone, the variety of accidents by which it may be endangered, and the true policy by which it can be preſerved. While he thus read hiſtory, he became a politician; and as he did not neglect other ſciences, he acquired a general knowledge both of life and things, before moſt other perſons of diſtinction begin to read, or think at all.

By his not receiving an academical education, he eſcaped that ſtiffneſs and moroſeneſs of temper frequently contracted by thoſe who have been for ſome time condemned to a collegiate obſcurity. Neither had he the leaſt tincture of a haughty ſuperiority, ariſing from the nobleneſs of his birth, and the luſtre of his abilities. His converſation was eaſy, pleaſant, and inſtructive, always ſuited to his company, of whatever quality, humour, or capacity they were.

As it was the earl of Wharton’s view, to qualify his ſon to fill that high ſtation, in which his birth would one day place him with advantage to his country; his great care was to form him a compleat orator. For this purpoſe ſome of the principal parts in the beſt Engliſh Tragedies were aſſign’d him at times to ſtudy, particularly thoſe of Shakeſpear, which he uſed to repeat before a private audience. Sometimes his father gave him ſpeeches which had been uttered in the houſe of peers, and which the young lord got by heart, and delivered with all the graces of action and elocution; with ſo much propiety of expreſſion, emphaſis of voice, and pronunciation wherever it was requiſite, as ſhewed his lordſhip was born for this arduous province. Nor did the excellency of theſe performances receive a ſmall additional beauty from the gracefulneſs of his perſon, which was at once ſoft and majeſtic.

Thus endowed by nature to charm and perſuade, what expectations might not have been formed on him? A youth of a noble deſcent, who added to that advantage the moſt aſtoniſhing parts ever man poſſeſſed, improved by an uncommon and well regulated education. What pity is it, this illuſtrious young man, born to have dictated to the ſenate, and directed the buſineſs of a ſtate, with the eyes of a people fixed upon him, ſhould fall ſo exceedingly ſhort of thoſe fair hopes, he had ſo juſtly raiſed in every breaſt. He wanted one quality, without which birth, fortune, and abilities, ſuffer a conſiderable diminution. That quality is prudence; of which the duke of Wharton was ſo deſtitute, that all his parts were loſt to the world, and the world loſt to him.

The firſt prelude to his misfortunes, may juſtly be reckoned his falling in love, and privately marrying a young lady, the daughter of major general Holmes; a match by no means ſuited to his birth, fortune and character; and far leſs to the ambitious views his father had of diſpoſing of him in ſuch a marriage, as would have been a conſiderable addition to the fortune and grandeur of his illuſtrious family. However diſappointed the earl of Wharton might be, in his ſon’s marrying beneath his quality; yet that amiable lady who became his daughter-in-law deſerved infinitely more felicity than ſhe met with by an alliance with his family; and the young lord was not ſo unhappy through any miſconduct of hers, as by the death of his father, which this precipitate marriage is thought to have haſtened. The duke being ſo early freed from paternal reſtraints, plunged himſelf into thoſe numberleſs exceſſes, which became at laſt fatal to him; and he proved, as Pope expreſſes it,

A tyrant to the wife his heart approv’d;
A rebel to the very king he lov’d.

The young lord in the beginning of the year 1716 indulged his deſire of travelling and finiſhing his education abroad; and as he was deſigned to be inſtructed in the ſtricteſt Whig principles, Geneva was judged a proper place for his reſidence. On his departure from England for this purpoſe, he took the rout of Holland, and viſited ſeveral courts of Germany, and that of Hanover in particular.

Though his lordſhip was now poſſeſſed of his family eſtate, as much as a minor could be; yet his truſtees very much limited his expences, and made him too moderate remittances, for a perſon of his rank and ſpirit. This gave him great uneaſineſs, and embarraſſed him much in his way of living, which ill ſuited with the profuſion of his taſte. To remove theſe difficulties, he had recourſe to mortgaging, and by premiums and large intereſt paid to uſurers, ſupplied his preſent neceſſities, by rendering his affairs ſtill worſe.

The unhappy diviſions which reigned in England at the time this young peer made his firſt entry into public life, rendered it almoſt impoſſible for him to ſtand neuter, and on whatever ſide he ſhould declare himſelf, ſtill there was danger. The world generally expected he would follow the ſteps of his father, who was one of the firſt Engliſh gentlemen who joined the prince of Orange, and continued firm to the Revolution principles, and conſequently approved the Hanoverian ſucceſſion, upon whoſe baſis it was built. But whatever motives influenced the young marquis (for king William had beſtowed this title on his father) he thought proper to join the contrary party. The cauſe of his abandoning the principles of the Whigs is thought to be this.

The marquis being arrived at Geneva, he conceived ſo great a diſguſt at the dogmatical precepts of his governor, the reſtraints he endeavoured to lay upon him, and the other inſtances of ſtrict diſcipline exerciſed in that meridian of Preſbyterianiſm, that he fell upon a ſcheme of avoiding theſe intolerable incumbrances; ſo, like a torrent long confined within its bounds by ſtrong banks, he broke looſe, and entered upon engagements, which, together with the natural impetuoſity of his temper, threw him into ſuch inconveniencies, as rendered the remaining part of his life unhappy.

His lordſhip, as we have already obſerved, being very much diſguſted with his governor, left him at Geneva, and as if he had been flying from a peſtilence, ſet out poſt for Lyons, where he arrived about the middle of October 1716.

The author of the duke of Wharton’s life has informed us, that the reaſon of his lordſhip’s leaving his governor ſo abruptly, was on account of the freedom with which that gentleman treated him, a circumſtance very diſguſtful to a perſon of his quality. He took leave of him in the following manner.

His lordſhip ſomewhere in his travels had picked up a bear’s cub, of which he was very fond, and carried it about with him; but when he was determined to abandon his tutor, he left the cub behind him, with the following note addreſſed to him.

‘Being no longer able to bear with your ill-uſage, I think proper to be gone from you; however, that you may not want company, I have left you the bear, as the moſt ſuitable companion in the world, that could be picked out for you.’

When the marquis was at Lyons he took a very ſtrange ſtep, little expected from him. He wrote a letter to the Chevalier de St. George, then reſiding at Avignon, to whom he preſented a very fine ſtone-horſe. Upon receiving this preſent, the Chevalier ſent a man of quality to the marquis, who carried him privately to his court, where he was received with the greateſt marks of eſteem, and had the title of duke of Northumberland conferred upon him. He remained there however but one day, and then returned poſt to Lyons; from whence he ſet out for Paris. He likewiſe made a viſit to the queen dowager of England, conſort to king James the IId. then reſiding at St. Germains, to whom he paid his court, purſued the fame raſh meaſures as at Avignon.

During his ſtay at Paris, his winning addreſs, and aſtoniſhing parts, gained him the eſteem and admiration of all British ſubjects of both parties who happened to be there. The earl of Stair, then embaſſador at the court of France from the king of Great Britain, notwithſtanding all the reports to the marquis’s diſadvantage, thought proper to ſhew ſome reſpect to the repreſentative of ſo great a family, which had ſo reſolutely ſupported the preſent adminiſtration, eſpecially as he was a young man of ſuch great perſonal accompliſhments, both natural and acquired, and bleſt with a genius ſo capable of ſerving his country even in the moſt eminent ſtation.

Theſe conſiderations induced lord Stair, who was a prudent, diſcerning miniſter, to countenance the young marquis, give him frequent invitations to his table, and to uſe him with diſtinguiſhing civility. The earl was likewiſe in hopes, by theſe gentle meaſures, and this inſinuating behaviour, to win him to his party, which he had good reaſon to think he hated. His excellency never failed to lay hold of every opportunity, to give him ſome admonitions, which were not always agreeable to the vivacity of his temper, and ſometimes provoked him to great indiſcretions. Once in particular, the ambaſſador extolling the merit, and noble behaviour of the marquis’s father, added, ‘That he hoped he would follow ſo illuſtrious an example of fidelity to his prince, and love to his country, by treading in the ſame ſteps.’——Upon which the marquis immediately anſwered, ‘That he thanked his excellency for his good advice, and as his excellency had alſo a worthy and deſerving father, he hoped he would likewiſe copy ſo bright an original and tread in all his ſteps.’

This was a ſevere ſarcaſm, as the ambaſſador’s father had betrayed his maſter in a manner that was quite ſhameful. He acted the ſame part in Scotland which Sunderland did in England. They puſhed on king James the IId. to take violent and unconſtitutional meaſures, to make his ruin certain: They ſucceeded in their ſcheme, and after the Revolution, boaſted their conduct as meritorious; but however neceſſary it might be for king William, upon principles of policy to reward the betrayers, he had yet too good a heart to approve the treachery.—But to return to the marquis, we ſhall mention another of his juvenile fights, as an inſtance to what extravagant and unaccountable exceſſes, the inconſtancy of his temper would ſometimes tranſport him.

A young Engliſh ſurgeon, who went to Paris, to improve himſelf in his buſineſs, by obſerving the practice in the celebrated hoſpitals, paſſing by the embaſſador’s houſe on the 10th of June at night, took the liberty to break his excellency’s windows becauſe there was no bonfire before his door. Upon this outrage he was ſeized and committed priſoner to Fort L’Eveque. This treatment of the young ſurgeon was reſented by the marquis; but he ſought for no other ſatisfaction than to break the ambaſſador’s windows a ſecond time. Accordingly his lordſhip propoſed it to an Iriſh lieutenant-general, in the ſervice of France, a gentleman of great honour and of the higheſt reputation for abilities in military affairs, deſiring his company and aſſiſtance therein. The general could not help ſmiling at the extravagance of the propoſal, and with a great deal of good-nature adviſed his lordſhip by all means not to make any ſuch attempts; ‘but if he was reſolutely bent upon it, he begg’d to be excuſed from being of the party, for it was a method of making war to which he had never been accuſtomed.’

We might here enumerate more frolics of the ſame kind which he either projected, or engaged in, but we chuſe rather to omit them as they reflect but little honour on the marquis.—We ſhall only obſerve, that before he left France, an Engliſh gentleman of diſtinction expoſtulating with him, for ſwerving ſo much from the principles of his father and his whole family, his lordſhip anſwered, ‘That he had pawned his principles to Gordon the Pretender’s banker for a conſiderable ſum; and till he could repay him, he muſt be a Jacobite, but that when that was done he would again return to the Whigs.’

About the latter end of December 1716, the marquis arrived in England, where he did not remain long, till he ſet out for Ireland; in which kingdom, on account of his extraordinary qualities, he had the honour done him of being admitted, though under age, to take his ſeat in that auguſt aſſembly of the houſe of peers, to which he had a right as earl of Rathfarnam, and marquis of Catherlough. Here he eſpouſed a very different intereſt from that which he had ſo lately embraced. He diſtinguiſhed himſelf on this occaſion as a violent partisan for the miniſtry; and acted in all other reſpects, as well in his private as public capacity, with the warmeſt zeal for the government. The ſpeeches which he made in the houſe upon many occaſions, uttered with ſo much force of expreſſion, and propriety of emphaſis, were an irreſiſtable demonſtration of his abilities, and drew upon him the admiration of both kingdoms. The marquis’s arguments had very great influence on which ſide of the queſtion ſoever he happened to be.—No nobleman, either in that or the Engliſh houſe of peers, ever acquitted himſelf with greater reputation, or behaved with a more becoming dignity than he did during this ſeſſion of the Iriſh parliament.

In conſequence of this zeal for the new government, ſhewn at a time when they ſtood much in need of men of abilities, and ſo little expected from the young marquis, the king who was no ſtranger to the moſt refined rules of policy, created him a duke, the higheſt degree of a ſubject.

In the preamble to his patent, after a detail of the merit of his father, and his ſervices to the government are illuſtrated, his lordſhip’s behaviour in Ireland and his early endowments are thus mentioned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He ſoon after this received advice from England, that his truſtees could remit him no more of his annuity, on account of the indictment preferred againſt him. There was now a dreadful proſpect before him; his money was waſted; all future ſupplies cut off; and there was a large family to ſupport, without any hopes of relief. He began now to feel the effects of the indictment, which he before held in ſo much contempt; he complained of it as a rigorous proceeding, becauſe it laid him under a neceſſity of aſking a favour, and receiving it in a public manner, which he fancied neither conſiſtent with his honour, or reputation. Thus exaſperated againſt the government, he wrote the memorable paper which he contrived to get printed in Miſt’s Journal, under the colour of an account of Mirevais and Sultan Ezref, which contained ſevere reflexions on the adminiſtration. Mean time the duke’s credit at Rouen began to ſink; he was attended every morning with a conſiderable levee, conſiſting of the tradeſmen of that city, who came with importunate faces to demand payment of their bills, which he diſcharged by quitting Rouen, leaving his horſes and equipage to be ſold, and the money to be divided among them.

The duke, before this event, had thrown himſelf at the feet of the Chevalier de St. George, as the only poſſible reſource he had left. Accordingly he wrote him a moſt moving letter, giving him a detail of his preſent ſufferings, very pathetically repreſenting the diſtreſs to which he was reduced, and humbly imploring his protection, with what little aſſiſtance might be neceſſary to enable him to ſupport ſuch a burthen of calamities, as he found otherwiſe too heavy to bear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Be kind to my remains, and O! defend,
Againſt your judgment, your departed friend^[1].’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pope’s Epiſtle on the Knowledge
and Characters of Men.

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

Pope’s Works, Vol. III.

The duke is author of two volumes of poems, of which we ſhall ſelect the following as a ſpecimen.

The Fear of Death.

Say, ſov’reign queen of awful night,
Dread tyrant ſay!
Why parting throes this lab’ring frame diſtend,
Why dire convulſions rend,
And teeming horrors wreck th’ aſtoniſh’d ſight?
Why ſhirks the trembling ſoul,
Why with amazement full
Pines at thy rule, and ſickens at thy ſway?
Why low’rs the thunder of thy brow,
Why livid angers glow,
Miſtaken phantom, ſay?
Far hence exert thy awful reign,
Where tutelary ſhrines and ſolemn bulls
Incloſe the hallow’d duſt:
Where feeble tapers ſhed a gloomy ray,
And ſtatues pity feign;
Where pale ey’d griefs their waſting vigils keep,
There brood with ſullen ſtate, and nod with downy ſleep.

Advance ye lurid miniſters of death!
And ſwell the annals of her reign:
Crack every nerve, ſluice every vein;
And choak the avenues of breath.
Freeze, freeze, ye purple tides!
Or ſcorch with ſeering flames,
Where nature flows in tepid ſtreams,
And life’s mæanders glide.
Let keen deſpair her icy progreſs make,
And ſlacken’d nerves their talk forſake;
Years damp the vital fire.

Yawn all ye horrors of the flood;
And curl your ſwelling ſurges higher.
Survey the road!
Where deſolating ſtorms, and vengeful fates,
The gawdy ſcene deface;
Ambition in its wideſt havock trace
Thro’ widow’d cities, and unpeopled ſtates.
And is this all!
Are theſe the threatened terrors of your reign?
O dream of fancy’d power!
Quit, quit, th’ affected ſhew,
This pageantry of grief, and labour’d pomp of woe.
Draw the pleaſing ſcene,
Where dreadful thunders never rowl, nor giddy tempeſs low’r.
Scenes delighting!
Peace inviting,
Paſſions ſooth’d, and tumult dying;
Æra’s rowling,
Fears controuling,
Always new, and always flying.
We dread we know not what, we fear we know not why,
Our cheated fancy ſhrinks, nor ſees to die
Is but to ſlumber into immortality.
All reconciling name!
In ſpace unbounded as in power;
Where fancy limits cannot frame;
Nor reaſon launch beyond the ſhore:
An equal ſtate from all diſtinction free,
Spread like the wide expanſe of vaſt immenſity.
Seditious tumults there obey,
And feuds their zeal forget:
Debated empires own one common ſway,
There learn’d diſputes unite;
Nor crowded volumes the long war maintain:
There rival chiefs combine
To fill the gen’ral chorus of her reign.

So ſtreams from either pole.
Thro’ diff’rent tracks their wat’ry journies rowl;
Then in the blending ocean loſe their name,
And with conſenting waves and mingl’d tides forever flow the ſame.

1. Theſe two lines are taken from Dryden, who addreſſed them to Congreve, when he recommended to him the care of his works.