LETTER 55.[1]
LONDON, Nov. 15, 1712.
Before this comes to your hands, you will have heard of the most terrible
accident that hath almost ever happened. This morning, at eight, my man
brought me word that the Duke of Hamilton had fought with Lord Mohun,[2] and
killed him, and was brought home wounded.[3] I immediately sent him to the
Duke's house, in St. James's Square; but the porter could hardly answer for
tears, and a great rabble was about the house. In short, they fought at seven
this morning. The dog Mohun was killed on the spot; and while[4] the Duke was
over him, Mohun, shortening his sword, stabbed him in at the shoulder to the
heart. The Duke was helped toward the cake-house by the Ring in Hyde Park
(where they fought), and died on the grass, before he could reach the house;
and was brought home in his coach by eight, while the poor Duchess[5] was
asleep. Maccartney,[6] and one Hamilton,[7] were the seconds, who fought
likewise, and are both fled. I am told that a footman of Lord Mohun's stabbed
the Duke of Hamilton; and some say Maccartney did so too. Mohun gave the
affront, and yet sent the challenge. I am infinitely concerned for the poor
Duke, who was a frank, honest, good-natured man. I loved him very well, and I
think he loved me better. He had[8] the greatest mind in the world to have me
go with him to France, but durst not tell it me; and those he did, said I
could not be spared, which was true. They have removed the poor Duchess to a
lodging in the neighbourhood, where I have been with her two hours, and am
just come away. I never saw so melancholy a scene; for indeed all reasons for
real grief belong to her; nor is it possible for anybody to be a greater loser
in all regards. She has moved my very soul. The lodging was inconvenient,
and they would have removed her to another; but I would not suffer it, because
it had no room backward, and she must have been tortured with the noise of the
Grub Street screamers mention[ing] her husband's murder to her ears.
I believe you have heard the story of my escape, in opening the bandbox sent
to Lord Treasurer.[9] The prints have told a thousand lies of it; but at last
we gave them a true account of it at length, printed in the evening;[10] only
I would not suffer them to name me, having been so often named before, and
teased to death with questions. I wonder how I came to have so much presence
of mind, which is usually not my talent; but so it pleased God, and I saved
myself and him; for there was a bullet apiece. A gentleman told me that if I
had been killed, the Whigs would have called it a judgment, because the
barrels were of inkhorns, with which I had done them so much mischief. There
was a pure Grub Street of it, full of lies and inconsistencies.[11] I do not
like these things at all, and I wish myself more and more among my
willows.[12] There is a devilish spirit among people, and the Ministry must
exert themselves, or sink. Nite dee sollahs, I'll go seep.[13]
16. I thought to have finished this yesterday; but was too much disturbed. I
sent a letter early this morning to Lady Masham, to beg her to write some
comforting words to the poor Duchess. I dined to-[day] with Lady Masham at
Kensington, where she is expecting these two months to lie in. She has
promised me to get the Queen to write to the Duchess kindly on this occasion;
and to-morrow I will beg Lord Treasurer to visit and comfort her. I have been
with her two hours again, and find her worse: her violences not so frequent,
but her melancholy more formal and settled. She has abundance of wit and
spirit; about thirty-three years old; handsome and airy, and seldom spared
anybody that gave her the least provocation; by which she had many enemies and
few friends. Lady Orkney, her sister-in-law, is come to town on this
occasion, and has been to see her, and behaved herself with great humanity.
They have been always very ill together, and the poor Duchess could not have
patience when people told her I went often to Lady Orkney's. But I am
resolved to make them friends; for the Duchess is now no more the object of
envy, and must learn humility from the severest master, Affliction. I design
to make the Ministry put out a proclamation (if it can be found proper)
against that villain Maccartney. What shall we do with these murderers? I
cannot end this letter to-night, and there is no occasion; for I cannot send
it till Tuesday, and the crowner's inquest on the Duke's body is to be to-
morrow, and I shall know more. But what care oo for all this? Iss, poo MD im
sorry for poo Pdfr's[14] friends; and this is a very surprising event. 'Tis
late, and I'll go to bed. This looks like journals. Nite.
17. I was to-day at noon with the Duchess of Hamilton again, after I had been
with Lady Orkney, and charged her to be kind to her sister in her affliction.
The Duchess told me Lady Orkney had been with her, and that she did not treat
her as gently as she ought. They hate one another, but I will try to patch it
up. I have been drawing up a paragraph for the Postboy, to be out to-morrow,
and as malicious as possible, and very proper for Abel Roper,[15] the printer
of it. I dined at Lord Treasurer's at six in the evening, which is his usual
hour of returning from Windsor: he promises to visit the Duchess to-morrow,
and says he has a message to her from the Queen. Thank God. I have stayed
till past one with him. So nite deelest MD.[16]
18. The Committee of Council is to sit this afternoon upon the affair of the
Duke of Hamilton's murder, and I hope a proclamation will be out against
Maccartney. I was just now ('tis now noon) with the Duchess, to let her know
Lord Treasurer will see her. She is mightily out of order. The jury have not
yet brought in their verdict upon the crowner's inquest. We suspect Maccartney
stabbed the Duke while he was fighting. The Queen and Lord Treasurer are in
great concern at this event. I dine to-day again with Lord Treasurer; but
must send this to the post-office before, because else I shall not have time;
he usually keeping me so late. Ben Tooke bid me write to DD to send her
certificate, for it is high time it should be sent, he says. Pray make
Parvisol write to me, and send me a general account of my affairs; and let him
know I shall be over in spring, and that by all means he sells the horses.
Prior has kissed the Queen's hand, and will return to France in a few days,
and Lord Strafford to Holland; and now the King of Spain has renounced his
pretensions to France, the peace must follow very soon unavoidably. You must
no more call Philip, Duke of Anjou, for we now acknowledge him King of Spain.
Dr. Pratt tells me you are all mad in Ireland with your playhouse frolics and
prologues, and I know not what. The Bishop of Clogher and family are well:
they have heard from you, or you from them, lately, I have forgot which: I
dined there t'other day, but the Bishop came not till after dinner; and our
meat and drink was very so so. Mr. Vedeau[17] was with me yesterday, and
inquired after you. He was a lieutenant, and is now broke, and upon half-pay.
He asked me nothing for himself; but wanted an employment for a friend, who
would give a handsome pair of gloves. One Hales sent me up a letter t'other
day, which said you lodged in his house, and therefore desired I would get him
a civil employment. I would not be within, and have directed my man to give
him an answer, that I never open letters brought me by the writers, etc. I
was complaining to a lady that I wanted to mend an employment from forty to
sixty pounds a year, in the Salt Office, and thought it hard I could not do
it. She told me one Mr. Griffin[18] should do it. And afterward I met
Griffin at her lodgings; and he was, as I found, one I had been acquainted
with. I named Filby[19] to him, and his abode somewhere near Nantwich. He
said frankly he had formerly examined the man, and found he understood very
little of his business; but if he heard he mended, he would do what I desired.
I will let it rest a while, and then resume it; and if Ppt writes to Filby,
she may advise him to diligence, etc. I told Griffin positively I would have
it done, if the man mended. This is an account of poo Ppt's commission to her
most humble servant Pdfr. I have a world of writing to finish, and little
time; these toads of Ministers are so slow in their helps. This makes me
sometimes steal a week from the exactness I used to write to MD. Farewell,
dee logues, deelest MD MD MD,. . . FW FW FW ME ME ME Lele.
Smoke the folding of my letters of late.[20]
