D.

(_Vide page 77._)

This song was written immediately after the loss of the battle of Fontenoy, and was addressed to Lady Catherine Hanmer, Lady Falconberg, and Lady Middlesex, who were to act the three goddesses with Frederick Prince of Wales, in the Judgment of Paris, whom he was to represent, and Prince Lobkowitz, Mercury.

SONG,

BY FREDERICK, PRINCE OF WALES.

1.

Venez, mes cheres Deesses, Venez, calmer mon chagrin; Aidez, mes belles Princesses, A le noyer dans le vin. Poussons cette douce ivresse Jusqu’au milieu de la nuit, Et n’écoutons que la tendresse D’un charmant vis-à-vis.

2.

Quand le chagrin me devore, Vite à table je me mets, Loin des objêts que j’abhorre, Avec joie j’y trouve la paix. Peu d’amis, restes d’un naufrage, Je rassemble autour de moi, Et je me ris de l’étalage Qu’a chez lui toujours un Roi.

3.

Que m’importe que l’Europe Ait un ou plusieurs tyrans? Prions seulement Calliope Qu’elle inspire nos vers, nos chants. Laissons Mars et toute la gloire, Livrons nous tous à l’amour; Que Bacchus nous donne à boire; A ces deux faisons la cour.

4.

Passons ainsi notre vie, Sans rêver à ce qui suit; Avec ma chere Silvie[252] Le tems trop vite me fuit. Mais si par un malheur extreme, Je perdois cet objêt charmant; Oui, cette compagnie même Ne me tiendroit un moment.

5.

Me livrant à ma tristesse, Toujours plein de mon chagrin, Je n’aurois plus d’allegresse Pour mettre Bathurst[253] en train. Ainsi pour vous tenir en joie, Invoquez toujours les Dieux, Qu’elle vive et qu’elle soit Avec nous toujours heureux.

E.

(_Vide page 77._)

SONG.

THE CHARMS OF SYLVIA.

BY THE PRINCE OF WALES ON THE PRINCESS.

’Tis not the liquid brightness of those eyes, That swim with pleasure and delight, Nor those heavenly arches which arise O’er each of them to shade their light:

’Tis not that hair which plays with every wind, And loves to wanton round thy face; Now straying round the forehead, now behind Retiring with insidious grace:

’Tis not that lovely range of teeth so white, As new-shorn sheep equal and fair; Nor e’en that gentle smile, the heart’s delight, With which no smile could e’er compare:

’Tis not that chin so round, that neck so fine, Those breasts that swell to meet my love, That easy sloping waist, that form divine, Nor ought below, nor ought above:

’Tis not the living colours over each By nature’s finest pencil wrought, To shame the full-blown rose, and blooming peach, And mock the happy painter’s thought:

No[254]--’tis that gentleness of mind, that love So kindly answering my desire; That grace with which you look, and speak, and move, That thus has set my soul on fire.

(_Vide page 78._)

The elegy alluded to was probably the effusion of some Jacobite royalist. That faction could not forgive the Duke of Cumberland his excesses, or successes, in Scotland; and not content with branding the Parliamentary Government of the House of Brunswick as usurpation, indulged in frequent, unfeeling, and scurrilous personalities on every branch of the reigning family.

Here lies Fred, Who was alive, and is dead; Had it been his father, I had much rather: Had it been his brother, Still better than another; Had it been his sister, No one would have missed her; Had it been the whole generation, Still better for the nation; But since ’tis only Fred, Who was alive, and is dead,-- There’s no more to be said.

(_Vide page 88._)

_Note._--[The following, which is styled “Brief account of George Bubb Doddington, Lord Melcombe,” is written in Horace Walpole’s printed copy of the Diary; and as it contains some traits of character, and other anecdotes of a person who is often mentioned in the Memoirs, and who has himself related many of the same transactions, it is here subjoined to the work, though no injunctions to that purport were left by the author.]

George Bubb Doddington was son of an apothecary at Carlisle, by a sister or near relation of Mr. Doddington of Eastberry, in Dorsetshire, who bequeathed him his estate and name, with obligation to finish the vast seat at Eastberry, designed by Vanbrugh; and which was pulled down by Richard Grenville, first Earl Temple, on whom it was entailed, in case of Bubb’s having no issue, as happened. Doddington had a great deal of wit, great knowledge of business, and was an able speaker in Parliament, though an affected one, and though most of his speeches were premeditated. He was, as his diary shows, vain, fickle, ambitious, servile, and corrupt. Early in his life, he had been devoted to Sir Robert Walpole, and in an epistle to him, which Pope quotes, had professed himself,

In power a servant, out of power a friend.

At a much later period of life he published an epistle to Lord Bute, whom he styled Pollio. Mr. Wyndham, editor of his Diary, wrote to Dr. Joseph Warton, in 1784, that he had found, among Doddington’s papers, an old copy of that poem, _but inscribed to Sir Robert Walpole_. He fell more than once under the lash of Pope, who coupled him with Sir William Yonge in this line--

The flowers of Bubbington and flow of Yonge.

Soon after the arrival of Frederick Prince of Wales in England, Doddington became a favourite, and submitted to the Prince’s childish horse-play, being once rolled up in a blanket, and trundled down stairs; nor was he negligent in paying more solid court, by lending his Royal Highness[255] money. He was, however, supplanted, I think, by George, afterwards Lord Lyttelton, and again became a courtier and placeman at St. James’s; but once more reverted to the Prince at the period where his Diary commences. Pope was not the only poet who diverted the town at Doddington’s expense. Sir Charles Hanbury ridiculed him in a well-known dialogue with Gyles Earle, and in a ballad entitled “A Grub upon Bubb.” Dr. Young, on the contrary, who was patronized by him, has dedicated to him one of his satires on the love of fame, as Lyttelton had inscribed one of his cantos on the progress of love. Glover, and that prostitute fellow Ralph, were also countenanced by him, as the Diary shows.

Doddington’s own wit was very ready. I will mention two instances. Lord Sundon was Commissioner of the Treasury with him and Winnington, and was very dull. One Thursday, as they left the board, Lord Sundon laughed heartily at something Doddington said; and when gone, Winnington said, “Doddington, you are very ungrateful; you call Sundon stupid and slow, and yet you see how quick he took what you said.” “Oh, no,” replied Doddington, “he was only laughing now at what I said last Treasury day.”--Mr. Trenchard, a neighbour, telling him, that though his pinery was expensive, he contrived, by applying the fire and the dung to other purposes, to make it so advantageous, that he believed he got a shilling by every pine-apple he ate. “Sir,” said Doddington, “I would eat them for half the money.”--Doddington was married to a Mrs. Behan, whom he was supposed to keep. Though secretly married, he could not own her, as he then did, till the death of Mrs. Strawbridge, to whom he had given a promise of marriage, under the penalty of ten thousand pounds. He had long made love to the latter, and, at last, obtaining an assignation, found her lying on a couch. However, he only fell on his knees, and after kissing her hand for some time, cried out, “Oh, that I had you but in a wood!” “In a wood!” exclaimed the disappointed dame; “what would you do then? Would you _rob_ me?” It was on this Mrs. Strawbridge that was made the ballad,

My Strawberry--my Strawberry Shall bear away the bell;

to the burthen and tune of which Lord Bath, many years afterwards, wrote his song on “Strawberry Hill.”

Doddington had no children. His estate descended to Lord Temple, whom he hated, as he did Lord Chatham, against whom he wrote a pamphlet to expose the expedition to Rochfort.

Nothing was more glaring in Doddington than his want of taste, and the tawdry ostentation in his dress and furniture of his houses. At Eastberry, in the great bedchamber, hung with the richest red velvet, was pasted, on every panel of the velvet, his crest (a hunting-horn supported by an eagle) cut out of gilt leather. The foot-cloth round the bed was a mosaic of the pocket-flaps and cuffs of all his embroidered clothes. At Hammersmith[256] his crest, in pebbles, was stuck into the centre of the turf before his door. The chimney-piece was hung with spars representing icicles round the fire, and a bed of purple, lined with orange, was crowned by a dome of peacock’s feathers. The great gallery, to which was a beautiful door of white marble, supported by two columns of _lapis lazuli_, was not only filled with busts and statues, but had, I think, an inlaid floor of marble; and all this weight was above stairs.

One day showing it to Edward, Duke of York, Doddington said, “Sir, some persons tell me that this room ought to be on the ground.” “Be easy, Mr. Doddington,” replied the Prince, “it will soon be there.”

In the approach to his villa at Hammersmith, Mr. Doddington erected a noble obelisk, surmounted by an urn of bronze, to the memory of his wife, who died before him. Mr. Wyndham, his heir, took down the obelisk, and sold it. The Diary was certainly not published entire. A gentleman, who saw it five years before it was published, missed some particular passages.--H. W., June 7th, 1784.

Another instance of Doddington’s wit. Doddington was very lethargic: falling asleep one day, after dinner, with Sir Richard Temple, Lord Cobham, the General, the latter reproached Doddington with his drowsiness; Doddington denied having been asleep, and to prove he had not, offered to repeat all Lord Cobham had been saying. Cobham challenged him to do so. Doddington repeated a story, and Lord Cobham owned he had been telling it. “Well,” said Doddington, “and yet I did not hear a word of it; but I went to sleep because I knew that about this time of day you would tell that story.” * * * *

(_Vide page 98._)

In the Sackville family a son of talents had frequently succeeded a father below mediocrity. The following epigram, founded on that circumstance, was ascribed to Sir Charles Hanbury Williams, but never acknowledged by him, or included in the manuscript copies of his poems. The last stanza was unjust, as well as severe; but there is so much arch humour in the first, that it is worth preserving:--

Folly and sense in Dorset’s race Alternately do run, As Carey one day told his Grace, Praising his eldest son.

But Carey must allow for once Exception to this rule; For Middlesex is but a dunce, Though Dorset be a fool.

* * * *

(_Vide page 164._)

The following inscription, though professedly written on a Swedish nobleman, the English reader will at once apply to a certain great statesman of British manufacture:--

“HIC SITUS EST SENATUS PRINCEPS, et REGNI PRÆFECTUS; Vir nobilis, splendidus, affabilis, blandus, At animo non magno, nec magnâ corporis dignitate. Cujus nomen et laudes tota jamdiu celebrat Academia; Quem sacerdotes aulici omnes imprimis observant; Quem reverendissimi Præsules, ut Deum colunt.

Qui cibi conquisitissimi perquàm intelligens, Et convivia sumptuosè apparandi unicus instructor, Doctissimos Trimalchionis coquos, Mercede amplissimâ conductos, In patriam, inque patriæ, scilicet, honorem, Primus curavit arcessendos.

Qui indisertus, loquax, obscurus, Disertissimos oratores, et sapientissimos Non modò vicit omnes, Sed hos ipsos semper habuit Sententiæ suæ astipulatores.

Quippe populi captandi, et corrumpendi mirus artifex, Atque ad conservandam, quam consecutus est, potentiam, Ut alius nemo, callidus, Summam Imperii diu tenuit. Rei tamen publicæ administrandæ, Perinde atque suæ, Minimè peritus.

Tria millia talentûm ex agris et fortunis suis, Totidemque fortasse e regio, cui præest, ærario Exhausit, et dissipavit. Neque quemquam hominem probissimum, Deque republicâ, aut re literariâ optimè meritum, Liberalitate suâ decoravit, aut adjuvit.

Solus ex omnibus Belli et pacis arbiter fuit constitutus: At belli legitimè suscipiendi, et persequendi, Aut pacis honestè retinendæ, aut firmandæ Solus ex omnibus expers et ignarus.

Semper vehementissimè occupatus, Ac res permagnas visus agere, Omninò nihil agit. Semper festinans, properansque, Atque ad metam tendere prorsùm simulans, Nunquam pervenit.

Hæc fortassis, Viator, rides: Sta verò et tristem lege Epilogum; HUJUS unius hominis inscitia Tantum impressit dedecus, Tantum attulit detrimentum reipublicæ, Ut omnibus appareat, Nisi SUECIÆ Genius, siquis est, sese interponat, SUECIAM futuram non esse.”

(_Vide page 177._)

Henrietta, daughter of Sir Henry Hobart, was first married to Colonel Henry Howard, afterwards Earl of Suffolk, by whom she had an only son, Henry, who succeeded his father, but died a young man. Mr. Howard and she travelled in very mean circumstances to Hanover before the accession of that family to the Crown; and after it, she was made a Woman of the Bedchamber to the Princess; and being _confidante_ of the Prince’s passion for a lady, who was in love with, and soon after privately married to, a Colonel, Mrs. Howard had the address to divert the channel of his inclination to herself. Her husband bore it very ill, and attempted to force her from St. James’s, but was at last quieted with a pension of 1200_l._ per annum. Yet Mrs. Howard had little interest with the King. The Queen persecuted whoever courted her; and Sir R. Walpole directing all his worship to the uncommonly-powerful wife, Mrs. Howard naturally became his enemy, and as naturally attached herself to Lord Bolingbroke; the more intimate connexion of which intercourse, carelessly concealed by a mistress that was tired, and eagerly hunted out by a wife still jealous, was unravelled by the Princess Emily at the Bath, and at last laid open by the cautious Queen; the King stormed; the mistress was glad he did, left him in his moods, and married George Berkeley, brother to the late Earl, by whom she was again left a widow in 1746.

King George the Second has often, when Mrs. Howard, his mistress, was dressing the Queen, come into the room, and snatched the handkerchief off, and cried, “Because you have an ugly neck yourself, you love to hide the Queen’s!” Her Majesty (all the while calling her “_My good Howard_,”) took great joy in employing her in the most servile offices about her person. The King was so communicative to his wife, that one day Mrs. Selwyn, another of the Bedchamber Women, told him he should be the last man with whom she would have an intrigue, because he always told the Queen. Their letters, whenever he was at Hanover, were so long, that he has complained when she has written to him but nineteen pages; and in his, at the beginning of his amour with Lady Yarmouth, he frequently said, “I know you will love the Walmoden, _because she loves me_.” Old Blackbourn, the Archbishop of York, told her one day, “That he had been talking to her Minister Walpole about the new mistress, and was glad to find that her Majesty was so sensible a woman as to like her husband should divert himself.” Yet with the affectation of content, it made her most miserable: she dreaded Lady Yarmouth’s arrival, and repented not having been able to resist the temptation of driving away Lady Suffolk the first instant she had an opportunity, though a rival so powerless, and so little formidable. The King was the most regular man in his hours: his time of going down to Lady Suffolk’s apartment was seven in the evening: he would frequently walk up and down the gallery, looking at his watch, for a quarter of an hour before seven, but would not go till the clock struck.

The King had another _passager amour_ (between the disgrace of Lady Suffolk and the arrival of Lady Yarmouth) with the Governess to the two youngest Princesses; a pretty idiot, with most of the vices of her own sex, and the additional one of ours, drinking. Yet this thing of convenience, on the arrival of Lady Yarmouth, put on all that dignity of passion, which even revolts real inclination.

F. G. H.

(_Vide page 204._)

_Extracts from Letters of Sir Charles Hanbury Williams, during his Ministry at Berlin._

TO THE DUKE OF NEWCASTLE.

Berlin, July 11-22nd, 1750.

.... Count Podewils’s behaviour to me has been hitherto very cold, and when I meet him at third places, he contents himself with making me a bow, without speaking to me.

I have made one visit to Monsieur Finkenstein, who is the second Minister of State for Foreign Affairs. He has very much the air of a French _petit-maître manqué_, and is extremely affected in everything he says and does: but from what I have been able hitherto to learn, his credit with the King of Prussia increases daily; and that of Count Podewils is not thought to be so good as it formerly was. The former has lately gained a point over the latter: Count Podewils’s kinsman, who is at Vienna, was named to be a Minister of State before Count Finkenstein; but Count Finkenstein has got into his employment, and when Count Podewils returns from Vienna, Count Finkenstein will take place of him. Not that his Prussian Majesty gives entire confidence either to Podewils or Finkenstein; he reserves that for two persons that constantly reside with him at Potsdam, and whose names are Heichel and Fredersdorff; the first of whom is his Prussian Majesty’s Private Secretary, and who is always kept under the same roof with his Prussian Majesty, and is so well watched, that a person may be at this Court seven years without once seeing him. The other, who is the great favourite, was once a common soldier, and the King took a fancy to him, while he was yet Prince Royal of Prussia, as he was standing sentinel at the door of his apartment. This person has two very odd titles joined together, for he is styled _valet de chambre_, and _grand tresorier du Roi_. He keeps out of all people’s sight as much as Heichel.

But there is lately arose another young man, who has undoubtedly a large share in the King of Prussia’s favours: his name is Sedoo: he was not long ago his page, then came to be a lieutenant, and is very lately made a major, and _premier ecuyer de l’ecurie de Potsdam_, and will undoubtedly soon rise much higher.

_Another Extract._

.... On Thursday, by appointment, I went to Court at eleven o’clock; the King of Prussia arrived about twelve, and Count Podewils immediately introduced me into his closet, where I delivered his Majesty’s letters into the King of Prussia’s hands, and made the usual compliments to him in the best manner I was able. To which his Prussian Majesty replied, to the best of my remembrance, as follows: “I have the truest esteem for the King of Great Britain’s person, and I set the highest value upon his friendship. I have at different times received essential proofs of it; and I desire you would acquaint the King, your master, that I will never forget them.” His Prussian Majesty afterwards said something with respect to myself, and then asked me several questions about indifferent things and persons. He seemed to express a great deal of esteem for my Lord Chesterfield, and a great deal of kindness for Mr. Villiers, but did not once mention Lord Hyndford, or Mr. Legge. I was in the closet with his Majesty exactly five minutes and a half.

After my audience was over, the King of Prussia came out into that room where the Foreign Ministers wait for his Prussian Majesty. He just said one word to Count de la Puebla (the Austrian Minister) as he came in, and afterwards addressed his discourse to the French, Swedish, and Danish Ministers; but did not say one word either to the Russian Minister or myself.

_Extract from another Letter, in Cipher._

Berlin July, 28, 1750.

.... About four days ago, Mr. Voltaire, the French poet, arrived at Potsdam from Paris. The King of Prussia had wrote to him about three months ago to desire him to come to Berlin. Mr. Voltaire answered his Prussian Majesty, that he should always be glad of an opportunity of throwing himself at his Majesty’s feet, but at that time he was not in circumstances to take so long a journey; upon which the King of Prussia sent him back word, that he would bear his expenses; but Mr. Voltaire, not caring to trust the King of Prussia, would not leave Paris till his Prussian Majesty had sent him a bill of exchange upon a banker in that town for 4000 rix-dollars, and he did not begin the journey till he had actually received the money. All that I now write your grace was told me by the Princess Amalie.--(_Author._)

[The following extracts from the private correspondence of Sir Charles Hanbury Williams will further illustrate the remark in the text, and show the unfavourable view taken by him of the Prussian Court and Frederick the Great.]

_Extract of a Letter from Charles Hanbury Williams, from Berlin, 1750._

.... ’Tis incredible what care this _Pater Patriæ_ takes of his people. He is so good as to meddle in their family affairs, in their marriages, in the education of their children, and in the disposition of their estates. He hates that anybody should marry, especially an officer, let him be of what degree soever, and from the moment they take a wife, they are sure of never being preferred. All children are registered as soon as born, and the parents are obliged to produce either certificates of their deaths, or the male children themselves, at the age of fourteen, in order to be enrolled, and to take the oath of a soldier to the King; and if this is not done, or the children have escaped, the parents are answerable for the escape, and are sent to prison.

No man can sell land throughout all the Prussian dominions without a special licence from the King: and as he does no more give licences, nobody can now dispose of or alienate his possessions. If they could, and were to find fools to purchase them, I believe he would not have ten of his present subjects left in a year’s time. They have really no liberty left but that of thinking. There is a general constraint that runs through all sorts of people, and diffidence is painted in every face. All their ambition and desire is to be permitted to go to their Country Seats, where they need not be obliged to converse with any but their own family. But this leave is not easily obtained, because the father of his country insists upon their living at Berlin, and making his Capital flourish. He is never here but from the beginning of December to the end of January, and during that time, Prussians, Silesians, and all his most distant subjects, are obliged to come and make a figure here, and spend all they have been saving for the other ten months. He hates that any subject of his should be rich or easy; and if he lives a few years longer, he will have accomplished his generous design. There are actually but four persons in this great town that live upon their own means, and they are people that can’t last long in their present condition.

He (always meaning _Pater Patriæ_) gives very small salaries to all employments, and this is the cause that he can get no gentleman to serve him in a Foreign Legation. His Ministers at every Court are the scum of the earth, and have nothing but the insolence of their master to support them; and, indeed, the Prussian method of treating with every Court is such, as I wonder how Sovereign Princes can bear. Of this, if I had time, I could give you many provoking instances. His Prussian Majesty’s Ministers at Berlin--I mean those for Foreign Affairs--make the oddest figure of any in Europe. They seldom or never see any dispatches that are sent to the Prussian Ministers at Foreign Courts; and all letters that come to Berlin from Foreign Courts go directly to the King; so that Mr. Podewils and Count Finkenstein know no more of what passes in Europe than what they are informed of by the Gazettes. When any of us go to them on any business, the surprise they are in easily betrays their ignorance, and the only answer you ever get is, that they will lay what you say before their master, and give you an answer as soon as he shall have signified his pleasure to them. When you return to their houses for this answer, they tell you the exact words which the king has directed, and never one word more; nor are you permitted to argue any point. In short, they act the part of Ministers without being really so, as much as ever Cibber did that of Wolsey upon the stage, only not half so well.

The first of them is reputed to be an honest man, but he is nothing less. He loses that appearance of credit he once had, daily; for verily I believe he never had real weight enough with his master to have made an Ensign in his Army, or a Postillion in one of his Posthouses. His face is the picture of Dullness when she smiles, and his figure is a mixture of a clown and a _petit-maître_. He is a little genteeler than Mons. Adrié, who you may remember to have seen make so great a figure in England.

The other, Count Finkenstein, whom everybody calls Count Fink, is very like the late Lord Hervey, and yet his face is the ugliest I ever saw. But when he speaks, his affectation, the motion of his eyes and shoulders, all his different gestures and grimaces, bring Lord Hervey very strongly into my mind; and, like that Lord, he is the Queen’s favourite (I mean the Queen Mother’s); and her Majesty, whether seriously or otherwise I can’t tell, calls him “_Mon beau Comte Fink_.” He has parts, and is what, at Berlin, is called _sçavant_, which is to say, that he has read all the modern French story books, from _Les Egaremens_ down to the history of _Prince Cocquetron_.

The person who has certainly the greatest share of the King of Prussia’s confidence is one Heichel. He is his Private Secretary, and writes all that the King himself dictates. But this man I never saw, and people that have lived here seven years have never seen him. He is kept like a State Prisoner, is in constant waiting, and never has half an hour to himself in the whole year.

[Then follows the account of Fredersdorff, to the same purpose, and nearly in the same words as in the extracts printed above.]

He (Fredersdorff) is his Secretary for all small affairs for his Prussian Majesty.--

Il fait tout par ses mains, et voit tout par ses yeux.

If a Courier is to be dispatched to Versailles, or a Minister to Vienna, his Prussian Majesty draws, himself, the instructions for the one, and writes the letters for the other. This, you’ll say, is great; but if a Dancer at the Opera has disputes with a Singer, or if one of those performers want a new pair of stockings, a plume for his helmet, or a finer petticoat, ’tis the same King of Prussia that sits in judgment on the cause, and that with his own hand answers the Dancer’s or the Singer’s letter. His Prussian Majesty laid out 20,000_l._ to build a fine theatre, and his music and Singers cost him near the same sum every year; yet this same King, when an opera is performed, wont allow ten pounds per night to light up the theatre with wax candles; and the smoke that rises from the bad oil, and the horrid stink that flows from the tallow, make many of the audience sick, and actually spoil the whole entertainment. What I have thought about this Prince is very true; and I believe, after reading what I say about him, you will think so too. _He is great in great things, and little in little ones._

* * * * *

In the summer 1749, three Prussian Officers came, without previously asking leave, to see a Review of some Austrian troops in Moravia; upon which the Commanding Officer of those troops, suspecting they were not come so much out of curiosity to see the Review, as to debauch some of the soldiers into the King of Prussia’s service, sent them orders to retire. This being reported to his Prussian Majesty, he was much offended, and resolved to take some method to show his resentment, which he did as follows:--Last summer, an Austrian Captain, being in the Duchy of Mecklenburgh, met there with an old acquaintance, one Chapeau, who is in great favour with the King of Prussia. At that time, there was to be a great Review at Berlin, and as Berlin was in the Austrian’s road in his return to Vienna, Chapeau invited him to see the Review; but the Austrian replied, that he would willingly come, but was afraid of receiving some affront, in return for what had been done to the Prussian Officers the year before in Moravia; to which Chapeau replied, that if he would come to Berlin, he would undertake to get the King of Prussia’s special leave for him to be present at the Review. Encouraged by this, the Austrian came, and the night before the Review, Chapeau brought him word that the leave was granted, and he might come with all safety. He did accordingly come; but as soon as the King of Prussia had notice of his being there, he sent an Aide-de-camp to him to tell him to retire that moment, which he was forced to do, not without much indignation against Chapeau, who had drawn him into the scrape. The next morning he went to Chapeau, with an intention to demand satisfaction for the affront which, through him, he had received. Chapeau said he would do as he pleased, but first desired him to give him leave to speak for himself; which he did. Chapeau then told him, that immediately upon hearing that he had been sent out of the field in that strange manner, he had rode up to the King, and asked his Majesty whether he had not given him orders to tell the Austrian Officer that he might come to the Review with all security? and that the King had replied, it was very true, he had given such orders; because, if he had not, the Austrian would hardly have ventured to come to the Review; and if he had not come there, he (the King) should not have had an opportunity of revenging the affront that had been offered to some Officers of his own the year before in Moravia.

* * * * *

I must tell you a story of the King of Prussia’s regard for the law of nations. There was, some time ago, a Minister here from the Duke of Brunswick, whose name was Hoffman. He was a person of very good sense, and what we call well-intentioned, (which means being attached to the interests of the maritime powers and the House of Austria.) He was, besides, very active and dexterous in getting intelligence, which he constantly communicated to the Ministers of England and Austria. This the King of Prussia being well informed of, wrote a letter with his own hand to the Duke of Brunswick, to insist (and in case of refusal to threaten) that he should absolutely disavow Hoffman for his Minister. The Duke, who is the worthiest Prince upon earth, was so frightened with this letter, that he complied, though much against his will, with this haughty and cruel request. The moment the King of Prussia received this answer, he sent a party of Guards to Hoffman’s house, seized him, sent him prisoner to Madgeburgh, where he has now been for above four years chained to a wheel-barrow, and working at the fortifications of that town! He was very near doing the same by a Minister of the Margravine of Anspach’s, but that person got timely notice, and escaped out of Berlin in the morning; and when the King of Prussia’s Guards came to seize him at night, the bird had luckily flown.

There is at present here a Minister of the Duke of Brunswick, the successor of Hoffman, to whom, in his first audience, the King said, that he advised him to act very differently from his predecessor, and particularly to take care not to frequent those Foreign Ministers that he must know were disagreeable to him; for if he did, he might depend upon it he should deal with him in the same manner as he had done with Hoffman.

I think Hamlet says in the play, “Denmark is a prison;” the whole Prussian territory is so in the literal sense of the word. No man can, or does pretend to go out of it without the knowledge of the King and his Ministers. Very hard is the fate of those who have estates in other dominions besides those of his Prussian Majesty; he will neither permit them to sell their estates in his countries, nor live upon those they have out of them. The distresses which are come on the Silesians (who had estates also in Bohemia) are prodigious. Many people have given them up, or sold them for a trifle, to get out of this land of Egypt--this house of bondage. Six hundred dollars make just one hundred guineas, and I know the King of Prussia thinks that just as much as any of his subjects ought to have, exclusive of what he may give them. In a very few years, I am convinced that no subject of his that has not estates elsewhere will have more left him. But from what he has already done, he begins to find that it is no longer possible to collect the heavy taxes which he imposes on his subjects. I know that the revenues of all his countries, except Silesia, have diminished every year, for these last five years.

A Prussian will tell you, with a very grave face, that their present King is the most merciful Prince that ever reigned, and that he hates shedding blood. This is not true; there are often as cruel and tormenting executions in this country as ever were known under any Sicilian tyrant. ’Tis true, they are not done at Berlin, nor in the face of the world, but at Potsdam, in private. Since my arrival in this cursed country, an old woman was quartered alive at Potsdam, for having assisted two soldiers to desert. But his Prussian Majesty generally punishes offenders with close imprisonment and very hard labour, keeping them naked in the coldest weather, and giving them nothing, for years together, but bread and water. Such mercy is cruelty. Many persons destroy themselves here out of mere despair; but all imaginable care is taken to conceal such suicides. I have heard of one of our Governors in the Indies, who was reproached by his friends, on his return to England, that he put a great number of persons to death; to which that humane Governor replied, “It is not true; I only used them so ill, that they hanged themselves.” * * *