of them. garded as the great patroness of the sect, || perior to my former productions; but it became from that moment a zealous advo- || was full of defects, replete with weak or cate of the Whigs. It is but justice to laboured lines. I never now read my early say, that her consistency in the approba- compositions without a suffusion on my tion of these principles, and her friendship cheek, which marks my humble opinicu for their great champion Mr. Fox, continued rooted in her mind to the very day of her decease; and it will certainly be lamented by the public, as it has been lamented, and with no common sensibility, by him who was the chief object of her political admiration, that she was lost to the cause at the very moment of its triumph; that she lived to see it get into port, but no more. "At this period I was informed that the Duchess of Devonshire was the admirer and patroness of literature; with a mixture of timidity and hope i sent her Grace a neatly bound volume of Poems, accompanied by a short letter apologizing for their defects, and pleading my age as the only excuse for their inaccuracy. My brother, who was a charming youth, was the bearer of my first literary offering at the shrine of nobility. Duchess admitted him; and with the most generous and amiable sensibility inquired some particulars respecting my situation, with a request that on the following day I would make her a visit. The We have observed, that the amiable quality of benevolence, which was the strongest trait in the character of the Duchess of Devonshire, was exercised in a wide extent of patronage, and with that excess of liberality which, in some manner, embarrassed her private stock of fortune, and led to pecuniary difficulties. Scarcely any adventurer in literature, whose fortune or genius had not placed him above want, but who applied and was relieved. She had a kind of passion for this sort of patronage which exposed her to numerous impositions; but she seemed to have laid it down as an unerring maxim, that li-mestic attachment. However, at the parterary poverty should lieved. never go unre To this indiscriminate generosity towards the sons and daughters of genius, we are, nevertheless, indebted for the introduction of some to public notice, who conferred the most distinguished houour upon her patronage and choice.-Among these was the late Mrs. Robinson, the once celebrated Perdita, and Sapho of the present age. In the memoirs of this lady, written by herself, she gives an account so interesting and expressive of character, of her first interview with her patroness, the Duchess of Devonshire, that we shall make no apology to the reader for the extract. Speaking of her attendance upon Mr. Robinson in confinement, and her preparation of some little poems for publication, she proceeds to say— "Having much leisure and many melancholy hours, I again turned my thoughts towards the Muses. I chose Captivity for the subject of my pen, and soon composed a quarto poem of some length; it was su "I knew not what to do. Her liberality claimed my compliance; yet, as I had never, during my husband's long captivity, quitted him for half an hour, I felt a sort of reluctance that pained the romantic firmness of my mind, while I meditated what I considered as a breach of my do ticular and earnest request of Mr. Robinson, I consented; and accordingly accepted the Duchess's invitation. "During my seclusion from the world I had adapted my dress to my situation. Neatness was at all times my pride; but now plainness was the conformity to necessity: simple habiliments became the abode of adversity; and the plain brown satin gown which I wore on my first visit to the Duchess of Devonshire, appeared to me as strange as a birth-day court-suit to a newlymarried citizen's daughter. "To describe the Duchess's look and manner when she entered the back drawing-room of Devonshire-house, would be impracticable; mildness and sensibility beamed in her eyes, and irradiated her countenance. She expressed her surprise at seeing so young a person, who had experienced such vicissitude of fortune; she lamented that my destiny was so little proportioned to what she was pleased to term my desert, and with a tear of gentle sympathy requested that I would accept a which would have conferred honour upon any modern female pen. With an extract from this poem we shall close our account of her Grace. We have observed the early partiality of the Duchess of Devonshire for Mr. Fox and the principles of the Whigs. At the dissolution of the coalition parliament, when that distinguished statesman was opposed, in his canvass for Westminster, by the whole influence of the Court, her Grace manifested the strongest interest in his success, and condescended to every exertion of personal solicitation and influence to secure him in his seat. The election satyrists at that time did not spare this personal interference of the Duchess, but whilst her virtue repelled every insinuation, her good humour was fully equal to support every attack. "I made frequent visits to the amiable Duchess, and was at all times received with the warmest proofs of friendship. My little girl, to whom I was still a nurse, generally accompanied me, and always experienced the kindest caresses from my admired patroness, my liberal and affectionate friend. Frequently the Duchess inquired most minutely into the story of my sorrows, and as often gave me tears of the most spontaneous sympathy. But, such was my destiny, that while I cultivated the esteem of this best of women, by a conduct which was above the reach of reprobation,|| my husband, even though I was the partner of his captivity, the devoted slave to his Amongst those who manifested the most necessities, indulged in the lowest and friendly attachment to her Grace, and most degrading intrigues; frequently, dur- whose regard commenced with her first ing my short absence with the Duchess, dawn in public life, and never diminished for I never quitted the prison but to obey till its close, was His Royal Highness the her summons, he was known to admit the Prince of Wales; warmly attached to her most abandoned of their sex; women from the benevolence and noble qualities whose low licentious lives were such as to of her heart, there was yet another cause render them the shame and outcasts of so- of attraction in their similarity of exterciety. These disgraceful meetings were nal manners and deportment. The same arranged, even while I was in my own high polish of manners, ease, and affabiapartment, in a next room and by the lity, distinguished both; a kind of innate assistance of an Italian who was also there grace and courtesy, gave an importance a captive. I was apprised of the proceed- to every trifling act, whether of affection ing, and I questioned Mr. Robinson upon or common ceremony; an ever-active printhe subject. He denied the charge; but 1 ciple of benevolence pervaded their minds; availed myself of an opportunity that in a word, with the most perfect consciousoffered, and was convinced that my hus-ness of what was due to their rank, they band's infidelities were both frequent and disgraceful." The Duchess of Devonshire was not merely celebrated as patroness of literature; she aspired to court the Muses, and some of her poetical productions may be thought to rank above mediocrity. Her lines upon the bust of Mr. Fox have ever been distinguished for simplicity and accuracy of character; the little sonnet with which she enriched the "Travels of Mungo Park in Africa," has a softness and nature which does honour to her muse; and her address to her children in the "Passage of Mount St. Gothard in Switzerland," exhibits powers of description, fancy, judgement, and selection, maintained it without any repulsive pride or frigid ceremony; there was nothing of affectation in their condescension; their humility was without meanness or hypocrisy; their dignity had nothing of austerity or hauteur. Upon her Grace's first appearance as arbitress of fashion and the Beau monde, the rage for private theatricals was at its height; the Duchess accordingly presided at the Richmond-House plays. It was here that almost all the wits of the age were congregated, and her Grace took her station, if not amongst the first, yet certainly very far removed from the lowest. We must not omit to observe, that there was one qualification for which she was peculiarly celebrated; we allude to her || land, and resided some time at Le Petit taste in painting. Her works of the pencil far exceed those of her pen, though her ambition coveted renown more from the latter than the former; like the Roman philosopher, no flattery upon her poetical qualities was ever unpalatable to her; whilst commendation of those arts in which she naturally did excel, neither gained her good will or excited her vanity. Her Grace, notwithstanding her taste for theatrical amusements, was not gifted with those powers of elocution which approached to excellence; she was an amateur, and nothing more. The Duchess of Devonshire had been married nearly ten years, when her first child, Lady Georgiana Cavendish, the present Viscountess Morpeth, was born. Contrary to the practice of ladies of rank, her Grace resolved to act both the mother and the nurse towards her daughter. General Burgoyne, in his comedy of the Ileiress, pays her a very elegant compliment upon this act of maternal tenderness Lady Emily, one of the characters in this piece, alludes to her Grace in the following speech to Miss Alscrip, the heroine of the comedy: "Do you know, madam, there is more than one Duchess who has been seen in the same carriage with her husband, like two doves in a basket in the print of conjugal felicity; and another has been detected-I almost blush to name it.— Miss Alscrip. "Bless us, where, and how, and how? Lady Emily. "In nursing her own child." Ouchy, an elegant retreat upon the Lake of Lausanne. It was here they became acquainted with the celebrated historian Gibbon, who had taken up his abode in Switzerland for the convenience of his literary studies. Gibbon was at that time putting the finish to his Roman History. The tremendous storm of the French Revolution drove them to Great Britain together, and Gibbon ever after found the most liberal welcome and elegant hospita|| lity at Devonshire house. The carcer of fashionable life has not much variety or incident; it will be sufficient, therefore, to say, that the Duchess of Devonshire having so long presided in the circles of fashion, began to cherish, during the two or three last years of her life, an inclination to retirement and seclusion. She was principally excited to this by a relaxed and feeble state of health, which had suffered much from the attack of periodical fevers, and a dangerous complaint in the liver. Her Grace had latterly lost the sight of her left eye, which was occasioned by an imprudent exposure to the air, and standing above an hour before an open window, upon her return from a ball, in which she had fatigued herself by dancing. This defect she was ingenious enough to conceal by a dextrous disposition of her hair, and those who were not acquainted with the failing seldom or ever observed it. Her Grace was much distinguished amongst polite circles for the liberality, elegance, and magnificence of her entertaiuments; and though cards and deep play Her Grace's next daughter, Lady Hen- would occasionally usurp the midnight rietta, was born at the interval of four hours, in which it is to be feared that the years from her first child; and William Duchess was accustomed to join with too George Cavendish, the Marquis of Har- much indiscretion, her parties were, nevertington, was born about five years after-theless, the most respectable and splendid wards. in town. Shortly after her marriage, the Duchess From the Duke she received a most of Devonshire had visited the Continent; liberal allowance of pin-money, from and in the summer 1792, she once more which she, in part, maintained an estawent abroad, being chiefly induced to blishment exclusively her own, and at undertake this journey from the declining once fed her charities and extravagances. health of two near relations, her mother, So mixed and variable is character, that Lady Spencer, and her sister, Lady Dun- the winnings of the gaming table were cannon, the present Countess of Besbo- sometimes devoted to alms, and what was rough; Lady Elizabeth Foster was of this destined for alms was not unfrequently party. They visited France and Switzer- || absorbed by the gaming table. The principle of saving and economy this lady had not. The quarterly or half yearly allowance was always entrenched upon; the mortgage, however, was wholly to benevolence. Scarcely a tale of woe but found its way to her ear, and all that were heard were relieved. No wonder, therefore, that in this thoughtlessness and extravagance of charity, the debts of justice should either be delayed or forgotten. She knew not how to fashion her mouth to a refusal. The tradesman waited, but the petitioner was relieved; like Charles in the play, her complaint might truly be, that the old beldam justice could never keep pace with generosity. We are now trespassing upon our limits; we must pass, therefore, to the circumstance which deprived the world of this excellent woman. On Sunday, the 9th of March, a grand dinner, to which the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire were invited, was given at the Marquis of Stafford's, in honour of the Fox administration. Her Grace had been languid a few days previous to this entertainment, and was advised,by her domestic physician not to go to the party. She conceived it, however, a point of honour, and could not be induced to stay away. About nine o'clock in the evening she was taken ill, and on her return to Devonshire-house she took to her bed, which she scarcely left again. Lady Melbourne, her dear and constant friend, remained with her to the last. At half past two, on Sunday morning, death appeared, and she became insensible; her mother sat at the bed side, where she remained till half past three o'clock, when her Grace expired in the presence of the majority of her family. After her decease, her body was opened to ascertain the complaint of which she || died; the result, however, was not made known to the public. Her Grace was in the 49th year of her age. She was interred at the seat of the Duke, at Chatsworth, in Derbyshire. Her character may be collected from what we have already said, to which we shall add a summary drawn by a person well acquainted with her merits.-The following are the words of this writer: "Her Grace was distinguished in early youth for the extreme beauty of her person, and the fascinating elegance of her manners; the former quality was somewhat diminished by frequent ill health, and an inflammation in her eyes, which at length caused an almost total blindness; the latter accomplishment increased with her years, and followed her, unabated, to the grave. “Her Grace had early imbibed a strong taste for elegant literature, under the instruction of her excellent and accom Her illness was at first conceived to be plished mother, the present Dowager an inflammation in the bowels, attended by a fever, and no danger was apprehended. Her Grace was in perfect possession of herself, and had no fear whatever of her dissolution. But on Friday, the 29th, her disorder took a very dangerous turn, and several medical men were called in. Her fever continued to increase, but still she apprehended no danger. On awakening from a short dose, she looked round the room, and perceiving several physicians in attendance, she exclaimed, "Why are you all here, gentlemen; surely you do not think me in any danger?" She was now attended by her mother, the Duke, her sister, and her family, and all hope was given over. At twelve o'clock on Saturday night the physicians left her, with out expressing the least hope of seeing her again. The Duke took his final farewell, Countess Spencer. This talent she has frequently exercised. But not only as an amateur of literature was this amiable lady to be distinguished, she was one of the most generous patrons and liberal encouragers of genius, particularly in her own sex. It was to her that the public were indebted for the introduction of the cele brated English Sappho (the deceased Mrs. Robinson) into notice. Her services were always extended to literary merit; and her prodigality, in this respect, produced much private embarrassment. "Her name was almost always to be seen in every subscription for the assistance of indigent genius; and such was her passion for benevolence and patronage, that she frequently became a dupe to her own charities, and was unmercifully pillaged by the fraudulent and designing. "Such were her public virtues ;-her || No haunt of man, the weary trav'ller greets, private qualities were shewn in the education of her children, and her domestic economy. The disease which brought her to the grave was a liver complaint, attended by a fever. She died regretted by a numerous circle of relations and friends, and will be long lamented by many who subsisted on the kindness of her charity and patronage." No vegetation smiles upon the moor, It now remains for us to transcribe part of the poem alluded to above, and attributed to her Grace, entitled THE PASSAGE OF THE MOUNTAIN OF ST. GOTHARD. TO MY CHILDREN. YE plains, where threefold harvests press the Ye climes, where genial gales incessant swell, And wing'd with health, I woo thy gales to Yet pleas'd Helvetia's rugged brows I see, And through their rugged steeps delighted roam: Pleas'd with a people, honest, brave, and free, I wander where Tesino madly flows, From cliff to cliff in foaming eddies tos!; His shores neat huts and verdant pastures fill, Rise the bare rock, coeval with the sky. Upon his banks a favour'd spot I found, Where shade and beauty tempted to repose; Within a grove, by mountains circled round, By rocks o'erhung, my rustic seat I chose. Advancing thence, by gentle pace and slow, Unconscious of the way my footsteps prest, Sudden, supported by the hills below, St. Gothard's summit rose above the rest. 'Midst tow'ring cliffs, and tracts of endless cold, Th'industrious path pervades the rugged stone, And seems-Helvetia! let thy toils be told A granite girdle o'er the mountain thrown. Let not these wilds with listless steps be trod, Here fragrance scorns not to perfume the waste, Here charity uplifts the mind to God. His humble board the holy man prepares, And simple food and wholesome lore bestows, And paints the perils of impending snows. And gems of crystal sparkle to the day. Here, too, the hoary mountain's brow to grace, Five silver lakes in tranquil state are seen; While from their waters many a stream we trace, That 'scap'd from bondage, rolls the rocks be tween. Hence flows the Reuss to seek her wedded love, And, with the Rhine, Germanic climes explore; Her streams I mark'd, and saw her wildly move Down the bleak mountain, thro' the craggy shore. My weary footsteps hop'd for rest in vain, For steep on steep in rude confusion rose; That promis'd shelter, and foretold repose. shed. Sweet vale, whose bosom wastes and cliffs sur round, Let me a while thy friendly shelter share! Emblem of life; where some bright hours are found Amidst the darkest, dreariest years of care. Delv'd through the rock, the secret passage bends; And beauteous horror strikes the dazzled sight; Beneath the pendent bridge the stream descends Calm-till it tumbles o'er the frowning height. We view the fearful pass-we wind along The path that marks the terrors of our way'Midst beetling rocks, and hanging woods among, The torrent pours, and breathes its glitt'ring spray. |