letter I gave him a grandmother’s advice, telling him the vast sums he

had taken up at more than twenty per cent. were as well secured as when the people lent the money; that I thought he would make a much better figure if he lived upon as little as he possibly could, than ever he had done in throwing away so much money, and let his creditors have all that was left out of his estate as far as it would go, and pay what more was due to them, when accidents of death increased his revenue, for I could not join in anything that would injure myself, or the settlement of his grandfather. I should have told you this before, but in this last professing letter to me, he tells me that he would rather starve than take up money that I did not approve of: notwithstanding which, in a very few days after my letter, I am assured that Lamb has found a way to help him to a great sum of money; and without saying one word to me, the Duke has mortgaged my jointure as soon as I die, which he certainly may do for his own life; and if he lives till his son is twenty-one, he may starve him into joining with him, and destroy his grandfather’s settlement upon the whole family; for when the settlement was made, there were so many before him, that the lawyers did not think of giving his son any allowance in his father’s lifetime; and I can think of but one way to prevent all this mischief, which I have a mind to do, and that is, when he is of a proper age, to settle out of my own estate such a sum to be paid yearly by my trustees which will hinder him from being forced by his father, upon condition that if he does join with him to sell any of the estate, that which I gave him shall return back to John Spencer, who I make my heir. Whether this will succeed or not, as I wish it, I cannot be sure, but it is doing all I can to secure what the late Duke of Marlborough so passionately desired. He has a great deal in him like his father, but I cannot say he has any guilt, because he really does not know what is right and what is wrong, and will always change every three days what he designed, from the influence and flatteries of wretches who think of nothing but of getting something for themselves; and if I should give him my whole estate he would throw it away as he has done his grandfather’s, and he would come at last to the Treasury for a pension for his vote. But I believe you have seen, as well as I, that pensions and promises at court are not ready money.”

The Duke died in 1758, having, according to Horace Walpole, greatly impoverished his estate; so that his death, before his son came of age, was considered to be an advantage to the property, since the young man might have been induced to join his father in the last mournful resource, according to the same writer, “to sell and pay.”[346]

On the honourable John Spencer, commonly called by the writers of those days Jack Spencer, the affections of the Duchess were, after the death of his eldest brother, chiefly centered. Not all his extravagance, nor the low-lived pranks in which he figured; not even the prospect of seeing him squander away every shilling which he possessed, could alienate from him this fantastic and unjust partiality on the part of his grandmother. He died, after a profligate and disgraceful career, at the age of six or seven and thirty, “merely,” says Horace Walpole, “because he would not be abridged of those invaluable blessings of a British subject, namely, brandy, small-beer, and tobacco.”[347] Notwithstanding these propensities, the Duchess left him in her will a clear income of thirty thousand a year, to the enjoyment of which was annexed a condition, characteristic enough, that he should not accept any place or pension from any government whatsoever. Whilst she thus enriched her unworthy grandson, she disinherited Charles Duke of Marlborough of all the property which was vested in herself to bequeath.

Lady Diana Spencer, the youngest of the Sunderland family, was also a favourite of her grandmother. She appears to have been an object of solicitude to the Duchess, who, it may be remembered, expressed much satisfaction when the Princess of Wales, afterwards Queen Caroline, called “her Dy” back to bid her hold her head up, which, added the Duchess, “was what I was always telling her.” She also quoted “her Dy,” with much satisfaction, in her letter to Dr. Hare, when she extenuated her behaviour to Sir Robert Walpole.

In 1731, the Duchess was much gratified by the marriage of “her Dy” with Lord John Russell, afterwards third Duke of Bedford. Writing from Blenheim to Lady Mary Wortley Montague, the Duchess, in speaking of this wedding, declares to her gifted correspondent, that it is very much to her satisfaction. “I propose to myself more satisfaction than I thought there had been in store for me.” These were the expressions of hope; but, alas! like almost every other object of the Duchess’s regard in her own family, Lady Diana Russell died early, surviving her marriage only four years. It is impossible to note these successive deprivations without feeling sincere compassion for the harassed and bereaved old Duchess, who beheld, one by one, her only comforts taken from her old age.

Lord John Russell, when Duke of Bedford, became Secretary of State, and Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. The well-known strictures on his character by Junius, though not historically just, were not without foundation; but, whatever were his faults, he attained eminence as a statesman; and to see her favourite grace the high station in which this alliance would have placed her, would, doubtless, have gratified the heart, already too proud, of her aged but worldly grandmother.

“Her Torrismond,” as the Duchess termed John Spencer, indeed survived her, though not many years. His marrying suitably was an event which she had much at heart. “I believe you have heard me say,” writes her grace to Lady Mary Wortley, “that I desired to die when I had disposed well of her, (Lady Diana,) but I desire that you would not put me in mind of it, for I find I have a mind to live till I have married my Torrismond, which is a name I have given long to John Spencer.”[348] Unhappily, Torrismond was too frequently to be found in the watchhouse, in company with other young noblemen, to think of domesticating according to the Duchess’s desire.

Lady Anne Egerton, the only child of Lady Bridgewater, was also undutiful, according to the Duchess’s notions, and to be derided and insulted accordingly. She had been brought up by her grandmother, who, finding that she was neglected after the death of her mother, took charge of her when her other grandchildren were left to her care. Lady Anne married Wriothesley Duke of Bedford, the elder brother of Lord John Russell, to whom his title descended.

In Lady Anne the grandmother’s spirit was apparent. Their quarrels were continual and violent; and the Duchess, charmed, one must suppose, with her conceit of the eight puppet Misses Trevor, invented the same sort of vengeance in effigy for Lady Anne. She had procured her granddaughter’s picture, of which she blackened the face over, and writing on the frame in large letters, “She is much blacker within,” placed it in her own sitting-room, for the edification and amusement of all visiters.[349]

The Duchess of Montague, (Lady Mary Churchill, the youngest of her grace’s daughters,) like her eldest sister Henrietta, lived in constant altercation with her mother, whom she survived; the only one of her children whom the Duchess did not follow to the grave. The character of the Duke of Montague, and the honours which he received, have been before mentioned. The Duchess mingled greatly in the world; her concerts and assemblies are mentioned frequently in the letters of Lady Mary Wortley. Her daughter Isabella, Duchess of Manchester, by her sweetness of temper and superior qualities, fastened herself upon the affections of that heart where so few could find a place.

Such are some of the details which relate to the domestic troubles of the aged Duchess. Her frequent absence from her children when they were young; the absorbing nature of political pursuits, for which she sacrificed the blessings of affection, and the enjoyment of a peaceful home; the consequent necessity of consigning her children wholly to instructors and servants; perhaps, too, the manners of the times, which conduced to banish love between parent and child by a harsh, unnatural substitution of fear as the principle of conduct;[350] all contributed to alienate those young minds from her, whilst yet the angry passions which maturity draws forth were unknown. Consistency, impartiality, and a freedom from selfishness, are the qualities essential to win back the filial affection of which nature has implanted the germ in every bosom if, unhappily, it be destroyed. The Duchess was not only totally deficient in these attributes, but she possessed not that easy and kindly temper which can secure affection, even if it fail to command respect. In her family, notwithstanding all their advantages of person and fortune, she was singularly unfortunate; and she affords a striking instance of the incompatibility of a political career with the habits and feelings of domestic life. It cannot be, therefore, a matter of surprise that her latter days were clouded by depression; that she found herself neglected, and that she hovered between a state of irritated pride, and that condition of low spirits in which we fancy ourselves of no importance to the world, and as well out of it as cumbering the ground. Often, describing herself as generally very “ill and very infirm,” she declares that life has ceased to have any charms for her; that she only wishes “to make the passage out of it as easily as possible.” To her correspondent, Mr. Scrope, from whom she declares she received more civility than she had met with for years, the Duchess partially discloses her feelings. He seems kindly, and we hope with no interested motive, to have entered into the feelings of a morose old woman, who had placed all her felicity in a consciousness of importance, and who found herself “insignificant.”[351] A few short years previously, and who would have anticipated such a confession? Yet the mortifications of an unhonoured old age appear, if we may trust Mr. Scrope’s charitable version of the case, to have improved the chastened character on whose tenderest points they bore. In reply to one of her low-spirited letters, he thus addresses her: “I hope your grace will excuse the freedom with which I write, and that you will pardon my observing, by the latter part of your letter, that the great Duchess of Marlborough is not always exempted from the vapours. How your grace could think yourself insignificant, I cannot imagine. You can despise your enemies, (if any such you have;) you can laugh at fools who have authority only in their own imaginations; and your grace hath not only the power, but a pleasure in doing good to every one who is honoured with your friendship or compassion. Who can be more insignificant?” And he concludes this well-meant expostulation with professions of respect and regard.