a coach with him, turned about and said, “Why, Arthur, I am always going to get up behind; are not you!” I told this story the other day to George Selwyn, whose passion is to see coffins and corpses, and executions:  he replied, “that Arthur More had had his coffin chained to that of his mistress.”—­“Lord!” said I, “how do you know!”—­“Why, I saw them the other day in a vault at St. Giles’s.”  He was walking this week in Westminster Abbey with Lord Abergavenny, and met the man who shows the tombs, “Oh! your servant, Mr. Selwyn; I expected to have seen you here the other day, when the old Duke of Richmond’s body was taken up.”  Shall I tell you another story of George Selwyn before I tap the chapter of Richmond, which you see opens here very apropos?  With this strange and dismal turn, he has infinite fun and humour in him.  He went lately on a party of pleasure to see places with Lord Abergavenny and a pretty Mrs. Frere, who love one another a little.  At Cornbury there are portraits of all the royalists and regicides, and illustrious headless.(178) Mrs. Frere ran about, looked at nothing, let him look at nothing, screamed about Indian paper, and hurried over all the rest.  George grew peevish, called her back, told her it was monstrous. when he had come so far with her, to let him see nothing; “And you are a fool, you don’t know what you missed in the other room.”—­“Why, what?”—­“Why, my Lord Holland’S(179) picture.”—­“Well! what is my Lord Holland to me?”—­“Why, do you know,” said he, ,that my Lord Holland’s body lies in the same vault in Kensington church with my Lord Abergavenny’s mother?” Lord! she ’was so obliged, and thanked him a thousand times.

The Duke of Richmond is dead, vastly lamented:  the Duchess is left in great circumstances.  Lord Albemarle, Lord Lincoln, the Duke of Marlborough, Duke of Leeds, and the Duke of Rutland, are talked of for master of the horse.  The first is likeliest to succeed; the Pelhams wish most to have the last:  you know he is Lady Catherine’s brother, and at present attached to the Prince.  His son Lord Granby’s match, which is at last to be finished to-morrow, has been a mighty topic of conversation lately.  The bride is one of the great heiresses of old proud Somerset.  Lord Winchilsea, who is her uncle, and who has married the other sister very loosely to his own relation, Lord Guernsey, has tied up Lord Granby so rigorously that the Duke of Rutland has endeavoured to break the match.  She has four thousand pounds a year:  he is said to have the same in present, but not to touch hers.  He is in debt ten thousand pounds.  She was to give him ten, which now Lord Winchilsea refuses.  Upon the strength of her fortune, Lord Granby proposed to treat her with presents of twelve thousand pounds; but desired her to buy them.  She, who never saw nor knew the value of ten shillings while her father lived, and has had no time to learn it, bespoke away so roundly, that for one article of the plate she