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certain stupid utensil call'd a Dumb Waiter, which answers all purposes as well except making remarks and telling tales; and it is for this very reason they are preferr'd, tho' it obstruct the channel of intelligence; and families will want conversation when they want information to abuse one another "-which illustrates the fact that the footmen were in the habit of putting in their word when the masters talked—" and People must bear with 'em or else pay 'em their Wages."

Among those who were pre-eminently regarded as Beaux in the middle of the century were George Augustus Selwyn and his friend George James, better known as Gilly, Williams: Wits and lovers of dress both; for we find in Jesse's collection of letters to George Selwyn unending allusions to velvets, muffs, fans, and other frivolities. It is curious that the reign of the muff was so prolonged. It started in England in the time of Charles II., and was practically in use until the nineteenth century. It altered in shape and size with every fashion, now being almost entirely made of ribbon or lace, now of miniver, and then of satin, or of feathers. One year it was small "I send you a decent smallish muff, that you may put in your pocket, and it cost but fourteen shillings,' writes Horace Walpole to George Montague-and sometimes it is very large; in 1765 it became "monstrous. When Charles James Fox was fighting his celebrated battle at Westminster, his partisans carried great muffs made of the fur of the red fox. The Earl of March acknowledges as a present from Selwyn a muff. "I like it prodigiously; vastly better than if it had been tigré, or of any glaring colour.'

George Selwyn was born in 1719, and lived to be seventy-one. He was a man of a curious mixture of character, tender to children, yet taking a morbid interest in

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human suffering; a Member of Parliament, who for nearly fifty years snored through the debates, yet the wittiest man of his time; one who was a link in the chain of wits which, beginning with Lord Dorset, was continued by Lord Chesterfield, George Selwyn, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, Sydney Smith, and Douglas Jerrold. He was a noted conversationalist, setting a whole table in a roar of laughter. One of his most often repeated mots, though by no means his best, was uttered when Walpole grumbled to him that politics had not improved since the time of Queen Anne, adding: "But there is nothing new under the sun.'

"Nor under the grandson!" replied Selwyn, alluding to George III. His wit was never bitter, Dr. Warner declaring that it was,

Social wit which, never kindling strife,

Blazed in the small sweet courtesies of life.

Selwyn matriculated at Oxford, went on the grand tour, and returned to the University in 1744, being rusticated the following year for a reputed insult to the Christian religion, his answer being that the use of a chalice at a wine party was but a freak done in liquor to ridicule the theory of Transubstantiation. Dr. Newton, of Oxford, writing upon this matter, says: “The upper part of the society here, with whom he" (Selwyn) " often converses, have, and always have had, a very good opinion of him. He is certainly not intemperate nor dissolute, nor does he ever game, that I know of or have heard of. He has a good deal of vanity, and loves to be admired. and caressed, and so suits himself with great ease to the gravest and the sprightliest." Here we have the keynote to his character-the desire of the approbation of others, a desire which naturally brought about its own fulfilment.

Selwyn was not handsome, his nose was long, his

chin a little receding, face clean-shaven according to the fashion. In his time the periwig for ceremonial occasions had given place to the tie-wig, and for ordinary use to a small wig, drawn back from the forehead with a double row of curls round the neck. Bag-wigs were however largely used; the fashion being said to have been initiated by footmen who put their curls into a leather bag to keep them out of the way of the plates. A gentleman's "bag" was made of silk and held the hair, which otherwise would have hung down his back. In 1766 the Hon. Henry St. John asks Selwyn, who is in Paris, to allow his servant to buy him four bags; "let them be rather large, with a large plain rosette.”

Selwyn had a singular passion for seeing corpses and executions, and there are many stories of the lengths to which he would go to gratify that passion. On one occasion a friend betted a hundred guineas that he would not be able to refrain from going to Tyburn to see a man hanged. He accepted the bet, but was discovered in the crowd dressed as an old apple-woman, and

he paid the money. He even went to see his friend Lord Balmerino executed at the Tower, and when reproached with his cold-bloodedness, replied that he could not help going; and if he had shown bad taste in going to see Lord Balmerino's head cut off, he made every reparation in his power by going the next day to see it sewn on again before burial. Walpole gives this retort as made after the execution of Lord Lovat, adding that when the body was stitched together, "George" (Selwyn), "in my lord chancellor's voice, said 'My Lord Lovat, your lordship may rise.'

At the trial of Lords Balmerino and Kilmarnoch, Selwyn saw Mrs. Bethel, a daughter of Lord Sandys, who had what her friends called "a hatchet face," looking

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wistfully at the rebels. "What a shame it is to turn her face to the prisoners before they are condemned," he was heard to murmur. It was Selwyn's love of the gruesome that made Lord Holland, the father of Charles James Fox, say, when he was ill: "If Mr. Selwyn calls again, be so good as to show him up; if I am alive I shall be delighted to see him, and if I am dead he will be delighted to see me."

Walpole affirmed that Selwyn only thought in execution phrases. "He came to town t'other day to have a tooth drawn, and told the man he would drop his handkerchief for the signal!" an allusion to the stage criminal who thus signified his readiness for death. Horace had a great affection for Selwyn, and mentioned him over and over again in his Diary. Once when in town there was an alarm of burglars in the house next to his in Albemarle Street, the owner of which was away. Walpole rushed next door and managed, after securing one thief with aid from other people, to send word to Selwyn at White's Club. The man who delivered the message had been burglared himself, and was still sore about it, so he stalked up into the club-room, stopped short, and, with a hollow, trembling voice, said:

"Mr. Selwyn! Mr. Walpole's compliments, and he has got a housebreaker for you."

Selwyn jumped up eagerly, and with a squadron from the club went to Albemarle Street. When he arrived he found that one man had been captured, and two "centinels" had run away, so the members of White's, with Walpole and Selwyn at their head-the former in nightgown and slippers, a lanthorn in one hand and a carbine over his shoulder-marched all over the place to look Their chief find was an enormous bag of tools. When Damien, who had attempted the life of

Louis XV., was put to a horrible death in Paris, Selwyn went over there and posted himself close to the platform. Being repulsed by the executioner, he told the man that he had journeyed from London solely to be present at the death of Damien, whereupon-and probably, though we are not told so, on the presentation of a handsome douceur-the man caused the people to give way to Selwyn, saying: "Faites place pour monsieur, c'est un Anglois, et un amateur." Another story runs that he went upon the platform as an English executioner.

Some one of the same name as Charles James Fox having been hanged at Tyburn, Fox asked Selwyn if he had been there. No," replied Selwyn, "I never go to rehearsals "-a reply which must have raised the lesser wits. envy of many

Selwyn made a joke at any one's expense, and at every opportunity. Fox was once speaking of the successful peace he had made with France, saying he had persuaded that country to give up the gum trade to England. "That I am not surprised at, Charles," replied Selwyn, "for, having drawn your teeth, they would be damned fools to trouble about your gums.'

When a subscription was proposed for the benefit of Fox, some one observed that it was a matter of some delicacy, and wondered how Fox would take it. "Take it?" exclaimed Selwyn; "why, quarterly to be sure !"

Republican principles were all the rage in London during the Revolution, and on a May-day Selwyn and Fox met the chimney-sweepers decked out in all their gaudy finery. "I say, Charles," said Selwyn, "I have often heard you and others talk of the majesty of the people, but until now I have never seen the young princes and princesses."

When Charles Fox lodged with a congenial spirit at

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