Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 21 June to November 1860 . this royalGeorge, he is ludicrous somehow; even at Det-tingen, where he fought so bravely, his figure isabsurd—calling out in his broken English, andlunging with his rapier, like a contemporary caricatures, Georges son, theHero of Culloden, is also made an object of con-siderable fun, as witness the following pictureof him defeated by the French (1757) at Hasten-beck: I refrain to quote from Walpole regartJingGeorge—for those charming volumes are in thehands of all who love the gossip of the last cen-tury. Nothin
Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 21 June to November 1860 . this royalGeorge, he is ludicrous somehow; even at Det-tingen, where he fought so bravely, his figure isabsurd—calling out in his broken English, andlunging with his rapier, like a contemporary caricatures, Georges son, theHero of Culloden, is also made an object of con-siderable fun, as witness the following pictureof him defeated by the French (1757) at Hasten-beck: I refrain to quote from Walpole regartJingGeorge—for those charming volumes are in thehands of all who love the gossip of the last cen-tury. Nothing can be more cheery than Hor-aces letters. Fiddles sing all through them :wax-lights, fine dresses, fine jokes, fine plate,fine equipages, glitter and sparkle there: neverwas such a brilliant, jigging, smirking VanityFair as that through Avhich he leads us, Hervey,the next great authority, is a darker him there is something frightful: a fewyears since his heirs opened the lid of the Ick-worth box ; it was as if a Pompeii was opened THE FOUR. THE HEEO OF CULLODEN. to US—the last century dug up, with its templesand its games, itr- chariots, its public places—lupanaria. Wandering through that city ofthe dead, that dreadfully selfish time, throughthose godless intrigues and feasts, through thosecrowds, pushing, and eager, and ^struggling—rouged, and lying, and fawning—I have wantedsome one to be friends with. I have said tofriends conversant with that history, Showmcsome good person about that Court 5 find me,among those selfish courtiers those dissolute,gay people, some one being that I can love andregard. There is that strutting little sultan,George II. ; there is that hunchbacked, beetle-browed Lord Chesterfield ; there is John Hervey,with his deadly smile, and ghastly, painted face—I hate them. There is Hoadly, cringing fromone bishopric to another; yonder comes littleMr. Pope, from Twickenham, with his friend,the Irish dean, in his new cassock, bowi
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