onable vice to a hundred sources, all England
looked up to Chesterfield as the high priest of that shrine, in which
time and reputation were equally sacrificed, and in which fame was to be
acquired alone by folly.

Walpole's sketch was struck off when Chesterfield was sinking into the
vale of years, and he exhibits that celebrated peer under the character,
at once melancholy and ridiculous, of a superannuated politician and an
old beau. Chesterfield, since he had given up the seals in 1748, had
retired from politics; in that spirit of resignation, which, in
extinguished politicians, is only a decent disguise for despair.

He had published what he called an apology for his resignation, which,
as Walpole says, excited no more notice than the resignation itself.
"From that time he had lived at White's, gaming, and pronouncing
witticisms among the boys of quality." He then proceeds to examine the
noble lord's construction, pretty much in the style of an anatomist with
the subject on the table, and cuts him up with all the zeal of angry
science.

"Chesterfield, early in life, announced his claim to wit, and the women
believed in it. He had besides given himself out for a man of great
intrigue, and the world believed in that too. It was not his fault if he
had not wit, for nothing exceeded his efforts in that point. His
speeches were fine, but as much laboured as his extempore sayings. His
writings were every body's; that is, whatever came out good was given to
him, and he was too humble ever to refuse the gift. But besides the
passive enjoyment of all good productions in the present age, he had
another art of reputation, which was, either to disapprove of the
greatest authors of other times, or to patronize whatever was too bad to
be ascribed to himself."

We then have a slight glance at his public life. His debut in diplomacy
was as ambassador to Holland, where, as Walpole says, "he courted the
good opinion of that economical people," by losing immense sums at play.
On his return, he attached himself to Lord Townshend, an unlucky
connexion; but what did him more harm still, was the queen's seeing him
one Twelfth Night after winning a large sum of money at hazard, cross
St. James's Court, "to deposit it with my Lady Suffolk until next
morning." The queen never pardoned an intimacy there, and well she might
not, Lady Suffolk's royal intimacies being perfectly notorious.

His next employment of note was the vice-royalty o