Among the rest here the Duke of Buckingham to-day openly sat in the
pit," records Pepys, "and there I found him with my Lord Buckhurst,
and Sedley, and Etheridge the poet." Yet it would seem that already
the visitors to the pit had declined somewhat in quality. Pepys, like
John Gilpin's spouse, had a frugal mind, however bent on pleasure. He
relates, in 1667, with some sense of injury, how once, there being no
room in the pit, he was forced to pay four shillings and go into one
of the upper boxes, "which is the first time I ever sat in a box in my
life."

One does not now look to find members of the administration or cabinet
ministers occupying seats in the pit. Yet the "Journals of the Right
Honourable William Windham," some time Chief Secretary to the Lord
Lieutenant of Ireland, and afterwards Colonial Secretary, tell of his
frequent visits to the pit of Covent Garden. Nor does he "drop into"
the theatre, after dining at his club, as even a bachelor of fashion
might do without exciting surprise. Playgoing is not an idle matter to
him. And he is accompanied by ladies of distinction, his relatives and
others. "Went about half-past five to the pit," he records; "sat by
Miss Kemble, Steevens, Mrs. Burke, and Miss Palmer," the lady last
named being the niece of Sir Joshua Reynolds, who afterwards married
Lord Inchiquin. "Went in the evening to the pit with Mrs. Lukin" (the
wife of his half-brother). "After the play, went with Miss Kemble to
Mrs. Siddons's dressing-room: met Sheridan there, with whom I sat in
the waiting room, and who pressed me to sup at his house with Fox and
G. North." Assuredly "the play," not less than the pit, was more
highly regarded in Windham's time than nowadays.

Though apart from our present topic, it is worth noting that Windham
may claim to have anticipated Monsieur Gambetta as a statesman
voyaging in a balloon. Ballooning was a hobby of Windham's. He was a
regular attendant of ascents, and inspected curiously the early aerial
machines of Blanchard and Lunardi. Something surprised at his own
temerity, he travelled the air himself, rose in a balloon--probably
from Vauxhall--crossed the river at Tilbury, and descended in safety
after losing his hat. He regretted that the wind had not been
favourable for his crossing the Channel. "Certainly," he writes, "the
experiences I have had on this occasion will warrant a degree of
confidence more than I have ever hitherto indulged. I would not wish a
de