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appetite, her appetite took away her grief. * * * I know that in some libels she hath been reproached as one who indulged herself in drinking strong liquors, but, I believe, this was utterly groundless, and that she never went beyond such a quantity of strong wines as her physicians judged to be necessary for her. * * * Her presents were generally very few and very mean, as, fruits, or venison, or the like, unless in cases where she was directed by precedents in the former reigns.” We have mentioned, in a former part of our Table Talk, that the Duchess employed eminent literary men of the day to write most of her defences and attacks. The paper from which we have last quoted was supposed by Archdeacon Coxe to have been written by St. Priest, and to be part of the identical document Sarah showed to Mr. Walpole, who was somewhat discomforted thereat. What Queen Anne most dreaded after their rupture, was that the Duchess would publish their correspondence, for her Grace gave her to understand she had kept every silly letter her Majesty had addressed her, as well as a copy of every letter she had written to her Majesty. In the Queen's letters there was much to blush at: her fondness of the favourite was puerile, and absolutely a doating; her language, orthography, grammar, and style were below par even at those days. Her Majesty concludes a letter on “church livings” with these words, in which the second and third person of possessive pronouns are amusingly confounded. “And this is all I can now trouble my dear, dear Mrs. Freeman with, but that her poor, unfortunate Morley will be faithfully yours to her last moment.” In other parts of this correspondence her Majesty's sensibility is still more maudlin, the tone in which she speaks of herself more abject, and her grammar WOrSe. “As to our names—Morley and Freeman,” says Sarah, “the Queen herself was always uneasy if I used the word “highness' or ‘majesty,’ and would say from the first how awkward it was to write every day in the terms of princess, &c. And when she chose the name of Morley for herself, for no reason that I remember but that she liked it, or the sound of it, I am not sure that I did not chuse the other with some regard to my own humour, which it seems in some sort to express.” For many years, the correspondence of these high dames was in no other name or style. Mrs. Morley wrote to her dear Mrs. Freeman, and Mrs. Freeman to her dear Mrs. Morley, and under this travestimento they discussed great state questions, named generals, disposed of church livings, and made or translated bishops. The Marlborough correspondence, over which we have passed many amused hours, lets us into several secrets not generally recorded in history. We learn, for example, that the vile practice of opening private letters at our post-office, was as common in one part of Queen Anne's reign, as it was in France during that of Bonaparte, when, as Bourrienne tells us, the practice was universal. Thus, in a letter from the Duke to the Duchess, written from abroad on the 28th of August 1710, just after he had heard of his wife's disgrace, and the sudden fall of the Godolphin ministry, his Grace says, “I would beg of you not to write anything but what you would not care if it were seen, unless you should have a safe hand of writing.” And again, in a letter, bearing date November the 18th, 1710, from Amen-corner, Paternoster-row, and written to her Grace by Doctor Hare, the Duke's chaplain, who had got leave of absence from the army, there is this direct allusion to seal-breaking: “But I have heard so much in the little time I have been in London of letters being opened, that I can't persuade myself to let anything of that kind, which has the honour to be addressed to your Grace, run the hazard of coming into other hands, especially since your return to St. James's will now, I presume, in a very little time, give me an opportunity of transmitting to your grace, by a safe hand, my poor sentiments upon the subject.”
The “thing of that kind” which the reverend chaplain so prudently withheld, was a comparison between the Whig Ministry that had gone out, and that of the Tories which had come in ; a comparison, of course, not very flattering to the latter. In another letter to her Grace this same political parson does not speak too favourably of the political abilities of the bench of bishops. After praising the homesty and good character of the Archbishop of York, he adds: “I only say this of him as to his being a good man, which does not make one a wise man; and 'tis so very rare to see much political wisdom or abilities of that sort in bishops, that I don't wonder he has not more of it.” His reverence, however, deplores that the Whig and Marlborough party “ did not keep their hold of a man who had so much influence in the clergy.” Dr. Hare bustled among parties to some purpose, he became Bishop of Chichester, which elevation, by giving him a seat on the prelatical bench in the House of Lords, probably changed his opinion as to the political wisdom of bishops.
HISTORY OF THE BUILDING OF THE GREAT THEATRE OF SAN CARLO AT NAPLES.
THE recollection of the facts related in the following anecdote is calculated to throw a gloom over the splendour of St. Carlo's, at Naples, the finest theatre in the world.
“Among other things, it was Charles the Third's will that a theatre should be erected, the city hitherto having only mean and inconvenient places of amusement; and, to add wonder to magnificence, he commanded that it should not only be the largest in Europe, but that it should be built in a marvellously short time. Having received a design from Medrano, he entrusted the execution to a certain Angelo Carasale, a man of low birth, but risen to high fame by his genius in architecture and the many bold and stupendous works he had executed. * * * He began the building in March 1737, and finished it in October, and on the 4th of November, St. Charles's day, the festival of the King, the first opera was performed in it. The interior of the theatre was covered with mirrors; and the infinite number of wax torches, reflected on all sides, produced as rich and as dazzling a light as that which fable assigns to Olympus. A vast and splendidly ornamented box was constructed for the royal family. On entering the theatre, the King, overcome with surprise and admiration, enthusiastically clapped his hands in praise of the architect, while the loud applauses of the audience honoured the King as the primary cause of all that magnificence. In the midst of this universal joy, the King summoned Carasale to his box, and, publicly praising him for his work, placed his royal hand on his shoulder as a sign of protection and good-will; and the poor architect, not modest by nature, but reverentially respectful on such an occasion, with gestures and words rendered thanks for the thanks of the King. After this was over, his Majesty said, that as the walls of the theatre almost touched the walls of his palace, it would be very convenient for the royal family if they could pass from one building to the other by means of an interior corridor or passage, without having to go round by the streets. The architect bent his eyes to the ground, and Charles adding, “We will think about it,” benignantly dismissed him. When the opera was over, and the King went out of his box, he found Carasale in waiting, who begged his Majesty would return to the palace by the interior passage he wished for. In three hours, throwing down thick walls, constructing bridges and stairs with beams and boards, covering the roughness of the hurried work with carpets and tapestry, and illuminating the whole with wax-lights and looking-glasses, the architect had made a beautiful and scenic path to the royal apartments—a spectacle scarcely less agreeable to the King than the theatre itself. The theatre, which was called San Carlo, after the King—the internal passage,_the merit, the good fortune of Carasale,_were for several days the general subjects of conversation both in court and city. Fatal praises for, the much envied architect being called upon for his accounts, and not be