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Updated: June 2, 2025
One of the things I liked particularly in Pope was the Epistle describing the Duke of Chandos's house, the poem which begins At Timon's villa let us pass a day, Where all cry out what sums are thrown away. And there, straight in front of me, was the Priory, Lady Waldegrave's grandiose country-house. I heard plenty of criticism of the house.
The extraordinary circumstances connected with the accident, are related in the words of the late Capt. George Bell, at that time one of the officers. "In the summer of 1795, the Indefatigable, when cruising off Cape Finisterre, fell in with Admiral Waldegrave's squadron of line-of-battle ships, and the Concorde frigate.
I told her we were going to Ascot for the week, and she said that they were also going there and hoped they would see us. Our interview came to an end, as such interviews do, without anything very interesting happening, and, finally, we backed ourselves out of the royal presence. That evening there was a ball at Lady Waldegrave's, who lives at Strawberry Hill, a mile or so out of London.
"'Tis said women are jealous of each other's good looks, my Lord, but 'tis not so with me. I am vastly pleased with my Lady Waldegrave's appearance. 'Tis far beyond what was to be expected of her parentage. She looks vastly agreeable, and I hope she will favour me with her company."
I requested all but my friend to leave my chamber, and then, soliciting a patient hearing, began the narrative of Waldegrave's death; of the detection of Clithero beneath the shade of the elm; of the suspicions which were thence produced; and of the forest interview to which these suspicions gave birth. I then repeated, without variation or addition, the tale which was then told.
We dropped Henry at Lord Waldegrave's and had a very pleasant drive, though the day was as various in its moods as if we were in April instead of June. We arrived at about six, and found Mr. C had been made an exception to the "positively nobody" who was to meet us.... Saturday, June 11th. Read the French piece called "Une Faute," which half killed me with crying.
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