‘Thank you,’ writes the shrewd Horace Walpole, addressing Sir Horace Mann, ’for the transcript from Bulb de Tristibus.  I will keep your secret, though I am persuaded that a man who had composed such a funeral oration on his master had himself fully intended that its flowers should not bloom and wither in obscurity.’

Well might George II., seeing him go to court say:  ’I see Dodington here sometimes, what does he come for?’

It was, however, clearly seen what he went for, when, in 1753, two years after the death of his ‘benefactor,’ Dodington humbly offered His Majesty his services in the house, and ‘five members,’ for the rest of his life, if His Majesty would give Mr. Pelham leave to employ him for His Majesty’s service.  Nevertheless he continued to advise with the Princess of Wales, and to drop into her house as if it had been a sister’s house—­sitting on a stool near the fireside, and listening to her accounts of her children.

In the midst of these intrigues for favour on the part of Dodington, Mr. Pelham died, and was succeeded by his brother, the Duke of Newcastle, the issue of whose administration is well known.

In 1760 death again befriended the now veteran wit, beau and politician.  George II. died; and the intimacy which Dodington had always taken care to preserve between himself and the Princess of Wales, ended advantageously for him; and he instantly, in spite of all his former professions to Pelham, joined hand and heart with that minister, from whom he obtained a peerage.  This, as we have seen, was not long enjoyed.  Lord Melcombe, as this able, intriguing man was now styled, died on the 28th of July, 1762; and with him terminated the short-lived distinction for which he had sacrificed even a decent pretext of principle and consistency.

So general has been the contempt felt for his character, that it seems almost needless to assert that Bubb Dodington was eminently to be despised.  Nothing much more severe can be said of him than the remarks of Horace Walpole—­upon his ‘Diary;’ in which he observes that Dodington records little but what is to his own disgrace; as if he thought that the world would forgive his inconsistencies as readily as he forgave himself.  ‘Had he adopted,’ Horace well observes, ’the French title “Confessions,” it would have seemed to imply some kind of penitence.’

But vain-glory engrossed him:  ’He was determined to raise an altar to himself, and for want of burnt offerings, lighted the pyre, like a great author (Rousseau), with his own character.’

It was said by the same acute observer, both of Lord Hervey and of Bubb Dodington, that they were the only two persons he ever knew that were always aiming at wit and never finding it.’  And here, it seems, most that can be testified in praise of a heartless, clever man, must be summed up.

Lord Melcombe’s property, with the exception of a few legacies, devolved upon his cousin Thomas Wyndham, of Hammersmith, by whom his Lordship’s papers, letters, and poems, were bequeathed to Henry Penruddocke Wyndham, with an injunction, that only such as ’might do honour to his memory should be made public.’