of gambling could be enjoyed as they now flock to the race-course or telegraph to their brokers in Throgmorton Street.  The nobleman now enjoys his pleasure side by side with the publican, and his example is followed by his servants on the course.  Gambling in Selwyn’s time was more select—­a small society governed England and gambled in St. James’s Street, while in more democratic days peers, members, and constituents pursue the same excitement together on the race-course or in the City.  Great as were the sums which were lost at commerce, hazard, or faro, they were less than the training-stable, the betting-ring, and the stock-jobber now consume; and the same influences which have destroyed the Whig oligarchy and the King’s friends have changed and enlarged the manner and the habit of gambling in England.

Of Selwyn the humourist it would be easy to collect pages of witticisms.  Walpole’s letters alone contain dozens of them, and there is not a memoir of the eighteenth century in which is not to be found one of “George’s” jokes.  Though often happy, as when seeing Mr. Ponsonby, the Speaker of the Irish Parliament, parting freely with bank-notes at Newmarket, he remarked, “How easily the Speaker passes the money bills,” or, as when Lord Foley crossed the Channel to avoid his creditors, he drily observed that it was “a passover not much relished by the Jews,” yet their repetition now is tiresome.

Manner and appearance assisted his wit, an impassive countenance hid his humour so that his sallies surprised by their unexpectedness.  He knew how to appropriate opportunity, and saw the humour of a situation.  A reputation for wit is thus gained not only by what is said, but by the mere indication of the ridiculous.  This it is impossible to reproduce, and the celebrity of Selwyn as a wit must be allowed to rest on the opinion of his contemporaries.

“Je suis bien eloignee,” wrote Madame du Deffand, in 1767, who, of those who knew him, has left us the most finished portrait, “de croire M. Selwyn stupide, mais il est souvent dans les espaces imaginaires.  Rien ne le frappe ni le reveille que le ridicule, mais il l’attrape en volant; il a de la grace et de la finesse dans ce qu’il dit mais il ne sais pas causer de suite; il est distrait, indifferent; il s’ennuierait souvent sans une tres bonne recette qu’il a contre l’ennui, c’est de s’endormir quand il veut.  C’est un talent que je lui envie bien; si je l’avais, j’en ferais grand usage.  Il est malin sans etre mechant; il est officieux, poli; hors son milord March, il n’aime rien:  on ne saurait former aucune liaison avec lui, mais on est bien aise de l’encontrer, d’etre avec lui dans le meme chambre, quoi qu’on n’ait rien a lui dire.” *

* “Correspondance complete de Mme. du Deffand,” vol. i. p. 87.