requires explanation here.  It is said that she did not present her boy-husband with a son for three years after their marriage, and on this child he set great value and great hopes.  About that time he left his wife in the country, intending to amuse himself in town, and ordered her to remain behind with the child.  The poor deserted woman well knew what was the real object of this journey, and could not endure the separation.  In the hope of keeping her young husband out of harm, and none the less because she loved him very tenderly, she followed him soon after, taking the little Marquis of Malmsbury, as the young live branch was called, with her.  The duke was, of course, disgusted, but his anger was turned into hatred, when the child, which he had hoped to make his heir and successor, caught in town the small-pox, and died in infancy.  He was furious with his wife, refused to see her for a long time, and treated her with unrelenting coldness.

The early marriage was much to the distaste of Philip’s father, who had been lately made a marquis, and who hoped to arrange a very grand ‘alliance’ for his petted son.  He was, in fact, so much grieved by it, that he was fool enough to die of it in 1715, and the marchioness survived him only about a year, being no less disgusted with the licentiousness which she already discovered in her Young Hopeful.

She did what she could to set him right, and the young married man was shipped off with a tutor, a French Huguenot, who was to take him to Geneva to be educated as a Protestant and a Whig.  The young scamp declined to be either.  He was taken, by way of seeing the world, to the petty courts of Germany, and of course to that of Hanover, which had kindly sent us the worst family that ever disgraced the English throne, and by the various princes and grand-dukes received with all the honours due to a young British nobleman.

The tutor and his charge settled at last at Geneva, and my young lord amused himself with tormenting his strict guardian.  Walpole tells us that he once roused him out of bed only to borrow a pin.  There is no doubt that he led the worthy man a sad life of it; and to put a climax to his conduct, ran away from him at last, leaving with him, by way of hostage, a young bear-cub—­probably quite as tame as himself—­which he had picked up somewhere, and grown very fond of—­birds of a feather, seemingly—­with a message, which showed more wit than good-nature, to this effect:—­’Being no longer able to bear with your ill-usage, I think proper to be gone from you; however, that you may not want company, I have left you the bear, as the most suitable companion in the world that could be picked out for you.’