Then the luxury of the life was something to startle a provincial, even tho’ he came, as did I, from one of the two most luxurious colonies of the thirteen.  Annapolis might be said to be London on a small scale, —­but on a very small scale.  The historian of the future need look no farther than our houses (if any remain), to be satisfied that we had more than the necessities of existence.  The Maryland aristocrat with his town place and his country place was indeed a parallel of the patrician at home.  He wore his English clothes, drove and rode his English horses, and his coaches were built in Long Acre.  His heavy silver service came from Fleet Street, and his claret and Champagne and Lisbon and Madeira were the best that could be bought or smuggled.  His sons were often educated at home, at Eton or Westminster and Oxford or Cambridge.  So would I have been if circumstances had permitted.  So was James Fotheringay, the eldest of the family, and later the Dulany boys, and half a dozen others I might mention.  And then our ladies!  ’Tis but necessary to cite my Aunt Caroline as an extreme dame of fashion, who had her French hairdresser, Piton.

As was my aunt to the Duchess of Kingston, so was Annapolis to London.  To depict the life of Mayfair and of St. James’s Street during a season about the year of grace 1770 demands a mightier pen than wields the writer of these simple memoirs.

And who was responsible for all this luxury and laxity?  Who but the great Mr. Pitt, then the Earl of Chatham, whose wise policy had made Britain the ruler of the world, and rich beyond compare.  From all corners of the earth her wealth poured in upon her.  Nabob and Caribbee came from East and West to spend their money in the capital.  And fortunes near as great were acquired by the City merchants themselves.  One by one these were admitted within that charmed circle, whose motto for ages had been “No Trade,” to leaven it with their gold.  And to keep the pace,—­nay, to set it, the nobility and landed gentry were sore pressed.  As far back as good Queen Anne, and farther, their ancestors had gamed and tippled away the acres; and now that John and William, whose forebears had been good tenants for centuries, were setting their faces to Liverpool and Birmingham and Leeds, their cottages were empty.  So Lord and Squire went to London to recuperate, and to get their share of the game running.  St. James’s Street and St. Stephen’s became their preserves.  My Lord wormed himself into a berth in the Treasury, robbed the country systematically for a dozen of years, and sold the places and reversions under him to the highest bidder.  Boroughs were to be had somewhat dearer than a pair of colours.  And my Lord spent his spare time—­he had plenty of it—­in fleecing the pigeons at White’s and Almack’s.  Here there was no honour, even amongst thieves.  And young gentlemen were hurried through Eton and Oxford, where they learned to drink and swear and to call a main as well as to play tennis and billiards