Source.—T. Smollett: Humphrey Clinker, 1831. Pp. 110, 124, 126.

His eulogium was interrupted by the arrival of the old duke of N——, who, squeezing into the circle, with a busy face of importance, thrust his head into every countenance, as if he had been in search of somebody, to whom he wanted to impart something of great consequence. My uncle, who had been formerly known to him, bowed as he passed: and the duke, seeing himself saluted so respectfully by a well-dressed person, was not slow in returning the courtesy. He even came up, and, taking him cordially by the hand,—"My dear friend, Mr. A——," said he, "I am rejoiced to see you. How long have you come from abroad? How did you leave our good friends the Dutch? The king of Prussia don't think of another war, ah? He's a great king, a great conqueror—a very great conqueror! Your Alexanders and Hannibals were nothing at all to him, Sir! corporals, drummers! dross! mere trash—damn'd trash, heh?" His grace, being by this time out of breath, my uncle took the opportunity to tell him he had not been out of England, that his name was Bramble, and that he had the honour to sit in the last parliament but one of the late king, as representative for the borough of Dymkymraig. "Odso!" cried the duke, "I remember you perfectly well, my dear Mr. Bramble. You was always a good and loyal subject—a staunch friend to administration. I made your brother an Irish bishop." "Pardon me, my lord," said the squire, "I once had a brother, but he was a captain in the army."—"Ha!" said his grace, "he was so—he was indeed! But who was the bishop then? Bishop Blackberry—sure it was bishop Blackberry. Perhaps some relation of yours?"—"Very likely, my lord!" replied my uncle; "the blackberry is the fruit of the bramble: but I believe the bishop is not a berry of our bush."—"No more he is, no more he is, ha, ha, ha!" exclaimed the duke; "there you give me a scratch, good Mr. Bramble, ha, ha, ha! Well, I shall be glad to see you at Lincoln's Inn Fields. You know the way; times are altered. Though I have lost the power, I retain the inclination; your very humble servant, good Mr. Blackberry." So saying, he shoved to another corner of the room. "What a fine old gentleman!" cried Mr. Barton, "what spirits! what a memory! he never forgets an old friend."—"He does me too much honour to rank me among the number. Whilst I sat in parliament I never voted with the ministry but three times, when my conscience told me they were in the right: however, if he still keeps levee, I will carry my nephew thither, that he may see, and learn to avoid the scene; for I think an English gentleman never appears to such disadvantage as at the levee of a minister. Of his grace I shall say nothing at present, but that for thirty years he was the constant and common butt of ridicule and execration. He was generally laughed at as an ape in politics, whose office and influence served only to render his folly the more notorious; and the opposition cursed him as the indefatigable drudge of a first mover, who was justly styled and stigmatized as the father of corruption: but this ridiculous ape, this venal drudge, no sooner lost the places he was so ill qualified to fill, and unfurled the banners of faction, than he was metamorphosed into a pattern of public virtue; the very people, who reviled him before, now extolled him to the skies, as a wise experienced statesman, chief pillar of the protestant succession, and corner-stone of English liberty...."

[Another day] Captain C—— entered into conversation with us in the most familiar manner, and treated the duke's character without any ceremony. "This wiseacre," said he, "is still a-bed; and, I think, the best thing he can do is to sleep on till Christmas; for when he gets up, he does nothing but expose his own folly. Since Grenville was turned out, there has been no minister in this nation worth the meal that whitened his periwig. They are so ignorant they scarce know a crab from a cauliflower; and then they are such dunces, that there's no making them comprehend the plainest proposition. In the beginning of the war, this poor half-witted creature told me, in a great fright, that thirty thousand French had marched from Acadia to Cape Breton. "Where did they find transports?" said I. "Transports!" cried he, "I tell you they marched by land."—"By land, to the island of Cape Breton?"—"What! is Cape Breton an island?"—"Certainly."—"Hah! are you sure of that?" When I pointed it out on the map, he examined it earnestly with his spectacles; then taking me in his arms, "My dear C——," cried he, "you always bring us good news. Egad, I'll go directly, and tell the king that Cape Breton is an island."