deportment, the court of King's Bench thought proper to set upon him.—It is not often that the Chief Justice and the Prime Minister are so strangely at variance in their opinions of men and things.
I thank God, there is not in human nature a degree of impudence daring enough to deny the charge I have fixed upon you.[1] Your courteous secretary, your confidential architect[2], are silent as the grave. Even Mr. Rigby's countenance fails him. He violates his second nature, and blushes whenever he speaks of you.—Perhaps the noble Colonel himself will relieve you. No man is more tender of his reputation. He is not only nice, but perfectly sore in every thing that touches his honour. If any man, for example, were to accuse him of taking his stand at a gaming-table, and watching, with the soberest attention, for a fair opportunity of engaging a drunken young nobleman at piquet, he would, undoubtedly, consider it as an infamous aspersion upon his character,
