et uniforms, faced with black, in their
buff waistcoats and gold buttons, none was so conspicuous for martial
bearing as Lord Onord, although classed by his uncle 'among the knights
of shire who had never in their lives shot anything but woodcocks.'

But there was a peculiarity of character in the young peer which shocked
Horace. 'No man,' he says in one of his letters, 'ever felt such a
disposition to love another as I did to love him. I flattered myself
that he would restore some lustre to our house--at least not let it
totally sink; but I am forced to give him up, and all my Walpole
views.... He has a good breeding, and attention when he is with you that
is even flattering;... he promises, offers everything one can wish; but
this is all: the instant he leaves you, all the world are nothing to
him; he would not give himself the least trouble in the world to give
any one satisfaction; yet this is mere indolence of mind, not of body:
his whole pleasure is outrageous exercise.'

'He is,' in another place Horace adds, 'the most selfish man in the
world: without being in the least interested, he loves nobody but
himself, yet neglects every view of fortune and ambition. Yet,' he
concludes, 'it is impossible not to love him when one sees him:
impossible to esteem him when one thinks on him.'

The young lord, succeeding to an estate deeply encumbered, both by his
father and grandfather, rushed on the turf, and involved himself still
more. In vain did Horace the younger endeavour to secure for him the
hand of Miss Nicholls, an heiress with L50,000, and, to that end, placed
the young lady with Horace the elder (Lord Walpole), at Wolterton. The
scheme failed: the crafty old politician thought he might as well
benefit his own sons as his nephew, for he had himself claims on the
Houghton estate which he expected Miss Nicholl's fortune might help to
liquidate.

At length the insanity and recklessness displayed by his nephew--the
handsome martial George--induced poor Horace to take affairs in his own
hands. His reflections, on his paying a visit to Houghton to look after
the property there, are pathetically expressed:--

'Here I am again at Houghton,' he writes in March, 1761, 'and alone; in
this spot where (except two hours last month) I have not been in sixteen
years. Think what a crowd of reflections!... Here I am probably for the
last time of my life: every clock that strikes, tells me I am an hour
nearer to yonder church--