ve an opportunity of convincing him you are in earnest in your
promises of a more frugal way of life." As too often happens the son
had not time in his father's lifetime to regain his good opinion.
Certainly Selwyn made no attempt to give up pleasure, though he was
bent on it no doubt with a more frugal mind. He was a man of fashion
and of pleasure, having his headquarters in London, paying visits
now and again to great country houses as Trentham and Croome. To
Bath he went as one goes now to the Riviera. In Paris too he
delighted; when in the autumn of 1762 the Duke of Bedford was in
France negotiating the treaty which is known in history as the Peace
of Paris, it was Selwyn who accompanied the Duchess when she joined
her husband. "She sets out the day after to-morrow," wrote Walpole
on September 8th, "escorted to add gravity to the Embassy by George
Selwyn." After the treaty was completed on February 10th of the
following year, as a memento of his visit the Duke presented Selwyn
with the pen with which this unpopular document was signed.* Indeed
in those days he was constantly in Paris, much to the regret of his
friends at home--"Do come and live among your friends who love and
honour you," wrote Gilly Williams to him in the autumn of 1764, but
in spite of their wishes he stayed on throughout the winter in the
French capital, and when his friend Carlisle went in 1778 to America
as a peace commissioner Selwyn tried to console himself for his
absence by a stay in Paris. "George is now, I imagine, squaring his
elbows and turning out his toes in Paris," wrote Hare to Carlisle in
December of that year. Neither politics nor pleasure could prevent
continual and long visits to France.

* Horace Walpole to H. S. Conway, Florence, March 25, 1741.

* Bedford Correspondence, vol. iii. P. 206.

The charming country estate and house which he had inherited from
his father had little attraction for Selwyn, and to the end of his
life, if he could not be in town, he preferred Castle Howard, or
indeed any house where he would meet with congenial spirits. "This
is the second day," he once wrote to Carlisle, "I am come home to
dine alone, but so it is, and if it goes on so I am determined to
keep a chaplain, for although I do not stand in need of much
society, I do not relish being quite alone at this time of day."

All this time he was a Member of Parliament. There is a little
village of small red cottages with thatched roofs lying a