SIR EGERTON BRYDGES.--THE LATE DUKE OF NORFOLK.

(_From Clavering's Autobiography._)


I saw Sir Egerton Brydges in the streets, was introduced to him, and
recalled to his mind our rencontre at Mr. Carter's at Deal, thirty years
ago. He walked feebly, was lame, and had been confined to his bed for
many months the preceding winter. He was pale, apparently grief-worn,
and had a most grave and melancholy countenance, and languid look; but
now and then flashed, both with eyes and words. He amused himself with
printing privately, and distributing among his friends a variety of
fragments. He complained bitterly of some London agents, who had cheated
him most enormously, and whom he was bringing before the Court of
Chancery. His common acquaintance complained that he was too grave for
them, and that he was deficient in wit and point. They said he was "all
sober sadness," and that he had romantic views of life, and did not know
the human character. I had not sufficient conversation with him to judge
of this. He was intimate with d'Invernois, who spoke highly of him. He
had certainly none of our Irish vivacity, and fulness of imagery. He was
rather querulous and prolix, than piquant, and declaimed rather than
said sharp things. I said to him, "Why do you not endeavour, in your
writings, to accommodate yourself more to the public taste?" He
answered, in despair, "I cannot--I have no turn that way. I know the
value of the bon-mot, the sarcasm, and the epigram; but I have no
ability that way." And it seemed true; he _had_ no ability that way.

When the old lineal Duke of Norfolk died--I think it was in 1778--the