from Fleet Street, and his claret and Champagne and Lisbon and Madeira
were the best that could be bought or smuggled. His sons were often
educated at home, at Eton or Westminster and Oxford or Cambridge. So
would I have been if circumstances had permitted. So was James
Fotheringay, the eldest of the family, and later the Dulany boys, and
half a dozen others I might mention. And then our ladies! 'Tis but
necessary to cite my Aunt Caroline as an extreme dame of fashion, who had
her French hairdresser, Piton.

As was my aunt to the Duchess of Kingston, so was Annapolis to London.
To depict the life of Mayfair and of St. James's Street during a season
about the year of grace 1770 demands a mightier pen than wields the
writer of these simple memoirs.

And who was responsible for all this luxury and laxity? Who but the
great Mr. Pitt, then the Earl of Chatham, whose wise policy had made
Britain the ruler of the world, and rich beyond compare. From all
corners of the earth her wealth poured in upon her. Nabob and Caribbee
came from East and West to spend their money in the capital. And
fortunes near as great were acquired by the City merchants themselves.
One by one these were admitted within that charmed circle, whose motto
for ages had been "No Trade," to leaven it with their gold. And to keep
the pace,--nay, to set it, the nobility and landed gentry were sore
pressed. As far back as good Queen Anne, and farther, their ancestors
had gamed and tippled away the acres; and now that John and William,
whose forebears had been good tenants for centuries, were setting their
faces to Liverpool and Birmingham and Leeds, their cottages were empty.
So Lord and Squire went to London to recuperate, and to get their share
of the game running. St. James's Street and St. Stephen's became their
preserves. My Lord wormed himself into a berth in the Treasury, robbed