The election of Sir Jacob at such a crisis was an act of Providence. His firmness at the fire affords an example to posterity; although the bench was burning under him he refused to retreat, replying emphatically, “I will sit by my order.” As far as this goes you may mention, and no more. I enjoin upon all else a diplomatic silence. Sir Jacob himself will write to the bailiff, and whatever may be the nature of his directions, I desire that no curiosity may be indulged in, and above
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 all, that you entertain no opinions of your own. You cannot square with the upper circles. I would write more, but I am going to a meeting, I need not say where, or upon what subject. I rely, Mrs. Phipps, on your discretion, and am, &c.,
ARABELLA ANASTASIA JUBB.
To T. Crawfurd, junior, Esquire, the Beeches, near Shrewsbury, Shrops.
DEAR TOM,
Throw up your cap and huzza. There’s glorious news, and so you’ll say when I tell you. I could almost jump out of my skin for joy! Father’s dismembered! The House of Commons caught fire, and he was dissolved along with the rest.
 
“THE LAST DAYS OF POMP—.”
I’ve never been happy since we came up to London, and all through Parliament. The election was good sport enough. I liked the riding up and down, and carrying a flag; and the
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 battle, with sticks, between the Blues and the Yellows, was famous fun; and I huzza’d myself hoarse at our getting the day at last. But after that came the jollup, as we used to say at Old Busby’s. Theme writing was a fool to it. If father composed one maiden speech he composed a hundred, and he made me knuckle down and copy them all out, and precious stupid stuff it was. A regular physicker, says you, and I’d worse to take after it. He made us all sit down and hear............