“Well Carlisle, I shall go to my friend, Mr. Prince, Governor of the Corporation of the Bank of England, and ask him to insist with that old fool, Lord North, that if our soldiers can not whip the Colonists, we must _buy_ the leaders. We can appoint a commission with yourself, Carlisle, at its head to go to America and settle the conflict with a _coup d’etat_.” Selwyn listened most eagerly to whatever Charles advised at all times, but now he smiled graciously as he exclaimed: “Zounds! that’s good! My Lord, if you once get to America to show your bags of gold to the hungry dogs, the woods will ring with the yelps of the hungry pack. They would give up the chase and devour the bones that you might throw to them,” exclaimed Selwyn, who sat in the corner sipping his well-brewed coffee. “Such a stroke,” continued Selwyn, lazily, “to win the Colonies, would bring us the King’s favor and two hundred thousand pounds sterling by Parliament, my Lord; and we would once more recoup our fortunes. Then Charles could satisfy the Shylocks and kick them down the stairs.” While these gentlemen of plots on the government exchequer were scheming in their corner, the rest of the coffee-room of the old tavern was humming with groups of customers, who were drinking, smoking, and eating to their hearts’ content. Lingering over tankards of ale, or puffing at long pipes of tobacco, tables were surrounded by wise-visaged solicitors discussing the possible phases of the trial of the Duchess of Kingsley, who was on trial for bigamy. Having married, clandestinely, the second son of Lord Ker, and the marriage being disowned, the Duchess had lived publicly with the Duke of Kingsley, and finally married him during Mr. Ker’s lifetime. But at the death of the Duke, proceedings were instituted by which she was found guilty of the crime charged, and thus lost all the property left her by the Duke. If such subjects did not afford gossip at the coffee-houses others did. In one corner were the literary characters, among whom was Dr. Johnson, and, of course, his friend Boswell,--surrounded by a company of satellites, all of whom paid court to the old autocrat, the leader of all criticism, and the arbiter of all opinions on the passing literary productions. Oh, how the “old growler” delighted in a pint of port! When his soul grew mellow how that charmed circle delighted to hear him repeat for the five hundredth time those favorite lines from rare old Ben Jonson: “Wine, it is the milk of Venus, * * * That cheers the brains, makes wit the quicker, Pays all debts, cures all diseases, And at once three senses pleases.” Selwyn was a great admirer of Fox, and was one of his life-long friends, but a courtier first and last.