17 May 1790 – 23 May 1790

This morning I again went to the trial of poor Mr. Hastings. Heavens! who can see him sit there unmoved? not even those who think him guilty,—if they are human. I took with me Mrs. Bogle. She had long since begged a ticket for her husband, which I could never before Procure. We now went all three. And, indeed, her original speeches and remarks made a great part of my entertainment. Mr. Hastings and his counsel were this day most victorious. I never saw the prosecutors so dismayed. Yet both Mr. Burke and Mr. Fox spoke, and before the conclusion so did Mr. Windham. They were all in evident embarrassment. Mr. Hastings’s counsel finished the day, with a most noble appeal to justice and innocence, protesting that, if his client did not fairly claim the one, by proving the other, he wished himself that the prosecutors-that the lords—that the nation at large—that the hand of God—might fall heavy upon him! This had a great and sudden effect,—not a word was uttered. The prosecutors looked dismayed and astonished; and the day closed. Mr. Windham came up to speak to Misses Francis about a dinner: but he only, bowed to me, and with a look so conscious—so much saying, “‘Tis your turn to triumph now!” that I had not the spite to attack him. But when the counsel had uttered this animated speech, Mrs. Bogle was so much struck, she hastily arose, and, clapping her hands, called out audibly, in a broad Scotch accent, “O, charming!” I could hardly, quiet her till I assured her we should make a paragraph for the newspapers. I had the pleasure to deliver this myself to their majesties, and the princesses—and as I was called upon while it was fresh in my memory, I believe but little of the general energy was forgotten. It gave me great pleasure to repeat so striking an affirmation of the innocence of so high, so injured I believe, a character. The queen eagerly declared I should go again the next sitting.

The real birthday of my royal mistress, to whom may Heaven grant many, many and prosperous! Dressing, and so forth, filled up all the morning and at night I had a tete-a-tete with Charles, till twelve. I got to bed about five in the morning. The sweet princesses had a ball, and I could not lament my fatigue.

To-day again to the trial, to which I took MISS Young, her majesty having given me two tickets very late overnight. Miss Young is singularly, as far as I can see, the reverse of her eccentric parents she is moderation personified. Mr. Windham again spoke in the course of this morning’s business, which was chiefly occupied in debating on the admissibility of the evidence brought forward by the prosecutors. The quickness and aptness of his arguments, with the admirable facility and address with which he seized upon those of his opponents, the counsel, were strong marks of that high and penetrating capacity so strikingly his characteristic. The only defect in his speaking is the tone of his voice, which, from exertion, loses all its powers of modulation, and has a crude accent and expression very disagreeable. During the examination of Mr. Anderson, one of Mr. Hastings’s best friends,—a sensible, well-bred, and gentlemanlike man,—Mr. Windham came up to my elbow. “And can this man,” cried he, presently, “this man—so gentle—be guilty?” I accused him of making a point to destroy all admiration of gentleness in my opinion. “But you are grown very good now!” I added, “No, very bad I mean!” He knew I meant for speaking; and I then gave him burlesqued, various definitions of good, which had fallen from Mr. Fox in my hearing, the most contradictory, and, taken out of their place, the most ridiculous imaginable. He laughed very much, but seriously confessed that technical terms and explanations had better have been wholly avoided by them all, as the counsel were sure to out-technicalise them, and they were then exposed to greater embarrassments than by steering clear of the attempt, and resting only upon their common forces. “There is one praise,” I cried, “which I am always sure to meet in the newspapers whenever I meet with your name; and I begin to quite tire of seeing it for you,-your skill in logic!” “O, I thank you,” he cried, earnestly “I am indeed quite ashamed of the incessant misappropriation of that word.” “No, no,” cried I; “I only tire of it because they seem to think, when once the word logic and your name are combined, they have completely stated all. However, in what little I have heard, I could have suspected you to have been prepared with a speech ready written, had I not myself heard just before all the arguments which it answered.” I then added that I was the less surprised at this facility of language, from having heard my brother declare he knew no man who read Greek with that extraordinary rapidity—no, not Dr. Parr, nor any of the professed Grecians, whose peculiar study it had been through life. This could be nothing, he said, but partiality. “Not mine, at least,” cried I, laughing, “for Greek excellence is rather Out Of my sphere of panegyric!” “Well,” cried he, laughing too at my disclaiming, “‘Tis’ your brother’s partiality. However, ’tis one I must try not to lose. I must take to my Greek exercises again.” They will do you a world of good, thought I, if they take you but from your prosecution-exercises.