The Wits and Beaux of Society. Volume 2

In Short

This volume serves as a vivid gallery of portraits, capturing the lives, manners, and mercurial reputations of England’s most celebrated wits, beaux, and social figures of the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Through detailed accounts of men like Horace Walpole, George Selwyn, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, and Sydney Smith, the narrative explores the intersection of political power, literary ambition, and the relentless pursuit of social validation. It has endured because it functions as an essential, observational bridge to a bygone era of aristocratic artifice, eccentric genius, and the sharp-tongued brilliance that defined British high society.

The Story

The narrative begins with the life of Horace Walpole, the quintessential chronicler of his age. We follow him from his childhood in Arlington Street, where he was introduced to the court of George I, through his development into a man of refined tastes and intense, if often cynical, social observation. His arc is defined by his retreat to his "Gothic Castle," Strawberry Hill, where he meticulously curated his life, his art, and his friendships—most notably with his "Straw Berries," the Miss Berrys—while maintaining a distance from the "dowagers as plenty as flounders" that populated his circle. The narrative captures the inherent tragedy of his later years: the physical decline of gout and the eventual, bitter sight of his treasures dispersed by the auctioneer’s hammer.

Following Walpole, the focus shifts to the curious figure of George Selwyn, a man whose "eloquence of indifference" and morbid fascination with horrors made him an unlikely darling of the beau monde. His trajectory is one of quiet, often biting observation from the center of parliamentary power, punctuated by his genuine, touching affection for his adopted daughter, Mie-Mie. His life mirrors the era's contradictions, as he moves from the heights of political influence to the lonely, twilight years of a man who outlived his own legend.

The scope then widens to Richard Brinsley Sheridan, a man of immense talent and even greater indolence. His story is a rapid ascent—driven by his genius for drama and oratorical fire—followed by a protracted, messy downfall. We see him as a young, impoverished dreamer who captures the stage with The Rivals and The Duenna, only to be swallowed by the financial chaos of managing Drury Lane. His life is a series of missed opportunities and unopened letters, ending in a "grand hypocrisy of grief" where the very aristocrats who allowed him to languish in debt and misery flocked to his elaborate, state-sanctioned funeral.

The narrative concludes with the exuberant brilliance of Sydney Smith, whose wit was "always fresh, always had the dew on it." His journey takes us from the quiet provinces to the intellectual heat of Edinburgh, and finally to a life of public service and theological liberalism. Unlike the more tragic figures preceding him, Smith finds a "happy old age," tempered by a cheerful, pragmatic philosophy. He categorizes the "noodles" and "lemon-squeezers" of society with characteristic humor, dying at peace, having spent his life navigating the foolishness of the world with both kindness and a sharp, corrective eye.

How It Unfolds

The aristocratic stage The narrative establishes the importance of heritage and court proximity by tracing the early years of Horace Walpole and his upbringing among the elite. This foundation sets the tone for a world where one's birth, education, and connections determine every later success or failure.

The anatomy of wit As the focus shifts to George Selwyn, the book explores the deliberate cultivation of a "witty" persona as a profession. This beat examines how eccentricities, such as an amateur interest in executions or a detached parliamentary presence, were used to secure social dominance.

The fire of ambition The life of Richard Brinsley Sheridan introduces the tension between raw, rapid genius and the harsh realities of debt and management. The narrative tracks his transition from a celebrated playwright to a struggling proprietor, highlighting the tragic negligence that defined his later years.

The final reckoning The chapters dedicated to Sydney Smith offer a reflective conclusion, contrasting his intellectual buoyancy with the earlier, darker portraits. This final arc settles into a meditation on how to grow old with dignity, balancing personal affection with a sustained, humorous critique of human folly.

The People

Horace Walpole stands as the nervous, observant center of the book; he craves permanence through his letters and his estate, yet he is constantly thwarted by the transience of his own health and the inevitable decay of his carefully constructed world. George Selwyn serves as his antithesis, a man who masks a deep, perhaps hollow indifference with a dry, mordant humor, seeking connection only through his peculiar devotion to his adopted daughter. Richard Brinsley Sheridan is the book’s most volatile figure, a man of soaring intellect and self-sabotaging laziness who is constantly running from the consequences of his own financial recklessness. Finally, Sydney Smith acts as the grounding force; he possesses the same sharp wit as his peers but uses it to foster community rather than alienation, ending his life with a contentment that the others failed to secure.

In Its Own Voice

"The gallery where they danced was very cold; Lord Lorn, George Selwyn, and I retired into a little room, and sat comfortably by the fire."

Walpole describes a small moment of social rebellion amidst a grand, chilly ball.

"He was not Whig enough for that constituency, and had throughout supported the war with America."

This account summarizes the political isolation that forced George Selwyn to flee to a different district.

"If the thought is slow to come, a glass of good wine encourages it; and when it does come, a glass of good wine rewards it."

Sheridan explains his reliance on wine as a stimulant for his creative writing.

What It's Really About

At its core, the work is an inquiry into the nature of the "social animal" in a highly structured, rigid society. It argues that the "wit" is not merely an entertainer but a vital, often necessary, commentator who keeps the gears of high society turning. The book questions whether a life dedicated to the pursuit of public opinion and the cultivation of a persona is worth the personal cost of loneliness, debt, and the ultimate loss of one's legacy. It examines the fine line between brilliance and eccentricity, suggesting that those who live for the applause of the drawing-room often find themselves destitute once the lights finally dim.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the slow, observant pace of nineteenth-century biographical prose will find much to admire here. The narrative feels like a long, fireside conversation with a well-informed historian who is both fond of and critical of their subjects. It is an excellent choice for those interested in the minutiae of social life—the balls, the gossip, and the specific, antiquated anxieties of the British upper class.

However, a modern reader must be prepared for the book’s period-specific sensibilities; the author’s tendency to moralize about "indolence" or "negligence" reflects the values of a different century. The text is dense with references to figures and events that may feel obscure, and its style—which often relies on anecdote as a proxy for psychological analysis—demands patience. Yet, the reward is a remarkably intimate look at human vanity. It captures the universal desire to be remembered, showing us that even the most celebrated geniuses were ultimately just people trying to make sense of their own relevance. What stays with you is the poignant image of the "Gothic Castle" sold to the highest bidder, a stark reminder that even the most brilliant reputations are eventually at the mercy of time and the public’s fickle memory.