George Bubb Dodington (later Baron Melcombe). Born in Dorset, England, 1691: died at Hammersmith, July 28, 1762. An English politician. He was the son of George Bubb, but adopted the name of Dodington on inheriting an estate in 1720 from an uncle of that name. In 1715 he entered Parliament, where he acquired the reputation of an assiduous place-hunter. He was created Baron Melcombe of Melcombe Regis, Dorsetshire, in 1761. He patronized men of letters, and was complimented by Edward Young, Fielding, and Richard Bentley. He left a diary covering the period from 1749 to 1761, which was published in 1784.

Personal

  When he passed from Pall-Mall to La Trappe it was always in a coach, which I could not but suspect had been his ambassadorial equipage at Madrid, drawn by six fat unwieldy black horses, short-docked, and of colossal dignity. Neither was he less characteristic in apparel than in equipage; he had a wardrobe loaded with rich and flaring suits, each in itself a load to the wearer, and of these I have no doubt but many were cœval with his embassy above mentioned, and every birth-day had added to the stock. In doing this he so contrived as never to put his old dresses out of countenance, by any variations in the fashion of the new; in the meantime, his bulk and corpulency gave full display to a vast expanse and profusion of brocade and embroidery, and this, when set off with an enormous tye-periwig and deep-laced ruffles, gave the picture of an ancient courtier in his gala habit, or Quin in his stage dress. Nevertheless, it must be confessed this style, though out of date, was not out of character, but harmonized so well with the person of the wearer, that I remember when he made his first speech in the House of Peers as Lord Melcombe, all the flashes of his wit, all the studied phrases and well-turned periods of his rhetoric lost their effect, simply because the orator had laid aside his magisterial tye, and put on a modern bag-wig, which was as much out of costume upon the broad expanse of his shoulders, as a cue would have been upon the robes of the Lord Chief Justice.

  Cumberland, in his own memoirs, has introduced a humorous sketch of lord Melcombe, which appears to be drawn from the life. His passion for magnificence and display was quite puerile, and his eccentricities were scarcely rational: yet we are told that he had an ornamented fancy, and a brilliant wit, was an elegant Latin classic, well versed in history ancient and modern, and that his favourite prose writer was Tacitus. But upon the whole, his character appears to have been concisely summed up by sir E. Brydges, that he was a heartless man, with a very powerful capacity.

  He is a character typical in many respects of his age; utterly unconscientious and cheerfully blind to his unconscientiousness; and a liberal rather than discriminating patron of literary men.

  Doddington’s vanity was extreme. He prided himself upon his person, manners, and ancestry, though he was ugly, awkward, and the son of an obscure father…. This concentration of self-esteem was expressed in a superb bearing, which, when it took the form of distant civility, would have been very irritating to Pope.

Diary

  Although it may reflect a considerable degree of honour on his Lordship’s abilities, yet, in my opinion, it shews his political conduct (however palliated by the ingenuity of his own pen), to have been wholly directed by the base motives of avarice, vanity, and selfishness…. I am aware that, in treating the character of my Author thus freely, I shall appear as an extraordinary Editor, the practice of whom has generally been, to prefer flattery to truth, and partiality to justice. But it may be worth considering whether my method or the common one is the less injurious to the character of an author; and whether the reader may not be more inclined to overlook or pardon those errors, which he is previously instructed to expect, than he would be, if every page contradicted the favourable impressions, which the Editor had been industriously labouring to fix on his mind.

  It had been well for lord Melcombe’s memory, if his fame had been suffered to rest on the tradition of his wit, and the evidence of his poetry. The posthumous publication of his own Diary has not enlarged the stock of his reputation, nor reflected more credit on his judgment than on his steadiness. Very sparingly strewed with his brightest talent, wit; the book strangely displays a complacency in his own versatility, and seems to look back with triumph on the scorn and derision with which his political levity was treated by all to whom he attached or attempted to attach himself. He records conversations in which he alone did not perceive, what every reader must discover, that he was always a dupe. And so blind was his self-love, that he appears to be satisfied with himself, though he relates little but what tended to his disgrace: as if he thought the world would forgive his inconsistencies as easily as he forgave himself. Had he adopted the French title Confessions, it would have seemed to imply some kind of penitence. But vain-glory engrossed Lord Melcombe. He was determined to raise an altar to himself; and for want of burnt-offerings, lighted the pyre, like the great author (Rousseau), with his own character. However, with all its faults and curtailments, the book is valuable.

  The Diary of Dodington, Lord Melcombe, must by no means be neglected, for by its means we are allowed a slight glance into the intrigues and cabals of the times. It is generally amusing, and sometimes important.