“. . . The King comes to town on Thursday, deeply impregnated, it is said, with his father’s conscientious scruples against the Catholics. . . . Lady Conyngham writes word to her brother that the great man will not permit any one whatever to speak to him upon the subject of Lord Liverpool’s illness, or who is to succeed him. Moreover, he adds that he will not be spoken to about such matters for some time yet to come. Was there ever such a child or Bedlamite? or were there ever such a set of lickspittles as his Ministers to endure such conduct? . . .”
