Shortly after he succeeded to his Barony he married the widow of Joseph
Peach, Governor of Calcutta, and for a time seems to have made an effort
to reform his ways; but the vice in his blood was quick to reassert
itself; he abandoned his wife under the spell of a barmaid's eyes, and
plunged again into the morass of depravity, in which alone he could find
the pleasure he loved.

Such was Lord Lyttelton at the time this story opens, when, although
still a young man (he was but thirty-five when he died), he was a
nervous and physical wreck, draining the last dregs of the cup of
pleasure.

And yet, how little he seems to have realised that he was near the end
of his tether the following story proves. One day in the last month of
his life a cousin and boon companion, Mr Fortescue, called on him at his
London home.

"He found," to quote the words of his lordship's
stepmother, "Lord Lyttelton in bed, though not ill; and
on his rallying him for it, Lord Lyttelton said: 'Well,
cousin, if you will wait in the next room a little while,
I will get up and go out with you.' He did so, and the
two young men walked out into the streets. In the course
of their walk they crossed the churchyard of St James's,
Piccadilly. Lord Lyttelton, pointing to the gravestones,
said: 'Now, look at these vulgar fellows; they die in
their youth at five-and-thirty. But you and I, who are
gentlemen, shall live to a good old age!'"