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the next world as in this, and that a sentence in the funeral sermon of Mary, Duchess of Queensberry, who was a very exalted character, might with great justice be applied to you. The preacher says, " But dry up your tears, my brethren, and weep no more for this most illustrious Princess, who, though she was a great and good Duchess on earth, is now a great and good Duchess in Heaven." This is not very neat, but it is all very true; so that I may say with the clown, in Measure for Measure, "here be truths."

Alas!-your account of London, I shall not for a great while experience the truth of, as when I leave this place I must repair to Scotland, where I am to remain for ages :

To me the gods, severely kind, ordain

A cool suspense from pleasure and from pain.

However, as the dulness you mentioned must exist in the mass of people, (for it cannot possibly be in you,) I must try to extract a sour-grape comfort from the consideration, that London is not what it was.-Meanwhile, be it known unto you that the ingenious Mr. Shelley hath been expelled from the University, on account of his atheistical pamphlet. Was ever such bad taste and barbarity known? He behaved like a hero, "he showed to Fortune's frowns a brow serene,' " and declared his intention of emigrating to America. I send his romance, which would have reached you sooner had not an impudent person cribbed it from my rooms. I also transmit Octavian, and a volume of poems written by a friend of mine. He is, poor fellow! in the last stage of a consumption; so the critics should be merciful, for he will never write better, nor worse, (which is of more consequence to brother authors,) and a death-bed repentance of such literary crimes is as bitter as it is useless.

Doubtless, after this cargo of Oxford goods, you will exclaim, “Enough, enough, no more of it, de grace!" I am not wise in sending you such a dose at once; for I fear that our poetical fervours will prove little better than camomile, only not so wholesome, and that you will never more endure the sight of such another bouquet. I transmit my treasures of Parnassus by the coach, but this shall move per post, as I am ever dubious concerning the delivery of small parcels in London; and, though my books and my letters be of little

consequence, yet I would fain not appear wanting in respect where so very much is due.

I have finished your portrait; and it is not like, so I have Let the fate of all my painting predecessors. Yet, to catch your likeness would not be quite impossible, if this system of galvanism could be improved, and four painters of ancient times rendered as lively by it as a pig's tail is at present.— I would rouse from his dull repose, Titian, to paint your head; Sir Peter Lely, your neck; Vandyke, your hands; and Rubens for the draperies and background of the picture.Then, perchance, one might have something worth looking at. As matters stand, I confess I am in utter despair.

Will you deign to read of some Oxford gaiety ?—I was at a rout at the Deanery last night. The Deaneress, Mrs. Hall, ci-devant Miss Byng, and sister to the P[-]e, a fine lady, in white satin, telling us the price of every hing in her drawingroom, from the mantelpiece to her own dickey. We had tea and cards, and-what a Miss, whose name never reached me, called music. After a long silence, " But where are the sweet children?" cried a parson present; on which, after two tugs of the bell, the door flew open, and voilà, toute la singerie !-a thousand little things, with monstrous mouths, hopped in, like the Egyptian plague of frogs, and surrounded the poor dean, (who resembled St. Anthony in one of his Dutch temptations,) squalling aloud for cake and tea, and I know not what. I was glad to escape, leaving the eldest boy amusing himself with tickling the noses of all the company in turns, with a handful of dirty hog-bristles,-to the great delight of his mother, who esteems him a decided wit. Apropos of wits, Lady [-] hath been at Lord Abingdon's, near this town, astonishing the weak minds of sundry poor youths with her vivacities. She talked to a friend of mine of [-]'s account of the plague at Athens, which scared him sadly. He told me that he swore it was d- -d fine, though he had never read a word of it. And she played on a Spanish guitar, sitting on a cushion in the lobby by the light of the lamps, to the admiration of sundry bores, who read Sir Charles Grandison, and think a mad countess a fine thing. For my part, I have been told that she is really not clever; and I never could admire her looks ;-she hath such a huge nose that she resembles a hussar's sabre with the pouch and straps ;

-she's principally nose, and all the rest of her seems to belong to it. But it is time for me to have done, there being scarcely any space on the paper left for the name of

Your faithful servant.

From H.R.H. THE PRINCESS OF Wales.

I should not so soon have encroached on your time, my dear [], but that there has happened a few coincidences which to relate to you would perhaps afford you amusement. Lord Deerhurst is quite a joke to the secret marriage of the ci-devant Mrs. Panton with a Mr. Geldi, an acquaintance of Batty's, and why it is kept a secret, and why it is made public, nobody can guess, as she was her own mistress,— or that she thought that she was public property, and that it would be essential to have an Act of Parliament to make an enclosure to become private property at a moment's warning.

Town grows every day thinner and thinner; though I had last Monday a large party at dinner; and, in the evening, a little hop for the young ladies, yet I felt how useful you would have been to make the party go off more lively and merrily. Clan Rowland [Clanranald], very unusually, danced with great glee the whole evening with Lady C[aroline] E[dgcumbe]; he supped at my table with her, and I have not the smallest doubt that Hymen will soon crown that work. Lord M[ount] E[dgcumb]e looked pleased with him, and praised him to me to the skies. Poor Miss R[] is quite forsaken by him, and I trust she will be wise enough to console herself, as Ariadne did-and not choose a Bacchus, but something more eligible to her taste.

Though Lady Harriet is very cunning and sly, still I have discovered that she is the match-making lady to her brother. She brought Lady E[lizabeth] to dinner, and did nothing but prose in praise of her. Lady G[eorgina] M[orpeth] takes her to [], and Lord H[artington] is also of the party, and the final proposal will be made there under the shady trees, or by the placid light of the moon. The great ball at D[evonshire] House, I heard was magnificent; Lord

* Youngest daughter of Richard, 2nd Earl of Mount Edgcumbe, married, in 1812, Reginald George MacDonald of Clanranald, and died April 10, 1824,

H[artington] began the dance with Lady E[lizabeth], and she was introduced to the old Duke,* who, I hear, was very much charmed with her beauty, and I dare say this marriage will be settled before we meet again.

The H[-], Lady P[—], and the daughters came also to my party; the old lady looked like the head of a ship, Lady P[] very embarrassed, the two young ladies, as usual, frightfully dressed-like naughty girls, with grey stuff gowns, to make them learn their lesson better the next day. The eldest danced with B[-] N[-], and the two younger ones danced together. They did not stay supper, but went away very early. I heard the next day that Lady C[-]s had sprained her ancle, which prevented her from going to dance cotillons next day at Lord D[-]'s. She sent, instead, early in the morning, for a surgeon, to Mr. Des Hayes, the dancer, and he came and said, “My Lady, je sais bien arranger les jambes qui se portent bien, mais pas celles qui sont malades"; and so he left the room, and she was obliged to keep company with the sofa.

Monday next my humble habitation will be graced with the presence of Louis XVIII., Madame D'Angoulême,† and all the French princes, and above thirty French people, at a breakfast. My mother, and the Princess Sophia, and some old fograms, male and female, will be there to enliven the party. This is all the merriment of my budget which I can offer you to-day.

Mr. Arbuthnot looks shy and dismal. I think he must feel ashamed of his cowardice, never to have asked me to one of the many suppers which he has given lately. There have been, I hear, very charming masquerades; but I speak from report merely. "Mes beaux jours sont passés." But, be that as it may, I always remain,

Your affectionate friend,

C. P.

Wednesday, the 19th.-I dined at Kensington. All the pleasure of the party was marred by distant looks,

This letter must have been inserted in the wrong place, as the

5th Duke of Devonshire died July 29, 1811.

† Daughter of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette, wife of her cousin, the elder son of the Comte d'Artois, afterwards Charles X.

and silence, that boded coming storms. There was Miss B[], Mr. Ward, Mr. Knight,* and Sir James Mackintosh,-the latter, a very charming man; but as much leaven was thrown into this society as the Princess of Wales could put into it, to make it disagreeable.

Thursday. I went to Lady D[-]y's, where, amongst much rubbish, there were some persons worth conversing with. I met there, my old friend, Lord D[——]ley. There are some persons whom one feels to be sure friends. It is impossible for a being gifted with quick sensations to be deceived in this respect. I know not if it can be accounted for philosophically, but I always return to my own system of fascination and attraction, sans rhyme ni raison.

Lady M[-] came to see me. I never saw so melancholy a proof of the extent of punishment that conscience can inflict on those who have not fulfilled the severer duties of life. The leaven of disappointment has soured all the genuine virtues of her disposition, while the acuteness of her intellect, and her quick and warm affections, have been fatally conducive to misery instead of happiness. Yet, like a wayward child that has been long indulged, I would not thwart her, or use violence to instil other thoughts to counteract the poison; I would, on the contrary, soothe and lull her wounds. with the sedative of affection before I attempted to give stronger medicines to turn her mind and views into another channel. Alas! riches and power afford the means to do many kind things; but who can say that when the means are ours, the inclination will remain ? The amusements of London, unless accompanied by all which can pamper and satisfy ambition, cease to be pleasures.

I learnt to-day that an old servant of my family was * Mr. Knight, the author of a work on Taste. [Part of original note.]

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