How franticly have the French acted, and how rationally the Americans!  But Franklin and Washington were great men.  None have appeared yet in France; and Necker has only returned to make a wretched figure!  He is become as insignificant as his King; his name is never mentioned, but now and then as disapproving something that is done.  Why then does he stay?  Does he wait to strike some great stroke, when everything is demolished?  His glory, which consisted in being Minister though a Protestant, is vanished by the destruction of Popery; the honour of which, I suppose, he will scarce assume to himself.  I have vented my budget, and now good night!  I feel almost as if I could walk up to bed.

THE PRINCE OF WALES—­GROWTH OF LONDON AND OTHER TOWNS.

TO THE MISS BERRYS.

BERKELEY SQUARE, June 8, 1791.

Your No. 34, that was interrupted, and of which the last date was of May 24th, I received on the 6th, and if I could find fault, it would be in the length; for I do not approve of your writing so much in hot weather, for, be it known to you ladies, that from the first of the month, June is not more June at Florence.  My hay is crumbling away; and I have ordered it to be cut, as a sure way of bringing rain.  I have a selfish reason, too, for remonstrating against long letters.  I feel the season advancing, when mine will be piteous short; for what can I tell you from Twickenham in the next three or four months?  Scandal from Richmond and Hampton Court, or robberies at my own door?  The latter, indeed, are blown already.  I went to Strawberry on Saturday, to avoid the Birthday [4th June] crowd and squibs and crackers.  At six I drove to Lord Strafford’s, where his goods are to be sold by auction; his sister, Lady Anne [Conolly], intending to pull down the house and rebuild it.  I returned a quarter before seven; and in the interim between my Gothic gate and Ashe’s Nursery, a gentleman and gentlewoman, in a one-horse chair and in the broad face of the sun, had been robbed by a single highwayman, sans mask.  Ashe’s mother and sister stood and saw it; but having no notion of a robbery at such an hour in the high-road, and before their men had left work, concluded it was an acquaintance of the robber’s.  I suppose Lady Cecilia Johnstone will not descend from her bedchamber to the drawing-room without life-guard men.

The Duke of Bedford eclipsed the whole birthday by his clothes, equipage, and servants:  six of the latter walked on the side of the coach to keep off the crowd—­or to tempt it; for their liveries were worth an argosie.  The Prince [of Wales] was gorgeous too:  the latter is to give Madame d’Albany[1] a dinner.  She has been introduced to Mrs. Fitzherbert.[2] You know I used to call Mrs. Cosway’s concerts Charon’s boat:  now, methinks, London is so.  I am glad Mrs. C. [osway] is with you; she is pleasing—­but surely it is odd to drop a child and her husband and country all in a breath!