miles, which posterity, having no conception of the prodigious extent and magnificence of St. James’s, will never believe, it was half an hour after three before his Danish Majesty’s courier could go and return to let him know that his good brother and ally was leaving the palace in which they both were, in order to receive him at the Queen’s palace, which you know is about a million of snail’s paces from St. James’s.  Notwithstanding these difficulties and unavoidable delays, Woden, Thor, Friga, and all the gods that watch over the Kings of the North, did bring these two invincible monarchs to each other’s embraces about half an hour after five that same evening.  They passed an hour in projecting a family compact that will regulate the destiny of Europe to latest posterity:  and then, the Fates so willing it, the British Prince departed for Richmond, and the Danish potentate repaired to the widowed mansion of his Royal Mother-in-Law, where he poured forth the fulness of his heart in praises on the lovely bride she had bestowed on him, from whom nothing but the benefit of his subjects could ever have torn him.—­And here let Calumny blush, who has aspersed so chaste and faithful a monarch with low amours; pretending that he has raised to the honour of a seat in his sublime council, an artisan of Hamburgh, known only by repairing the soles of buskins, because that mechanic would, on no other terms, consent to his fair daughter’s being honoured with majestic embraces.  So victorious over his passions is this young Scipio from the Pole, that though on Shooter’s Hill he fell into an ambush laid for him by an illustrious Countess, of blood-royal herself, his Majesty, after descending from his car, and courteously greeting her, again mounted his vehicle, without being one moment eclipsed from the eyes of the surrounding multitude.—­Oh! mercy on me!  I am out of breath—­pray let me descend from my stilts, or I shall send you as fustian and tedious a History as that of [Lyttelton’s] Henry II.  Well, then, this great King is a very little one; not ugly, nor ill-made.  He has the sublime strut of his grandfather, or of a cock-sparrow; and the divine white eyes of all his family by the mother’s side.  His curiosity seems to have consisted in the original plan of travelling, for I cannot say he takes notice of anything in particular.  His manner is cold and dignified, but very civil and gracious and proper.  The mob adore him and huzza him; and so they did the first instant.  At present they begin to know why—­for he flings money to them out of his windows; and by the end of the week I do not doubt but they will want to choose him for Middlesex.  His Court is extremely well ordered; for they bow as low to him at every word as if his name was Sultan Amurat.  You would take his first minister for only the first of his slaves.—­I hope this example, which they have been so good as to exhibit at the opera, will contribute to civilize us.  There is indeed a pert young gentleman, who