Strawberry has been in great glory; I have given a festino there that will almost mortgage it.  Last Tuesday all France dined there:  Monsieur and Madame du Chatelet, the Duc de Liancourt, three more French ladies, whose names you will find in the enclosed paper, eight other Frenchmen, the Spanish and Portuguese ministers, the Holdernesses, Fitzroys, in short, we were four and twenty.  They arrived at two.  At the gates of the castle I received them, dressed in the cravat of Gibbons’s carving, and a pair of gloves embroidered up to the elbows that had belonged to James I. The French servants stared, and firmly believed this was the dress of English country gentlemen.  After taking a survey of the apartment, we went to the printing-house, where I had prepared the enclosed verses, with translations by Monsieur de Lille, one of the company.  The moment they were printed off, I gave a private signal, and French horns and clarionets accompanied this compliment.  We then went to see Pope’s grotto and garden, and returned to a magnificent dinner in the refectory.

In the evening we walked, had tea, coffee, and lemonade in the Gallery, which was illuminated with a thousand, or thirty candles, I forget which, and played at whisk and loo till midnight.  Then there was a cold supper, and at one the company returned to town, saluted by fifty nightingales, who, as tenants of the manor, came to do honour to their lord.

I cannot say last night was equally agreeable.  There was what they called a ridotto al fresco at Vauxhall,[1] for which one paid half-a-guinea, though, except some thousand more lamps and a covered passage all round the garden, which took off from the gardenhood, there was nothing better than on a common night.  Mr. Conway and I set out from his house at eight o’clock; the tide and torrent of coaches was so prodigious, that it was half-an-hour after nine before we got half way from Westminster Bridge.  We then alighted; and after scrambling under bellies of horses, through wheels, and over posts and rails, we reached the gardens, where were already many thousand persons.  Nothing diverted me but a man in a Turk’s dress and two nymphs in masquerade without masks, who sailed amongst the company, and, which was surprising, seemed to surprise nobody.  It had been given out that people were desired to come in fancied dresses without masks.  We walked twice round and were rejoiced to come away, though with the same difficulties as at our entrance; for we found three strings of coaches all along the road, who did not move half a foot in half-an-hour.  There is to be a rival mob in the same way at Ranelagh to-morrow; for the greater the folly and imposition the greater is the crowd.  I have suspended the vestimenta[2] that were torn off my back to the god of repentance, and shall stay away.  Adieu!  I have not a word more to say to you.  Yours ever.

P.S.—­I hope you will not regret paying a shilling for this packet.