(1782,) March 19, Tuesday, 11 o’clock, morning.—. . . .  Gregg dines with me to-day.  He has been ever since Friday last at Saffron Walden, so I have as yet not seen him.  I have a great deal to say to him.  The seeming impossibility of your staying in Ireland agreeably to your own sentiments, and the inconvenience which returning suddenly will be to your private affairs, gives me at this moment not a little disquietude, and Lord G(ower) cannot help it, by any lights which as yet he has himself.

I saw Charles last night, and by accident was alone with me (him); he stretched out his hand to me with great good humour.  I could have asked him an abundance of questions, and could have reasoned with him a great while.  For although in that sphere he has much superiority to me, he has not the faculty of persuading me in the least of what I know to be without reason, and a great part of which he knows to be so himself.  However, I did not, for fear of betraying a want of temper which could be of no use, and I asked him no questions, lest he should interpret them ill, and think that I wanted to deprecate his vengeance or solicit his favour.  He must be reduced to his former despair before I shall discuss these matters with him pleasantly.

He spoke of all coming to a final issue now within a very short space of time; he talked of the King under the description of Satan, a comparison which he seems fond of, and has used to others; so he is sans management de paroles.  It is the bon vainqueur et despotique; he has adopted all the supremacy he pretended to dread in his Majesty.  It seems a dream that I survey his figure, and know his history.  His talents are great, but talents alone never operated in this manner.

When he said how few days we had to subsist, I uttered in an humble voice, “Greek text”; I have forgot to write my Greek.  To that he said, “You are in the right—­that is the only reflection which can be suggested for your comfort, but it is next to an impossibility.”  He talks of us so much as an Opposition, that even the Wine Surplus, which we call a majority, is forgot, and I wonder he does not in his sleep walk into St. James’s with the seals of his new Government in his hand.  He told me that he would make me a Baronet, for my vote to-morrow night.  The Duke of Devonshire said gravely, “A vast price for one vote only!” Charles Turner has seriously insisted upon it.

The Fish told Lord N(orth) the other night, after the Division, that he had only three bottles left of that champagne which he liked so much, and if he would come and dine with him they were at|his service.  Lord North replied, archly enough, “What! still, Mr. Craufurd, may I dine with you?”

(1782,) March 21, Thursday m(orning).—­In the midst of all that multiplicity of distress and confusion in which I am at present, as well as the public, I will not omit to let you know that, excepting the cough, George is very well. . . .  What happened yesterday in the H(ouse) of C(ommons), of which you will by various channels know the particulars, with many more in a few days, must for ever astonish you, if you were not sufficiently apprised of the characters of the persons concerned.  I hear that the Duke of Montagu at Windsor, the day before, told the King of the impossibility of continuing the Administration.