The Princess Amelia(231) is thought to be very near her end; there is to be no Court to-day, which is unusual on this day of the Accession.  But I do not know that the Princess’s illness is the cause of it.  I intended to have gone to the Drawing Room and have put on my scarlet, and gold embr(oidery), for the last time.  Pierre I believe has contracted for it already.  I cannot learn from any of your family when you propose to return; I hope in less than three weeks.  I wrote to Lady C(arlisle) yesterday.

I have no thought myself of settling in London, nor am I desirous of it, while the Thames can be kept in due bounds.  At present it is subdued, and all above is clear after a certain hour, and my house is the warmest and most comfortable of any; and when I came here to dinner on Saturday last, having given my servants a day’s law, everything was in as much order, as if I had never left it.

The Duke [of Queensberry] dines with me when he is here, a little after four, and when we have drank our wine, we resort to his great Hall,(232) bien eclairee, bien echauffee, to drink our coffee, and hear Quintettes.  The Hall is hung around with the Vandyke pictures ( as they are called), and they have a good effect.  But I wish that there had been another room or gallery for them, that the Hall might have been without any other ornament but its own proportions.  The rest of the pictures are hanging up in the Gilt Room, and some in a room on the left hand as you go to that apartment.  The Judges hang in the semicircular passage, which makes one think, that instead of going into a nobleman’s house, you are in Sergeants’ Inn.

There is, and will be, a variety of opinions how these portraits should be placed, and with what correspondence.  I have my own, about that and many other things, which I shall keep to myself.  I am not able to encounter constant dissension.  I will have no bile, and so keep my own opinions for the future about men and things, within my own breast.  I am naturally irritable, and therefore will avoid irritation; I prefer longevity to it, which I may have without the other.  I have had a letter from Lady Ossory, who is impatient to tell me all that has passed this summer in her neighbourhood, but she is afraid of trusting it to a letter.  I can pretty well guess what kind of farce has been acted, knowing the dramatis persons.  The Duke of B(edford?) was to wait on her Grace. . . .

I thought that Boothby had been with you.  Mrs. Smith assures me that you have fine weather, and fine sport; so I wish the fifth-form boy [Lord Morpeth] had been with you, and his sister Charlotte, to make and mark his neckcloths.

I hear no more of Eden, but my neighbour Keene’s conjectures on his refusal, which are very vague, et tant soit peu malignes.  I expect more satisfaction to-day from Williams:  not that I want really any information about him.  I have already seen and known as much as I desire of him; he is a man of talents and application, with some insinuation, and cunning, but I think will never be a good speaker, or a great man.  But what he is I do not care.