We have tapped a little butt of rain to-night, but my lawn is far from being drunk yet.  Did not you find the Vine in great beauty?  My compliments to it, and to your society.  I only write to enclose the enclosed.  I have consigned your button to old Richard.  Adieu!

(234) Lord Melcombe died on the 28th of July:  upon which event the title became extinct.-E.

(235) Lady Mary Wortley Montagu died on the 21st August, in the seventy-third year of her age.-E.

(236) Three Cherokee Indian chiefs arrived this month in London, from South Carolina, and became the lions of the day.-E.

Letter 127 To George Montagu, Esq.  Strawberry Hill, June 8, 1762. (page 185)

Well, you have had Mr. Chute.  I did not dare to announce him to you, for he insisted on enjoying all your ejaculations.  He gives me a good account of your health and spirits, but does not say when you come hither.  I hope the General, as well as your brother John, know how welcome they would be, if they would accompany you.  I trust it will be before the end of this month, for the very beginning of July I am to make a little visit to Lord Ilchester, in Somersetshire, and I should not like not to see you before the middle or end of next month.

Mrs. Osborn has sent me the prints; they are woful; but that is my fault and the engraver’s, not yours, to whom I am equally obliged; you don’t tell me whether Mr. Bentley’s play was acted or not, printed or not.

There is another of the Queen’s brothers come over.  Lady Northumberland made a pompous festino for him t’other night; not only the whole house, but the garden, was illuminated, and was quite a fairy scene.  Arches and pyramids of lights alternately surrounded the enclosure; a diamond necklace of lamps edged the rails and descent, with a spiral obelisk of candles on each hand; and dispersed over the lawn were little bands of kettle-drums, clarionets, flutes, etc., and the lovely moon, who came without a card.  The birthday was far from being such a show; empty and unfine as possible.  In truth, popularity does not make great promises to the new administration, and for fear it should hereafter be taxed with changing sides, it lets Lord Bute be abused every day, though he has not had time to do the least wrong.  His first levee was crowded.  Bothmer, the Danish minister, said, “La chaleur est excessive!” George Selwyn replied, “Pour se mettre au froid, il faut aller chez Monsieur le Duc de Newcastle!” There was another George not quite so tender.  George Brudenel was passing by; somebody in the mob said, “What is the matter here?” Brudenel answered, “Why, there is a Scotchman got into the treasury, and they can’t get him out.”  The Archbishop, conscious of not having been at Newcastle’s last levee, and ashamed of appearing at Lord Bute’s, first pretended he had been going by in his way from Lambeth, and, Upon inquiry, found it was Lord Bute’s levee, and so had thought he might as well go in-I am glad he thought he might as well tell it.