In warm times lukewarmness is a crime with those on whose side you are ranged.  Your good sense and experience will judge whether what I say is not strictly the case.  It is not your brother or I that have occasioned these circumstances.  Lord Bute has thrown this country into a confusion which will not easily be dissipated without serious hours.  Changes may, and, as I said in the beginning of my letter, will probably happen but the seeds that have been sown will not be rooted up by one or two revolutions in the cabinet.  It had taken an hundred and fifty years(637) to quiet the animosities of Whig and Tory; that contest is again set on foot, and though a struggle for places may be now, as has often been, the secret purpose of principals, the court and the nation are engaging on much deeper springs of action.  I wish I could elucidate this truth, as I have the rest, but that is not fit for paper, nor to be comprised within the compass of a letter;—­I have said enough to furnish you with ample reflections.  I submit all to your own judgment:—­I have even acted rightly by you, in laying before you what it was not easy for you, my dear lord, to see or know at a distance.  I trust all to your indulgence, and your acquaintance with my character, which surely is not artful or mysterious, and which, to you, has ever been, as it ever shall be, most cordial and well-intentioned.  I come to my gazette.

There is nothing new, but the resignation of Lord Carnarvon,(638) who has thrown up the bedchamber, and they say, the lieutenancy of Hampshire on Stanley being made governor of the Isle of Wight.

I have been much distressed this morning.  The royal family reside chiefly at Richmond, whither scarce necessary servants attend them, and no mortal else but Lord Bute.  The King and Queen have taken to going about to see places; they have been at Oatlands and Wanstead.  A quarter before ten to-day, I heard the bell at the gate ring,—­that is, I was not up, for my hours are not reformed, either at night or in the morning,—­I inquired who it was? the Prince of Mecklenburgh and De Witz had called to know if they could see the house; my two Swiss, Favre and Louis, told them I was in bed, but if they would call again in an hour, they might see it.  I shuddered at this report,—­and would it were the worst part!  The Queen herself was behind, in a coach:  I am shocked to death, and know not what to do!  It is ten times worse just now than ever at any other time:  it will certainly be said, that I refused to let the Queen see my house.  See what it is to have republican servants!  When I made a tempest about it, Favre said, with the utmost sang froid, “Why could not he tell me he was the Prince of Mecklenburgh?” I shall go this evening and consult my oracle, Lady Suffolk.  If she approves it, I will write to De Witz, and pretend I know nothing of any body but the Prince, and beg a thousand pardons, and assure him how proud I should be to have his master visit my castle at Thundertentronk.