Pray, delight in the following story:  Caroline Vernon, fille d’honneur, lost t’other night two hundred pounds at faro, and babe Martindale mark it up.  He said he had rather have a draft on her banker. “oh! willingly;” and she gave him one.  Next morning he hurried to Drummond’s, lest all her money should be drawn out. said the clerk, “would you receive the contents immediately?” “Assuredly.” “why, Sir, have you read the note?” Martindale took it; it was, “Pay to the bearer two hundred blows, well applied.”  The nymph tells the story herself; and yet I think the clerk had the more humour of the two.

The Gunninghiad(727) draws to a conclusion.  The General, a few weeks ago, to prove the equality of his daughter to any match, literally put into the newspapers, that he himself is the thirty-second descendant in a line from Charlemagne;—­oui, vraiment!  Yet he had better have, like Prior’s Madam,

“To cut things short, gone up to Adam,”

However, this Carlovingian hero does not allow that the letters are forgeries, and rather suspects the novelist, his lady(728) for the authoress; and if she is, probably Miss Charlemagne is not quite innocent of the plot:  though she still maintains that her mother-in-law elect did give her much encouragement; which, considering her grace’s conduct about her children, is not the most incredible part of this strange story.  I have written this at twice, and will now rest.

Sunday evening.

I wish that complaining of people for abandoning me were an infallible receipt for bringing them back! but I doubt it will not do in acute cases.  To-day, a few hours after %writing the latter part of this, appeared Mr. Batt.  He asked many pardons, and I easily forgave him; for the mortification was not begun.  He asked much after you both.  I had a crowd of visits besides; but they all come past two o’clock, and sweep one another away before any can take root.  My evenings are solitary enough, for I ask nobody to come; nor, indeed, does any body’s evening begin till I am going to bed.  I have Outlived daylight, as well as my contemporaries.  What have I not survived?  The Jesuits and the monarchy of France! and both without a struggle!  Semiramis seems to intend to add Constantinople to the mass of revolutions ; but is not her permanence almost as wonderful as the contrary explosions!  I wish—­I wish we may not be actually flippancying ourselves into an embroil with that Ursa-major of the North Pole.  What a vixen little island are we, if we fight wit the Aurora Borealis and Tippo Saib at the end of Asia at the same time!  You, damsels, will be like the end of the conundrum, “You’ve seen the man who saw the wondrous sights.”

Monday evening.

I cannot finish this with my own hand, for the gout has returned a little into my right arm and wrist, and I am not quite so well as I was yesterday; but I had said my say, and had little to add.  The Duchess of Gordon, t’other night, coming out of an assembly, said to Dundas, “Mr. Dundas, you are used to speak in public; will you call my servant?”