by his clothes, equipage, and servants — six of the latter walked on’ the side of the coach to keep off the crowd-or to tempt it; for their liveries were worth an argosie.  The Prince as gorgeous too — the latter is to give Madame d’Albany a dinner.  She has been introduced to Mrs. Fitzherbert.  You know I used to call Mrs. Cosway’s(803) concerts Charon’s boat; now, methinks, London is so.  I am glad Mrs. C. is with you; she is pleasing-but surely it is odd to drop a child and her husband and country, all in a breath!  I am glad you are disfranchised of the exiles.  We have several, I am told, hire; but I strictly confine myself to those I knew formerly at Paris, and who all are quartered on Richmond Green.  I went to them on Sunday evening, but found them gone to Lord Fitzwilliam’s, the next house to Madame de Boufflers’, to hear his organ; whither I followed them, and returned with them.  The Comtesse Emilie played on her harp; then we all united at loto.  I went home at twelve, unrobbed; and Lord Fitzwilliam, who asked much after you both, was to set out the next morning for Dublin, though intending to stay there but four days, and be back in three weeks.

I am sorry you did not hear all Monsieur do Lally Tollendal’s(804) tragedy, of which I have had a good account.  I like his tribute to his father’s memory.(805) Of French politics you must be tired; and so am I. Nothing appears to me to promise their chaos duration; consequently, I expect more chaos, the sediment of which is commonly despotism.  Poland ought to make the French blush-but that, they are not apt to do on any occasion.  Let us return to Strawberry.  The house of Sebright breakfasted there with me on Monday; the daughter had given me a drawing, and I owed her a civility.  Thank you for reminding me of falls:  in one sense I am more liable to them than when you left me, for I am sensibly much weaker since my last fit; but that weakness makes me move much slower, and depend more on assistance.  In a word, there is no care I do not take of myself:  my heart is set on installing you at Cliveden; and it will not be my fault if I do not preserve myself till then.  If another summer is added, it will be happiness indeed—­but I am not presumptuous, and count the days only till November.  I am glad you, on your parts, repose till your journey commences, and go not into sultry crowded lodgings at the Ascension.  I was at Venice in summer, and thought airing on stinking ditches pestilential, after enjoying the delicious nights on the Ponte di Trinit`a at Florence, in a linen night-gown and a straw hat, with improvisatori. and music, and the coffee-houses open with ices—­at least, such were the customs fifty years ago,.