When Fox, who was among the voters, arrived at the beginning of the election, he too was received with an universal shout of joy.  At length, when it was nearly over, the people took it into their heads to hear him speak, and every one called out, “Fox!  Fox!” I know not why, but I seemed to catch some of the spirit of the place and time, and so I also bawled “Fox!  Fox!” and he was obliged to come forward and speak, for no other reason that I could find but that the people wished to hear him speak.  In this speech he again confirmed, in the presence of the people, his former declaration in parliament, that he by no means had any influence as minister of State in this election, but only and merely as a private person.

When the whole was over, the rampant spirit of liberty and the wild impatience of a genuine English mob were exhibited in perfection.  In a very few minutes the whole scaffolding, benches, and chairs, and everything else, was completely destroyed. and the mat with which it had been covered torn into ten thousand long strips, or pieces, or strings, with which they encircled or enclosed multitudes of people of all ranks.  These they hurried along with them, and everything else that came in their way, as trophies of joy; and thus, in the midst of exultation and triumph, they paraded through many of the most populous streets of London.

Whilst in Prussia poets only speak of the love of country as one of the dearest of all human affections, here there is no man who does not feel, and describe with rapture, how much he loves his country.  “Yes, for my country I’ll shed the last drop of my blood!” often exclaims little Jacky, the fine boy here in the house where I live, who is yet only about twelve years old.  The love of their country, and its unparalleled feats in war are, in general, the subject of their ballads and popular songs, which are sung about the streets by women, who sell them for a few farthings.  It was only the other day our Jacky brought one home, in which the history of an admiral was celebrated who bravely continued to command, even after his two legs were shot off and he was obliged to be supported.  I know not well by what means it has happened that the King of England, who is certainly one of the best the nation ever had, is become unpopular.  I know not how many times I have heard people of all sorts object to their king at the same time that they praised the King of Prussia to the skies.  Indeed, with some the veneration for our monarch went so far that they seriously wished he was their king.  All that seems to shock and dishearten them is the prodigious armies he keeps up, and the immense number of soldiers quartered in Berlin alone.  Whereas in London, at least in the city, not a single troop of soldiers of the King’s guard dare make their appearance.

A few days ago I saw what is here deemed a great sight—­viz., a lord mayor’s procession.  The lord mayor was in an enormous large gilt coach, which was followed by an astonishing number of most showy carriages, in which the rest of the city magistrates, more properly called aldermen of London, were seated.  But enough for the present.