[Footnote 2:  This gentleman was at this time secretary to the Duc de Nivernois.  For many years he dressed in woman’s clothes, and the question of his sex was made the subject of many wagers and trials both in England and France.]

[Footnote 3:  M. Duclos was an author of good repute as a novelist, and one of the contributors to the “Dictionnaire de l’Academie.”]

You will comprehend that the first speaks English, and that the second does not; that the second is handsome, and the first not; and that the second was born in Holland.  This little gentilesse pleased, and atoned for the popery of my house, which was not serious enough for Madame de Boufflers, who is Montmorency, et du sang du premier Chretien; and too serious for Madame Dusson, who is a Dutch Calvinist.  The latter’s husband was not here, nor Drumgold, who have both got fevers, nor the Duc de Nivernois, who dined at Claremont.  The Gallery is not advanced enough to give them any idea at all, as they are not apt to go out of their way for one; but the Cabinet, and the glory of yellow glass at top, which had a charming sun for a foil, did surmount their indifference, especially as they were animated by the Duchess of Grafton, who had never happened to be here before, and who perfectly entered into the air of enchantment and fairyism, which is the tone of the place, and was peculiarly so to-day—­apropos, when do you design to come hither?  Let me know, that I may have no measures to interfere with receiving you and your grandsons.

Before Lord Bute ran away, he made Mr. Bentley[1] a Commissioner of the Lottery; I don’t know whether a single or a double one:  the latter, which I hope it is, is two hundred a-year.

[Footnote 1:  Mr. Bentley, who was an occasional correspondent of Walpole, was a son of the great Master of Trinity College, Cambridge.]

Thursday 19th.

I am ashamed of myself to have nothing but a journal of pleasures to send you; I never passed a more agreeable day than yesterday.  Miss Pelham gave the French an entertainment at Esher;[1] but they have been so feasted and amused, that none of them were well enough, or reposed enough, to come, but Nivernois and Madame Dusson.  The rest of the company were, the Graftons, Lady Rockingham, Lord and Lady Pembroke, Lord and Lady Holdernesse, Lord Villiers, Count Woronzow the Russian minister, Lady Sondes, Mr. and Miss Mary Pelham, Lady Mary Coke, Mrs. Anne Pitt, and Mr. Shelley.  The day was delightful, the scene transporting; the trees, lawns, concaves, all in the perfection in which the ghost of Kent[2] would joy to see them.  At twelve we made the tour of the farm in eight chaises and calashes, horsemen, and footmen, setting out like a picture of Wouverman’s.  My lot fell in the lap of Mrs. Anne Pitt, which I could have excused, as she was not at all in the style of the day, romantic, but political.  We had a magnificent dinner, cloaked in the modesty of earthenware; French horns and hautboys