on the lawn.  We walked to the Belvidere on the summit of the hill, where a theatrical storm only served to heighten the beauty of the landscape, a rainbow on a dark cloud falling precisely behind the tower of a neighbouring church, between another tower and the building at Claremont.  Monsieur de Nivernois, who had been absorbed all day, and lagging behind, translating my verses, was delivered of his version, and of some more lines which he wrote on Miss Pelham in the Belvidere, while we drank tea and coffee.  From thence we passed into the wood, and the ladies formed a circle on chairs before the mouth of the cave, which was overhung to a vast height with woodbines, lilacs, and laburnums, and dignified by the tall shapely cypresses.  On the descent of the hill were placed the French horns; the abigails, servants, and neighbours wandering below by the river; in short, it was Parnassus, as Watteau would have painted it.  Here we had a rural syllabub, and part of the company returned to town; but were replaced by Giardini and Onofrio, who with Nivernois on the violin, and Lord Pembroke on the bass, accompanied Miss Pelham, Lady Rockingham, and the Duchess of Grafton, who sang.  This little concert lasted till past ten; then there were minuets, and as we had seven couple left, it concluded with a country dance.  I blush again, for I danced, but was kept in countenance by Nivernois, who has one wrinkle more than I have.  A quarter after twelve they sat down to supper, and I came home by a charming moonlight.  I am going to dine in town, and to a great ball with fireworks at Miss Chudleigh’s, but I return hither on Sunday, to bid adieu to this abominable Arcadian life; for really when one is not young, one ought to do nothing but s’ennuyer; I will try, but I always go about it awkwardly.  Adieu!

[Footnote 1:  “Esher.” Claremont, at Esher, now the property of the Queen, and residence of the Duchess of Albany, at this time belonged to the Duke of Newcastle, Miss Pelham’s uncle.]

[Footnote 2:  Kent was the great landscape gardener of the last generation.]

P.S.—­I enclose a copy of both the English and French verses.

    A MADAME DE BOUFFLERS.

    Boufflers, qu’embellissent les graces,
    Et qui plairoit sans le vouloir,
    Elle a qui l’amour du scavoir
    Fit braver le Nord et les glaces;
    Boufflers se plait en nos vergers,
    Et veut a nos sons etrangers
    Plier sa voix enchanteresse. 
    Repetons son nom mille fois,
    Sur tous les coeurs Boufflers aura des droits,
    Par tout ou la rime et la Presse
    A l’amour preteront leur voix.

    A MADAME D’USSON.

    Ne feignez point, Iris, de ne pas nous entendre;
    Ce que vous inspirez, en Grec doit se comprendre. 
      On vous l’a dit d’abord en Hollandois,
      Et dans un langage plus tendre
      Paris vous l’a repete mille fois. 
      C’est de nos coeurs l’expression sincere;
    En tout climat, Iris, a toute heure, en tous lieux,
      Par tout ou brilleront vos yeux,
    Vous apprendrez combien ils scavent plaire.