They say we expect the Report from the Secret Committee next Tuesday, and then finish.  I preface all my news with “they say;” for I am not at all in the secret, and I had rather that “they say” should tell you a lie than myself.  They have sunk the affair of Scrope:  the Chancellor (625) and Sir John Rushout spoke in the committee against persecuting him, for he is secretary to the treasury.  I don’t think there is so easy a language as the ministerial in the world-one learns it in a week!  There are few members in town, and most of them no friends to the committee; so that there is not the least apprehension of any violence following the Report.  I dare say there is not; for my uncle, who is my political weather-glass, and whose quicksilver rises and falls with the least variation of parliamentary weather, is in great spirits, and has spoken three times in the House within this week; he had not opened his lips before since the change.  Mr. Pultney has his warrant in his pocket for Earl of Bath, and kisses hands as soon as the parliament rises.  The promotions I mentioned to you are not yet come to pass; but a fortnight will settle things wonderfully.

The Italian, (626) who I told you is here, has let me into a piece of secret history, which you never mentioned:  perhaps it is not true; but he says the mighty mystery of the Count’s (627) elopement from Florence, was occasioned by a letter from Wachtendonck,(628) which was so impertinent as to talk of satisfaction for some affront.  The great Count very wisely never answered it-his life, to be sure, is of too great consequence to be trusted at the end of a rash German’s sword! however, the General wrote again, and hinted at coming himself for an answer.  So it happened that when he arrived, the Count was gone to the baths of Lucca-those waters were reckoned better for his health, than steel in the abstract-How oddly it happened!  He Just returned to Florence as the General was dead!  Now was not this heroic lover worth running after?  I wonder, as the Count must have known my lady’s courage and genius for adventures, that he never thought of putting her in men’s clothes, and sending her to answer the challenge.  How pretty it would have been to have fought for one’s lover! and how great the obligation, when he durst not fight for himself!

I heard the other day, that the Primate of Lorrain was dead of the smallpox.  Will you make my compliments of condolence? though I dare say they are little afflicted:  he -was a ’most worthless creature, and all his wit and parts, I believe little comforted them for his brutality and other vices.

The fine Mr. Pit (629) is arrived:  I dine with him to-day at Lord Lincoln’s, with the Pomfrets.  So now the old partie quarr`ee is complete again.  The earl is not quite cured,(630) and a partner in sentiments may help to open the wound again.  My Lady Townshend dines with us too.  She flung the broadest Wortley-eye (631) on Mr. Pitt, the other night, in the park!