(955) Grace Boyle, daughter and sole heiress of Richard, Viscount Shannon.  She became afterwards a favourite of Frederick, Prince of Wales, and died in 17 63.-D.

(956) See ant`e, p. 205. (Letter 48)

(957 Prima donna at the opera.

(958) This is an incorrect copy of the inscription on Lady Euston’s picture given in a note at 329 of this volume.-D.  (Letter 110, p. 328/9)

(959) It is said to be Pope’s.

(960) The Marquis Tabernego.

383 Letter 145
To Sir Horace Mann. 
Arlington Street, Aug. 6, 1744.

I don’t tell you any thing about Prince Charles, for you must hear all his history as soon as we do:  at least much sooner than it can come to the very north, and be despatched back to Italy.  There is nothing from Flanders:  we advance and they retire-just as two months ago we retired and they advanced:  but it is good to be leading up this part of the tune.  Lord Stair is going into Scotland:  the King is grown wonderfully fond of him, since he has taken the resolution of that journey.  He said the other day, “I wish my Lord Stair was in Flanders!  General Wade is a very able officer, but he is not alert.”  I, in my private litany, am beseeching the Lord, that he may contract none of my Lord Stair’s alertness.

When I first wrote you word of la Ch`etardie’s disgrace, I did not believe it; but you see it is now public.  What I like is, her Russian Majesty’s making her amour keep exact pace with her public indignation.  She sent to demand her picture and other presents.  “Other presents,” to be sure, were billet-doux, bracelets woven of her own bristles-for I look upon the hair of a Muscovite Majesty in the light of the chairs which Gulliver made out of the combings of the Empress of Brobdignag’s tresses:  the stumps he made into very good large-tooth combs.  You know the present is a very Amazon. she has grappled with all her own grenadiers.  I should like to see their loves woven into a French opera:  La Ch`etardie’s character is quite adapted to the civil discord of their stage:  and then a northern heroine to reproach him in their outrageous quavers, would make a most delightful crash of sentiment, impertinence, gallantry, contempt, and screaming.  The first opera that I saw at Paris, I could not believe was in earnest, but thought they had carried me to the op`era-comique.  The three acts of the piece(961) were three several interludes, of the Loves of Antony and Cleopatra, of Alcibiades and the Queen of Sparta, and of Tibuilus with a niece of Macenas; besides something of Circe, who was screamed by a Mademoiselle Hermans, seven feet high.  She was in black, with a nosegay of black (for on the French stage they pique themselves on propriety,) and without powder:  whenever you are a widow, are in distress, or are a witch, you are to leave off powder.

I have no news for you, and am going to have less, for I a)n going into Norfolk.  I have stayed till I have not one acquaintance left:  the next billow washes me last off the plank.  I have not cared to stir, for fear of news from Flanders; but I have convinced myself that there will be none.  Our army is much superior to the Count de Saxe; besides, they have ten large towns to garrison, which will reduce their army to nothing; or they must leave us the towns to walk into coolly.