“though justice ever must prevail,
The tear my Kitty shed is due;
For seldom shall she hear a tale
So sad, so tender, yet so true.”

James Dawson was one of the nine men who suffered at
Kennington, on the 30th Of July.-E.

(1274) Charles Bennet, second Earl of TankerVille.  The appointment did not take place.  He died in 1753.  His wife, Camilla, daughter of Edward Colville, of White-house, in the bishopric of Durham, Esq. survived till 1775, aged one hundred and five.—­E.

500 Letter 216
To George Montagu, Esq,
Arlington Street, Aug. 16, 1746.

Dear George, I shall be with you on Tuesday night, and since you are so good as to be my Rowland white, must beg my apartment at the quivering dame’s may be aired for me.  My caravan sets out with all my household stuff on Monday; but I have heard nothing of your sister’s hamper, nor do I know how to send the bantams by it, but will leave them here till I am more settled under the shade of my own mulberry- tree.

I have been this morning at the Tower, and passed under the new heads at Temple Bar,(1275) where people make a trade of letting spying-glasses at a halfpenny a look.  Old Lovat arrived last night.  I saw Murray, Lord Derwentwater, Lord Traquair, Lord Cromartie and his son, and the Lord Provost, -,it their respective windows.  The other two wretched Lords are in dismal towers, and they have stopped up one of old Balmerino’s windows because he talked to the populace; and now he has only one, which looks directly upon all the scaffolding.  They brought in the death-warrant at his dinner.  His wife fainted.  He said, “Lieutenant, with your damned warrant you have spoiled my lady’s stomach.”  He has written a sensible letter to the Duke to beg his intercession, and the Duke has given it to the King; but gave a much colder answer to Duke Hamilton, who went to beg it for Lord Kilmarnock:  he told him the affair was in the King’s hands, and that he had nothing to do with it.  Lord Kilmarnock, who has hitherto kept up his spirits, grows extremely terrified.  It will be difficult to make you believe to what heights of affectation or extravagance my Lady Townshend carries her passion for my Lord Kilmarnock, whom she never saw but at the bar of his trial, and was smitten with his falling shoulders.  She has been under his windows; sends messages to him; has got his dog and his snuff-box; has taken lodgings out of town for to-morrow and Monday night, and then goes to Greenwich; forswears conversing with the bloody English, and has taken a French master.  She insisted on Lord Hervey’s promising her he would not sleep a whole night for my Lord Kilmarnock, “and in return,” says she, “never trust me more if I am not as yellow as a jonquil for him."(1276) She said gravely t’other day, “Since I saw my Lord Kilmarnock, I really think no more of Sir Harry Nisbett than if there was no such man in the world.”  But of all her flights, yesterday