higher or wiser foot than a newspaper.  Such is their having a knotting bag made of the same stuff with every gown; their footmen carrying their lady’s own goblet whenever they dine; the King carrying his own bread in his pocket to dinner, the etiquette of the queen and the Mesdames not speaking to one another cross him at table, and twenty other such nothings; but I find myself Gossiping and will have done, with only two little anecdotes that please me.  Madame Pompadour’s husband has not been permitted to keep an opera-girl, because it would too frequently occasion the reflection of his not having his wife—­ is not that delightful decorum? and in that country!  The other was a most sensible trait of the King.  The Count Charolois(350) shot a President’s dogs, who lives near him:  the President immediately posted to Versailles to complain:  the King promised him justice; and then sent to the Count to desire he would give him two good dogs.  The Prince picked out his two best:  the king sent them to the President, with this motto on their collars, ‘J’appartiens au Roi!’ “There,” said the king, “I believe he won’t shoot them now!”

Since I began my letter, I looked over my dates, and was hurt to find that three months are gone and over since I wrote last.  I was going to begin a new apology, when your letter of Oct. 20th came in, curtsying and making apologies itself.  I was charmed to find you to blame, and had a mind to grow haughty and scold you-but I won’t.  My dear child, we will not drop one another at last; for though we arc English, we are not both in England, and need not quarrel we don’t know why.  We will write whenever we have any thing to say; and when we have not,—­Why, we will be going to write.  I had heard nothing of the Riccardi deaths:  I still like to hear news of any of my old friends.  Your brother tells me that you defend my Lord Northumberland’s idea for his gallery, so I will not abuse it so much as I intended, though I must say that I am so fired with copies of the pictures he has chosen, that I would scarce hang up the originals—­and then, copies by any thing now living!—­and at that price!—­indeed price is no article, or rather price is a reason for my Lord Northumberland’s liking any thing.  They are building at Northumberland-house, at Sion, at Stansted, at Alnwick, and Warkworth Castles! they live by the etiquette of the old peerage, have Swiss porters, the Countess has her pipers—­in short, they will very soon have no estate.

One hears here of writings that have appeared in print on the quarrel of the Pretender and his second son; I could like to see any such thing.  Here is a bold epigram, which the Jacobites give about: 

“In royal veins how blood resembling runs! 
Like any George, James quarrels with his sons. 
Faith!  I believe, could he his crown resume,
He’d hanker for his herenhausen, Rome.”

The second is a good line; but the thought in the last is too obscurely expressed; and yet I don’t believe that it was designed for precaution.